#i swear i've never eaten a human

[the-lisechen]

~6.7k. gen. copia/f!oc. the cardinal has a cigarette with a fan. from there, it gets a little weird. (or: copia gets into a fist fight at 3am in a denny's parking lot over theology. metaphorically speaking.)

header by the divine @enjoy-my-swearing

(the fic that started it all and has eaten my brain ever since. don't mind me, i just wanted to reformat this one and also have it on my tumblr for posterity)

some kind of cosmic rearrangement - ao3

(full series here)

religious discussion, catholic character that isn't an asshole, unresolved sexual tension. tw: catholicism

Copia stepped out into the night, face paint mostly cleaned off, save for the black around his eyes. He couldn't even remember the name of the town they were in. Somewhere in the American South, the air warm and heavy with humidity that felt like silk against his skin. He settled his shoulders against the brick of the alleyway, and sighed, his blood still fizzing from the ritual. The comedown from the adrenaline dump always left him a little hollowed out and shaky.

As he passed a hand over his face, the car in front of him trilled out like a bird and flashed its lights. He turned to the sound of boots up the wet pavement. A small figure, female, dishwater blonde hair, head down, hands stuffed into black skinny jeans. Humming something he could recognize as one of his songs, and that never got old.

He watched her approach, curious. When she at last stepped into the light, she looked up at him, and startled like a deer. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she squeaked out a breathless “Oh shit!” It took her a moment to recover, and my, wasn't that an interesting shade of pink. He’d seen people blush, of course, but this was remarkable, that red, that quickly.

He had to smile, even bowing a little. “Bunoasera, signora."

"Um! Hi! You are very good at your job!"

Her purse plopped next to her feet, and she knelt down to recollect it, the blush deepening to the color of late spring roses. "Sorry, I'm sorry--" she said, hands shaking as she scooped spilled detritus back into her purse, pens and lip balm spilling from her fingers.

He bent over to help her, smiling. "It is no trouble, signora. Not the worst I've seen." He paused, sitting back on his heels, and picked up a battered paperback the color of burnt orange. "'The Liberation of Theology.'" He looked up at her, mismatched eyes sharp, assessing. "This is what you read? At my show?"

The girl-- woman, really-- went still. She got to her feet and took half a step back, widening her stance, her shoulders squared. "Yeah." She tilted her chin up. "Is it really that strange?"

He flipped it to read the back cover, and her spine relaxed a fraction, with his focus off of her. "Perhaps... somewhat unexpected." An understatement. He stood, slow, putting himself further into her personal space, eyes still on the text in his hand. He read the subtitle. "'An instrument in human liberation.' Has it been?" He looked down at her, not exactly trying to loom, but not exactly going out of his way not to. "In your experience."

The woman folded her arms, leaning back against her car. Keeping her distance. "It can be. It should be." She flipped her keyring, once. "And in my experience? Yes, actually. But I am fully aware my experience may be-- atypical."

"In what way?"

"Well." She looked up, exposing the long pale line of her throat, and her Southern accent became gradually more apparent as she spoke. "I converted to Catholicism. Not really from anything, you understand, unless you count the vaguely agnostic Protestant background noise in America. And I did my catechism classes with a Capuchin Franciscan. A lot of mysticism. And a lot of social action to offset the navel-gazing that comes with that. The culture was-- it's different. I mean, how much do you know about liberation theology?"

"For the purposes of this conversation?" He idly tapped her book against his thigh. "Let us say... not much."

"In simple terms: feed the hungry, clothe the naked. Like the guy said in the book, right? It's both defending the poor and taking aim at the structural issues that are actively oppressing people. Real basic."

"You need a God to tell you this?"

He saw her warming to the subject, eyes alight and not quite on his. "Of course not, but it's a useful framework. And some people do! Whatever provides incentive. Besides that, it works on a practical level, if the Church is your primary social apparatus, that's a structure in place to distribute resources if the state is failing. I mean, the Jesuit approach in South America is not quite the same as the Black church in the Civil Rights movement in the USA in the Sixties, but it's not too far off, either. It's like--" and she cut herself off, the blush coming back, eyes cast downward. "It's just what's supposed to happen. What it says on the tin."

He ruffled the pages with a gloved hand a few times, watching her. "Incentive." He gestured at her with the book, halfway to accusatory. "If someone is doing something in expectation of divine reward, then they are, I'm afraid, an asshole."

"Man, I truly do not care about the motive. I care about the effect it has on the world. But faith without works is dead."

"You believe this."

"Yeah."

"You are this passionate about it, and yet you came to see me. My songs are nothing but blasphemy. Why?"

"Look, as blasphemy goes-- and I'm not trying to denigrate anything you're doing here-- this is just not that big a deal."

He stared at her. "I am literally praising the devil. Literal songs about, literally, devil worship."

"Yeah, and it slaps. Can I have my book back?"

He held it out carefully, as if it was a chunk of meat and she was a strange animal. One that might bite. "What is it, then, that qualifies as blasphemy? In your opinion."

She took it, opened the backseat door to her car, and tossed it in, careful not to turn her back on him. "I dunno. Start with that 'prosperity gospel' bullshit. 'If you're rich, it's because Jesus wants you to be rich!' Joel Osteen can bite the fucking curb. It's lazy exegesis, is what it is." Again, he saw her restrain herself, and she ran a hand through her hair, embarrassed. "I can go on. Obviously. But I think if you're getting bent out of shape about this kind of thing, you need to reassess your priorities."

"No, this is-- at least amusing. You haven't chased us out with torches and pitchforks yet, so I will continue to assume good faith." He smiled. "So to speak."

"Trust me, I am leaving a lot of stuff out." She fished around in her purse, picked out a brilliantly blue pack of cigarettes, and tapped them rhythmically on the heel of her hand. "So what's your deal? I don't know a lot about theistic Satanism. Pop the hood on it, man, tell me how it works."

"In simple terms?"

"Sure." She cracked a smile, thumbing a cigarette out of the pack.

"We honor the serpent that brought knowledge to Eve, as a liberator from the oppression of the corrupted demiurge that you call God."

"The snake, this was one of those gnostic things, right? That was, what, the Ophites? I thought they found it at Nag Hammadi."

"Fragments. References. But we have had the Syntagma for centuries. This was Hippolytus, yes? We borrowed a few things from Marcion of Sinope, as well. From those texts, and other pieces of what you would call apocrypha, we solidified a doctrine. Eventually. These things take time, no? Remind me, when did your people decide on the canon?"

"Council of Rome. I wanna say three..." she tapped the unlit cigarette, "...eighty seven? Somewhere in there. Fourth century, anyway."

"Just so. As a, you'd say-- distinct movement, yes? I would say sometime around the twelfth century that we came together."

"Hold on, twelfth century, evil demiurge-- what was this, like a splinter of the Cathars?"

"Not unrelated. When it came to that kind of dualism, we merely decided to side with the physical world."

"By running straight to the devil."

"Eh. No half measures."

"I'm just kinda surprised it got traction in that environment."

"Mostly on the-- margins, you would say? We had solidified the clerical structure some time before, modeled on the Catholic church. Camouflage, yes? But it was with the obvious corruption of the fourteenth century that we started to gain momentum. Acolytes. A whisper network of proselytization."

"That is neat. Like, what, a Dark Reformation kind of thing?"

"...That is, perhaps, somewhat reductive. But not inaccurate."

"Oh that is so cool. It's like finding a whole new life form in the Marianas Trench. No, I can see a kind of sense to it. Get far enough away from Rome, look as close as you can to the actual Church, you might get away with it."

"They did burn us. Your people did do that."

"I am sure that they did," she said, with a certain blithe amicability. "Burnt a lot of Cathars, too, makes sense. Sir-- Father-- I'm sorry. What is the title?"

"Cardinal."

A blink, barely perceptible. "Cardinal, then. Your Eminence, if you want me to stand here and apologize for every atrocity the Church committed, we're gonna be here all night, and it'll get boring quick. And, forgive me, at what point have I attached a moral judgment over your faith?"

He spread his hands, smiling a little. "Very well, I concede the point. You can understand if I am somewhat-- defensive."

"Yeah, of course." She grinned, mostly to herself. "And here I am, a good Catholic girl. Everything you rail against."

"Eh. It could be worse. You could be a Baptist."

She let out a laugh at that, an entirely inelegant sound, and Copia felt as if he'd won something.

"Oh. No. No, I couldn't. Too diffuse. A million different opinions going every which way. I'm also not into sola fide--"

"'By faith alone.'"

"Yeah. Not my bag. If it doesn't inspire you to help your fellow human beings and not just focus on your own salvation, it's probably bullshit." Finally she put the cigarette she'd been fidgeting with into her mouth. "Man. Cathars and gnostics." The woman brought out a burnished zippo and flipped the lid, a faintly musical sound. She didn't light her cigarette, but shot him a sidelong look, eyes alight. "Sounds more like heresy than outright blasphemy."

"Oh, now I'm offended." He was not, in fact, offended. He was fascinated. He wanted to study her under a microscope. "Certainly, that's the first time I've heard that. Maybe I should send you to talk to the-- ehh, how is it? The protestors. What do you call, the evangelicals, yes?"

"They don't like Catholics, either. The veneration of Mary, y'know? Idolatry." Finally she sparked the lighter, her face turning to alabaster in the light of the flame. "We're both going to hell in their lights. Just different neighborhoods." She bent her head to the light. A long drag on the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke upwards. "So no, I don't think going to a concert counts as a sin. There's just some songs I can't sing along to, is all."

Copia leaned back against the wall, arms folded, considering her. "You know that your Church would call this blasphemy. What is it, then, that you think I'm doing, if not spreading the word of Satan?"

A long drag of her cigarette. "Sick tunes, man," she said, around the smoke. Shrugged. "It's fun. And fun is underrated, as a concept."

"Signora, I don't think 'fun' is what brought you here." He leveled her with his mismatched stare, and she dropped her eyes.

"No," she said, studying the cherry on her cigarette. "No, fun would not be enough."

He took a step closer, not quite edging into her personal space. "What, then? What could possibly bring you to deny your programming, when you clearly believe with such conviction?"

The back of her shoulders hit the top of her car, but she tilted her head up at him in challenge. "Call it joy, then." A defiant kind of vulnerability. "That's what I hear in your songs. And that's a rarer thing."

"What a monstrous thing, to deny joy. To yourself, to others. That sounds to me like blasphemy. What abnegation of the self. We are not hurting anyone. I am not hurting anyone. Why not do as you like?"

"'An it harm none, do as thou wilt.'"

"Precisely."

"Isn't that, what, Louÿs by way of Crowley? Nineteenth century. I thought your stuff was older than that."

"That is beside the point and you know it. Answer me."

"Because that's where it falls apart for me! To begin and end with 'do no harm' does not work. You cannot always do exactly as you like, you have an obligation in society! Feed the hungry. 'Do what you want, whatever,' that's too passive. And being passive in the face of oppression is oppression! Come on, man, you must know this. You're too smart not to know this."

"I'm sorry, you want to talk about oppression? With the literal Catholic Church? With the colonialism and the forced conversion and the actual literal Inquisition? Even laying that aside, the harm it's doing now, how can you still stay with it?"

"Because that's not all it is! Not all it could be. Because it can be just, it can be equitable, and it can be used as a tool for liberation. I believe that, I do. And if if I'm in it-- and oh boy you would not believe how much I'm in it-- then I have a moral obligation to try to shape it towards those ends. Because those people--" she flung a hand out, gesturing towards what, he couldn't say, and he took a step back. "Those bullshit assholes that want to strip people of healthcare and gut the social safety net-- they're in my house! And they don't get to fucking win."

"You must see that this is about control. You are too smart not to know this."

The woman slumped back against her car, and took another long drag on her cigarette, before dropping it and crushing it under her boot, an oddly fussy swiveling motion. "I dunno, man. For me it's about service. You just don't fix something by walking away. And anyway I'm committed."

"I think you are tilting at windmills." He watched her, the last tendrils of cigarette smoke from her exhale the same blue-grey of her eyes, letting the silence linger until the smoke cleared entirely. "What is your name?"

She flicked her eyes back up at him, and then away, coming to a decision. "Sophia Turner." She bit her lip. "Sophie."

"Sophie. That's lovely."

"Thank you. And what do I call you? Feels a little weird, saying 'Your Eminence' to a guy whose faith you don't subscribe to."

He tilted his head in the faintest approximation of a bow, biting back a smile. "Copia."

"Well. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." Her accent more pronounced with the formality, a distinctly Southern drawl.

"You say you're committed. How? You don't have to stay anywhere forever."

"Oh. Oh boy. Um." She looked down at her hands, picked at the edge of a painted nail, and then turned to him, watching his mismatched eyes for a long moment. She smiled, a little rueful. "I am taking my vows in a few months." And to his blank look-- "The Maryknoll Sisters of St. Dominic." He blinked, recoiled a little, and she flinched, turning to look down the street, not seeing the rain on the asphalt, the streetlight shining on the fire escape. "I still don't think it's a sin. But it's-- maybe a little harder to square. After that. Wanted to see you while I could."

Her face composed. No-color hair hanging in grey eyes. He wanted to reach out, to brush it away, to see her clear, to make her look at him. A gulf between them, on the narrow sidewalk. Something twisted in his chest, at the waste of it, the thought of a fire like that locked in a cloister. And yet: "I could never fault someone for devotion to their faith. The discipline is admirable. Truly. But I would-- Are you allowed? To fraternize with the enemy?"

"Well. Maybe in the spirit of friendly ecumenical dialogue." She looked up at the streetlights, shoulders tensed. She chewed at her lip. "We are allowed to have friends, you know."

He had to drop his gaze, at that, a sharp inhalation. "Ah." And again: "Ah. Hm." He looked back up at her, at the tense muscle in her jaw, her face still resolutely turned away from him. "I wonder--?"

She darted a quick look at him, not quite daring to look at him full-on, yet, and made a motion for him to continue.

He had to smile, even if it was with a little trepidation. "Do you have another cigarette?"

That rough bark of a laugh again, and yes, it felt like a victory. "Yeah. Yeah, man, sure." She pulled out the cigarette pack and extracted one, holding it out with the slightest self-deprecating hint of ceremony. He took it between his gloved fingers, careful not to touch her. When he put it to his lips she leaned in to light it in a movement that seemed both courtly and instinctual, an ingrained habit. He couldn't quite look at her when she did it, shocked by the casual intimacy of the gesture. The warmth of the flame through his gloves, the first rough hit of smoke at the back of his throat and the head-swimming nicotine rush. An awful taste, and completely satisfying. He closed his eyes at it and drew in deep, amazed all over again at how much tension dissipated on the exhale.

When the initial wave of the nicotine high had passed, the fatigue settled in, and he tilted his head back against the bricks, eyes still closed, too tired to be on guard. "Where are we? I confess, I lost track."

"...Asheville, honey." A pause."D'jeet yet?"

Well, that certainly got him to look at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, that was very pronounced, wasn't it? My apologies. Have you eaten?"

His brain felt like static. It was all the answer she needed. "What I figured. C'mon, I know a spot."

"I should--" He stopped, inexplicably stricken. "We're leaving in the morning. I don't remember where's next. Charleston, perhaps?"

"I'll have you home before bedtime, scout's honor." He hesitated. Gently: "I don't have designs on your virtue, Cardinal."

He was tired, and sore, and his head was starting to hurt somewhere behind his right eye. He could feel the dried sweat on himself, like a film, absolutely revolting.

"Alright," he said.

She led and he followed, falling into step at her left elbow, almost without thought. "This is the South, yes? We won't-- we might attract. Attention."

"Mm. I might would worry about it somewhere wasn't Asheville. Here'd probably be fine."

"That seems to be an awful lot of weight to put on 'probably.'"

"More worried about someone from your show running into us and losing their minds, be honest with you."

"As in, dropping their purse and squealing?" Was he enjoying this? He was.

"Oh you think you're funny. And I did not squeal."

"Heh. It was a little bit of a squeal."

"Ain't gonna argue the point with you."

The nicotine felt wonderful. He grinned up at the streetlight filtering through a magnolia tree, the orange light reflecting on the leaves, the faint citrus scent hanging in the thick air. He couldn't restrain himself. "You are not, I hope, leading me into temptation?"

"Oh, foul! Foul. Get thee behind me."

"Equally terrible, signora."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Copia came to the last quarter inch of his cigarette, pinching off one more drag before dropping it down a storm drain. The smell would linger, but it had been blissful in the moment. "So."

"So."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Barbecue joint, open all night. Just up here, actually. You had barbecue yet?"

"I have not."

"You in for a treat, then."

They rounded the corner, heading into the jaundiced sodium light of a patchy parking lot, under a flickering red neon sign. 'Little Pigs Genuine Pit BBQ.' It seemed somehow ominous, but the set of her shoulders reassured him. Somewhat. She pushed open the door with its small jangling bell to red vinyl booths, formica tabletops, wood paneling. Vinegar and roasting meat.

He could feel the eyes on them as she ordered for them both, in a dialect so thick it was almost incomprehensible to him. He stepped closer to murmur, "Coffee for me, please, signora," while he surveilled the crowd. Not outright hostile, had seen stranger things, maybe, but a collective flicker of curiosity before sliding off of them. That flat and unsympathetic gaze. Her accent helped. His obvious manners did as well. Still, he was on edge.

He stayed on edge until he slid into a booth opposite her with his back to the wall, and even then it only let up slightly, a background hum to go along with the labored air conditioning. The barbecue was very nearly worth it, salt and sweet and vinegar and umami, along with the blunt force animal pleasure at hot food after a long time without. He looked up at her, making an inarticulate noise of shocked delight through the sandwich, and she nodded in eager agreement with her mouth full. Swallowed. "I know, right?"

"You cannot convert me."

"Okay. Wasn't trying."

"If you could, this might do it."

"Welcome to the South. It's got problems, but there are compensations."

"So I see."

They lost themselves in the food for a little while, and Copia, a usually fastidious man, found that it was actually impossible to eat a barbecue sandwich neatly. After a while he gave up trying, grateful for the strange softness of American paper napkins. It made sense, if the food was like this. He eyed her iced tea, wondering about it, if that was also an American custom, or if it only applied to the region.

She caught him looking after half a second, and passed it over with barely an eyeblink of thought, the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, and you've lost me. This is an obscene amount of sugar."

"They do call it 'sweet tea' for a reason."

"Are you sure that this isn't just colored sugar water?"

"Reasonably so. Might be accentual, brings out the depth of flavor, like. Least it isn't corn syrup."

"This is a nightmare dystopia you live in."

"Could be. Try one of them hush puppies, then you get back to me."

"Mm." Then, after following instructions, "I will concede on the food."

"Yeah. There's nowhere and nothing that's bad all the way through."

"Perhaps." He took another sip of her tea, pleased at her sputter of mock-indignation. "This brings me to where it falls apart for me. An omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent God."

"That is the doctrine."

"Why, then, evil? Why suffering?"

"We going with theodicy, then?"

He motioned for her to continue, a little gleeful.

"Which answer would you like, from the, oh, four-five thousand years that this has been a question?" She tossed the rolled-up sleeve of her straw in his general direction, smiling. "Why you coming at me with this shit, man?"

"Ehh. I want to know what you think. You, not your Church."

She nodded, and poked at the ice in her tea with her straw while she gave the question the consideration it was due. Finally: "I like Simone Weil for this. You read any Simone Weil?"

"Let us say that I haven't."

"Okay." The vinyl booth squeaked as she leaned back. "This isn't necessarily unique to her, it's got a lot of similarities with-- a Jewish creation story, yeah? But creation is where God withdrew. If God is everything, for creation to exist, there has to be places where God is not. If there's places that God is not, then almost by definition they are not, inherently, holy. It's apophatic, unknowable, like John of the Cross or Kierkegaard or what have you-- I'm getting into the weeds here. Evil is the form which God's mercy takes in the world. Affliction-- she's got a specific term for this, she's talking about spiritual affliction more than physical affliction-- doesn't create human misery, so much as reveals it. And it drives us towards God."

"That sounds, if you will pardon me, fucking horrific. The act of a sadist."

"I don't know that I'm explaining this well. We are created matter, and with affliction we are consumed by God. In the Incarnation, God suffers affliction, is made matter, and consumed by us. It's reciprocal. And if you can go through affliction and still love, and recognize your fellow human being as someone else who has suffered like you, then your duty is to help."

"No, still terrible."

"How do your people explain it, then?"

"By not having an omnipotent deity, to start."

"...I walked right into that one. I surely did. Evil demiurge, again?"

"All about control," he replied, amiable.

"Fair enough. I'm not a Jesuit, I could maybe get at this better if I was. My whole thing with it is, there's a difference between affliction-- which is personal-- and, say, generalized oppression, right? The personal makes you more empathetic with the collective."

"I can see the logic there, yes. I do not know if I agree, but I can see it. But do you truly need to suffer to sympathize with another's suffering?"

She turned her glass around in her hands, focusing hard on the ridged plastic edges. "I'unno. Some things you don't understand till you've been through them. Difference between empathy and sympathy, I guess."

"This is, what. You say, 'the personal is political?'"

She cracked a grin at that. "Oh, you done a lot of reading on second-wave feminism, then?"

"Condescending and uncalled for," he said, wagging a finger at her, mock-stern.

She held up a hand. "Fair point, apologies."

"Te absolvo."

"Thank you." She turned her glass in her hands, trailing through the condensation with a chipped fingernail. "My point being. For me. Affliction leads to empathy, and empathy leads you to act. What's the quote. 'Misery as a collective fact expresses itself as an injustice that cries to the heavens.' That's Oscar Romero, I think? Yeah. Oscar Romero. Anyway the thing he gets at-- Saint Oscar Romero, excuse me, did a lot of stuff in El Salvador in the the seventies, but the idea being: turning people into commodities for economic oppression, that's sin. The idolatry of wealth, of 'national security systems,' that's sin. Divine love should be mediated through justice. Gloria dei vivens homo--"

"'The glory of God is the living person.'"

"Yeah, exactly. Romero was on some-- gloria dei vivens pauper, which I think is probably about right."

"'The glory of God is in the poor.' Hm. And how well did that work out for him?"

"Well. They shot the guy during Mass in nineteen eighty."

"A martyr's death. Isn't that what your people aspire to?"

"Not me, man. I wanna live. But yes, he did lean in hard after his friend was killed. That was an inciting incident. I won't deny it."

"So, what, it is acceptable for one death, if it spurs on 'the greater good?'" He made air quotes at her, and she frowned.

"Not gonna debate the very concept of martyrdom with you, but I'm gonna say no, of course not. But like. Me personally? Rather that than have it go to waste. Some right wing fascist chucklefuck takes me out, I'd sure hope my people'd leverage it for all it's worth."

He sat back and tipped his coffee at her. "Bleak."

"Maybe. We each owe a death. And I mean, despite the guy being beatified, he isn't even necessarily the main dude in Latin America. None of these are exactly new concepts, you understand. But as a modern movement, really, it starts in nineteen sixty-eight, with the Medellín conference in Colombia, kind of as a response to Vatican Two, and from there--" she stopped herself, and raised her glass of tea at him in mock-salute. "Minutiae. The point, and I think I'm cribbing from Ernesto Cardenal here, is that while God is love, love can only exist in accordance with equality and justice."

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in total skepticism. "I can only say that this has been-- the opposite of my experience. To put it in the most, eh, diplomatic terms possible."

"The Church has done horrible, fucked up things. Continues to do horrible fucked up things. In a space that big, though, there are always going to be practices that are inherently contradictory. This one is mine. And I have the benefit of being fucking right."

"You do see, don't you, how that-- attitude? Mentality, yes? Is dangerous. Even you! Even if I happen to think that you're right. Which I actually do. The benefit of Satanism, I find, is that we do have room for differences. It is, you would say, I think, built in? There is no wrong way to approach. You find your own way. Nobody will lead you, nobody will control you."

"And how far has that kind of rugged individualism progressed the reduction of human suffering?" she snapped.

"At least it doesn't perpetuate it!" he shot back.

They glared at each other over the formica, not quite snarling, equally frustrated.

The diner had gone quiet. Blank suntanned faces, the lone clink of a spoon in a coffee cup, the somehow awful bubbling of the deep fryer. A lot of people, for one in the morning, he thought. They looked at each other in mutual alarm for one tensed breath, and went for their wallets at the same time.

"No," he said, firm, fishing past Euros for American dollars. "You are taking a vow of poverty and I am an actual rockstar." He shot a stern glance at her opened mouth and felt a stab of immense satisfaction when she shut it, apparently- miraculously, even- chastised. He threw down enough to cover the bill and the tip and reached to drag her out, stopping short of actually touching her elbow at the last moment. "Come."

She went.

They escaped with the perversely jaunty ring of the bell over the door into the thick warmth of the night, and she brayed a laugh again, not quite on the edge of hysterics.

"Go, go, this could get ugly." But he was laughing, too. Madness. He'd seen these exact sort of people outside of a venue, enraged, faces red, carrying hateful picket signs. One small woman and one man frankly built like a noodle could be in real danger. Still, their laughter echoed down the gravel-lined drive they had ducked into, their boots crunching in a staccato rhythm in the stones. This was far too much adrenaline for one night, he thought.

While they slowed to a walk, he watched the fireflies darting upwards in the undergrowth, the ascending dashes of yellow-green light seeming fantastical to him, otherworldly. You heard of great masses of them, in America, but in such quantity it was like seeing a fairytale with your own eyes. They thinned out as the landscape started to shift, from residential suburbs to side streets.

"This was-- good. It was good, to get out. To talk. A lot of this, it is, ehh." He waved a hand in the general direction they were moving, to the venue, the concert, the tour. "Movement. Instinct. There is, by definition, no quiet. And that is fantastic, I enjoy it, I love what I do, I am fortunate in that. But it is not often that I get to speak about these things." The thud of their boots, and the high monotonous drone of a cicada somewhere off in the distance, blending with the faraway hiss of a car on the damp streets. "Thank you," he said, soft. "For this."

Her eyes forward, mouth closed tight. It took her a few steps before she spoke. "You are very welcome." She cleared her throat. "And I appreciate the outside perspective."

"Interesting thing, is it not? Having a vocation."

"Being called. Yes."

"What I do not understand-- and I do not wish to, as you said, litigate the very idea of martyrdom, of course--"

"Of course. That's above my pay grade anyhow."

"But the denial inherent in your practice. The self-denial. It seems to me a, hm. Turning away from joy. You say your God is love, very well. This is removed from my experience with Christians, but I do understand that it should be the intent. To claim that divinity is love and then to willingly cut yourself off from the experience of love seems to me contradictory. Not merely the physical, although that alone seems hideous. Some people of course are not interested, but this cannot be true of all your monsastics, your clergy, your unmarried."

"This is also an old question."

"You cannot tell me it is not vital. Few people are physically martyred, and I can see the value there, even if I think it grotesque. But this seems to me a martyrdom, and willing. And pointless. Everyone should be loved, yes? Is that not your very doctrine?"

"It is, but there's different kinds of love--"

"You are dissembling. Do me the courtesy, Miss Turner, of your honesty."

Copia heard her sharp intake of breath. He had stung her, and he very nearly regretted it.

"Discourtesy wasn't my aim, Cardinal. It's an old question, and people struggle. It's maybe the struggle, for most people, the stumbling block. How can I answer you? It's kind of a personal question, y'know?"

"I can see how it would be. I do not wish to intrude, but come now. What, you offer your suffering up to God? What kind of God would ask you to give up love in the very name of love? It's monstrous!"

"The standard answer is that one becomes the bride of Christ. My thinking is, in turning away from the singular, you're better able to focus on the collective. To focus, to pay attention. And attention in its highest form is prayer."

"You deny yourself. In denial, you turn away knowledge. You said this yourself, how can you understand suffering if you have not suffered? You should know joy, or else how can you understand joy? You should be free to do that, to be in the world, and the world is here! You are here, and while you are here you should be here fully. You should allow yourself to be loved!"

He had actually raised his voice, and his words hung in the thick air, almost suspended with the humidity. He couldn't take it back, and he fell silent, mortified. They had fallen to a stop.

"It's discipline," she said, helpless. She couldn't look at him, and he had to look away at her expression.

"In any case." He cleared his throat, and resumed walking. "Discipline I understand. There is discipline in my practice, you know."

"I can see that. Dedication, certainly. Seems like the whole world's against you. The dominant social climate is not accommodating to being that outspoken about, well, anything to do with sincere belief, really, but especially in your case."

"No. And in this situation, it is easy to-- tend to isolate. To stay in one's own community. Safer. Especially in a hostile environment. Anger is easy, you would say."

"Don't I know it. You do have to live in the world. I think you and I both have cause to be angry. Hell, we're probably angry at a lot of the same things. Coming at it from opposite directions, is all."

"The hypocrisy is galling," he agreed. "If I am a monster in the eyes of these people, let me be an honest monster. They feed their children poison and tell them it is virtue, to hate, to fear, I do not--" he cut himself off, blew out a laugh. "We are angry about the same things. The work is the same. We are both called to liberate, yes?"

"Yeah, I would allow that's fairly definitional."

"Here, you take that side, I will take this one, and we will meet in the middle and cast off all oppression," he said, grandly, sweeping out an arm as if he were back on stage. He echoed her smile on pure reflex.

"And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

"Julian of Norwich. An anchoress." Something in the concept, and in the simultaneous hope and resignation in her face, pierced his heart all the way through. She was remote, and lost to him, a marble statue of a saint. The nature of his ministry was to encourage pleasure, of mind and of body, and he did want to break her out of the cell she'd walled herself off into. Perhaps merely for his own satisfaction, when freedom was the whole of his law. Even her freedom to walk into her own cage. "Not so much to be consoled as to console," he said, halfway to himself, watching her.

"Francis of Assisi. But I think you knew that."

"I did."

"You are something else, aren't you?" She looked at him, pleased and reassessing. He felt seen, almost entire.

It was not an entirely comfortable feeling. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps."

He recognized, now, the alleyway they had walked down, the venue shuttered for the night. The only lights inside were deep in the back, distant. Likely everything had been packed away, or near enough. Likely the ghouls were wondering where he was. And she was small, and faith alone would not protect her.

It was too much for him. "It is very late. And I do not know if-- do you have a place to stay? This is not, I think, your home."

"I don't and it's not." She waved him off. "Was planning on just sleeping in the car. The seats fold down, I got a pillow, it's fine."

"I don't like it."

"Ain't about what you like." She dropped her head. "I apologize, that was rude."

"No, it is only--." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I do have a hotel room."

"No." It seemed reflexive. But he could see the split second flash of her face cracking open with sheer want. Watched her snatch her composure together just as quick, even as the afterimage lingered in his brain like the echo of a lightning strike. "No, I-- I do not think that would be a good idea."

"There is a couch, even. I could take the couch."

"Copia." Oh, and it was costing her. Painful to watch. That wretched self denial. "Please." A brittle little laugh, accent creeping back in as she forced herself to sound brighter. "I seen you bounce around that stage, you gonna need a mattress."

"Nothing you do not wish, Miss Turner. Never that," he said, as gently as he could. A breath of silence strung out in the thick air, the space of a heartbeat. "Anyways." He considered his position, took a breath, and made the leap. "It would be good to-- I would like to continue this argument. You have some time, no? Before you are-- fully committed. Come to Charleston. My guest. In the spirit of, eh, ecumenical dialogue."

That got a smile out of her. "I'll think about it."

"Please. Do."

"I will. I will think about it."

"In that case." He straightened his spine by three degrees, took the smallest step forward, and picked up her hand in both of his. Even though the gloves it made something catch behind his sternum, the stutter of some cog in engineering. He bowed over it as deeply as he ever had on stage, registered the barest breath of the smell of her, leather and nicotine and something like amber, a clean animal scent. It was only an instant, and he straightened with some regret. "I have enjoyed your company, Sophie."

"I--. Yes. Yeah. Me too." She squeezed his hand, once. "Very much. Be well, Cardinal." And then she slipped away.

He watched her carefully measured walk to her car, head held up with the dignity of the condemned. She opened her door and looked back for the space of one brief inhalation. Orpheus, he thought, nonsensically. He stared at her taillights, the red glow like eyes, the dragon's breath curl of exhaust, long after it had faded into the wide restless night.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the ghouls dragged him back inside.

[thehollowwriter]

RWarnings: Injury, swearing, probably full of mistakes. Word count: 5k+

Key: Regular text is for the present. Italics is for flashbacks, bold is for journal entries

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Lamentations Pt 5

There is a term, more of a feeling, really, that humans use called "walking on air." An elated, fluffy feeling of delight.

I can't "walk" since I don't have legs, but that's a perfect way to describe how I felt when Morrigan kissed me that night. When he wrapped his arms around me and looked at me like I was the only thing that ever mattered to him.

I think about that moment a lot, when dusk settles into night and life slows down for a short moment. I think about how different things were all those years ago, how different I was.

Silas stopped writing and stared at the page for a long, long time. He found himself back in that dim, dingy shop, gazing into those bright, loving eyes. Those eyes... so intelligent, yet so innocent at the same time.

What had he done to deserve Morrigan, really? What could he have possibly done, in his life filled with death, to be blessed with such a loving man?

Silas pressed his pen against the paper again so hard he nearly broke the tip.

I'm... I'm not going to sit here and tell myself I'm a good person. I'm not. I have killed and eaten hundreds of my own kind in my lifetime, and I still do so today.

I have torn them apart and swallowed every piece until there is nothing but bone to indicate their existence. I've lied, cheated, and stolen whatever I possibly could to keep myself alive.

I am a murderer. A cannibal. A monster.

What is the worst Morrigan has done? Land some kids in the hospital as a teenager and nearly get expelled? Almost kill someone? Almost.

Morrigan, for his smugness and cockiness and aggression, for all his violence and rage, is not an evil person. He is not perfect, but he's not a monster.

I cannot truthfully say that Morrigan's parents' and the other citizens of Atlantica's fear and distrust of me is wrong. I cannot say they are being too quick to judge, that they just haven't taken the time to get to know me.

I fit the Abyssal merfolk stereotype like a glove. I'm the horror story spread when the lights go out brought to life.

I told this to Morrigan that night, after my grandfather had taken his medicine and gone to bed. I suppose you could call it a warning, a flashing sign telling him to leave.

He simply smiled me, sharp teeth glinting and eyes burning with passion and desire, and shrugged.

"I know," He said. "I'm not changing my mind. I love you."

It was stupid. Insane, even. And yet Morrigan spoke as if he were telling me the earth revolved around the sun. Like it was an unshakable fact, something that cannot be changed.

Oh... oh, how I love him.

Morrigan was surprised when Silaa began pulling him upstairs. He had never been on the second floor. For all their time together, he had been limited only to Silas' little shop.

Silas began calling for his grandfather, and the dopey grin that had been affixed to Morrigan's face was briefly replaced with a confused expression, but he schooled it quickly.

"Well, I've horribly misread the situation." He murmured so Silas couldn't hear, perking up when Silas' grandfather swam in with a yawn.

"Mm, Silas, is it time for that awful drink alr-" He stopped short when he caught sight of Morrigan, surpised. "Well, if it isn't our favourite city boy. I'm surprised Silas brought you up here."

He squinted at them, then gasped.

"Are those-"

"Yes," Said Silas, reaching to grab Morrigan's hand. "We are... together now."

Morrigan grinned and clasped their hands together. "I hope you don't mind me stealing your grandson, Mister Emrys, sir."

The old mer laughed and drifted over to them to take Morrigan's free hand in his own. "Why, of course not. You're perfect for Silas, my boy. You should stay the night with us. We can celebrate."

Morrigan's grin widened. "I'd like that, sir."

It was a lovely evening. Morrigan and my grandfather, Emrys, got along well. It made me happy to see them banter with each other.

My grandfather retired to bed after taking his home brewed medicine, bidding us goodnight and leaving us to our own devices.

There was nowhere for Morrigan to stay. No guest room, no lounge. There was the kitchen, my bedroom, and my grandfather's bedroom.

Morrigan didn't mind. In fact, he said he'd be happy to share with me with that grin of his. I considered nipping him for that, but I don't think he was trying to be funny.

It was nice, actually. Sitting together, tails intertwined, talking through the night. Morrigan held me tightly, as if I would drift away from him.

He was very affectionate, as I soon came to learn. Kisses, holding me, complimenting me, and so on. He always asked first, and he always seemed so gleeful every time.

I never expected to enjoy physical affection, but it seemed Morrigan was always the exception. I often found myself melting into his kisses and holding his hand tightly, feeling warm and safe.

Our new relationship altered our routine once again. Now, Morrigan visited as much as he could after his classes, greeting me with a kiss and hugging me gently when our games finished.

Then we would sit close together, our tails curled around each other, and just... talk. We often got distracted, though, finding ourselves kissing roughly and... well, perhaps I should write that down somewhere else.

I was delighted that he came over more. Morrigan's visits were the highlight of my week, after all. There was just one issue I unknowingly stumbled into.

Morrigan knew me well by the time we began dating. Almost too well. He knew my personality, my tics, my likes and dislikes, and so on. But even with our games and our long talks, there are things you miss when you only meet once a week.

I always made sure I was feeling or at least appearing to feel my best when Morrigan came round, even if hunger clawed at my insides and the pain that shot through my body made me feel as if I were being branded with an iron.

I wanted to have fun, and I didn't want Morrigan to worry.

I think I was also too cocky. I put too much faith in my own abilities, even though my health was probably the worst it had ever been.

This overconfidence came back to bite me when Morrigan and I got into a playful tussle one day and... well.... I broke a rib.

It wasn't Morrigan's fault, no. I could never blame him for that. It was mine. I had perfected the art of making myself seem stronger, bigger, or more threatening than I actually was for the sake of my own survival.

My magic was strong, yes, but it wasn't something I used often. It was precious, a resource only used for emergencies, even before I learned what blot was.

Silas winced at the word, then continued writing.

I was so convincing, it seemed, that I overestimated myself far more than Morrigan did.

A sickening crack wiped the smile from Morrigan's face, and he instantly released his pinhold on Silas. He carefully moved and turned Silas over, his eyes wide with horror and concern.

"Oh shit, oh shit, shit shit shit, Silas, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- oh, Sea Witch, how bad is it?"

"Ngh..." Silas blinked up at the rippling kelp above them, wincing at the mind numbing pain that exploded somewhere around his ribs. "I'm fine. Just a little... ngh, sore..."

Morrigan shook his head wildly, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Darling, no, I heard something break o-or fracture when I pinned you, oh no, what did I do to you-"

Darling. Morrigan said, "darling." Not Silas. Darling.

Silas didn't know why, but that made him incredibly happy, even though the situation didn't really call for such a feeling.

Morrigan, still alarmed, carefully hoisted Silas into his arms. "We need to get you to a- a doctor or a hospital or something-"

Silas' hand shot up to grip Morrigan's wrist tightly.

"No doctors." He hissed, struggling to take in a breath.

"Silas, your rib is broken-"

"And my grandfather will help me treat it. I've dealt with worse. Take me inside."

Morrigan bit back a protest and obeyed, swimming inside and placing Silas down on his bed.

"Just call my grandfather, please," Silas mumbled, wincing.

Morrigan didn't answer at first. He stared at Silas for a moment, tapping his claws together, and swallowed.

"I really think you should go to the hospital."

"No hospitals."

"Silas, you could end up with a pierced lung!" Morrigan snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I never said anything because you seemed fine, and I didn't want to pry into something so personal, but... even without a broken rib, which I will repeat is very bad, you and Emrys should go to the hospital. Should have gone, actually. Long ago."

Silas laughed, taking in a sharp breath at the pain. "Hah, for what?"

Morrigan raked his left hand through his hair and clenched his right one into a fist. "Both of you are skin and bones, literally! I can see your ribs, Silas! That's not normal! Have you been eating anything at all?"

Silas let out a soft sigh. "I... I have a few scraps a day. Eating anything more... makes me throw up. Grandfather as well."

"That's even worse! You need to go to the hospital, both of, you or something-"

"I said no hospitals." Silas growled.

"Why not?"

"Morrigan, please. ...I... I can't. You think a doctor would want to help us?"

I suppose you could call a distrust of doctors a family tradition in a way. Not a single one of us trusted medical professionals, not because we thought they didn't know anything, but because we feared what they could do when given access to us at our most vulnerable.

I trust Morrigan with my life, however. I trust he will protect us and ensure nothing happens while we are in such a strange place.

The first obstacle was convincing my grandfather to go, too. He did not have the same amount of faith in Morrigan as I did. His history ran deeper than mine, after all.

My grandfather's grandmother was a child when our family was forcefully driven out of the Coral Sea and into the Abyss. The horror stories of before and after were passed down to him, and then he passed them unto my parents and to me.

Unlike me or my parents, my grandfather had a clear memory of my great great-grandmother's face when she told him of her experiences. He, young and impressionable, could see the fear glistening in her eyes, the way she seemed to be taken back to those moments, reliving the terror all over again.

There is a little saying, a proverb, she passed down to us. It was short, but it said all it needed to.

"They will hate you with a veil kindness. They will smile at you and fill your veins with poison."

And really, what else would such a saying do other than strike fear into your heart?

My grandfather was horrified at the very idea of going into Atlantica, never mind the hospital. It was the closest thing the two of us had ever had to a fight.

I told him Morrigan would protect us, and if he were to fail, I would make sure we got out and home safe. He needed to get better, or else he wouldn't last the rest of the season.

My grandfather eventually agreed, saying that it was only because he wanted me to recover safely, and then we began our trip to the city.

This experience was well over thirty years ago. My recollection of most of the events is fuzzy, but the little details aren't too important anyway.

What is important is the fact that we ended up staying in that hospital for a very long time, as there was far more wrong with us than even Morrigan could have guessed.

It was a very distressing experience. I was surrounded by doctors and nurses taking my temperature, asking me invasive questions, poking and prodding at me, shining lights into my eyes, and pricking me for blood.

Morrigan had to hold me back from breaking someone's face when they wanted to draw my blood for testing, telling me it was going to be okay and to let them do their thing.

I hated it. I hated it so much. It was a terrifying experience, and it is not often I feel genuine terror. But they... they just carried on, like it was your average weekday. Cold. Uncaring.

It didn't help that I barely understood half of what they said. Medical jargon. Utter nonsense.

Morrigan's doctor, the one he told me he trusted, did her best to make sure I was comfortable. She noticed I was confused and started slowly explaining what they were doing to me.

I don't know if she was genuinely trying to help or talking down to me, but either way, it did help. I felt better understanding what was happening to me.

There was... so much wrong with me. The doctors were surprised I hadn't died of malnutrition, but concluded my magic had something to do with my survival

I could never figure out why I kept throwing up food if I tried to fix my own starvation. It made me angry that I finally had a steady stream of food but couldn't actually eat much of it.

As it turns out, it is because of something called Refeeding Syndrome. Medical complications caused by aggressive nutritional rehabilitation. That is, too much nutrition at once after a prolonged period of starvation.

The best way to treat our malnutrition was by feeding tubes. Slowly giving us the nutrients we were lacking in a controlled environment. Morrigan had to hold me back again, as the idea of these strangers sticking a tube into me and pumping my body full of fluids terrified me.

I can't remember exactly how long we were in that hospital, but I do remember my recovery was slow and painful. Morrigan stayed by my side the entire time, making sure I was alright and using his magic to block my own when it lashed out when I caught sight of a needle.

There was an issue when we realised that neither I nor my grandfather had any form of identification. No ID, no birth certificates, nothing. Just our names, and we had no last name we could recall.

I distinctly remember a nurse muttering, "This is what happens when you leave them to breed down there." Morrigan shot her a look so dark it seemed to make the lights flicker, and she shut her mouth.

When we were healthy enough to move around and eat solid foods again, we had to do physical therapy. It was something that irritated me, even if I was glad to no longer be confined to a bed.

Being led around and told what to do by a stranger like I was a child made me feel the urge to throttle someone. Morrigan... Morrigan calmed me down, though. He was good at that. Rubbing my hand with his thumb and whispering words of comfort to me.

The worst was the psychiatrists. Morrigan couldn't stay with me during those little sessions, and I was trapped alone with a bored shrink who quite clearly didn't want me there.

It was quite obvious how they felt. I was taking up what could have been a free slot. I was taking time away from city merfolk.

They, the psychiatrists and the doctors, and the nurses, thought I was stupid. I know they did. It was soaked into their tones, bleeding out from behind plastic smiles.

Staying there was a terrible experience. I hated it, even if Morrigan's doctor tried her best to make things better. However... I don't regret it.

I still clearly remember looking into the mirror in the hospital bathroom one day and seeing the true colour of my skin for the first time.

It took me by surprise. My whole life, I had been a dull lilac-grey. But in that bathroom, I saw I was a deep flourishing purple. I spent ages tracing my skin and picking at my scales, entranced.

"You look amazing," Morrigan said to me, wrapping his arms around me. "Big I'm just glad you're healing."

My grandfather, who always appeared to be a dull brown-ish hue, was sunset orange. It left the two of us in awe, taking in the vibrant colours indicative of healthy skin.

It's strange how you sometimes only realise the extent of your problems after you've healed or gotten away from them.

When we were finally discharged, I had never felt so alive. My ribs no longer showed, my body no longer screamed with constant pain, and my insides no longer felt like they were being torn apart.

This sudden strength, this sudden joy and energy, made me realise just how much pain I was always in. How sick I was. I was one mishap away from a death that had nothing to do with starvation or being eaten, and I didn't even know it.

I was, unfortunately, instructed to "take it easy" for a few weeks until I could get back to hunting.

I couldn't do that. I had work to do, bills to pay. Morrigan could cover medical costs, but he couldn't also pay for my house and my staff's wages. I couldn't risk so much as a cent.

"It'll be okay, Si." Morrigan said to me with that warm smile of his. "You can still tell your party what to do. You just can't join them."

Morrigan was always optimistic.

My full recovery was much quicker than expected, but still very boring and nerve-wracking. Spending all my time inside, flitting about the shop, or lying on my stone slab of a bed, staring at the ceiling, was mind-numbing.

My grandfather was not so lucky. He still spent much of his time sleeping even though he was healthier now. His health always was much worse off than mine.

"We think Emrys was exposed to an oil spill," said Morrigan's doctor, whose name I can't remember. "His magic cleared most of it, but it still caused erosion on his fins and enlarged his liver."

It didn't help that he was nearing eighty. Merfolk can live much longer than that, but when your body has taken so much damage, that lifespan is cut short.

I looked after him the best I could. Helping him eat, giving him his prescribed medicine, thar sort off thing.

It was pretty miserable. The only thing that made it bearable was the music from the radio and Morrigan's visits.

He brought sweets for us. Can you believe it? Candies. Chocolate. Fron the surface.

"A friend from land sent it down," Morrigan said with a grin, unwrapping a bar and handing it to Silas. "A congratulations and a get well soon mixed together. Don't worry, the doctors said it's okay."

Silas blinked at him questioningly, and Morrigan quickly clarified.

"Oh, right. I told a few friends I'm officially taken... and that my new boyfriend was unfortunately in hospital. They sent this stuff down as good wishes."

Silas hummed, an amused smile crossing onto his face, and took a tiny bite out of the small piece of chocolate he broke off the slab. It was delicious.

Silas' grandfather politely declined Morrigan's offering of chocolate, telling the two to enjoy it and that he was going to lie down for a while.

Silas stared at the chocolate in his hand, and his eyes suddenly felt very wet.

"I don't... I don't think he's going to be with us for much longer." He said softly. Morrigan pulled him into a tight hug, and Silas tried his hardest not to cry.

It's nice to be cared for. Morrigan visited every second day to make sure we were alright. It was annoying to me that he didn't let me fight him, but I understood his reasoning.

When I was finally cleared to hunt again, the first thing I did was challenge Morrigan to a fight. I won, and I'm partially sure be let me, but I don't mind.

He looked ethereal, laughing in delight, covered in bruises and bitemarks, with his hair splayed out on the sand. Happy. Happy I was finally healthy.

This whole experience brought on a new issue. Morrigan had not yet told his parents we were dating at the time. I didn't care whether he told them or not, as it wasn't their business, but it was strange to see him stress over it so much.

I told him if they had a problem, then they weren't worth his time, and he just laughed. It sounded hollow.

He couldn't keep us secret forever, of course, especially since he took time off to stay with me while I was in the hospital.

He eventually told them a few months after I began hunting again. The day he did, he came storming into my shop, not even bothering with our game.

Silas perked up at Morrigan's presence, frowning when he saw the state he was in.

Morrigan was breathing hard, fists clenching and unclenching angrily. There was a raging fire, a maliciousness sparking in his magic that made Silas' skin prickle in all the best ways.

"What happened?" Silas didn't ask out loud, but his questioning and concerned look said all it needed to.

Morrigan looked at him, and his aquamarine eyes burned.

"You know what she said?" He asked, his voice set to a whisper, almost trembling. "She fucking said 'no'. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'm not asking for her permission or- or approval. And dad, Seven damn it, shaking his head like I've broken some fucking rule-"

Morrigan was on the verge of hyperventilating and Silas drifted over to wrap his arms arms around him and press his face into the crook of his neck.

Morrigan stiffened in surpise, then relaxed. He rested his chin on Silas' head and sighed.

"Sorry, darling. They're- my parents- not happy. But I'm not breaking it off so they want to meet you. Next week."

I was never unaware of meeting the family as a custom. It is a custom we even have in the abyss, if you're lucky to find a partner.

However, something that still perplexes me today about both Coral Sea and apparently land culture is the idea that you have to consider your partners family your own, and you must get along at all costs. If you dislike them, you smile and tolerate it.

Perhaps I don't understand it because keeping up appearances and faking getting along was a waste of energy in the abyss. If you didn't like a family member's partner, you could say so and carry on.

That's why I always felt so confused whenever Morrigan complained about his sister-in-law, muttering about how she got on his nerves with her smart alek quips and obnoxious way of talking.

"Then tell her that." I told him, and he looked at me like I was insane.

"I can't say that! She's my sister!'

"She's your sister's wife, not your sister. She doesn't need a free pass."

I think my way of thinking was part of the reason he avoided telling his parents about us for so long. I'm not offended, though. I never was.

There is... a trope in movies and TV I've come to notice. The overbearing in-laws. It's very strange to me, parents who are so obsessive and controlling over their adult children and, by extension, their children's partner.

I found it stupid and unealistic at the time. Who would behave like that? Who would try to take control of a wedding or decide their word is law in someone else's marriage?

Well, the answer to that would be Morrigan's parents.

They don't like me and I don't like them. They are not my parents or my family, not matter how much they insist they are.

I disliked them before I even met them. The snippets of how they treated Morrigan like their trophy I caught onto, the way they seemed to unashamedly hate me already, that was telling enough for me to dislike them.

I was unsure about meeting Morrigan's parents at first. They refused to come to Midway, instead insisting I come to them.

"I'll keep my exposure to the abyss limited to just the butcher, thank you," Morrigan relayed to Silas in a high-pitched voice, mocking his mother. "At least then we'll have a lesser chance of being infected with something."

Infected. Infected, she had said, in a snobbish upper-class accent, at least according to Morrigan. As if I were diseased.

Still, it was best to bite the bullet and just go see them. We made the trip there the next week, leaving at sunset to travel to a suburb near the heart of Atlantica.

I felt uncomfortable the entire trip there. The streets were busy even at night, bustling and noisy, lit with all too bright lights from advertisements and streetlights.

We finally arrived at a quaint house constructed from stone and metal. It was big, at least to me, and quite fancy.

"Hey, mother, father," Morrigan called out, unlocking and opening the front door. "We're here."

"Hello, Morrigan," came an aged voice, feminine and shrill. "And... you."

A small, thin woman with saggy skin and pursed lips stared at Silas with turquoise eyes as cold as ice. Her hair was silvery white, and her skin and scales were pink.

Silas silently stared back until her resolve wavered, and her gaze turned elsewhere, and she gestured for them to come inside.

"They're here, then?" Came a louder, deeper voice. Morrigan's father blinked at them with a pair of bright gold eyes. He was also thin, his skin the same deep green as Morrigan, but it didn't suit him. It was ill-fitting.

"Mother, father," Morrigan said slowly, sounding much quieter than usual. "This is Silas. Silas, this is Cyrus and Kiran, my parents."

Cyrus and Kiran stared at Silas, picking him apart, narrowing their eyes at every scar, every hole in his fins, every little imperfection.

Silas stared back. They were thin but not too thin. They were unnmarred, perfectly comfortable. Well-fed.

Weak. Spoiled. Prey.

Kiran cleared his throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Silas." He said, like a liar. "I hope our Morrigan isn't too much for you."

Silas didn't answer, and an awkward silence fell.

"Well," Cyrus said suddenly. "I suppose we should thank you for your services these past few years. Buying from you has been a big help financially."

Silas nodded his head and continued to gaze at them. Morrigan gently elbowed his side, and he blinked.

"Ah- it's... no issue."

The silence descended again, and they all floated there, staring at each other. Morrigan's parents were quite clearly uncomfortable with Silas there, neither coming near him nor looking him in the eyes.

"I must ask," Cyrus said after a while, her icy eyes glimmering. "Why are you dating Morrigan? I didn't think someone like him would pique the interest of... someone like you."

She tried to phrase it so politely. As if it were a mere difference in culture. But Silas knew what she meant.

"Because I love him," Silas rumbled. "That's reason enough, I'm sure."

"W-Well yes, but surely there are other factors-"

"No."

Cyrus looked taken aback by Silas' curt response, exchanging an aghast look with her husband.

"T-That's good, I suppose. Make yourselves comfortable, I'm making a prawn salad for a light meal. Kiran, you can get the wine out, and Keres, stop lurking over there and say hi to your brother."

Another mer, pink with dark blue scales and fins, swam into the living room with a huff. His hair was white with dark blue highlights, and his gold eyes glistened in annoyance.

Morrigan started, looking between this new mer and his parents.

"What's he doing here?"

Keres pulled his lips into an exaggerated pout. "Come on, Morrigan, that's no way to greet your little brother." He said, his voice dripping with manufactured sadness. "I'm just here for a visit to our loving parents. And to meet the lucky guy."

He waved at Silas and grinned. "Hi there. Keres Clearcove. Second oldest of the our clutch. Nice to meet you."

Silas blinked at him, unsure of how to answer, and Cyrus laughed. "Oh we'll let you three chat for a bit." She said, grabbing Kiran and making a swift exit.

"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit today." Morrigan hissed at Keres. "You've said hello, now go away."

Keres raised his hands, looking offended. "Sorry, Your Highness. Forgive me for forgetting my place. Just the lowly brother of special great mage Morrigan."

"That's not what I meant-"

"I'm sure it wasn't." Keres smiled. "Let's not fight in front of your man. Though I doubt it'll affect him much, considering his... background."

Morrigan drew his lips back threateningly, and Silas gently touched his arm. "Calm down. I'm sure Keres knows better than to run his mouth."

Silas stared at the mer in question until he swallowed and nodded his head. "Y-Yeah, of course! I'm not looking for trouble. In fact, I'm here to tell mother and father about a new client of mine."

"Client?" Silas glanced at Morrigan.

"He's a lawyer." Morrigan muttered.

"Indeed I am." Keres said proudly. "While Morrigan here babysits magic wielding brats all day, I consistently work with very high calibre and high paying clients to buy nice things for my children. I recently scored a CEO. Can you believe it?"

Morrigan's eye twitched, and Silas decided against answering.

"Tough crowd. Well, I'll be on my way to hide in my room while you-" Keres pointed at Silas. "-get scrutinised down to the tiniest detail and hounded about babies. Have fun."

He then left as quickly as he arrived, before either of them could respond.

"What a brat," Morrigan hissed, looking more irritated than Silas had ever seen him.

Keres was not wrong, unfortunately. I was, in fact, scrutinised down to the last detail, asked questions that ranged from odd all the way to invasive and rude. The topic of children was briefly brought up, though Cyrus expressed poorly hidden disgust at the idea and recommended adoption instead. As if we were planning to have children at all.

It was worse than the doctors at Atlantica General, I dare say. At least they weren't asking about my fertility since they "wanted grandchildren from their eldest."

Morrigan seemed to be on the verge of either punching someone or slamming his head against the wall the entire time but opted to dig his claws into the dining room table and grind his teeth instead.

Silas couldn't blame him. The fake kindness, the mock sympathy, the plastic hospitality made his teeth itch to bite something. He wanted them to stop lying. Call him a monster if they really wanted. He hated those forced smiles so much

Finally, finally, the conversation was coming to an end, when Cyrus said... something rather odd. And stupid.

"Listen, Silas, you seem... Nice." The lies kept spilling. Flowing out of her mouth like a winding river. "But we don't want you dating Morrigan. It isn't safe-"

"That's not for you to decide." Said Silas, and Morrigan sucked in a sharp breath and nearly tore through the table.

The facade cracked and Cyrus' face twisted into an angered expression.

"Now listen here, I will not have our son bee manipulated by-

"Shut up!" Morrigan snapped, wrenching his hand back and tearing through the table. "If you can't behave then we're going to leave."

"Come now, Morrigan, think carefully about this." Said Kiran. "You know, the merchant's son is a nice young man-"

"I said shut up." Morrigan tugged on Silas' wrist and began making his way to the door. "Come on, Silas."

Morrigan stayed with us that night, fuming silently. He wasn't just angry. He was hurt. Very hurt. I did my best to comfort him, though I don't think it was much help.

Unfortunately, that was not nor will it ever be the last time Morrigan and I clashed with his parents. They're a stubborn pair, hellbent on getting what they want even if they repeatedly fail.

They won't ever truly accept me as Morrigan's husband, and I can accept that. They can continue being hateful cretins, and I will carry on as I always have.

A knock on the door broke Silas from his writing trance. He put his pen down and took in a deep, slow breath. Even writing about Morrigan's parents gave him a headache.

"Coming, Timo." He called, then packed his writing away and left.

...........................................

Guide: Start, Prev, Next

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It really was a wild ride

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord

[dozenssporks]

*the camera is tilted upward to show vash clinging to a redwood tree very very far from the ground*

wolfwood: how's it working out for you up there my guy

vash, whining: don't be meeean that was a very big mosquito and I have a very strong startle reflex. if it had been a real threat I'd be up here laughing and you'd be down there being eaten, so there

wolfwood: yuh huh, sure, spiky, sure. Comin' down now or do you want to hug that tree a little longer?

vash: gimme a sec--yeep!

*the camera blurs as wolfwood struggles to track vash's rapid descent from the tree but there is only a streak of red, the sound of vash yelping, and, finally, a crash*

wolfwood: holy mother--are you alive?!

*the camera focuses and vash, draped over a pile of moss covered logs, gives a feeble thumbs up. a moment later a large piece of bark falls and smacks him on the head*

vash, whimpering: I want to go home, maman, s'il vous plaît

*the scene cuts to vash standing at the base of the tree looking scuffed up and rumpled, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose*

vash: ahem! I was recently informed that people leave comments on these videos, which surprised me. I thought it was mostly the cops and, like, fbi who looked at these.

wolfwood: people always have somethin' to say about witnessing a walking disaster

vash, making an angry face: ANYWAY. This was brought to my attention by--well, naming no names, I can tell you she's a real stunner. Knock you right off your feet if given the chance. This lovely lady, too good for this sinful world, has kindly compiled what she believes to be the best comments and questions. Here we go.

wolfwood: please, dear viewers, understand that this creature before you can be explained neither scientifically or religiously. Don't expect to experience clarity today.

vash:, holding up a paper with the questions written on it it's called mystique. First question: "Mr. The Stampede, why is the guy behind the camera called--"

*breaking off, vash presses his fist to his mouth and makes high-pitched noises that nearly pass beyond human hearing*

wolfwood: I've got a bad feeling about this

vash: "why is--why is the guy behind the camera called . . . 'woof woof'?"

*sitting down on the ground, vash bursts into obnoxious laughter, pounding his fist on the ground. the camera tilts and shakes*

wolfwood, sputtering: that's not--that's not what I'm called! Mary, mother of Christ, that is not--

*the scene cuts. vash is back on his feet, facial expression strained as he struggles to remain solemn*

vash: I have been instructed to clarify that my assistant behind the camera is not named 'woof woof', has never been called 'woof woof', and never will be called 'woof woof'.

wolfwood: it's because you keep starting to say my name and stammering when you cut yourself off. This is your fault, needle-noggin, and I'm gonna take it out of your hide later, I swear.

vash, coughing: there's a second part of this question, um, "is he called that because he's a furry?"

*vash collapses to the ground again, shrieking with laughter*

wolfwood: a what

vash: a furry is a--it's a--

wolfwood: I know what a furry is!

vash: from--from personal experience?

wolfwood: no!

*vash rolls around laughing, kicking his legs. the camera jolts up and down while wolfwood marches over and snatches up the list of questions*

wolfwood: aw, geez, they really asked that, you didn't make it up. I can't believe the big girl did this to me--would you shut up?!

vash, shrieking from pain this time: don't kick the messenger when he's down, woof woof!

wolfwood: no, no, no, no. this is not going to be a thing. I will end you, I will shoot you right through your spiky head, I will--

*the scene cuts to vash laying face-down on the forest floor, limp and lifeless. cigarette smoke is puffing from behind the camera and wolfwood's hand can be seen gesturing*

wolfwood: the person who asked that question, I don't know who you are, I don't know what you want. If you are looking for blackmail money, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. I will find you, and I will kill you. Buh-by.

*video ends*

[vaicomcas]

I experienced something wonderful recently. Very long and probably boring, but well, tumblr is my personal diary isn't it.

So I go to a workout class on the third floor of an old, dilapidated brick building. There are a few other businesses in the building but I've never seen them open. I don't even know what kind of businesses they are. Typical "urban decay" type of place.

So on Monday while taking a breather, I looked out of the window into the courtyard, looking directly at one of the second floor windows (left), but seeing a squirrel poking out of the little hole there (right).

I was delighted, and wanted to see what it was up to. But it stayed completely still. And it stayed. and stayed. and stayed.

After a few minutes, I called my friend over, and we kept watching. It never moved. "Is it... is it dead?"

The squirrel didn't move AT ALL for like 10 minutes. We conclude that it must be dead, though we kept saying out loud-- "could it be sleeping? but why would it sleep sticking out the window like that? It must be dead. But it doesn't look dead" And the more minutes pass without it moving, the more we said, "it must be dead. It must have just died." "Maybe it's the heat."

My teacher came over and watched as well and also concluded that it must be dead. This old building is frequently infested with creatures, and he himself had captured a squirrel that chewed through the walls on our floor, and had relocated it in a park in another part of town.

His theory is this poor squirrel had eaten poison, wether meant for it or for mice. And, because the squirrel couldn't breathe, he went to the window to get air only to die there.

So now we were all rather sad, but we went back to our activities, periodically checking and yet the squirrel remained there over the next half an hour. At one point my friend and I sat down and sang a song for the poor dead squirrel, with bad pronunciation of a language we don't really know, a song which is sort of about acceptance of one's mortality. After the song I looked again and the squirrel still perched in the exact same position.

After class me and my friend went downstairs and as we exited the building we realized with a knot in our guts that we got to look up at the deceased creature from below. So we did and at this angle it looked like it was directly staring at us. I took a picture and tried to get a closer looking by enlarging it and boy it was terrifying.

So now my friend and I were sort of frozen in place unable to look away. Then suddenly it moved! Like just for the blink of an eye, and immediately it was still as a statue again, staring at us from above-- and I yelled, "it moved! I swear it moved!" my friend reassured me, "I saw it too!"

So now we are just completely shaken, not knowing what to think. Someone else came to the door and we let her in, and she must have thought how strange we were to be standing in the doorway craning our necks staring at the 2nd floor window. We watched this person walk up three stairs of the floor and the entire time, the squirrel stayed perched like that without moving a hair.

Then just like that, in another blink of the eye, it turned around and disappeared! I have never screamed spontaneously in my life, but that time I screamed, very loudly. My friend screamed too. "It's alive!" We shouted.

So two days later, we were back in class, and of course I had to check the window. Lo and behold, at some point we had squirrel sighting! And this time it moved, and seemingly trying to climb out. But it didn't.

So, at least we knew it didn't die, which was great. I still couldn't get over the last time though, how it could have been still for so long and not be dead; for a brief moment I entertained the fantasy that the song me and my friend sang so inelegantly had summoned an Orixa or a lesser spirit that revived the squirrel, but in my heart I knew that was just the self-importance of human ego. But now I wondered, though the squirrel seemed OK, was it stuck?

So after two more days I couldn't wait to check on the window again. And once again we saw a squirrel coming and going! It seemed like this was the routine-- to hang out perched on this little hole in the window. It would sit there for a while, wash its face, hang a little bit outside the window sometimes, withdrew for a bit, then it'd come back out again.

So my mind was going crazy -- I wondered if the squirrel was trapped in the 2nd floor suite, its only mirage of outside world this hole in the window. I thought of the little guy (girl?) as a version of squirrel Beast stuck in a cursed castle, dreaming of the squirrel farmer's squirrel daughter; I thought of it as the squirrel Repunzel, lowering its long fluffy tail in vain to two dumb humans who lack both the courage and the skills to scale those brick walls to rescue it. I thought of it as the Squirrel Minotaur, imprisoned in this failed industrial labyrinth of a building, looking out for the prophesized string-bearing squirrel knight to end its loneliness.

So after this very emotional workout class my friend and I again exited the building, and we looked up again and saw the hole was empty. But then in front of our very eyes we saw a squirrel-- our squirrel--appearing out of nowhere at the foot of the building no more than five feet from us, running vertically up the brick wall, all slick and effortless the way squirrels move, and in a snap dove into the hole in the window and disappeared again!

So not only was the squirrel resurrected, not only was it fine, it was going into the hole of its own free will! Our building was its summer palace!

The End

[steam-junk]

hi! i hope my english is not too bad but i would like to make a request :)

may i ask you to write something cute with blazer(stray) x human!reader? like headcanons on how relationship with him would be or like a story about situation that can happen in relationship with him

thank you and have a good day <3

blazer(stray) x human!reader

gender unspecified

romantic

type: bulletted story/headcanons + scenario

fluff with slight comfort

/how you meet

/what he's like

/how he comforts you

warnings: no serious warnings, but reader does feel out of place as a human

notes: I'm. So sorry. That these took so long. I swear I really was trying, but then school and missing work and everything caught up to me and I had no time!! But lately I've been super hyped and found time, so I'm gonna be getting requests done.

Your stasis chamber opened with a hiss and you fell out, cold and slightly damp. Ice-cold white vapor slipped out with you, and all the lights dimmed as the machine shut off. This was it, you thought, as you noticed just how dark it really was.

It was your old room, only far different. The posters had been eaten away and decayed, the bedsheets were moth-eaten, and the only light came from outside your window.

That was a good sign. You heard music, too, and footsteps. You weren't the last one! You slipped on the warmest wearable thing left in your wardrobe and rushed out your door.

As soon as you opened the door, you were met with a robot who looked to be reaching for the same door handle.

His eyes met yours. Despite being mechanical, the companion bots had grown to be so expressive! First shock, then curiosity. Curiosity, you could tell, because he had crouched slightly and held his arms raised and back with one index finger lifted, pointing to nothing.

"Who are you?" You had both said at the same time.

"My name is.. my name [y.n]. Can you tell me where I am?" You asked him, remembering some safety guide you read before confining yourself to stasis for centuries.

"You're in Midtown," He told you, "Are you a human?"

"Yeah. Are there, um, any others?" you asked.

His posture sank, his hands fell to his side. Bad news, that much you knew.

You were the last human left.

He chose to stay with you. Or rather, you stuck to him. In this new environment, you held such a small demeanor. You were unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, as it seemed every face was watching you.

Blazer hated when eyes were on him, but he felt an obligation to keep you safe.

You two became close friends as he got you accustomed to life in Midtown.

You met lots of companions, but always felt a different feeling around him. One that he, of course, reciprocated.

But he was aware that he was constantly at risk, with the kinds of things he got into. He didn't want to make you a part of that.

Of course, you confessed to him. He would never admit he had taken a liking to anybody.

Especially you, who teased him non-stop for it (lovingly of course 😍)

"Blazer, I like you, okay? Not like how friends like each other, how lovers like each other."

"Don't you care that I'm-"

"No! Of course I don't care. I've known you long enough to know that. I don't care if you think it's stupid or if you think I'm stupid or whatever! I like you and nothing you say can change it!"

He wrapped both arms around you. "Shut up," he told you, "I like you too."

Remember how I mentioned an "obligation to protect you"

Expect that tenfold once you two become official

He's got an arm around you whenever you two go out together

"The human? They're mine <3"

You're always there for him when something goes wrong.

Will not tolerate you demeaning yourself in any way

Genuinely will rant about how perfect you are

You're a blushing mess by the end of it and he loves it

Probably does it on purpose, but what do you know

You're always there for him when something goes wrong

And he's always there for you

At any time you feel out of place for being human, overwhelmed by everything, he's there.

You leaned your back against the wall and sighed. Finally, you thought, out of the chaos. So loud, so bright, so annoying!

Blazer followed second, leaning next to you. "Too loud?"

"Yeah," you sighed, "And I feel so... different. I'm the last person left, I'm just constantly being stared at."

"It's 'cause you're beautiful," he joked. Joked, as in saying it in a playful tone, but he meant what he said.

"Right," You said. You pretended not to find his antics amusing in the slightest, but a smile crept onto your face nonetheless.

* Likes, reblogs, and especially comments appreciated! I love hearing what you guys have to say about the things I write <3

[cloudcountry]

You may already be acquainted with my brand of wackyness but this is your chance to get new lore about me!

Areas of skill: Music(various), Art, picking way too many languages to learn all at once, misspelling people's names

Appearance: Tall enough to make fun of short people but short enough to ask tall people "how's the weather up there", I blush very easily, ideal human pillow shaped

I am a ♋

one time I trew away a can of soda before fully finishing it and I couldn't bear the guilt of lying to my mom about it and eventually confessed. if I came back home one day to find it completely empty, my first thought would be "MY BOOKS!!!". i hate running mostly because i am bad at it like really I am a pathetic sight, i walk very fast tho. one time I stabbed an annoying kid with a pencil (my weapon of choice) in the middle of class and got away with it. I can fade into the background and exit or enter without being noticed, not that i do that on purpose, some people just don't notice. i show up to places early and sit there anxious about it. i like skirts and pastels but apparetly the way i talk conflicts with that imagine and gives people backlash (imagine a barbie doll that swears) I get attached to objects very easily and hoard stuff. i will try cooking recipes Ive never actually eaten and suffer through eating them when they turn out bad. i am very bad at texting back but will cry if my friends or family stop texting. Im shy and anxious upon first meet but if I know you then I'll probably trow my hands in the air and yell your name when i see you, if you go for a hug I'll take it. I keep to myself but if i get comfortable with you im gonna start yelling a lot. Currently more scared of dolphins than sharks cuz i am cursed with knowledge. I've been called "very responsible" but also "you must like making things not easy for yourself"

Love, V <3

"cichlid fish is reaaaaal sweet when you get to know 'em." floyd hums thoughtfully.

"floyd gave you this nickname because of your fashion sense and your 'off-putting' demeanor. this fish is similar to a betta fish, which is vil schoenheit's nickname. this should give you an idea of what they're like. cichlid fish can be very aggressive despite their beautiful scales, but also very affectionate in their flirting. they do this by shaking their fins and tail which can easily be mistaken for a challenge." the debtor jots down a few notes before placing their notepad down with a quiet yawn.

[palialaina]

(I played for an hour to wind down from work)

Sifuu is... an interesting person. I kind of believe her stories, but I feel like she exaggerates a lot too. I mean, monsters? This place is as peaceful as can be! The worst I've had to deal with is a chappa trying to steal my lunch

Oh, right, I need to go find mushrooms in Bahari for Dad and Jina tomorrow.

I should be done with the second hallway piece by morning, and then I can go get a third one from town hall to start. Man, my back and shoulders are gonna be killing me by the time I stop working tomorrow. Mining and chopping wood? Dad and Hodari better be impressed by the hard work!

...oh, right, I need to go talk to Najuma too. Hodari says she's still giving him the silent treatment.

I swear, the list of things to do feels like it never ends. I'd hermit, but... well, I like most of these people. Sure, there's folk like... Eshe and Caleri that aren't the friendliest, but most everyone seems to like me and the other humans hanging out.

Oh, and poor Nai'o! The dummy managed to mess up everything he had planned from his date to the thing he was supposed to do with his mom! After I did all that work finding everything he needed too. (Ugh, fish. My pants still smell like fish.)

I feel bad for him, but like... really, he should have just told Aunt Del. She would've understood! I mean, I get not telling Eshe anything, but does Nai'o really think he and Kenyatta are a secret? Sheesh...

Oh, I should see if Jel wasn't some of the steak. I want to talk to him earlier, and he said he hadn't eaten in three days. Why do so many people around here make me wanna wrap them up in blankets? Jeez! Him, Reth, Jina, Kenyatta...

Oh, I met a strange lady earlier, I forgot to say! Tamala! She lives over in Bahari, and I have so many questions about why. Like, don't get me wrong, I like Bahari Bay, but.... How can she live so far from the village?

....I ask this, but my own plot is a few minutes walk away, and I wouldn't actually want to live in the village itself, if I can avoid it.

Anyways, it's late and I'm tired. Must be time to crawl into bed and forget the world for a few hours.

Maybe by the time I wake up, Sifuu's book won't seem like such terrible writing.... ¬_¬

[insanelyadd]

PAPYRUS PROPAGANDA GO!!!!

Papyrus only wants to be a royal guard and in every ending he never gets it, the person training him who is like his best friend is lying about letting him into the royal guard because she thinks he's too nice for it. Instead of just telling him straight up she lies and says she'll let him in if he captures a human, and tries to get him interested in cooking instead (yeah that's right, the pasta everyone thinks he's so obsessed with wasn't even a thing he liked on his own but the result of his friend trying to change his mind on what he wants for his own future, in the first anniversary QnA we learn HE'S NEVER EVEN EATEN SPAGHETTI)

Papyrus frequently implies that he is very lonely and just wants a friend and people completely ignore that and give this trait to his brother instead. Papyrus is an adult who is neurodivergent coded and the fandom treats him like he is five years old, like he's a ~*Pure Innocent Cinnamon Roll*~ who can't handle any criticism, swear words, KNOWING WHAT DEATH IS, or like he's the dumbest man in existence, OR some combination of the three.

I made LetPapyrusSayFuck Day specifically so we could overwhelm the people who make dumb comments on posts where he swears with comments like "WHO CORRUPTED THE CINNAMON ROLL?" and "SANS IS GOING TO GIVE A BAD TIME TO WHOEVER TAUGHT HIS BROTHER THAT WORD" with nothing BUT Papyrus swearing so they'd stop.

Papyrus is frequently killed, injured, or sidelined with terrible characterization all to further the plot which frequently focuses on his brother instead of him (or any other character for that matter).

He has the most dialog in the game and the least backstory.

One of the branching endings for True Pacifist involves him becoming the Ambassador instead of Frisk but everyone decides the actual child should do it so much that most people don't know that ending even exists.

Hunter UNDOUBTEDLY had a lot of bad stuff happen to him but the fandom seems to be unanimous in the decision to give him good things. He got a good ending canonically. The fandom loves him and respect him.

Papyrus is in a game with branching endings and the best ending IMO for him is the Ambassador Papyrus ending, which, as stated, most people don't know exists. When it comes to outside of the game people treat him SO BADLY like here's some screenshots:

(for reference there is literally a phone call where Papyrus makes a sarcastic remark about Sans not telling anyone anything which can absolutely be interpreted as him knowing EXACTLY that Sans is having problems and is frustrated by Sans not talking to him about it)

There's literally people out here believing a lie some kid made up on amino that Papyrus is canonically 14 years old. BRO HE'S TRYING TO GET INTO WHAT IS BASICALLY THE MILITARY AND THE ONLY EXCUSE UNDYNE HAS TO NOT WANT HIM IN IS THAT HE'S TOO NICE?? If he was too young that would immediately disqualify him???

Not to mention Papyrus is near-singlehandedly maintaining all puzzles and traps outside Snowdin, he reports any troubles in the town to Undyne who has the authority to issue aid or supplies, whatever may be needed, like Papyrus is basically the mayor of Snowdin in every way except officially. AND NO ONE ACKNOWLEDGES THIS? Except Politics Bear who says

I made a theory video about how Papyrus could be the Knight in Deltarune and I've received several comments from people who are convinced that Papyrus WOULD NEVER!!! EVER!!!! Hurt anyone for any reason (as if his whole arc in UT isn't about realizing what he's done to achieve his dreams has hurt someone he cares about and he grows from that) and that if Papyrus IS the Knight, then someone MUST!!!!! BE MANIPULATING THE POOR INNOCENT CINNAMON ROLL!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

I received an ask a long time ago where someone literally straight up said Papyrus fighting us at all isn't compliant with his character. Like the man who almost single-handedly wrote this entire game was OOC on this one character in this one fight by making it so he fights at all?? Bro. He literally talks all the time about how much he loves fighting and deadly spikes and precarious bridges and flames and etc etc etc. HE CALLS HIMSELF "A BRUTAL KIND OF GUY"

I can go on for eternity about the mistreatment Papyrus receives from the fandom. I literally recorded myself ranting about it one time and when I finally ended the recording it was two and a half hours long.

Reading fanfiction with him is basically this 24/7:

So yeah. Hunter had a bad life, but it's getting better now, and the fandom treats him nicely.

Papyrus was lied to and not communicated with by his best friend and his brother and the fandom murders him, treats him like a child, ignores him entirely, or writes him in the most OOC ridiculous ways possible. Seeing a canon compliant Papyrus that is important and doesn't die is like going into the woods and finding a perfectly cooked cake completely untouched by nature sitting on a tree stump miles from civilization. I bet most people reading this don't even know HE CAN FLY

Round 1: Right Side - Papyrus (Undertale) vs. Hunter (The Owl House)

[stcnefruit]

— open starter.

status - open to all, but pls read my rules and mobile about (pinned post) first before interacting. don't like my starters. muse - iesha saeng-ah seol, adjunct professor of law/licensed attorney with private practice. bisexual, uses they/she/xe pronouns. vampire, six hundred and sixty-nine, appears twenty-nine. can default to appearance age/5+ for non-supernatural thread (if applicable). wanted opposites - m/f/nb, 30+. mocs (muns/muses of color) preferred. wanted connections - colleague, friend, date they've been seeing for a couple times, that one bitch who's supposedly from a line of vampire hunters but has never actually seen an honest to f*ck vampire in their life, etc, as long as it's not taboo give me all of your sh*t. plot - you were supposed to be discussing international law and cases and sh*t but it's a Sunday evening and you're at their house and now they're calling bullsh*t on the 'garlic repels vampires' folklore after cooking you something from the family heirlooms that you swear to God is not even an extant dish and plying you with wine???? really good wine at that???? or maybe you don't drink that's fine here just have more food and hey is it just you are they f*cking with you for fun or are their canines a little longer than usual. well

— there's only so long someone can talk about trade laws and governmental disputes before their soul looks like it's fixing to crawl halfway out of their body and into the open arms of God, so they're not surprised when the conversation takes a less... formal tone after the meal. vampires, though. their weaknesses, specifically. that's one for the books. they wouldn't have pegged the other as being even vaguely interested in poking around things older than law itself. there is the arch of an eyebrow, then, hovering, the slightest tell as they listen to them continue—curious, how invested this one seems to be in what to normal people is only a hypothetical. curious, how easy it is to figure out how much of it this one thinks is not. 'mean no disrespect, love, but listen to yourself,' they interrupt, wine glass in hand, half lounged over the back of the leather sofa like a cat sunning itself in the light of the open window, ceiling to floor. of course, it's pitch fucking black outside and it's Sunday night so there is no sunning to be had, but they'll never miss the opportunity for a good comparison. (the 1975 Léoville-Las Cases vintage still decanting in the glass doesn't hurt.) 'they've said this shit for years and i've heard it all. i've been all over the fucking world, toured the west coast of Africa twice, studied in France for nine years to get my degrees'—they don't linger on that part, because if the other thinks for too long and starts calculating shit they'll realize that xe'd have to be a fucking genius to head to Europe fresh out of xir teens and still wet behind the ears—'if garlic was really the undead's kryptonite i'd have a three story penthouse and a chauffeur waiting for me in hell at this point, the amount of things i've eaten. tonight included.' xe lean over a little further, soft haze of the chandelier above xem. 1950s, vintage Murano glass, Barovier & Toso mounted flush against the ceiling, light from the corners glinting off of the edge of a fang. veneers, on a cursory glance, unless you knew what you were looking for. 'you know what i think? i think someone got pissy they couldn't eat garlic and passed it off as a vampire problem, and then never had to eat another clove of garlic in their life as a result because they were too busy making money off the rumors by selling it as a magic charm or some shit like that.' or, they were a vampire and just wanted to fuck with humans for the fun of it, she thinks, but who would she be if she gave up trade secrets just to catch the hint of another smile from her guest. terribly unprofessional, according to eomma. then again, professionalism is not what gets you a custom engraved stake to the heart on chuseok. missed by three inches, albeit, but eomma is not one to measure distance, just audacity and the nicely healed scar on her chest. no respect for the ancients, these days. // @indiestarter

[sweatyfbiprofiler]

Ten Facts About Me Tag

I was tagged by @gallihafry (thank youu) so here are 10 facts about me for those who care :)

Post ten facts about yourself and then pass it along to ten people

(this is gonna take time.. but let’s do it)

1. I love acting. I participated in a few plays at school since I was like 7 or 8 but that was raw talent and I’ve been working on it (inspired by the many amazing actors I have discovered and admired *-*)

2. I am learning programming. I am still a beginner and I only made a little console game! (want a version?)

3. I love, just LOVE my computer. Well, computers in general. I love exploring how they work and what they can do. When I grow up, I really want a computing career.

4. I have dandruff and it drives me crazy sometimes.

5. I rarely wear any perfume. It’s mainly due to my laziness but, honestly, I just don’t know how to wear perfume..

6. I’ve started learning to use Photoshop last summer and it has become my top favourite hobby (I use Photoshop CS6). Giffing has actually become more tempting than drawing and I didn’t see that coming at all. I was jumping up and down when one of my posts reached 400 notes for the first time.

7. I am a shy girl. I don’t usually interact with people other than my family and close friends and when I do, I spend way too much time thinking about how it went, what I did and what they must be thinking of me. I just can’t help it sometimes.

8. I am not a native English speaker (many of you must know that by now) but I love this language so much and I am doing my best to improve :) (I am also trying to “adopt” a British accent, wish me luck. Because, most of the time, I end up with a hybrid accent that is a mixture of every single accent I have ever heard since I started learning English by listening.)

9. Doctor Who aired a long time ago on TV and I didn’t like it at all. The next year, the same season aired again, I watched a part of “The Beast Below” and I didn’t even know it was Doctor Who, but I loved it. I waited for the next episode the next day and that’s how my obsession began. And that’s how I started getting emotionally attached to many fictional characters that it physically hurts. No regrets.

10. (already?) Tumblr is my favourite website. If you see me in front of my computer, I am either on Photoshop, watching something or on tumblr. If only I had discovered this hellsite earlier..

So.. @sarcastic-smart-person, @hotter-than-satans-asshole, @etsukow, @whyimmathere, @mahalblackteapot, @vb2096, @marthajoness, @infiniteregress17, @tardis-in-camelot and @ofmanandmice, will you? :)

[beautiful-is-boring]

Hi!! I just read your Levi comfort fluff and it's the cutest thing I've read all day!! Much love💖

Could I maybe request an Eren (I feel weird requesting for him after all the shit he's recently done lmao, but I can't help still being in love with him) angst/fluff where he is helplessly in love with the reader (I'm a female but I'd rather request a gn scenario btw) but pretends as if he isn't just so he can protect them. And then they almost end up getting killed and he just gets really scared and can't hold back from his feelings anymore?

omg thankyou so much T_T. I too ignore everything he's done and simp for him lmao. I'm so sorry this took so long. I tried my best and I hope this is what you had in mind <3

-----------------------------------

Safe

------------------------------------

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x GN!Reader (AOT)

Genre: very slight angst, Fluff

Contains: Canon typical violence, blood, reader almost dies, swearing

--------------------------------------

There were two kinds of people in the Scouts. Some soldiers wanted to experience love, and enjoy life in the best way they can while being soldiers, because they may die any day. Others believed that they shouldn't create special bonds because they may die any day, and it would hurt them. They preferred to keep their feelings private.

Eren happened to chose the latter. Always determined, he wanted to fight for humanity and reach outside the walls. That was his goal and he would do anything to achieve freedom.

His eyes fell on you, a fellow skilled soldier that had trained in the 104th corps with him and had opted to go to the scouts. Maybe it was the way you said his name, maybe it was your determination, maybe it was your wish to see the world outside the 100 year old walls. It took him some time, as well as teasing from Mikasa's and Armin's side that led him to realized that he had a crush on you.

His small crush developed into love and protectiveness, and maybe a little bit of overprotectiveness at times. Your beautiful personality and ideals drew him closer to you, looks were just a bonus. He would sometimes catch himself staring at your gorgeous hair, your well sculpted face, your soft lips and your stunning physique. Mikasa would call him a pervert.

You weren't stupid and you noticed it all. You saw how he stared at you with his shining green eyes that you could stare at all day. You saw how protective he was of you when someone tried to ask you out or insult you. You liked to stare at him too, but his dense ass never saw it. All he knew is that he was in love with you, and that you were a bit fond of him.

You understood why he never confessed. Either of you could die any day on an expedition. Eren, even with his titan powers, was still human. Maybe you both would get too attached to each other, and that would hinder both of your performance. What if someone kidnapped him and used him for blackmail to get you? What if it was the other way around? You were a skilled fighter, but you weren't in the Levi squad. He was. He always had to stay concentrated in his training, as well as in controlling his titan powers.

You both sensed the fondness and care coming from each other, but decided not to confess. Maybe it was safer this way.

All this changed when Eren saw you heading directly towards a titan to save a soldier. It was when Erwin ordered everyone to retreat from the expedition. She was caught by a hideous titan and was about to get eaten when you flew right in and chopped away the titan's fingers. She fell and managed to zoom away in her gear, leaving you to deal with the titan, but before you could get behind the titan and go for its nape, it managed to grab you and opened its mouth. Your horse had run away. It was already destroying your gear, as well as crushing your body.

You yelled for help, but couldn't see anyone. Accepting your fate, you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for it to chomp you down when you heard an angry scream saying "HOW DARE YOU" and the sound of blades cutting through flesh.

The moment you opened your eyes, you felt yourself being pulled away from the titan and into the arms of someone, that someone being none other than Eren. He carried you, wrapping one of his arms tightly around your torso and using his other arm to use his gear, leaving you to cling on to him like a koala. His face had an expression which was a mixture of fear, anger, relief and sadness.

You were still in shock, so you couldn't get anything out of your mouth. He flew to his horse, placed you behind him, and rode back to his squad. He got reprimanded by Levi who was close behind him for leaving the squad alone. It was quiet, other than the sound of titan footsteps, galloping of the horses and an occassional remark from a squad member. Nobody really questioned your presence.

After hours of travelling, everyone finally reached the head quarters. Loads of people were in the infirmary.

"Captain, excuse me for a moment. I need to take y/n to the infirmary. I'm not sure if they can walk." you heard Eren say.

After Levi's approval, Eren walked towards with a grim expression. You were planning on walking to the infirmary yourself when you got a sharp pain your abdomen. Your adrenaline rush ended and every body park of yours hurt like a bitch. You could feel your consciousness starting to drift away.

Eren looked panicked and immediately picked you up and ran towards the infirmary. Short pants could be heard from him as he ran, and finaly laid you down on the bed. A nurse walked towards you and ushered Eren to go away as you looked at him longingly.

"eren..."

He cupped your cheek and gave you a soft look. "You got this okay? You'll be fine." And with that, you blacked out.

---------------------------

You blinked your eyes open and didn't feel much pain. In a second you realized that you were in the infirmary, and you remembered what happened to you. Your attention was directed towards your right hand, it felt oddly warm and comforting. Turning your head, you saw Eren holding your hand, sitting next to the bed, looking at you with a relieved expression.

"hey"

"hey eren."

"how do you feel?"

"better than before. you good?"

Eren could only stare at you with a confused expression. What kind of question was that?

"you're asking ME if I'm good when YOU are the one who is bed ridden."

You giggled "i guess"

He helped you sit up and drink some water.

"Y/n that thing you did back there, with all the politeness I can use right now, what the fuck were you thinking? You saved her. Wonderful. Really brave of you. But she didn't help you. You should have been more careful y/n. The titan GRABBED YOU. What would you do if I wasn't there huh?" His volume raised little by little as he spoke. In the end it was as if he was yelling.

"die."

"NO! You do NOT say that! I-I already lost my mom to the titans and I can't fucking lose you y/n!"

"sometimes sacrifices have to be made Eren and you know that! I appreciate you saving me today. really. But loads of people died today, and in the previous missions as well. We are also soldiers, who knows what could happe-" you retorted.

"BUT YOU ARE SPECIAL TO ME AND I LOVE YOU I CAN'T LET YOU DIE LIKE THIS Y/N!"

oh shit

You both stared at each other in disbelief. Did he just say that he loved you? Out loud? Putting his embarrasment aside, Eren spoke again.

"Fuck it. You are right, we don't know what will happen. But you always made my day. You always comforted me. You always kept me grounded. You kept me motivated in our trainee days. You and I both know that we have feelings for each other. I can't lose you y/n, I don't think I can hold this back anymore. I love you, and if you are not ready I will back off right now, but just know that I will love you and protect you- mph-!"

You stopped his rambling by pulling him in for a kiss. His lips were sweet like honey and soft. His entire face was red. You pulled away and grabbed his shoulders. "You have done so much for me Eren. Words cannot express how much I love you."

Grinning from ear to ear, he pulled you in for another soft kiss, slowly hugging you gently and his heart thumped even louder with the feeling of you kissing him again and wrapping your arms around his waist.

You both don't know what could happen in the future. No one does. But until then, you got each other's back, and he knew he would enjoy his life even more with you by his side.

----------------------------

Taglist: @narcwhore @bollywoodgrandma @vampire-rat-bastard @levis-hazelnut

[strychninesss]

OKAY I LOVE THIS HEADCANON SO I'M WRITING A BIT FOR EVERY HERMIT

long post ahead buckle in, i've even included some of the former hermits that i watched through the years (after the ~~~) The original bdubs in season 1 was a mafia man, living in a RV. he passed as most mafia men do - in a shootout. a few years later, his younger son took his place - an equally fightey and short little guy, with a bruised eye and a taste for fisticuffs.

The original Cubfan was old, wisened, and on death's door. he was a scientist at heart, with a taste for mischief. however his bones soon became too fragile, his skin too wrinkled, and he passed in his sleep. a few days later, his grandsom mysteriously turned up - an equally scientific man with the same face as his grandfather but just much younger.

Doc has always been doc. it's just in his nature. but the doc back then wasn't *quite* the same. maybe dinnerbone took more than just his arm? maybe some of his humanity left then too.

Etho appears to be his own army. every time you see him it's a new incarnation, a slightly different but still the same face behind the mask, and still all the same knowledge of the past. nobody quite knows if it's the same man or a different one each time.

The name False has been passed down throughout the years, mentor to apprentice, for hundreds of years. the current False learnt from her successor when she was just a girl, training to fight with wooden swords until she was just as good as the one before - if not better.

Geminitay seems to switch who she is each season. in 8, a deer spirit. in 9, a human soup vendor. in 10, a siren. who she is is determined not by genetics or a specific bloodline, but by which redhead born in may or june likes etho the most.

Scar has had a few incarnations now - the mayor, the zookeeper, the builder of scarland, the vex... they all seem related somehow, but the scar you're asking about this either has forgotten his past or is too distracted by an allay to tell you.

Grian has been the same pesky bird since season 6. nobody knows how he got here, nobody knows why he's still around, nobody knows why he doesn't age. he's just a normal parrot hybrid, he shouldn't still be around... right?

Nobody really knows what's up with Hypno either. he's just a guy. he appears the same each season - unchanging, immortal. he says it's just because he can't be bothered with aging, and somehow you believe him. his scars are still there from when his house burnt from Pungence and Skyzm, so it must be the same Hypno, right?

Jevin isn't human. well, at least bodily. the story goes he was human in season 1, but was killed and eaten by a mutated slime whole. over time, you could see his human body slowly decay within the slime, but it's still him. it's still the same personality as the good old days.

Impulse in season 10 is a descendant of previous impulses - a tech nerd whose dwarven grandfather worked in the mines and made a small fortune. the new impulse is using that fortune to build his city, and is forever grateful for his grandfather's hard work.

iskall has always been the same - but he's grown older now, a few wrinkles in his face. he tries to fight the aging, body modifications spreading across his body that he swore a time ago that he would never turn to. he knows one day his friends will see a new, younger him in his place... but it's not time for that just yet.

Joe died a long time ago, back in season 1. since then, his body has been possessed by his own ghost, and after too many modifications to the old body he built a new one from felt for the 10th season.

Keralis was always the same up until the end of season 3. but when he came back in season 6 and 7, something was off. something that no hermits could ever quite place, just because the new Keralis was so similar. maybe it's the lack of swear words?

Mumbo Jumbo is still the same lanky man he always has been - but he's gone from a young teenager in a suit trying to fit in with the grown-ups, to a young man running for mayor with all the vigour of a man in his 20's, to an anxious, middle aged man trying to figure out the secrets of a lab in a small town.

Pearl is still the same young woman, too - but she's still figuring out her place in this world, delivering mail and buying pickles and just being herself. when asked about aging, she doesn't seem to care - saying that one day she will replace herself just like the others, but for now she has post to deliver and cleaning duties to do.

The current Ren is a real dog, probably a labrador or a boxer. he used to belong to an old king who was overthrown, but with the help of doc he was able to walk on two legs and be more human and speak. he's taken his king's place, not as a ruler but as a friend.

Nobody really knows with Skizzle and Joel. they just got here, really. they seem human, but the angel wings on skizzle's back and the little antenna on joel's head seem to point to a more supernatural answer to this question. who knows if they're immortal or not? we'll find out by season 12.

Stress is a new version of herself every season - but she sometimes curls up in her bed to sleep. as she sleeps she de-ages, returning to her younger self each time. nobody knows how she does it, but sometimes she sleeps for months on end. She's sleeping right now actually, getting her strength back.

Tango is just a spirit inhabiting a ball of flames. he used to be a real person, but after his passing he took on the form of a flame. it's more convenient this way, he says, it's easier to light up decked out.

Beef is still the same as always - the complete opposite of his friend etho who's always changing. Beef is the constant - he doesn't age, he simply exists.

Wels is an anomaly. He's a knight, of course, with a sword... but knights die protecting those they love, leaving their sword behind. and that sword is so incredibly heavy... and nobody can quite pick it up, until months later a plucky young blonde can lift the thing and continue fighting for hermitcraft.

XB is another constant. he's been there from almost the start - with barely anything changing, except a few things here and there: little fish gills, different scars each season, even a guardian tail at one point. but it's still always him... right?

Xisuma isn't the same Xisuma as before. Season 1 X was a bright, vibrant young man, laughing with his friends, the derp he always is. He got a bit more serious in season 2, taking his role as admin from GenerikB, but by the time season 4 hit he was back to normal. Nobody noticed that the suit was empty, running itself for nearly 9 season, running on an old AI. but it's still him, and the hermits have come to love the suit of armour as if it was the man from the first season.

Zedaph is comstantly blowing himself up and getting replaced by some other blonde sheep hybrid with the courage to continue the experiments. "Zedaph" isn't so much a person anymore, but the title given to the head of the wackiest science projects in the realm.

Cleo is a zombie. duh. She used to be human, but she died and decayed while still sentient. it doesn't bother her much, she stitches herself up if need be.

TFC was just a man. no tricks, no immortality, no replacements. very typical of him, very expected.

~~~

GenerikB was once the admin of hermitcraft. an old man, but still playful at heart. he left, leaving the realm to X at the start of season 2. though in season 8, a younger version of him tried to reinstate his place in the world - with all the tact and charm of a cocky young man - insulting too many people and doing way too much wrong to be trusted back in the group.

Pungence and Skyzm originally did have newer versions - but after a while, people started to see them less and less. Bdubs still talks about his brother and his brother's best friend though! they're around, just not in this realm.

Python was once immortal - but grew tired of this world, choosing to rest after season 6.

Biffa got tired of replacing himself each season too, and chose to stop picking a next in line after the 6th.

Dinnerbone was only briefly a hermit - but he took what he needed and left. a gift from the cockiest, the greatest of all time... he didn't need to regenerate his body, or rejoin the group after a rest. he stayed until he got what he wanted, then left.

Jessassin was like etho - a new person every time you saw them. a different face peeking out from under the mask. though Jess kept to himself a whole lot more - and eventually, it seems the new faces ran out.

Hermitcraft has been going for a very long time (5-10 years per season) and because of that, hermits that are mortal sometimes die between seasons. However they always have a replacement by the time the next season comes around. (Example: boatem scar isn’t the same as mall cop scar)

The method of creation for the replacements varies, sometimes its a cousin or child of the hermit and sometimes its reincarnation.

There are a couple immortals in the mix so they stay the same throughout, but for the most part, Hermitcraft and its hermits are a ship of Theseus.

Wels's particular method takes a long time to create a replacement, leaving long gaps in playtime whenever he happens to die.

-Mod Mleem

[whumpsday]

So we've got a time travel au now, but how about a body swap au? (Which somehow makes even less sense than time travel imo but shhhh don't worry about it)

I'm imagining captive Kane waking up in Jim's body, SO confused. He sees himself in the mirror and puts together what has happened. Despite the strange circumstances, he's relieved to be free of pain for the first time in so long but as he thinks about it he realizes, "if I'm here... then that must mean that Jim is...... oh no."

And Jim wakes up on a cold, hard floor, in a world of pain, and since he has no point of reference it takes him a moment to realize where he is and whose body he's in. And by that point the hunters would arrive to have their fun and Jim has to try to convince them that he's human. he swears. He's not supposed to be here!!

Would Kane try to find a way to save Jim? But how can he without contacting the hunters who tortured him? He'd be terrified.. He can't go home either, because he's not currently a vampire and would get eaten alive in vampire territory.

I have Kane and Jim AU brainrot rn (whumperstorm)

THIS IS GREAT. i have imagined "what if bodyswap au" before, but i've always imagined it in arc 3, present day. i've never even CONSIDERED a bodyswap during arc 2. this is genius.

oh, poor jim, the unluckiest man in the world.

kane would absolutely do everything in his power to save jim. the first problem would be finding him. kane doesn't know where the compound is. is prob able to find liz's phone number written down somewhere and call her for help. when liz first hears what kane has to say, she initially thinks jim is just having some kind of bizarre mental breakdown, but it becomes quickly apparent this is not the case. liz is horrified. immediately starts working on getting jim out of there, which is fairly easy for her to do. kane doesn’t even have to go. liz picks him up. kane is completely horrified to learn liz is a hunter, also. liz seeing kane in jim’s body recoil from her in fear makes her... really sad. she knows it’s kane, who she HATES WITH BURNING PASSION, but he just looks like jim.

jim is so incredibly confused and scared. he wakes up in an incredible amount of pain, and trying to explain himself just gets him hurt more. not to mention the fact that he’s unused to a vampire body, especially a starving vampire body. the sensation of total starvation is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. vampires also have much better senses than humans: the lights are too bright, the sounds are too loud, and he can smell everything. especially blood. jim isn’t used to having to restrain himself. gives into instinct and lunges at the first human he sees, and is punished severely with time in the sun for it, the worst pain he’s ever felt by a longshot.

liz manages to rescue him up pretty soon after this, and jim can’t even see or speak or move he’s so burnt. he can’t even really feed. liz pries his mouth open and drips as much of her own blood as she can into there. jim is clinging to her for dear life. liz is crying while assuring him “everything’s going to be okay, i’m here, i’ve got you.”

kane’s got... problems adjusting to being in a human body as well, despite how relieved he is to not be in pain- aside from the dull pain that never leaves his neck. he sees worse (can’t even see in the dark!), hears worse, and can barely smell anything. he’s still terrified of sunlight even though it won’t hurt him anymore. and humans have to eat so OFTEN. two or three times a day AND have to drink water. and so many options to pick from!!! he’s just glad he gets to eat again after years of starvation.

jim recovers within 2 days, being fed blood and all. once he’s brought back home, kane feeds him too. jim & liz keep kane. can’t exactly let him go running off in jim’s body, and kane’s too afraid to leave the house anyway. once jim is healed, the being-unused-to-body thing only gets worse. he’s so strong and so fast. keeps breaking things and running into walls. after that first day, he absolutely refuses to feed on liz. kane readily offers himself for feeding, teaches jim how to do it properly. this is the weirdest thing in the world to jim. feeding on kane in his own body.

a very interesting au indeed!

[books-and-catears]

Y'know that phrase "Eat the rich"? Well the brother(minus Mammon), the new dateables, and Luke would all be considered rich in a way. So what if they heard the MC talking to a friend and they said it. Who would get it 'n take it as a joke then who wouldn't, and how would they react towards it?

This is probably one of the dumbest asks I've done, so feel free to ignore this lol

Ahahha this is not dumb at all, honey! This is something I'd definitely love to read and laugh at.

Thank you so much for this. Hope I can do this justice :) This is a bit shorter than I usually write I'm so sorry

(And for all of you other lovely people who have also requested, please forgive me for the delays. My college is freaking BOMBARDING me with assignments! So please be patient with me

>\\\<)

MC: *over phone* They did what?!

Friend: Yes I kid you not, they raised the prices again!

MC: As if the taxes weren't high enough already?!

Friend: I know right?! Like we won't be able to eat fast food either!!

MC: *screaming* Oh hell no. If they don't let us eat what we want, we'll freaking eat them. Eat the damn rich!

Meanwhile, the rest of the group overhearing from the next room...

Lucifer

What in Diavolo's name was that?

What do you mean by that?

MC what is the meaning of this?

You aren't supposed to eat people just because they are rich MC that's not proper

4 hour lecture if you don't explain it to him immediately.

Mammon

Goldie? Who is she? I don't know her!

MC I lost the last bet I swear I'm completely broke right now MC

Will you accept Grimm instead? Wait I have none

Wait doesn't that mean he's safe?

Yaay I'm not rich! Wait..that's not something to brag about

Help the confused boy out

Leviathan

Lol MC eats rich people?

Wait is he considered rich?

*looks around at all his expensive merchandise nervously* Uhhh MC ... don't get the wrong idea...

Oh no.. isn't snake meat a delicacy in the human world?

Reassure the poor snek boi that you won't eat him else he might summon Lotan

Satan

Laughs at his brother's reactions

Don't worry MC I've read this phrase in books

Tell my brothers? Why ? This is so much fun

Just look at Lucifer's horrified face

Well done MC

Mischievous catboi is enjoying this way too much

Asmodeus

Eek MC eats other other humans? Just cause they are rich?

That doesn't pretty at all MC. And neither healthy

Why not just take their stuff and leave?

Wait are you planning to eat him too? This is completely different from what he imagined!

Someone calm this boy down before his skin breaks out

Beelzebub

Eat? Eat what? The rich?

Is that some kinda salami snack flavored dish? He wants to try it too!

Wait what do you mean it's other humans? Humans eat each other?

Wait he did try to eat Asmo once accidentally cause he smelled like strawberries and cream (blame the perfume)

Sweet baby boy don't let him normalize this!

Belphegor

I knew humans were evil in the head but to this extent-

Eating their own kind? Well that makes his job easier then

He didn't even need to try and destroy humanity, they are doing it to themselves

Just gotta make sure MC doesn't get eaten

Will probably whine in disappointment when you tell him

Solomon

Ah money issues in the human world again?

Humans and their unstable economy what a bother

Also laughs at everyone's reaction

Fuels the chaos. Yes it's true, he once ate a whole merchant because he refused to lower the price on some magical stones

Winks at you as you shake your head in annoyance

Damnit MCShady you're making it worse!

Barbatos

Also secretly well versed in human knowledge

Secretly chuckles at everyone's reaction

Eating another human? My my it would take a long time to get the whole thing marinated and cooked-

Whispers to Diavolo what it actually means

Barbatos now is not the time is to be cheeky!

Diavolo

Confused on the outside, panicking on the inside

Is this something that humans do?

He's basically the richest guy in Devildom, is MC going to want to eat him? Surely not?!

What about Solomon? How rich is he?

If humans eat other humans, it was a good idea to put them in different houses!

Barbatos, calm the frazzled Prince of Hell down

Luke

Hides behind Simeon in horror

M-MC EATS PEOPLE? JUST CAUSE THEY ARE RICH?

Simeon are we rich? Are we going to be eaten too?

Humans can't eat angels can't they?!

I thought MC was sweet and harmless!

He's on the verge of tears, hurry up and tell him!

Simeon

Oh no what are they overpricing this time MC?

Humans and their constant inflation, it never ends does it? No wonder you resent the rich

Covers his mouth to hide his laughter at everyone's reaction

Luke, you don't need to hide behind me like this

Godamnit Simeon, help your son!

[thelonelyraven]

Aberdeen Gothic

Because I've been seeing a bunch of these and I couldn't help myself.

Lately there’s been a smell of something burning in the air. You’re not sure what it is. It’s not quite leaves, not quite paper. It smells sweet. You see no smoke. Hear no fire engine. There are no gardens around, just old granite buildings. Where can this be coming from?

There’s always ships waiting in the distance. You see them from the beach. You never see them in the harbour. You never see them move. They’re gone the next day, other ships stand in slightly different places. They all look the same but you know you’ve never seen the same ship twice. 

Sometimes, when you walk on King Street, there is a smell of fish. The harbour is far away. There’s no fish market anymore. No one really knows where the smell comes from. 

Summer is the worst. The sun sets at 10 pm. At midnight it looks like dawn is already there. The sun isn’t supposed to rise for another 4 hours. You hear a scream. It sound like a seagull but you know it’s not, though you’re not sure what it is. It sounds ancient and in pain. It sounds tired. You know how it feels. You haven’t slept since April.

Winter is the worst. The sun remains low. A constant dusk envelops Seaton Park. You go to sleep early in the morning. It is pitch black outside. By the time you wake up, the sun is setting. You could have sworn it was midday. The darkness is hungry. You’ve not seen your friends in a month and a half. Last time you went on a walk you could swear a man was eaten alive by shadows. You’re too scared to leave your house.

The leaves start to fall from the trees. One day, you notice a crow on the grass from your window. You don’t remember when was the last time you saw one. The next day there are three. After a week, there’s so many you can’t count them anymore. You begin to wonder if the darkness at night is just the absence of sunlight. 

You go past Saint Machar cathedral. You know better than to look at the graves in the cemetery. You feel them watching you. You walk a little faster.

You have to go through Seaton Park. You hurry. You don’t want to be there after nightfall. There are worst things than the humans that hide in the shadows away from the street lamps. You know that when they’re near the river goes silent. 

The buses never show up on time. You used to think it was because of poor time management. That did not explain the ones that disappeared. You long for the days you didn’t know the truth.

Some nights you hear a roar, like from a motorway. You’re in a residential area with no major road for miles. It is 3 am. You know you will never learn the true nature of the sound. It is for the best.

You used to see foxes when you walked back from parties. They’ve gone now. They felt it way before you did. By the time you realised something was wrong, it was too late to escape. The streets are empty now.

Several years ago, you planted potatoes in your garden. You cared for them but nothing grew. When came time for harvest, you dug them out to see what was wrong. They were all rotting away. You discarded them in the compost bin. You never tried to grow any more potatoes since. The soil felt reticent to let you. This year, you saw them. Potato plants growing in your garden. Nowhere near where you’d planted the previous ones. You do no know where they came from, or if it is a good idea to eat them. You decide to take a couple days to think about it. You hear them calling to you. Then, one morning, they are gone. “It’s for the best, really” says a soft voice behind you. You are alone in the house.

You order some food online. A couple seconds later, the doorbell rings. You open it to see the food, in a bag, at your doorstep. There is no one outside. You go into the street, no vehicle can be seen in the distance. When you go back inside and check the receipt, it only has your name on it. No address, no price, no mention of the restaurant. The order doesn’t appear on the app and you cannot find the restaurant anywhere online. Your credit card history shows the amount being taken from your bank account, but whenever you try to read the name of the company, it changes to a different string of random letters.

No matter how long you put your clothes to dry, they’re always damp. Even the ones that felt dry when you put them away now feel damp when you take them out of the drawer.

Any food you leave out for more than a day grows mould. Any food you leave in the fridge for more than a week grows mould. Even in the freezer, mould starts to appear. You’d never seen this kind of mould before. One day, you look in the mirror and see you are yourself covered in it. You look down at your arms in shock, but they’re normal. When you look back up at your reflection, you cannot see the mould anymore. Sometimes, you feel it, however. Every now and then, when someone walks by, from the corner of your eye you will see the mould that covers them. When you turn to look, however, it’s gone. Last time, letters appeared on your bread. They were from an alphabet you’ve not been able to identify. All the pictures you took of it are now corrupted files, and cannot be accessed. Any notes have mysteriously disappeared. 

[the-haunted-office]

Thursday can't help but redden a little bit at the slight admonishment for being told she's asked too many questions at once, even though Kanae's tone came across as playful. There's some part of Thursday that she hasn't been able to quite understand that feels nervous about things, like things are her fault, even when she has a feeling they shouldn't be. Asking too many questions shouldn't be a bad thing, right? Especially in a bizarre situation like this? She can't help it. It feels normal to be asking a lot of questions, so for someone to hint that she's asking too many makes her feel stupid.

She can't help but back off from the questions in a hurry, feeling suddenly more insecure, although she tries not to let it show too much, because everything about this situation makes her feel insecure. There isn't a moment she's felt secure since she gained consciousness.

"Oh," is all she can think to say for a moment, because she wants to ask more questions and she's wondering when she might be allowed to ask without it being considered too many. She supposes she'll wait for some kind of cue or prompt - assuming she'll recognize it - and watches as Kanae and the other one exchange some more of that language she doesn't understand, once again feeling like there's something important she's not understanding, and just- waits for her turn to be addressed.

Looking down at her leg, she scratches at it again. Why does it heal fast like that? She has no idea. It just always has. Any of her injuries and ailments have. She looks back up at Kanae and shrugs, once again brimming with questions herself.

"I- don't- I mean, I guess I didn't realize it was healing fast. I've always healed like that," she answers, pressing her lips together like she thinks she's done something wrong. "But- Eh, I'm sorry, I'm not really understanding, I don't mean to be- to not be understanding. I've never eaten a person before. I've only ever eaten mushrooms and flowers and things. Never a person. I mean, I've never tried to... Seeker did this to me." She points at the healing bite marks on her leg. "And, yeah, I guess you could say I taste good to them? They keep doing it, so- Yeah. I mean, it's either that or they just- they just don't... they really don't like the taste of mushrooms and flowers by comparison, haha."

Her nervous attempt at humor lands flat as a bad tire, even to her, and it didn't even help her anxiety over this whole mystery like she was subconsciously hoping it would.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, I know you said I was asking too many questions, but I can't help it. If I'm healing too quickly for a human, then why am I not eating like a ghoul? Or have I just misunderstood something? Or, was Seeker not feeding me properly? I mean, they weren't that bad to me, they really weren't, I swear they weren't, I just didn't want to be stuck with them anymore, I didn't ask for any of this-"

Thursday cuts herself off abruptly, suddenly feeling really bad for speaking so poorly of Seeker. She's terrified of them, but at the same time, part of her really cares about them. And she hates herself for feeling both of those things.

Kanae listens carefully and attentively to Thursday.

She likes the sense of having power. She is getting information her father wants, and she's better at getting it than he would ever be. And all because of traits, because of a suite of tools that often come with an amorphous thing called femininity, that he looks down on as weak and vapid. Giving Thursday comforts is power too.

So is neglecting to tell Thursday that they're surrounded by humans who can probably help her, if she's human after all. That definitely feels important.

"That's too many questions all at once!" she laughs. It sounds playful on the surface, but on some level, she means it. She needs to figure out just the right way to have this conversation if she wants to keep that sense of power she's decided she likes. It will go badly if Thursday runs away or if Mr. von Rosewald butts in and takes over.

"The world out here is... well, it's a lot different than the woods," Kanae says, trying to sort her thoughts. She should answer the question without really answering it, she thinks. And change the subject quickly, to something more useful to her. Like how Thursday's wounds can heal like that.

"The outside world is... beautiful, but also terrible..."

Mr. von Rosewald pauses his phone conversation to give Kanae a quick, blunt reminder in that unknown language: Kanae should ask Thursday how her wounds can heal like that.

Kanae turns to him with a look of incredulous hurt. Does he perceive her as rambling about a world that can be beautiful and terrible, with no direction or plan? She wants so badly for him to respect her, or even just try to understand her. Her concept of his concept of her, in this moment, is wounding. She's twenty-one, and he probably has a mindset like he's walking next to a child.

(Later, she will remember that her parents made an agreement a long time ago that they shouldn't hunt together for the sake of their marriage. Her father refuses to assume competence behind her mother's actions, her mother claims. They don't work as a team. They trip over each other, take everything personally, and risk being caught or losing their prey. Remembering that later will offer Kanae a little cold comfort. Remembering who she's dealing with. Mr. von Rosewald does not dole out respect lightly, and his criteria for what deserves respect can lack a certain winnable quality.)

"He wants to know why your leg is healing fast like that," Kanae tells Thursday, trying to keep a neutral tone. Her dad doesn't think she's smart, and she is being so brave about it. "If you don't already know, all people are either humans or ghouls. Humans eat plants and animals, and it takes them a long time to heal from injuries. Ghouls only eat humans, and they heal quickly if they get hurt. We're trying to figure out what you are. You seem like a human, but only a ghoul would heal like that, so we don't know. Is Seeker a ghoul? Like, do they eat pieces of you? Do you taste good to them, do you think? Ghouls can eat other ghouls too, but humans are better."