#i would put more thought into the structure of this but in the spirit of presenting incredibly raw minimally edited first drafts...

[biff-adventurer]

FFXIVWRITE 2023 - Prompt #3: Extra Credit - DOLLS

“Have you heard of the new FC that opened down the road?” asked Pudada, pouring her second cup of tea. “It’s a beautiful, pink manor with white accents. There was a pool in the yard! And everyone seemed to be having a good time in it. Though, I’m not sure having a pool in the front was the best idea. What if someone peered through the gates at those poor girls?”

“Oh, they seem a hardy lot to me,” purred H’zula, picking a cupcake from the tray. “They were catcalled by one of the Unicorns. The leader suddenly appeared, as though summoned by a thought! And then the Unicorn… went home with a broken nose.”

“I like the punching one,” said Zia who, for once, was not referring to Biff. The little cabbage fairy plucked H’zula’s cupcake nearly out of his mouth. “Punching one has spirit. Punching one always smiles and never lets other walking ones anger her!”

“I’ll admit, I like a strong woman,” concurred H’zula, reaching for his pilfered prize. Zia floated up to the ceiling fan, settling on one of its wings to munch in peace. The Miqo’te sighed.

“Oh… I know who yer talkin’ about.” Biff looked up from his tomestone as it blinked its frivolous lights off. His mussed hair and state of (un)dress, along with the childlike interest on his face, suggested his need for coffee the highest at the table–except that he was surrounded by mugs, and fidgeting like an old, allagan device receiving an endless stream of commands. “That’s Barbara’s FC. The DOLLS.”

“The… dolls?” Pudada tilted her head. “I’ve never heard of them. They were a beautiful bunch of ladies, certainly! You know her personally?”

“Scruffy one knows all ones,” said Zia with a sagely nod.

“What do you know about them?” asked H’zula, suddenly so interested he was leaning forward, resting his chin on a downturned hand. “Did you used to date Barbara?”

“I’m sure I’d remember her if he had,” muttered Pudada.

“No, no. It ain’t dolls. It’s DOLLS, like.” Biff set his tomestone on the table. He gesticulated for emphasis. “Dangerous Outrageous Loot Lovers. Their leader’s name is Barbara Milicent Handler. She’s the one with the hair.” So saying, he pulled fingers through his own hair, puffing it up.

H’zula snorted. Pudada couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t remember seeing anyone with a hair-do like that,” said Pudada, “for I’m certain I would remember her!”

“Scruffy one misleads adventuring ones!” Zia huffed. They crumpled up their paper cup and threw it at H’zula’s head. “Blonde one, with long, beautiful hair and large, blue eyes is leading one! Leading one’s hair is big, but not scruffy like scruffy one’s!”

“I jes meant she has nice hair!” Biff pouted. “She’s been workin’ hard tae build that FC. Since a’fore the Final Days. But, y’know, not just anyone can enter.”

“Ahh, so there are standards?” H’zula fished the crumpled cup out of his luxurious, chestnut hair. “Just how high have they set them?”

“I can’t get in,” said Biff. He reached for the tea kettle, but Pudada slapped at his large, meaty man mitts with her dainty, Lalafellin hands and their pink painted fingertips.

“You must tell us why,” she urged. “I don’t know a thing about them! Neither does Ayame or Leodaire or Athey! I would write S’dennmo, but married life keeps her busy, as you know!”

H’zula chuckled. “I’m sure Zia knows.”

“This one knows,” said Zia, “but this one won’t tell!”

“It ain’t nothin’ special,” said Biff, rubbing his eyes. “Make me another cup an’ I’ll tell ye!”

“You told us never to let you get the jitters!” cried Pudada. “And now you have them behind our back!”

“Alright, alright!” The mess of a midlander sat upright and stretched his arms. “I’m gettin’ restless anyroad. Barbara, she won’t let in anybody that calls himself a man.”

“That’s it?” Pudada stared.

“I can’t say I blame her,” sighed H’zula, admiring a new pastry in his hand. “Men are the worst. I would know, as a man.”

“Exactly!” said Biff, pointing directly at H’zula. “Men are the WORST!”

Pudada looked between the two men with wide, wide eyes. When her gaze drifted to Zia, they simply shrugged. Then, a pregnant pause.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose they really are.”

[your-local-granny]

okay before i forget. i've been trying to put my finger on why people saying phoenix and maya are 'sibling-coded' pisses me off so much and I think a big part of it is how important mia is to both their introduction and also the foundation of their relationship and how calling phoenix and maya 'siblings/sibling-coded' waters down all of their relationships

phoenix wishing that maya was mia is a very big part of maya's arc as well as a big sticking point in phoenix and maya's relationship. phoenix spends the majority of turnabout sisters wishing that 'the chief' was there and when maya fails to channel her he shows outward disappointment. this is something that maya obviously picks up on and internalizes as we see throughout the rest of the games. most notably maya shows remarkably little self-preservation, throwing herself at von Karma's taser and in contempt of court to help edgeworth (and by extent, phoenix). she openly admits to feeling useless when she can't channel mia and phoenix never refutes this out loud until he of course presents the bullet to her showing that she wasn't useless. phoenix is notably bad at expressing his thoughts/ and feelings so its honestly debatable whether this gets through to maya but thats neither here nor there

on the other side of it, maya wishes that phoenix would be the caring adult figure that she was missing for most of her life (and especially after mia dies) and phoenix does not do a great job of being that figure. he likes her sure, and they're good friends, but he's definitely not nurturing or sensitive whenever maya is in distress. at the end of turnabout sisters when mia tells maya to "take care of phoenix" for her, maya starts calling him nick (because that's what mia said phoenix's friend calls him) and their dynamic for the most part is solidified. maya is not able to find mia in phoenix and accepts him as his own person and a part of her life as a friend.

phoenix has a more complicated journey with viewing maya as her own person partially because of the whole spirit-channeling thing, and partially because maya is younger than both the chief and himself. phoenix is constantly looking to a mentor for guidance and feels out of his depth for most of the cases in the trilogy. he frequently wishes that mia could be there, and is shown to value maya's ideas less, or at the least question them more at face-value. nevertheless, by the second game phoenix relies on maya greatly as shown with how he copes (or fails to cope) with her absence in rfta and 2-4, and 3-5. phoenix views her as both an integral part of his life and support structure, but also views her as someone he has to put on a brave face for, much like pearls. maya is phoenix's young friend that he leans on and wishes to protect.

maya's love for her sister is a core theme that spans the entire trilogy and culminates in maya almost dying in 3-5. phoenix's love for mia is a constant driving force that pushes him past what he believed himself capable of, and encourages him to trust those who become those closest to him. phoenix and maya's relationship is colored by their own relationships to mia, and how they view each others relationship with mia. they both represent a part of her that they never knew as well as a part of her they can keep loving in her place after she is gone, but most importantly, neither of them will ever be mia. no one else can be maya's big sister and no one else can be phoenix's mentor. they meet each other as two strangers set adrift by the same lost mooring, and though they'll never be secure in the way they were before meeting each other, they have a friend to help keep themselves afloat.

[shyfoxsky]

I really think that the therian community needs more essays on former trends and general forms of conduct, because I've said it before and will continue to say it, but the way the community was structured in the mid to late 2010s when I was first awakened was fun and exciting and helped me really find the good in my identity, but also was extremely toxic, judgy, and detrimental to my overall journey.

In my first few years in the community, I was embraced into a corner of the internet that was all about animals and the ethical treatment of them and appreciating and worshipping nature as we all considered ourselves more a part of it than "others". I was also dragged by my tail into a corner of the internet that forced me to give up every single personal, little detail about my personal identity and how I felt about it and the step-by-step of how I got there just to be allowed to speak.

That community both sang the praises of wolf therians, put them on a pedestal, to the point that it felt like they were above all other 'types, while also simultaneously tearing down anyone who questioned wolves, especially certain coat colors, to the point that you had to defend a master's thesis in front of a panel of graymuzzles for anyone to allow you the label "wolf therian". From day one, you were conditioned to believe there was no fun and intimate community, no pack meets, no content for you, unless you were a gray wolf, but you had to be educated on par with the top experts in the world on both identity and the species to not be considered "another kid that likes wolves". If you were anything else, you were an outcast in a world of outcasts. You were just "trying to be unique". You never got edits, outfits, etc. without asking creator accounts for them yourself. The community's terminology was structured around wolves. Howls, packs, etc. You either had to accept that you were going to be outnumbered in any close-knit small group you joined, if you were even allowed and it wasn't "wolves only", or, you could make a group designed around 'types similar to yours, which would never be found by others like you, and would quickly only become a failed idea.

That community is what led to my complicated and painful feelings towards wolves. For the rest of my life, no matter what happens, I will always have doubt in my identity because of it all. I will either be a wolf who believes I'm one because of the community's influence, or I won't and will believe I'm not because I want to escape the stereotypes that come with being a wolf.

That community also was riddled with rigid, unspoken rules about what was and wasn't an acceptable therian identity. I never heard of systems during that time, never saw anyone identify solely psychologically, and no one identified only because they felt like that creature. Back then, you were a standard therian with a single 'type, maybe a second if you'd been researching and journaling every single day without fail for more than a year with statistics to back it up. You had a reason for your identity, but it couldn't just be that you imprinted on your pets as a child (that's not enough), or that it developed from trauma or autism (therianthropy isn't a mental illness), or that you simply feel that way (you're just a wolfaboo). You had to be a misplaced soul, someone with past lives, on rare occasions, you could be a permanent walk-in spirit (but definitely not in a plural way). Don't even get me started on the idea of polymorphs, conceptkin, etc.

I personally feel like a standard therian, but to this day, I still question the origin of my identity. So much of my identity as a red wolf hinged on it being endangered and from my area, because then I could be a misplaced soul due to there not being enough bodies for red wolves to be born into. When I first awakened, I thought my identity came from a past life, even though I personally don't believe I can ever find out what those were, if I even have any. Later on, when I realized being raised with dogs and always seeing and being compared to canines likely had something to do with it, and I considered it to have come from imprinting, I still felt as if I was required to find some spiritual side to it as well. I still struggle with this, to the point that I barely know what I believe in afterlife-wise anymore, and I certainly don't understand what led to my identity, if something even led to it at all.

Those kinds of things needs to be discussed more, because to an extent, I feel like it's still present, both in the same and different ways. The newly-awakened alterhumans of today, yesterday, and tomorrow, all deserve to have a truly accepting space to figure themselves out without pressure to conform to an unspoken standard of how one should identify. Tumblr is better about it than most sites, but ones like TikTok might set things back, if they haven't already, despite the attempts of well-meaning individuals who are trying to break through the algorithm and educate others. I just think more discussions need to be had and more perspectives and experiences need to be shared for the sake of awareness and making sure damaging practices don't continue forever.

[arimiadev]

spooky indie visual novels you've never heard of for spooky season

since it's October I thought I'd put together a list of spooky indie visual novels (horror, Halloween, creepy, dark comedy, anything in the spirit of the season goes) that you've probably never heard of but can play right now on itchio!

model employee

Model Employee is a corporate horror visual novel. Just discharged from the hospital and massively in debt for their life-saving cybernetics, the player-character must adapt to the “extreme” work-life balance of a Tethys Team Member- but they have help. Penny, the artificial personality that controls all security, waste disposal, and employee surveillance in the facility, specializes in reinforcing an especially cutthroat variety  of workplace culture- and she’s taken an interest in you.  If you want to get ahead in your career, you gotta be willing to take some risks.

model employee is such a tightly structured visual novel for being made in just one month for a game jam, making full use of everything while surprising you at every corner. every part of this game was so well planned and thought out- dystopian corporate satire isn’t my cup of tea (we’re living it) but the way they present everything in this game makes it feel so much more intense.

beary the hatchet

It’s Halloween 199X, and you killed someone during your morning shift. Honestly it’s inconvenient. This job was imperfect, sure, but you got to wear a mask with no questions asked and the pay was livable. But now you’ll have to keep the body in the backrooms till your shift is done. Bummer. “You’re… the absolutely WICKED and AWESOME Bearwater Grizzly Killer, aren’t you?!” …and now enters the dreaded true crime fan.

beary the hatchet is such a uniquely lovely game to look at, even if the subject matter is grim. I love the color palette and tones in this, I love the 2.5D graphics, I love how expressive all of the designs are. it’s a game oozing with style.

WE KNOW THE DEVIL

Anyone can kill the devil; that’s why they always make teens the vampire slayers, the magical girls. But some kids can’t even get that right; and that’s why meangirl Neptune, tomboy Jupiter, and shy shy Venus have to endure one more week of summer camp and each other, singing boring songs about jesus, doing busywork for adults, and hoping god’s radio can’t hear them. Before they can leave the summer scouts, they’ve got to spend twelve hours in the loneliest cabin in the woods and wait for the devil to come and live through the night–or not. You know.

it’s a visceral experience, something that feels foreign and familiar at the same time. I love the direction for it, the sketchy monochrome sprites against the colored photos- parts when there aren’t any characters on screen feel that much more real, like you’re watching found footage because of how tense everything is.

disconnect

Late at night, a phone call from a friend keeps disconnecting from you… On and off, on and off, constantly… …What would you do if you realized your friend wasn’t who you thought they were? And how would you react when the truth was finally revealed? (“̷̢̑W̸̨̊o̸̫͊u̷̱͝ḽ̸͛d̴͉̐ ̵̚ͅy̵̜̽o̸̥͗u̷̮̎ ̷̜̏s̶̤̄t̸̥͐i̴̻̕l̸̰͝l̸͉̓ ̷͕́ȁ̸̩c̸̡̓t̵̜̊ ̵͓̈t̶̙̄h̶̦͂e̸̩͠ ̸̩̅s̶̘̏a̷̪͛m̵̮͒e̴͖͑ ̸̭́w̷̨̚á̴̱y̵̯̑?̶͎̌"̷͈̆) Find out what happened to our scaredy-cat protagonist, Indie－a famous horror storyteller on the H-T-M (Horror, Tales, and Mystery) forum. What would she do when she unintentionally uncovered a mystery hidden deep within her own home?

I love the style of disconnect and the unorthodox way of getting to the truth of the matter. I’m not normally one to play furry VNs, but the designs are adorable and I love the presentation of the game, it has a lot of animation in it. there’s also one moment not too far in on this screen that made me scream…

curse of the juniper tree

Curse of the Juniper tree is a tale of two siblings, a cursed tree and an isolated village. It is a short kinetic visual novel featuring 2d exploration. Walk around the snowy village and talk to its inhabitants! Story is loosely based off the fairytale called The Juniper Tree by the Brothers Grimm in Grimm’s Fairy Tales in 1812.

this is a lovely and short story about two siblings living in a frozen land together. it’s a very atmospheric story with so many beautiful blues and detailed character designs. the controls were a bit hard to figure out at times but it’s worth your time.

reaplaced

Grea Perrim is a reaper of souls, and it’s her duty to bring the deceased to the other side. But in the world of reapers, death isn’t any kind of equalizer. The value of a soul is directly tied to the peculiarity of its death. Grea’s supernatural senses bring her to a Halloween house party with three costumed guests. She soon finds the most valuable kind of soul: the victim of a locked-room murder. In order to reap the soul, Grea must unravel the identity of its killer and explain its death in full. Is this the work of a human? A witch? Or something else entirely…?

reaplaced is a fun little whodunnit set on Halloween about a grim reaper out on the hunt who finds herself in the middle of a murder mystery. it’s much more indepth than I was expecting and the soundtrack is wonderful—there’s a lot of small touches to it that make it great.

Silver Thread

An exorcist that doubts the existence of ghost might sound contradictory but to Alicia Wilkershire, this is the right way to get closer to the truth. Her latest job sounded like another run-of-the-mill case and she greeted her client with her usual pessimism but is it, really?

Silver Thread is a spooky and short RPGM game about a skeptical exorcist trying to help a guy with his problems. the style is lovely and if you also like this kind of style, the developer has several other RPGM games like this!

Elevator Hitch

Elevator Hitchis a short 2.5D surreal horror/escape room visual novel with point-and-click and puzzle elements following the story of two co-workers suddenly finding themselves stuck together in a "Perfectly Normal" 70s office elevator.  They must explore each liminal-looking floor and find a way to get off the elevator to their actual destinations.

like a few others on this list, Elevator Hitch was made in just a month for the Spooktober Visual Novel Jam and was my favorite game from the year it came out (2022). it's more of an adventure style game than pure visual novel, so expect puzzles and a lot of bad ends! this developer also has a lot of other similar style adventure visual novels.

The Case of the Serialized Killer

When a popular illustrator is found dead, disgraced demonologist Harold Ludicael is hired to summon her ghost. Ghosts are the one thing he can't summon, but with sharp insight, perhaps he can solve the mystery, and resurrect the most important thing: His career.

this visual novel is an absolute feast on the eyes as all of the art is done by traditionally painted watercolor artworks! the characters are all unique and the world feels very lived in. if you like murder mysteries then check it out.

Stillwater

"𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕥 𝕒 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕖…" A woman arrives with a mysterious letter in hand addressed to her grandfather. Etched in crimson is a foreboding message, a warning—a promise made from a time forgotten. Private Investigator Hugo Laurent and his assistants must solve this bizarre case before an old family's curse befalls them all.

Stillwater is a lovely looking game - I love everything about the art direction for it. it's not overly scary but very atmospheric with several endings to find.

Who is the Red Queen?

Alice falls down the rabbit hole into a Wonderland not quite right. Meeting an eclectic collection of people, animals, and some things in between, she sets out on an adventure in this odd new place to find the missing Red Queen. Or, more specifically, to find the pieces of the dismembered queen whose body has been strewn across the land.

a familiar but new take on Alice in Wonderland, now with a lot more yuri. like a lot of the VNs I've recommended, this was originally made in just 1 month. this one in particular has a lot of dead ends, mention of gore & dismemberment, and other content warnings.

okay now that you've made it this far I'm going to promote my gay horror / Halloween visual novels

Asphodelium

Hazel is an ex-adventurer who's settled down with some of his previous guildmates after the adventure of a lifetime—taking down a doomsday cult that tried to end the world, but at the cost of killing their former guild leader who turned against them. Despite their adventure still haunting him months later, he's tried to move on. —That is until a man with the same face as their guild leader approaches him. This is a story about cults and killing and killing cults. And being in love.

Asphodelium is a melancholic dark boys love visual novel that I made solo in about 3 months. it's entirely in NVL mode (I love you NVL) and around 3 hours long and my personal favorite game I've made so far.

Dahlia

a vampire has snuck into your room while you were sleeping. the only question is - are you next on her menu? Dahlia is a very short sapphic visual novel made in under 36 hours for the Velox Formido game jam, a jam for shortform visual novels. survive being trapped with a lovely little vampire, or don't.

also NVL mode because I love NVL mode. this is a short and sweet vampire visual novel I made solo in a weekend for a game jam that has several different endings.

Witch You Want

With a rather sparkly magical paper, you find a job listing for a local witch needing an assistant with making potions before the town festival that weekend. You sign up, unsure exactly what to expect...... A pompous and questionably excellent witch runs a local apothecary in town but finds that if she wants to make enough potions before the festival that weekend to sell (and keep her ongoing potion shop afloat) she'll need some assistance. After a dubious help wanted ad, she gains you as an assistant. Will the two of you see through to the festival? Will you be able to make a single potion? Will this girlfailure capture your heart?!

this is my latest visual novel that released just a few days ago! I directed & programmed this short cutesy game for a game jam at our studio. it's pretty fluffy romcom with a potion minigame in it. please help our girlfailure make potions, she needs all the help she can get.

[milliesfishes]

Alright listen hear me out…reader gets hurt in the arena bombing instead of Coriolanus. And like reader and Coryo have been best friends since like their early school years so Coryo cares so deeply about reader and is so so worried. He like stays by their bedside in the hospital and everything.

⋆౨ৎyou get hurt in the arena instead of coriolanus⋆౨ৎ fem reader x coriolanus snow

Silence, the rush of dust exploding.

The air was on fire. You were grasping for something, anything to hold onto, an anchor in the storm brewing within the walls of the arena. There were muffled screams puncturing the space around you, but all you could think to do was run.

Finally, something fell into your hand, something firm that was holding you back. Turning almost in slow motion, you saw Coriolanus beside you, curls already a mess across his forehead from running to you. "Hurry! Everything's falling!"

You gripped his palm, breaths heaving as you tried to squint into the distance. Every inhale sent the tiny particles in the atmosphere swirling into your lungs, and you choked on them, throwing your elbow to your mouth. Coriolanus pulled on your hand. "Come on!"

In front of you like this, he was practically your hero. Trying to get you out, seeing your weakness and encouraging you to claw your way out.

Your feet kicked into action as he started to run, dragging you behind him. There was a ring in your ears, and rubble was crumbling all around. A bombing...how could there have been a bombing...?

Feet clumsy, you nearly tripped over them several times, dodging the rubble raining down. Coriolanus kept a firm grasp on your hand, moving in a more agile way. His adrenaline would help him make it out, yours was slowing you down.

There was a creak behind you, nearly deafening. Whipping around, you watched in horror as the side of a middling structure snapped, falling and getting closer…closer… all you could do was watch, frozen in shock as Coriolanus tried to tug you away.

Black.

Pain.

Dark shadows taunted you behind your eyes, waving things and making gestures that you hardly understood. They were you and yet they were foreign. A shout echoed in your head over and over, a man’s shout. It sounded so familiar, and yet you couldn’t put your finger on it.

There were voices. Faint, hushed whispers rushing back and forth as you faded between worlds of consciousness. All that was real was just out of reach, and yet you made no hurry to lean in. It was cozy here, in the bounds of your mind. There were hardly any problems, and your thoughts kept you company.

A hand on yours drew you to the surface, making you realize you’d practically been underwater. You opened your eyes groggily, aware of a soft surface beneath you, of bare legs against crisp sheets. The lights were dim, and you appreciated that. Any brighter and you would have wanted to tear your eyes out.

Then there was that hand clasping your fingers again. It was…nice. Familiar. Comforting. You turned your head to the side, blinking once when you saw Coriolanus at the chair by your bed, searching your face like he was reading a map.

His voice was quiet. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm,” you mumbled, shifting where you laid. “I’m tired.”

“You can go back to sleep,” he murmured, squeezing your fingers.

“The arena…how long have I been asleep?” You tried to sit up, but he shook his head, other hand going to your shoulder.

“Two days,” Coriolanus answered, eyes soft. “Your tribute didn’t make it.”

A dull thud of grief punctured your heart, and you looked away for a minute. It wasn’t just that you’d wanted to win- you’d actually liked Ginnee. She was plucky for coming from such a rough background, with a spirit you’d been perhaps overly fond of. You hoped morbidly that her death had been quick.

Coriolanus noticed your despair, and he half-smiled. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.” Your shoulders slumped. He’d been able to pick out your feelings too well, a gift he’d developed when you were still children.

You turned on your side, facing him fully. “Have you been here the whole time?”

He was quiet for a minute, almost like he was ashamed. “Yes.”

Your heart melted, butterflies springing from their dormant cocoons and fluttering in your stomach. He’d been your best friend since forever. But now something felt different.

Staring up at him, you saw care in his eyes that warmed you from the inside out like a candle lit in the dark. You were tethered to him, and you didn’t want your ropes to fray or unknot ever.

Coriolanus looked exhausted. He sat stiffly in the chair, and you knew he’d been sleeping in it from the way he was hunched over. His hair was a mess of blonde curls, and his azure eyes were tinged with a little red. He’d worn himself to the bone here, losing time with his beloved tribute to stay at your side. He must trust her. Or he cared more about you than you’d thought. Or both.

You moved over, making space in the bed and squeezing his hand. “Come here.”

“I shouldn’t,” he tried, but you shook your head, patting the space beside you.

“Please?”

There was a pause, but then he nodded, standing and stretching briefly, a few of his bones crackling. Coriolanus climbed into bed with you, settling at your side. It wasn’t the most comfortable fit, but you didn’t care, just wanting him close.

Huddling against his chest, you rested your hand there, quietly leaning against him. His other arm was wrapped around your torso, just holding you close. It was a moment of peace, the first one you’d had in months.

“Your mother’s downstairs,” he said quietly, fingers running up and down your arm.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, shifting comfortably against him. “I’m glad she’s here. And I’m glad you’re here.”

You could almost hear him smile, something he rarely did these days. “Yeah?”

“I love you, Coryo,” you murmured. His heart under your ear stuttered, you swore you could hear it. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” He said it softly, but you heard it. The hospital was like a graveyard; silent and melancholy. But right now it was quiet in the way a chapel was quiet- there were patches of quiet good in each person present.

Coriolanus leaned his cheek against your head, pressing his lips there for a moment. “I love you too.”

The way he was saying it felt different than the way he had before. But it wasn’t in a bad way at all. You felt his implication bloom in your chest like a flower, a garden come to life that you hadn’t known existed. But now it was thriving under his touch, delighting in his voice, his care. He loved you.

For now you didn’t stop to wonder how. You didn’t question how long. He knew how you felt, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he held you.

You would save worded confessions for another day. For now you were content in his arms, slipping into a tranquil sleep in a moment stolen in time.

[pomefioredove]

since my little dorm post has been getting a lot of notes(?!) I wanna explain why I feel I'd get sentenced I mean sorted into diasomnia ^^

the thing about twst dorms is that while there are superficial traits (ignihyde students being introverted, savanaclaw students being athletic, etc), those are more like stereotypes, and are not why you would be sorted into one of those dorms

the dark mirror reads your soul, not your hobbies. it's not a quotev quiz that'll ask you what your favorite color is. it's about you as a person: your values, beliefs, dreams, wants and needs, etc

like, epel felmier is a rough 'n tumble rural boy who swears and picks fights. but he belongs in pomefiore, because pomefiore isn't actually about looking pretty and doing fancy things, it's based on the fairest queen's tenacity. no, epel isn't proper or polite, but that's not what the dorm is about. he's a goal-oriented, determined, hard-working young man who embodies the spirit of persistence. that is why he's in pomefiore, and not savanaclaw or what have you

so when talking about diasomnia, I am never saying "oh, I think I'd be a really powerful mage" because that's not what the dorm is. that's just a stereotype. etc etc

(I feel like what we actually know about diasomnia itself is quite limited. at least compared to the other dorms. the thoughts I have of it could be completely non-canonical, but I have thoughts, nonetheless. so)

I said somewhere on this blog that I put a lot of value on things like politeness and civility and respect, and that I consider myself a polite person. I was raised to mind my manners and put aside my personal feelings for the sake of formality. I have never started a fight in my life, but I do get very upset when I feel as if I'm being disrespected. my family observes a lot of old traditions that are rather outdated

ex:

if you are invited to something but don't attend, you still send a gift

if you are invited to something, you invite the host to your future events

you always say thank you after receiving a gift

if you don't have anything nice to say, then you can complain about it at home. but you never, ever insult a host to their face. it's so uncouth and terrible it's like a deadly sin to me

things like that. lots of rules about hierarchy and respect. doing something disrespectful or impolite (especially without an apology) is enough to create schisms in my family. we hold grudges here

when I think of the thorn fairy's "nobility", this is the sort of thing that comes to mind. the high emphasis on the hierarchy of respect, on civility and graciousness. the value of tradition, and doing things the old-fashioned way (and the dislike, or fear, of change seems to be a common theme in diasomnia)

you could surely look at the things I just said and say, "well, you would also fit in at pomefiore" because, sure, I would! I can do the rules, I can respect the housewardens, but I lack the tenacity and the want to be something that makes the dorm what it is. diasomnia may have some similarities, but its reluctance to embrace change is what makes it so different

I, as a person, do not have dreams. most of my life has been spent just trying to get by whilst at the level of this hierarchy I was born into. I couldn't be in pomefiore because, unlike epel, I don't have big goals to work towards. I feel more comfortable being a follower than a leader, and I have a tendency of structuring my life around the lives of others rather than my hopes and dreams. I do not live boldly

and it doesn't bother me. I've found that there are benefits to staying in the shadows, and I'm comfortable with my socially nocturnal life

that is why I'm diasomnia, and not pomefiore

my favorite fairytale, which is not sleeping beauty, is very much about social structure. it's about a heroine's malicious compliance to that structure and how she manages to turn it in her favor

ironically, it also is about a spinning wheel

[somethingclevermahogony]

Updated: Kishite-Shabalic Script and a bit of the Kishic Language: Basics including an expanded list of nouns and verbs

I made this before but looking through it again I missed some things and made some mistakes, and so here is an updated version of this for y'all! As with the Kishite spoken language, the Kishic script descends from and is largely identical to the Shabalic script, thus the term Kishite-Shabalic. Kishite-Syllabic is one of three scripts used in Kishetal along with Kishic hieroglyphs (reserved for religious/cultic purposes) and the logographic Shetalic script, which has fallen almost entirely out of favour.

The Kishite-Shabalic script is syllabic, thus each symbol is representative of one syllable composed of a consonant and a vowel. In addition there are characters which serve as punctuation used to symbolize the conclusion of a thought, in similar fashion to the Latin "." and "?", and the presence of a proper noun or divine status. Though it should be noted that these are not always actually used.

Unlike the Shetalic script which is traditional formed using styluses pressed into clay, Kishite-Shabalic is typical written either through carving or the use of charcoal/ink.

Shetalic is shown below on the left with Kishite-Shabalic on the right, both say the same thing.

Keep reading for more linguistic babbling!

Vowels

As a general rule when transcribing the Kishite script, when two of the same vowel are put next to one another, they are treated as a single vowel, rather than elongated as we might see in English with words like book or meet or feat. Two different vowels, such as O and E, E and A, and so on, are almost never put directly beside each other. In the rare instances when this does occur the "stronger" of the two vowels will cover the other. The order of strength from least to greatest is as follows:

i-e-a-o-u

The vowels of the Kishite language are pronounced phonetically

Thus:

I as in sweet or pin

E as in egg

A as in palm

O as in coat

U as in tool

e.g. the substantive adjective "the Mighty" Urjali- + -ul (substantive ending) Urjaliul Urjaliul Urjalul (OOr-Jahl-OOl)

Special Note: One important differentiation between the Shabalic language and the Kishite language is that the Kishite language allows for the placing of multiple consonants in sequence. Take for example the Kishic name Ninma, in its original Shabalic form it would be Ninama (NI-NA-MA). Because of the fact that Kishite does have this trait, it has developed its own unique form of punctuation, the vowel drop. When placed below one of the syllabograms shown above, it cancels out the vowel, in essence rendering it mute. Ninma could alternatively be spelled using the formulation NI-IN-MA, similar to how Narul was spelled above, this is largely a matter of personal preference. The more traditional (Shabalic) form is often times considered more in keeping with nobility.

Sentence Structure

The Kishic language primarily follows a subject-object-verb structure.

Naru(u)l Nina(a)ma kimagiga(a)s Narul Ninma kimagigas. Narul Ninma carried. Narul carried Ninma.

Tamel kim(u)unur fabiguta(a)s Tamel kimunur fabigutas Tamel gates broke. Tamel broke gates.

Otilya (there is no -ia symbol in Kishite) Korithub luku ga. Otilya Korithub luku ga Otilia Korithia from is. Otilia is from Korithia

Enni Wi tuba chi Jahubur horu jawishaga The wind down the Mountain hard blows. The wind blows hard down the mountain.

Noun and Adjective Declensions

The Kishic language system consists of the following cases: nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, and possessive (the Shabalic language includes an instrumental case), and distinguishes between two numbers (singular and plural) and four genders, Masc/Neutral (undefined groups or individuals), Feminine, Inanimate, and Divine.

Divine beings such as gods and certain spirits as well as the Sun, Mountains, Rivers, and the Sea are always referred to in the Divine gender. Some monsters also fall under this category. (Water Bi (Inanimate), Lake Bi (Divine))

Objects which are not and have never been alive are rendered in the Inanimate gender. This can get confusing in some instances, for example while the word corpse Nahoku would utilize the masc/neutral form, the word bone, hashudi, would utilize the inanimate. Another example of this is the word Oli which can mean either blood or wine based on whether it utilizes masc/neut or inanimate declensions.

Not all inanimate objects are rendered into the inanimate. Words like spear shukala use the masc/neutral. This group typically consists of weapons and tools. The stem used will depend on the root word.

Plants as a rule are always rendered into the feminine.

Cities and countries are neutral.

Royal Titles have a specific declension.

A few examples of declension are given in the tables below.

Sample Verbs

Verb stems always end with -i. The exception to this is the verb to be, which rather takes the form of the conjugation, thus the first person singular indicative present sample or "am" would be wa.

Talk: Akki

Breathe: Ki

Eat: Ushki

Struggle: Nari

Sleep: Eshsi

Fight: Orishri

Hunt: Pabakazi (Literally Bow art(ing))

Dance: Irteti

Kiss: Mishuzi

Copulate (and the more vulgar equivalent): Seshiti/Tu(u)ki

More verbs will be provided below.

Verbal Conjugation

There are two conjugation groups within Kishite verbs, the ha/za/hi-conjugation and the wa/ya/wi-conjugation. Which conjugation is used is dependent on the verb in question, typically words with a Shabalic root use the wa -conjugation while words derived from native languages more often use the ha -conjugation.

Within the Kishite language there are two voices (active and medio-passive), three moods (indicative, subjunctive, and imperative), three aspects (perfective, imperfective/continuous, and simple), and three tenses (Past, Present, and Future)

The present tense can be identified by -i/-a/-u/-o, past by -as/-os/-us, and future by -ad/-id.

Indicative: Used for Stating facts and thus the mood of reality.

Active: The Subject is the agent of the verb.

Mediopassive: The agent acts as a reflexive agent of the verb (acting upon itself) OR the subject is the target of the verb.

Present Simple Active: Narul is hungry Past Simple Active: Narul was hungry Future Simple Active: Ninma will not be hungry Present Simple Mediopassive: Narul is accompanied by Ninma/ Narul cleans (himself). Past Simple Mediopassive: Narul was accompanied by Suru Future Simple Mediopassive: Narul will be accompanied by Mikrab Present Perfect Active: Narul has slept Past Perfect Active: Narul had slept Future Perfect Active: Narul will have slept. Present Perfect Mediopassive: Bop has been carried Past Perfect Mediopassive: Bop had been carried Future Perfect Mediopassive: Bop will have been carried Present Imperfective/Continuous Active: Narul is walking Past Continuous Active: The Deep Sun used to speak Future Continuous Active: Zatar will be fighting Present Continuous Mediopassive: Bop is being carried Past Continuous Mediopassive: Bop was being carried Future Continuous Mediopassive: Bop will be being carried

Subjunctive: Used for stating "unfacts", wishes and prayers, possibilities (may or might), hypotheticals, and opinions/judgements.

There is no Future conjugation for the Subjunctive, rather future events are expressed in the present through the use of may or might.

Additionally the Subjunctive is used for the following:

Jussive: used for suggestions and negative commands: What "should" or "should not" happen used only in the first person," we should leave/we should not leave" esh = should, na(e)sh = should not

Indefinite clauses: (if/until/whenever/whoever/however) ek = if, ekib = until, kowa(a)b =whoever, bowa(a)b = whenever, lowa(a)b = wherever, mowa(a)b = however

Purpose Clauses: "So that/ in order that" am = so that/in order that

Doubtful Assertions: "May not/Might not" er = may/maybe, na(e)r = may not, eb = might, nab = might not

Certain Future Assertions: "There certainly will..." erna = certainly (literally without maybe), na(e)rna = certainly not

Present Simple Active: We should run/ Narul wishes for rain Past Simple Active: Narul wished for rain Present Simple Mediopassive: If Ninma is stopped Past Simple Mediopassive: If Ninma was stopped Present Perfect Active: Narul has wished for rain Past Perfect Active: Narul had wished for rain Present Perfect Mediopassive: If Bop has been carried Past Perfect Mediopassive: If Bop had been carried Present Imperfective/Continuous Active: Narul is wishing for rain Past Continuous Active: Narul used to wish for rain Present Continuous Mediopassive: If Bop is being carried Past Continuous Mediopassive: If Bop was being carried

Imperative: Used for orders or commands/strong requests

Imperative is only conjugated in the second and third person singular or plural. Imperative is only used in the present and future, not for the past. Orders in the past are expressed as indicative. There are only Perfect and Imperfect Imperatives.

In the mediopassive form the imperative is translated as "Let them/you" for the first person of this the subjunctive is used "I/We should"

Present Perfect Active: Stop Future Perfect Active: You will stop Present Perfect Mediopassive: Let it stop Future Perfect Mediopassive: Let it be stopped. Present Imperfective/Continuous Active: Always stop Future Continuous Active: You will always stop Present Continuous Mediopassive: Let it be stopped (continuously) Future Continuous Mediopassive: Let it be stopped (continuously)

Additionally, the verbal system displays infinitives and participles in the present and past tenses.

Prounouns

There are four genders of pronouns; Masculine, Feminine, Neutral, and Divine. Objects with the Inanimate designation are given neutral pronouns. Only deities receive divine pronouns, other entities and places in the divine categorization will typically receive feminine pronouns, with the exception of celestial bodies which always receive masculine pronouns.

It is considered improper to address both royalty and deities with pronouns, as such there are no specific first or second person pronouns for the Divine category.

Articles

As with pronouns there is no "inanimate" article group, rather inanimate subjects are given masc/neut articles.

Stay Tuned for the ridiculously long Dictionary post that will be coming soon(ish)!

This post and the dictionary post are why, despite being back, I still haven't been all that active. I'll respond to a couple tag games tonight and I'll try to do more tomorrow. I'm still planning on doing the Korithian Recipes! Money is just tight at the moment so I'm waiting for paychecks!

If y'all notice any mistakes or typos in this, send me a message so I can fix them! Same goes for if you have questions!

@illarian-rambling, @mk-writes-stuff, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @willtheweaver, @patternwelded-quill

@elsie-writes, @elizaellwrites, @the-ellia-west, @the-octic-scribe, @the-golden-comet

@finickyfelix, @theprissythumbelina, @autism-purgatory, @diabolical-blue , @tildeathiwillwrite

@katenewmanwrites, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @paeliae-occasionally, @melpomene-grey

@drchenquill, @marlowethelibrarian, @winterandwords, @phoenixradiant, @pluttskutt

@dyrewrites, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @roach-pizza, @rivenantiqnerd, @pluppsauthor

@flaneurarbiter, @dezerex, @axl-ul, @surroundedbypearls

@treesandwords, @the-golden-comet

[emeritusemeritus]

Sauron’s Secret [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: Sauron’s Secret, one ring to rule them all.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Wife!Reader {Established but hidden relationship}

Timeline: Around S4- slight alternate timeline, no Vecna. No mention of past events in Hawkins.

Summary: Eddie’s hiding a secret and Dustin is determined to figure it out.

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of marriage. Hidden relationships, secret marriage. Mentions of drugs and marijuana. Dustin is a sleuth and I love him for it. Lord of the Rings references.

I had so much fun writing this. Set in mostly 3rd person/ Dustin POV.

Eddie Munson was allusive and mysterious, even to his closest friends.

He shared only what needed to be shared and kept his business private, just how he liked it. Eddie's favourite colour? Who knows, probably black or red but you'd never get a solid answer. His favourite movie? He says it's some old slasher film from the 50's that defied cinematic structure and gave the middle finger to the 'man' trying to oppress the creative spirit of filmmaking. Was it the truth? Probably not. His favourite book? He’d alluded to it being Lord of the rings but if questioned he would act like he’d never heard of it.

The only things he was open about were his love for heavy metal, pizza and D&D, and even then he kept his sadistic and intricate campaigns under wraps for as long as possible before the big reveal, trusting no one with his secrets.

Despite his attempts at general ambiguity, there were a few 'tells' in his behaviour, if read carefully, that could clue your in to his inner workings.

Dustin Henderson in sheer contrast is a completely open book; wears his heart on his sleeve, has little to no filter and will openly discuss all of his favourite things, regardless of if the audience is listening or not. But Dustin is also naturally inquisitive and curious, always trying to dig deeper and see the little idiosyncrasies in people that clue him in to their internal thoughts. He notices things that most people overlook and in the case of Eddie, someone he looks up to and proudly calls his friend, his curiosity is never stronger, particularly around the subject of Eddie's concealed love life.

It started a while ago, just a random day at Hellfire when Eddie came in a little late, trying to downplay his flustered nature as he shot off a roundabout apology and began setting up his campaign as Dustin looked on. Eddie had never been late, always having the table laid out perfectly, the mood lighting and repositioning all done ready for the Paladins, Wizards and Artificers ready to commence their quest. Dustin noticed as the game wore on that Eddie smelt better than usual, not that he ever smelt bad before but he seems to have a little more cologne on and his clothes smelt clean. Sometimes Eddie's clothes would have a faint tinge of damp, like they'd been sat in the dryer a little too long before airing out and being worn, only occasionally but that seemed to disappear completely after that specific meeting.

Sometimes, Dustin swears that he can smell a faint whiff of strawberries emitting from their Dungeon Master, specifically from his hair. At first he thinks he's crazy but the second or third time it happens it's definitely too much to be a coincidence.

A few weeks later when Hellfire had just come to a close, Dustin watched as Eddie shrugged on his signature two jackets and instantly frowned as he looked at the patches on the outer battle jacket. He quickly dropped the frown on his face, unknowingly doing it in the first place, before shifting subtly closer to that he could look to see what was different. The Dio patch on the back piece of the jacket was no longer raised or peeling upwards as it had been before in the bottom corner. He couldn't see any additional patches so he put it down to a fluke that Eddie just have re-sewn the patches, this time doing a much neater job than before.

But then he notices the lunches. Eddie had always brought something easy for his lunch, a bag of trail mix or questionable nut and pretzel mixes but suddenly there were sandwiches and the odd leftovers. That's when things began clicking into place for Dustin, realising that he might actually be on to something. He kept quiet about it, uncharacteristically, until he had more concrete evidence that supported his theory.

One day at lunch, Dustin walked in to see Eddie frantically scrawling ideas and little drawings on to a notepad, an actual wire bound notebook. Dustin had asked Eddie where he got the notebook but he just received a harsh glare and a dismissive insult in reply. Unfazed, Dustin smiled to himself as he tucked into his lunch tray, adding another point to his mental list, taking Eddie's defensiveness as evidence that he hadn't just stolen it from an unfortunate freshman, it was given to him. Eddie usually scrawled onto little slips of waste paper he'd find in his pockets or donated by his friends, never having brought an actual book to school in all the years that Dustin had known him, which were then folded or crumpled up and thrust into one of his many pockets.

The first Hellfire meeting after Christmas break is when Dustin realises that he'd been right all along. Eddie lights up a smoke after getting things loaded into the truck and for the first time since Dustin had known him, he wasn't using gas station grade clippers nor a random pack of matches he sometimes carried when the shitty lighters inevitably died on him. He instead lit the questionable cigarette with a black zippo lighter, one of those that were built to last, refillable and much, much nicer than any he'd ever seen in Eddie's possession before.

Still, he says nothing, content in knowing something about Eddie that no one else did, almost gleeful actually. He decides that if he's going to find anything else out then he needs to tread carefully, not wanting to alert Eddie to his inside knowledge or tip him off that he's digging around in matters that were not his own. He has to plan this carefully, asking questions that are only appropriate in the right setting, not out of the blue.

Luckily for Dustin, the moment presents itself not too long after at Hellfire when mid roll- Eddie's shirt shifts just enough for a second chain to be seen beneath his shirt, the movement of him shaking and rolling the dice allowing the pendant and chain to slip out from under his neckline. Eddie had always worn the guitar pick necklace, he never hid that beneath his shirt but this one had definitely not always been there. Dustin doesn't miss the golden glint of something hanging from the necklace, a ring that looked like a simple band. There's a few tense moments where Dustin studies the ring intensely before Eddie notices it slip, trying to quickly instil it into his mind for future reference before Eddie is alerted to his necklace being on show.

It lasts all of ten seconds before Gareth pipes up about the curious piece of jewellery in a less than delicate manner, his face scrunched up and turned to one side as he questions Eddie about it. Seemingly not missing a beat, Eddie quickly looks down at the offending article and smiles before he stuffs it into his shirt.

"That my friends is a custom made ruling ring, one ring or Isildur's Bane if you will. Genuine lord of the rings replica, 'One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them'." He smirks dangerously at the crowd after replacing the chain inside of his shirt before crouching down and casting aside one of the figurines on the table, "now, gentleman, are you prepared for your next defeat? You've fought valiantly but it may not be enough to save your sorry hides!"

Dustin gives him a lingering side eye, knowing that there was way more to that then he's made out; He'd seen the face Eddie had involuntarily pulled when he realised his mistake. Dustin was moving in on him now, biding his time until he can make his move and actually probe Eddie for the truth.

What Dustin doesn't expect however, after the months he'd spent agonising over gathering secret intel and evidence on Eddie is that one day soon, Eddie would put himself completely due to unfortunate bad luck.

It's raining, tipping it down as the Hellfire club burst through the doors of the school in sheer elation, celebrating their defeat of Vecna and his cult. The gang separates into separates cars all waiting for them and disperse as they run to get out of the rain. Dustin's mom was at work and he'd have to cycle back regardless, cursing himself for not bringing his waterproof. Eddie offers him a ride in the van, only for him to scream multiple profanities when the van only stutters before giving up completely. He kicks the wheels in frustration, already stoked to the bone from the rain in just his two jackets before he turns to Dustin to ask for his cellphone. Dustin watches him closely as Eddie dials a number entirely from memory, moving away so that his conversation would remain private as he quickly talks to someone at the other end of the phone. Dustin quickly shies away as Eddie's gaze flickers over to him briefly, acting as if he wasn't paying attention at all, until Eddie ends the conversation and hands him back the phone.

"Got a ride, stick around and we'll drop you off at home," Eddie says, nodding his head back towards the school so that the two of them could stand under the canopy to avoid getting wetter. Dustin watches as Eddie rings out his nearly flat curls, boosting them up so that his signature look wouldn't be ruined. Dustin however, pays no mind to his wetness and instead stares intensely at the road leading to the school, not wanting to miss who would be picking them up, transfixed on the idea that it might be someone he'd been waiting to meet, or prove was real, for a long time.

Dustin has to fight back a happy jig when he spots an old looking pickup truck driving up the road towards the school, eyes stinging with the rain as he daren't even blink, desperate to catch sight of whoever was driving.

When the truck comes to a stop, he falters as he sees an old man get out, wearing a boiler suit uniform having clearly been a mechanic of sorts. He then notices the logo on the side of the truck, something or others repair shop. Eddie steps forward and has a brief conversation with him but Dustin pays no mind, throwing himself down onto one of the benches under the canopy, his chin resting on his hand as he pouts.

When the older man begins to tow away Eddie's van with one last wave and a pat to the back for the dungeon master, leaving Eddie and Dustin stranded, he shoots Eddie a confused glance. Eddie simply averts his eyes, shooting him a strange look before wrapping his arms around himself, the cold clearly getting to him.

Nearly as soon as the old truck pulls away with Eddie's van, a second truck pulls around the corner, pausing briefly window to window to talk to the man in the truck from their respective vehicles. This truck is all black and seemingly well loved, an old Chevy of sorts but Dustin's not great with car models. The trucks pull away from each other and the second truck comes to a stop outside the school, right by the canopy.

"Wait here Henderson," Eddie mumbles, eyes focused on the truck as he ducks out of the canopy and into the rain. The windows are slightly tinted so it's hard to see what's going off though Dustin desperately tries to sneak a peak at the owner of the truck.

"Haul your bike in the back," Eddie calls out, pulling open the passenger door, only to be met by resistance from the person inside the car. He huffs, closes the door and helps Dustin lift the bike onto the truck bed before he opens the passenger door again and slides across the bench, giving Dustin room to climb in.

He notices the woman driving immediately but doesn't recognise her at all. She's pretty, really pretty and is dressed in a leather jacket with a material hood that is hardly concealing her hair, dark jeans and fingerless gloves.

“Hi, you must be Dustin,” she smiles towards him and Dustin has to fight a blush that the pretty girl was talking directly to him. His momentary silent pause isn’t missed by his dungeon master, who shoots him a harsh look before letting out a low chuckle at the kids face.

“Hi,” he says shyly with a small wave, which only makes the woman smile wider.

“You’re up on Cornwallis right?” She asks, turning the key in the ignition to start up the truck. He gives a little nod, still not finding his voice entirely and she smiles back, turning to check her mirrors.

“How’d you know?” He asks only a few seconds later as the truck begins to pull away. He frowns when both Eddie and the mystery woman share a little mischievous smile, an inside joke of sorts.

“I’d like to tell you it was seeing you riding past on your bike when I’d visit Barb but,” the woman says, barely taking her eyes off the road as she navigates through the heavy rain.

“Skull rock’s just behind your house, dude,” Eddie says with a chuckle, finishing the sentence for him.

“Oh,” Dustin says, “oh.”

Both of the older constituents chuckle and Dustin takes a moment to watch them, seeing that they both had a natural ease with each other, like they’d known one another for a long time. He decides a little harmless digging wouldn’t hurt.

“You knew Barbara Holland?” He asks, watching her reaction carefully. She gives a sad little smile before shrugging gently, the faint rustle of leather ringing out in the near silent truck cabin.

“Our dads used to work together at the shop, before all the shit went down, nice kid,” she replied. Dustin watches as Eddie’s hand seems to move just slightly so that he’s touching her thigh, though it’s subtle, no doubt on account of Dustin’s presence.

“So you didn’t go to school with her?” He digs further. Something tells him that with the addition of the woman, who still remained largely a mystery to him would shield him from Eddie’s wrath if he caught on, like a buffer for the situation.

She snorts a little at the thought and shakes her head, flicking the wipers up a speed as the rain continues to pour, the windshield hardly clearing before it’s full again.

“Don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by that,” she says with a smile and a chuckle. Eddie’s mouth pulls to one side, like he was trying to hide his smirk. “I graduated in 84, spend two years at high with her but we didn’t interact much, she had her friends and well, I got stuck with this degenerate,” she laughs, gesturing to Eddie beside her. He shoves her, muttering his outrage at her statement but she merely laughs harder.

So they were at school together; before Dustin had ever reached high school. He wondered if Steve knew her? He didn’t recall him ever mentioning her, though he didn’t even know her name so that was one issue. He notices they are already on Cornwallis and he pouts again, wanting to find out more about the woman but by the time they’d pulled up to the mini intersection of Old Cherry, right by his house, it was too late.

“Thank you!” Dustin says very pleasantly as he prepares to make a run for it to grab his bike from the bed of the truck, frowning as he wonders how he’d lift it by himself.

“Eds, go help him,” the woman says, urging Eddie to help with the bike. Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t hesitate much and does actually move to help

Dustin, who gives him an odd look.

“Thank you again, errr,” he pauses before hopping out of the cab, hesitating so that he’ll grab her name.

She’s about to reply but Eddie shoves him quickly out of the cab and reaches for the bike himself before placing it on the floor and handing it to Dustin.

“Night Henderson,” Eddie says, quickly messing with Dustin’s wet cap before he smirks and hops up into the truck again. The truck doesn’t pull away straight away and Dustin realises they are waiting for him to let himself in, checking he wouldn’t be left outside. That had to be the woman, Eddie would have been nothing but exhaust smoke and tyre screeches in the distance by now.

As soon as he opens up the garage, the truck begins pouring with loud music, something heavy and angry sounding and the truck begins to pull away with a single beep of the horn.

This brief but important encounter has only spurred Dustin on further, amping up his desperate need to find out exactly who she was and who she was in relation to Eddie. They seemed overly friendly but comfortable, could she be the one that had given him the necklace? She wished he was sat next to her so he could get a whiff of her hair; if it was strawberry scented he’d have been on to a winner. The next day, he cycled to the library, thankfully it much better weather than the previous day, and had scouted through pages and pages of source material trying to find old yearbooks from Hawkins High that might have illuminated who she was. Nothing.

He cycled to family video, scrambling for any information Steve could give but he was nearly as clueless as Dustin.

“Dude I’m telling you, I never noticed Munson until the satanic rumours started, never paid any attention to him,” Steve shrugged, already having told Dustin this at least three times but the kid was persistent.

“She had * colour hair and she was wearing a leather jacket, really pretty,” Dustin tried to explain her but Steve looks vacant.

“There were tonnes of girls with her hair colour and pretty,” he says defensively.

“I said really pretty,” Dustin says, adding the inflection. Steve huffs and takes a seat on the stool behind the counter, trying to rack his brain for anyone that might have been with Eddie. Until a faint memory appears at the very edge of his brain, making his face squint as he tries to recall it, having been so long ago.

“There was a chick, she was into rock music, saw her with Billy once,” Steve says, still squinting.

“Ughr,” Dustin says, his face distorting into disgust. Steve immediately sees Dustin’s reaction and clarifies.

“No, she told him to fuck off,” he then chuckles, “was pretty funny actually.” He’s quiet for another moment before it comes to him, the memory getting clearer in his mind, the vision of her coming into full view, he clicks his fingers in a eureka moment. “Hot girl! Munson pulled hot girl?” He sounds aghast, muttering it again under his breathe as he questions it over and over again.

“Hot girl? Come on Steve, names, I need names!” Dustin says, banging his hand on the counter.

“Alright alright! Sheesh,” Steve says, running his hand through his hair. “Umm, it was… something hot.”

Dustin gives him a thoroughly unimpressed glare but he doesn’t notice, too consumed with mentally searching for the name on the tip of his tongue. “Ashle…bec..ayleigh…Rox… y/n! It was y/n!” He clicks his finger again, smiling proudly that he’d been able to recall the information. “Y/n L/n!”

“Hey!” He suddenly shouts after Dustin who races out the door with no reply and no thank you. “I need new friends.”

Dustin wastes no time as he pedals harder and quicker, his destination set in his mind, with her name repeating in his head so that he didn’t forget even a single syllable. As he pulls up in front of his house, he doesn’t even slow before dismounting the bike, leaving it on the grass in front of his house without a single care. He runs in, completely ignoring his mums greeting and whizzes over to the phone book that Claudia Henderson always had sat on the side table. He leapt towards the book and quickly began searching for her name, endlessly trawling through the alphabetical listing until her name would show.

Nothing. It was like she never existed.

“Mom! How olds this phone book?” He shouts, his volume way above appropriate for inside. When she tells him that she only got it last month, he frowns and sinks down into the chair with a slump.

“Dammit!”

“Dusty-bun, language!”

He lays off the trail for a while, exhausted by his extreme efforts, pleased that he knew her name now but feeling deflated at not getting any further. He still watches Eddie for any signs and notices a few odd things here and there but nothing feels groundbreaking anymore.

Until the Byers’ pay a visit to Hawkins. Will is immediately accepted back into the group and whilst Mike is distracted with El and Lucas at basketball, Dustin spends most of his time with Will. Jonathan mopes around most days and even his spirited friend Argyle seems a little lacklustre and irritable at times.

“What’s up with them?” Dustin asks, nodding his head towards the two older boys who are sat on the couch moping, hugging pillows to themselves and barely watching whatever’s playing on tv.

“I thought it was just Nancy stuff you know, but they’re been like it for a few days,” Will says with a shrug, casting a look towards Jonathan and Argyle who look visibly irritated.

Later that evening, Argyle catches Dustin alone and delicately tries to swoon him with pleasantries and chitchat until he finally asks the question that seemed wholly inappropriate.

“My dude, where can we find the devils lettuce?”

“What?” Dustin asks bluntly, completely lost.

“You know,” Argyle says, mimicking smoking a blunt, “some green, some kush, Chiba Chiba, ‘pass the kutchie pon’left hand side’.”

“Weed? You want weed?” He asks bluntly, not caring for the theatrics one bit.

“Well yeah my dude, if you have to be so crude about it,” he says jokingly. Dustin rolls his eyes and walks over to the telephone on the side, reaching for the phone book and flipping it straight to ‘M’ for Munson. Eddie’s side business was the worst kept secret in Hawkins, especially to his friends even though he kept discreet about it for good reason.

Dustin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he came across the name beside Eddie’s seeing it listed directly beneath his. Y/n Munson.

“My dude! I’m the delivery guy, don’t sweat it!” Argyle shouts with a laugh as Dustin suddenly takes off, offering no explanation as he grabs his bike and pedals away, straight towards Forest Hills.

He doesn’t stop, not even to catch his breath as he nears the entrance to the trailer park, flicking his eyes around for Eddie’s van. He’d been here once or twice, mostly to try and visit Max and had spotted Eddie in the opposite plot, assuming that he lived there and had visited once when Eddie needed something for D&D that Dustin had mistakenly taken. He pushes on, catching sight of Eddie’s beat up van and the black truck parked beside a trailer and doesn’t stop until he’s immediately outside. Dismounting his bike, he gasps for air and pulls out his inhaled from his jacket pocket, wheezing as he puffs on it a few times to catch his breath.

He walks up the steps to the trailer door and knocks over and over loudly, insisting that someone come to the door. The door opens to reveal Eddie in a Metallica shirt and some lounge pants, something Dustin would never believe he would wear, assuming he wore his jeans all the time.

“Henderson?” Eddie looks around behind Dustin and pulls him inside, “the hell are you doing here?”

The place looked very, very different from when he’d been here last, the rooms clean and not fusty anymore. The walls were no longer lined with display mugs and trinkets but rather nice homely decorations that were a little off centre, framed band posters and photos of people in nice frames.

“Dustin?” He hears the all too familiar woman say as she walks through into the kitchen. She’s also wearing a band T-shirt, Judas Priest he thinks he can make out, with some plaid pyjama shorts and a cardigan. She reaches up to smooth her hair down, not having expected anyone to turn up and a glimmer of something on her left hand makes Dustin freeze, before he remembers exactly why he came here.

“You’re married?!” He asks, turning to Eddie, shocked and outraged that he’d managed to keep it a secret. The woman, who Dustin now knew to be Y/n Munson, bursts out laughing as she throws herself down onto the couch, immediately covering her legs with a soft blanket.

“You’re still playing that game?” She asks, turning to look at Eddie, who looks like he’s about to spontaneously combusts.

“Fucking Christ Henderson, you came all the way here for that?” He asks, ignoring his wife’s laughter. Dustin simply shrugs, appearing resolute on the outside but internally he’s beginning to see how much he’s overreacted.

“You ashamed of me, Munson?” His wife teases, turning her head to the side, goading him with a smile. He finally turns to her and snorts, also amused by her words.

“Yeah like getting the hottest girl in Hawkins is something I’m ashamed of.” He sends her a wicked smile and she blushes just slightly, both of them smiling at each other as their eyes meet.

“So what am I missing?” Dustin says, not reading the room. Eddie breaks his gaze with his wife to glare at Dustin for interrupting the moment, the kid clearly had a lot to learn about women.

“Just tell him,” y/n says encouragingly, reaching for the cup of tea in front of her as she watches on with rapt interest, and slight amusement.

Eddie huffs and sighs, his shoulders dropping a little as he prepares his explanation, though why he was explaining things was a little lost on him.

“We got married in October,” he pauses as Dustin immediately looks like he’s going to blow a fuse and with one harsh glare, he closes his mouth, allowing Eddie to continue. “Been together for a few years but Wayne moved out last summer so my girl moved in and then we got hitched just after,” he explains, taking a seat on the little chair, offering the other to Dustin who declines. “I didn’t tell anyone because being a married man, still in school and DM’ing a kids D&D club isn’t exactly ‘cool’,” he says, sounding honest and a little deflated.

“To be clear, you weren’t that ‘cool’ before,” his wife snarks, thoroughly enjoying the show. He shoots her a look and she simply sinks at him, seeing the argumentative look diffuse immediately from his face as he smiles at her, seeing her beaming back at him, if not a little sarcastically.

The pieces slowly meld together in Dustin’s mind, illuminating the big picture, each little thing he’d noticed now becoming clear.

“So the ring,” he says, gesturing towards the chain around Eddie’s neck. “It’s not a Lord of the rings thing?”

Y/n’s loud burst of laughter breaks the last lingering slither of tension in the room and once again Eddie sends her a warning glance though she ignores it completely.

“Yes that very powerful wedding ring forged in the fires of Orodruin by the dark Lord himself, Edward Sauron Munson. Does it enhance your Dungeon Master powers specifically or is it like an all around enchancement? Because as far as I can tell there’s been no improvement to your cooking skills,” she says with a chuckle.

“Sweetheart you are in for it,” he says threateningly, though his eyes still shine with amusement. She lifts her eyebrows once as if goading him, hopeful that his words will take on a very different meaning later.

“Why not just wear it on your hand?” Dustin asks, missing the point of it all being hidden.

“Because, Henderson,” Eddie says, leaning forward to push Dustin back to fall into the seat opposite him. “My girl got me this ring,” he says flashing him the skull ring that sat on his left ring finger. “18th birthday. Couldn’t get married using that so I got a normal band but this means more to us,” he says, gesturing back to the ring. “Plus.”

He then slips off the ring and extends his hand under Dustin’s frowning gaze until he spots what Eddie is trying to show him. Her initials, tattooed on his ring finger, concealed by the skull ring he always wore.

“Soon as I graduate, it won’t be a secret anymore, hell, I’ll probably shout it from the rooftops,” Eddie says with a beaming smile, “but for now, it’s just between us three okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s graduation day and Eddie proudly walks the stage in his cap and gown to accept his diploma before giving the finger to Principle Higgins on the way. His friends sit in the auditorium and cheer him in but no one cheers louder than ‘hot girl’ who stands and cheers, clapping loudly for her husband who had finally graduated.

“Dude,” Gareth says, pointing towards the side of the stage after everyone had walked and the procession was over. They all turn to see Eddie place the cap onto the woman’s head before pulling her in for a searing and very public kiss.

“Who’s that?”

“Hot girl?”

“What?!”

Dustin smiles, watching the pair only briefly before the scene suddenly becomes decidedly less PG, turning to his group of friends that all look on in complete amazement. He smirks, ready to unleash the secret he’d been hiding for months, keeping his tone casual as if it were completely obvious.

“Oh, you guys don’t know Eddie’s wife?”

Taglist Requests:

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

@ghostlytv

@nerdymesss

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@mel119g

@angelrioter

@minatozsana

@quinny921

@blahhh819

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@ali-r3n

@twistedlaces1909

[starlightsuffered]

Stylist

Info - stylist reader, Timmy's POV, oral (male receiving), finger sucking, unprotected sex, sex in the kitchen, semi-Dom Timothée, cum facial

As she touched me I thought more and more about just blowing off the entire event. Her lips were a peachy pink that made me want to sink my cock in between them. Her body looked flexible and lively and I wanted to bend her over my couch. Her doe eyes would look adorable all widened when I made her cum.

At the last minute my stylist had called in sick. Apparently, he'd gotten food poisoning. I'd called the agency in a panic because tonight was the Met Gala. They'd sent a replacement and this was why y/n was currently at my apartment with her hands all over me.

"You've got a great bone structure," she commented as she brushed some powder over my cheeks.

"You've got great lips," | said in a low voice. Her eyes flickered up to meet mine. The tension was palpable.

She moved back carefully. She shook the brush off more than looked necessary. I felt giddy and wired. The excitement of a potential new bond was always exciting.

She sprayed my curls with her water bottle. Some of the liquid got on my neck. I squirmed. She blew gently where the droplets had fallen and I let out a moan.

"You okay?" She asked shakily.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

She didn't feel like someone I'd only just met. I felt like I'd known her a while. I felt like this tension had lasted centuries. With every second I felt more drawn to this gorgeous girl who had spirited into my life.

"Well, looks like you're ready," she said as he straighter my dress coat.

My eyes were tracking her every movement.

"Alright," I said in a low breath.

Our gazes met. I didn't break the contact as I reached for the door handle. I could hear the limo beeping, but I couldn't be less interested.

"Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?" | whispered to her.

"Yes."

It was all she needed to say. We crashed together. It was a whirlwind of lust. I picked her up and lifted her to push her against the wall.

She was kissing my neck as I pulled out my phone. I squeezed it between my ear and my shoulder while I used my hands to pull her breasts out. I massaged the full mounds of flesh. I was already rock fucking hard. Her beautiful mouth was making the most lovely little O.

"Not coming," I gasped into the phone.

"What?" Snapped my publicist.

"Sick, can't come," i lied. I'd give up any event to be inside this immaculate woman.

"Timothée," the tone was warning.

"Make it up to you," | breathed. I hung up and tossed my phone on a soft surface. I lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

I palmed my aching cock over my pants as I got on my knees. I lifted her cute little sundress.

"You minx, you aren't wearing panties," | growled with need. She smiled at me, satisfied at my reaction.

I ran my palm up her soaked heat. I huffed the smell of her wet cunt. I licked a stripe up my hand. I then lifted my palm to her mouth. She sucked on my fingers, tasting herselt.

I began to lap and suck at her pussy. Her snug cunt was pretty and pure. Her raw taste went straight to my throbbing dick. It pulsed in my underwear as I slobbered over her walls. I needed to make her slick, because I didn't want go anywhere to get condoms or lube.

"You ready for me?" | asked in a ragged voice. I felt strung out on lust.

It was as if l'd just run a marathon or been to a rock concert.

"Yes, I need you. Fuck, I want you inside me," she said with a desperate tone.

"That's my girl," I said happily.

I stood up. I pulled down my slacks and showed her my pulsating cock. She let out a stream of spit. It coated my dick. I moaned as I rubbed her essence up and down my length.

"Put yourself inside me my darling God," she crooned. I could have melted. Her voice sparked every nerve ending I had.

I pressed my head to her entrance. I slowly pushed in as we made eye contact. My hands massaged her bare ass as I began to thrust. I moved in and out of her so easily from all the arousal and saliva.

"Heaven sent," | murmured as I pressed my forehead against hers. I was slamming into her as she made little erotic noises. Her face was so pretty as it scrunched and gasped. Her long legs wrapped around me.

The feelings were incomparable. I snapped in and out with a pornographic pleasure. She kept biting my shoulder to keep from screaming. Her snug walls were clenching and fluttering. I could feel her rapid heartbeat against mine. I was in another world of lust.

"I dressed you tonight," she whispered in my ear. Her high pitched, feminine voice kept hitching as I pumped my cock deeper and deeper.

"Now you do me the favour. Lose your load all over my face," she begged. The idea made me insanely horny.

"I wanna cum inside you," I moaned.

"You can, you will. Bend me over your table after this and cum in me, but right now, coat my fucking face. I want the great Timothée Chalamet to dress me in his superior semen."

"Oh fuck!" | cried. I yanked my dick out. I was jerking my cock like crazy and groaning like wild. Before I knew it I was shooting ropes all over her submissive face. Her pretty mouth hung open and waiting.

She was smiling as the first spurt hit her cheek.

She was humping the counter, getting her wetness all over it as I came on her. She looked like a desperate slut as she rubbed herself. Her hand moved to her clit to circle it as I finished cumming.

"Mmmmmmm," she hummed, making a blissed out, pornographic face. She was licking her lips.

"Feels so good," she whined. Her delicate fingers still pressed her bundle.

"Oh no you don't," I growled. I picked her up and did as she had said. I bent her over my kitchen table. The way she looked back at me, a face of sexual need, with my seed all over her, made me grow hard again. I slammed home, ready for a fun weekend ahead.

On early Sunday morning I felt like an adult film star. I'd fucked y/n on every surface of my house. We'd done nothing but had sex. Her legs were wobbling as I helped her out to her car. We'd had spent the whole weekend together.

"Thanks for that," she said, giggling because I'd made her knees weak.

"Anytime, I mean, you know where to find me," I offered and kissed her cheek.

"That I do," she nodded. She turned on her car and was about to back out.

"Sorry you missed the event."

"Oh baby," I purred. "That was the best Met Gala I've ever been to."

I winked so she'd know what I meant. A cat like smile spread over her lips. She bit her lip and backed out of my driveway. I saw a few photographers taking photos. I didn't care in the moment, I was riding the high of amazing sex. Perhaps, the paps leaking the story of me and the mystery stylist would make her say fuck it. Perhaps she'd come back to me next weekend for another ride. I'm sure l'd have some wet dreams about it. For right now, I needed to go in to take a nap and build up my sperm again.

[wickedapostate]

Dragon Age OC Ask Meme

I've tried everything I can to make these as applicable as possible to all sorts of characters. Ones that are class/lineage/etc specific have been put in their own categories. Please specify which oc you're asking about if a blog has more than one.

General

Where is your OC from? How does the local culture effect them?

What's their favorite food? Do they have any memories attached to the dish?

When on the road, what role do they play at camp? For example: organization, cooking, setting up and tearing down structures

Have they had any notable losses? Who?

Who taught them their primary skill(s)? What was their teacher like?

Is your OC close to their family? What is their family like?

Does your OC have any ties to any factions? How do they feel about these factions?

Are there any real world cultures that are inspiration for your OC?

What made your OC pick their specialization??

Does your OC want or have children? How do they feel about kids?

How much has your OC traveled? Do they have a favorite region outside of their home one?

What animal do you associate with your OC? Why?

What was their childhood like? What has carried through into their adult life?

Are they disabled in any way? How does it effect them?

Do they have any vices?

What's the low point in their life? Are they out of the fallout yet?

What's the high point of their life? Do you think it's going to get any better for them?

What's their standard drink order?

Do they hope to be remembered or create a legacy?

Have they had any notable encounters with spirits or demons? What happened?

How good are they at lying? How much do they lie?

Mages

Have they ever been in a circle? Which one if so?

Do they practice any forms of magic not available in game?

How do they feel about blood magic? Would they ever consider doing it, if they haven't already?

Elves

City or Dalish? Or something else entirely?

How much Elvish do they know? Do they make any effort to learn more?

For those with vallaslin, who was their vallaslin dedicated to? How come?

Knowing the truth of the vallaslin, what would they want to do, if anything?

Dwarfs

What caste are they/would have been? How does it effect their life?

Have they ever been to the surface? How do they feel about it?

What are their thoughts on the Merchants' Guild? Do they have any involvement?

What are their thoughts on the Carta? Do they have any involvement?

Qunari/Tal-Vashoth/Vashoth

How do they feel about the Qun? Have they considered joining, if they haven't already?

What is/would be their job in the Qun?

How do they feel about the Tal-Vashoth? Have they considered joining, if they haven't already?

Other

For wardens, have they prepared any loved ones they may have for when they start hearing their calling?

For (ex-)templars, are they currently taking Lyrium? If so, do they want to quit?

For vints, what social class does your OC belong to in Tevinter?

For (ex-)tranquil, how did they end up tranquil?

For protagonists, had they killed before the start of their game? Why or why not?

[scribeofmorpheus]

Qunari Origins and the Forgotten Ones[?]

I'm making a rough-thoughts-about-Qunari-dogma-and-origins post because I must store the thoughts somewhere before I can dissect them further but...

I'm very interested in the phrasing of this codex entry in DA2 (especially after the confirmations/revelations of the ancient elves' origins in dav):

[Not really] spoilers [but lore speculations] below!

note: this is definitely me putting too much emphasis on the extent of foreshadowing a series can be accredited with, and absolutely stretches the written intention too far for what could possibly be considered "traditional analysis". There's every chance this codex is written this way stylistically, but alas, I want to work on something constructive and interesting in the dragon age lore to find that joy again!

Qunari view themselves as a part of a "whole"--similar to how dwarves are part of a larger whole as well (the Titans). You could accredit this reading to being one of a "pack" mentality. Or how dragons can often "conjure/call" their wyverns/dragonlings to come to their aid or follow an instruction.

They also have a spirit outside of their "body"--their military. So, like the ancient elves that built themselves from lyrium they are a duality of solid with spiritual essence "hidden" from the face of southern Thedas.

We know the Qunari came from across the Boeric Ocean, Par Vollen is not their native homeland. There's lore about them having horns because of dragon blood (supposedly mages back in the day trying to make more powerful warriors)--this leads way to my thought process of the Qunari being bound to a genesis that is, essentially: military experiment (the way Tevinter breeds Altus mages, they would endeavour to make a race of unmatched conquering power).

However, that's too reductive and too cheap (i feel) an explanation for how that origin could also explain their dogmatic religion and their culture's "iron-grip" on expressions of individuality outside the Qun. There's too much precision in their structure to simply bind it under the tagline of: "we're like this to tame the dragon blood and keep the fires in check--lest they consume us like they do the talvaashoth or the deserters".

So now I'm thinking, there must have been a trigger that forced their society to rely so heavily on the dogmatic rigidity of the Qun--a set way of being, of having a role and understanding of where you stand in the larger scheme of things. Which had me wondering about what the Forgotten Ones did that was so bad that the Evanuris themselves took time off the Titan War to war with them! (presumably, the timeline is insane--and the Evanuris war lasted at LEAST 1000 years according to Solas).

So here's my very flimsy, very-not-at-all possible interpretation. Anaris and the Forgotten Ones could have done many things to brand them "worst of the worst" but only one idea seems to track with the possible theme of a "perfect vessel" that is strewn across their stories:

Formless One's first appearance as a dragon, one they feel is limited and not a true representation of their essence--and the haunting narrative of seeking a true body

Anaris, obviously, everything with his arc linked in Bellara's story, wearing a mask, and then turning to dramatic goop on the floor.

Gaxkang (arcane horror demon) having "Unbound" in their name, if we consider spirits in bodily vessels "bound", this could be a "refutation" kind of title. Like if John Snow's title was John the Wise (in jest).

Imshael, he can shift "between the forms of fear, rage and pride demons" [and in the concept art Imshael had a female persona, so I do think having an 'identity'/'prime body' is intertwined in his/hers/their ethos too].

all except maybe Xebenkeck have a loose thread to this "perfect vessel" tapestry my brain is weaving--but she was first, I think, and she is also a desire demon, whom Qunari share a resemblance with horns-wise [Mythal too, but that's more because of "dragon" effigies in her statues and headpiece]. Xeb is possibly their most 'shallow' entry to the Forgotten One's lore--or equally the most cohesive, since desires are changing, and make of people malleable subjects--deals with the ability to mould or cause chaos.

Loose note: Xenon the Antiquarian, I know it's probably the "X" of it all, and they're probably named after the gas "Xenon", but their wanting of "immortality" and then the collection of rare and powerful tomes/trinkets, being tricked by Yavana or another Witch of the Wilds to be a withered, frail thing in a husk? He's definitely related to the Executors--at least! And they're most likely the lingering influence of the Forgotten Ones (possibly).

[Imshael's letter in the Fade; datv]

From the wiki on Xebenkeck (sidenote: girl how do you pronounce your name? is it like Xoloitzcuintle?! is it Ch-eben-kek? or is it a mandrin X like SH-eben-kek?):

"“The first of the magus cast themselves deep in the Fade in search of answers and power, always power. They found the forbidden ones—Xebenkeck, Imshael, Gaxkang the Unbound, and The Formless One. Many conversations were had and much of the fabric of the world revealed. And thus the magic of blood was born.” ―unknown mage[1]"

the dao codex entry makes it sound like the Forbidden/Forgotten Ones discovered blood magic, but I don't think that's right, considering ancient elves used blood magic neutrally (it's only seen as an 'evil' art in modern thedas--because of the side-effect of having mages be oppressed and locked away in religious tower blocks). I think they possibly taught modern humans/elves/mages about blood magic again, and modern humans were to blame for it being used mostly in a negative/desperate light.

Now binding a spirit is usually what turns them into a demon. It corrupts their purpose and is also a great theft of autonomy from the spirit's side. Dragons are ancient, possibly the oldest "physical flesh" form besides Titans. Considering the ancient elves were losing the war with the titans because they were possibly few in number and not nearly as strong physically, I'm inclined to believe that maybe the Forbidden One's became twisted into the versions we know today because they committed great sacrilege against the Elvhen, the dragons and the Titans in one big gesture: creating the qunari as a form of making the ultimate form.

In my head, I can see them as researchers, which leads well to them toying with humans mainly out of interest to see the results unfold: to orchestrate chaos (this will play in the rigid qun structure later).

To make the ultimate form, they'd need spirits, lyrium and dragon's blood--and I'm willing to bet none of the participants in this "research" were entirely willing.

And then what if red lyrium is like a cyst from these experiments? Dragon's blood from the experiments that tainted the Titans somehow, gave them that "fire"; that "rage"; that "inflammation"? Which could also explain how Imshael knew how to cure red lyrium poisoning.

So they forcibly pull other spirits out of the Fade (maybe luring them out with the "unbound" of them, or with desire?--or the illusion of choice or fear or rage), binding them to a lyrium body instilled or infused with dragon's blood (maybe creating red lyrium as we know it) and then forging the qunari (but they were possibly defective? possibly hunted down by "mythal/another dragon effigy-linked woman" that made them flee their home the first time?).

So if the Forbidden Ones represent chaos, it makes sense that the surviving twisted spirits left confused in their new bodies would crave structure, and why their minds would build a dogma that leashed their chaotic structures with enforced rigidity, and it would also explain the Qun's inbuilt fear of "unchecked" power; of magic and the Fade.

As Solas said "Chaos breeds a desire for simplicity." Or something like that.

Also the firebreathing, heightened sense of smell, but also Bull's odd reaction to the Fade in Trespasser (we know he sees it differently than both elves and humans--but it's discordant, confused, almost like how trauma warps/frames understanding).

Very on the nose also: Taash. From Ataashi. A Little Dragon from Dragons. That's all for now folks.

TLDR: Forgotten Ones possibly wanted to make an "ultimate weapon form" for themselves by using unwilling spirits (mind and soul) to fill the lyrium flesh (to make arms, legs, ears...) but the blood is sourced from dragons (fire).

[writingforsimps]

Midnight Fangs - Poly BTS X Reader (Prologue)

Summary: The werewolves thought they found all their mates. They never imaged they’d met another, let alone that she’d be a vampire.

Warning: Blood, Alcohol, Sex, Breeding, Mate Au Supernatural AU, Poly Au, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Hurt/Comfort, Other… (Specific Warnings not mentioned will be made in each chapter.)

[Series Masterlist] [Your Here] - [Next] <-

You fled from your Nest.

You fled from your Nest, from the people who turned you almost 200 years ago, from the people who taught you everything you know now about yourself. Vampires have very strong bonds, they live with their Nest forever. The people who turn them and the people who are also turned. The two only reason why a vampires nest would be small is because of Hunters. You ran away from your Nest: your home, your family, your providers. Your an idiot. A lone vampire wouldn’t make it without their family.

You’ve heard phrased, phrases like “lone wolf,” and “free spirit,” everyone’s heard those phrases and in those phrases… Lone Vampire, didn’t exist. Every Vampire always said that their was a reason for that.

As the moon rises in the sky, you look at it from under a tree. Glad the sun would finally be gone from irritating your skin more. You hated swearing layers and hats, you sometimes missed the sun on your skin.

Most supernatural creatures were… sociable, but perhaps that isn’t the right word for all of them, it was more… kept to groups. There was a reason for that.

It meant you wouldn’t survive on your own.

-

-

-

Sociable was, however, the right word for werewolves. Wolves love the night, especially full moons. Werewolves were rowdy, social, and loud. You could tell from the howls you’d hear two miles away and from the many paw prints left behind in the mud after a full moon.

They loved many things.

In that love, what they loved and put above all else: their Pack. Werewolves, they had a more… engraved structure to their packs. For a vampire, the oldest is the leader. For a wolf, the most qualified Alpha is.

It’s a common… rumor that vampires and werewolves don’t get along. Cats and dogs as people would say. Wether that rumor is true or not, is up to a case to case Basis. Cats and dogs can co-exist in certain homes, when conditions are met.

Why was he even thinking of vampires? There would be no reason to think more of this subject. Cats and dogs, they would have no effect on his life with his pack. Jin sighs and shakes his head as he looks at his pack, his mates, trying to get rid of the thoughts.

Why would he even want to co-exist with a vampire? Most of them were too… cold, it was like they were searching for weaknesses to exploit. Always turning their noses in disgust, “You smell- horrible- too strong- like dog.” They’d say, while they smell like nothing but blood and death.

“Hey, Jin you okay?” Hoseok asks leaning his head against the omegas shoulder. The beta leaned onto the omegas scent gland, trying to soothe the Omega. He could smell a bit of his confusion and disappointment, even if it was the slightest, most minuscule change.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Joon and Jumin are in the garden.” The beta causally mentioned. As the two of them looked out at them in the over grown, neglect garden. Jimin trips over a bed of something the pack doesn’t care to identify. Junjook stumbled after him and trips into the plants.

“I think the garden has seen better days anyway.” Yoongi shrugged scratching his messy hair as he walked in to the kitchen. A empty cup of coffee in hand, the alpha sighed as he glanced out the window at what was suppose to be a garden.

It was a large fences off area near the back of the cabin. The pack had picked the cabin up once upon a time, it was run down and old but now it was new again, everything was working the way it was suppose to and now it was… perfect. It felt like every room was brimming with love. The garden however, no one ever got around too. The forgotten space in the back of the house. During a full moon a while back Junkook had dug the remaining dead plants up leaving behind a pile of dirt. The pile of dirt was left, the causal “I’ll get around to it” was thrown here and there. Sure, but they all knew no one would end up taking responsibility for the garden.

If they wanted to be in touch with nature they’d go on a walk in the woods. It’s in their nature, Not planting. Digging? Maybe, yeah sure. But if they wanted berries they’d go find them in the forest. It was a waste growing them when they can just go to the store anyway?

At least. Those were the justifications. Truthfully, they didn’t know why they left it untouched for so long. It was a nagging ache in their chest… as if something wasn’t right and it just… needed to be left alone.

______

Note: Hey, so… I made this because, Bts fanfiction is really easy to find and I’ve been reading it because- hey, I want to read a specific type of fic? Bts fandom has 20 of them at least! So I thought, I’d give back…? I mean the authors are all sooo good, I just hope to live up to them. But… I don’t really know a lot about the boys? I’ve watched interviews and tried my best! But if something’s off, tell me pls!

Enjoy the series! Any questions, thoughts or concerns pls don’t hesitate! And uh… bye!

[leggerefiore]

Sorry if you’ve already gotten this ask, I’m not very good at looking for similar posts:

We’ve seen what happens when the villains and their S/O meet their Rainbow Rocket counterpart, but what would happen if there was also a RR version of their S/O? Someone who failed to stop them from becoming villainous, or perhaps even joined them?

How does seeing this alternate version of their partner affect them?

cw: slight hurt and comfort, redeemed/retired villains

characters: Lysandre, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus

🔥Lysandre🍷

☕️ The red-haired man opted for a vacation due to a frustration with various happenings in Kalos. His obsession with beauty and creating a perfect world still continued to haunt him despite his best attempts to put it all behind him. Jail had only been avoided due to his deep connections with many authorities, but he could feel the shame constantly. Sycamore had come to him in tears afterwards while his lover seemed horrified by his plans. Having two people so close to him utterly mortified by his actions snapped him back to reality before he activated the weapon. He was truly stopped right in the knick of time. But, now, he was in Alola. At one of its most expensive resorts, too. It was time to work on managing his obsession.

☕️ His time had mostly been kept at the resort, too. Lysandre would not lie and say he was some rugged explorer. It was plain to see that he was a man more than used to the finer things in life. The beach was thoroughly enjoyed by lounging and having a few drinks. He had a few rounds at the golf course, too, naturally. Though, his favourite time was spent locked away in his suite with you. A quiet escape from the constant burden of people and to enjoy fully the person he loved most. Though, his time felt consumed by endless tasks, even on vacation. Especially when the sudden appearance of a familiar International Police agent happened. A request was politely made to chat with a business acquaintance of his and see whether she had any ill intentions was struck up. He agreed, not wishing to see anything ugly happen to such a beautiful region.

☕️ His trip to Aether Paradise had been a fine one. The president spoke with him normally, seeming to find a certain kindred spirit in him. There must have been no better bond than someone who horribly messed up and had to back out while working for a redemption. His heart felt strangely more at ease. He parted with her after their chat, with his determination on the situation entirely decided. Walking around on the conversation floor, he searched for you, as you had tagged along to see the majesty of the structure. His gaze flowed down the pathway before him to spy a familiar uniform. He froze. That shade of red was recognisable anywhere to him. The familiar hair made his stomach twist. What were you doing? Whatever doubts may have lingered about this being another person tormenting him faded as they turned around. Your face greeted him, eyes lighting up with recognition. You rushed over to him.

☕️ “Lysandre,” you called out, “Oh… I know you said not to wander, but I got curious about this place… Isn't the nature here wonderful?” He blinked. Did he say that? He did not believe that he had. You were free to explore any of the public areas, as he was unsure of how long his meeting with the Aether President would take. A nod came from him at your words. “What happened to your clothing?” you reached forward to feel his shirt, “… Is something wrong? I thought you planned to stay in your office while planning to preserve this world's beauty, too.” Lysandre froze. Perfect, too? Office? Your attire suddenly hit him harder. What was going on here?

☕️ Yet, his distress was set only to grow. Another person called out his name from behind. There stood you in a familiar attire set for Alola. You waved at him before walking over, clearly having been searching for him. The you in front of him took a step back from the confusion, blinking at the you behind him's appearance. Lysandre could barely process the situation himself. The you in clothing he recognised stepped to his side and grasped his arm. Your gaze stared at the copy of you in a Flare Admin uniform while they stared back at you. “… Is this some sort of trick?” they spoke, apparently unamused, “Who are you? Is this an attempt by that annoying officer to stop us?”

☕️ Lysandre closed his eyes for a moment. They seemed convinced that they were his partner and spoke of his previous plans. Their clothing was a uniform that he had retired. You stood at his side in the vacation wear he had recalled you wearing before parting, and you seemed just as horrified by their presence as he was. “… I believe you have mistaken me for someone else,” his voice held authority as his gaze narrowed, “Is this some sort of prank? Neither of us finds it funny. Do not harm my partner in an attempt to attack me.” He pressed you closer to him unconsciously, unsure of just what their reaction would be. Their eyes went wide, but before they could open their mouth to argue, something went off into their earpiece. Whatever was spoken made them back away in a rush, vanishing through the twists and turns of the conversation area.

☕️ For a moment, Lysandre spiralled. You had never sided with him… You had been adamantly opposed the moment you learnt of his plans. But, possibly, in some alternate universe, a version of you did. You had supported his plans, and perhaps they had even been successful. Preserve this world's beauty, too… He closed his eyes. No. No – His plans had been stopped. Xerosic had attempted to convince him to, but he – Everything was interrupted by a lovely voice calling him by a nickname. His eyes opened back to reality. True beauty remained at his side. You would never allow him to follow such a path again. He wanted to follow that person, yet he felt that nothing good would follow. Instead, he opted to see some of Alola's natural beauty with you.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 Alola was a change-up for Archie. He needed to get away from the horrible guilt he kept feeling when he looked at Hoenn's beaches. While he had changed his group's initiative from expanding the ocean to instead working to preserve natural aquatic habitats and cleaning up pollution, the glares of those around Hoenn did get to him. His apologies meant nothing, which he understood, but he was trying desperately to repent for his actions. Though, it had unfortunately become too much after a recent incident. A vacation was a suggestion he made to you, his spouse, and you saw no reason to deny the trip.

💧 He had fallen in love instantly with Alola. The endless seas, the natural beauty, the careful preservation of nature. It was no surprise that he found himself at home in the beaches of the island region. His pokemon were let out to join him as he enjoyed the temperate waters. You had joined him sporadically, but your enjoyment for the sea had run out much sooner than his, and you had departed back to the motel. He managed to get his fill when you returned and suggested a visit to the Seafolk Village. Archie wanted to make sure that you were enjoying this trip away as much as he was.

💧 You had hung behind to chat with someone in the restaurant while he stepped out to look at the glistening seas. The shape of the houseboats was fascinating, and the idea of living out on the sea almost did call to him. Perhaps it would get him away from all the lingering shame for a while. His feet carried him out towards the end of the wooden port to stay out at the setting sun. This region really was beautiful. The stress from his mind almost drifted away as he sat down to let his feet rest in the water. Yet, someone called his name. His attention shifted to his left. You stood there, in clothing that bewildered him. An Aqua Admin uniform? And… why were you getting off one of those Aether boats? You were in the restaurant, were you not?

💧 “Archie,” you spoke properly and tilted your head, “Did you get a tan that fast? How did you do that…? Oh, and your beard grew…” He felt bewildered. What about a tan? His beard was well trimmed still — also. One a second glance at your outfit, he went quiet. That was not the wetsuit uniform at all. Was that denim…? Paired with a blue banana? He was silenced. It felt like an earlier decade take on his team's uniform. “Are you getting ready to use Kyogre? That man said you shouldn't, though,” you continued. Archie felt dizzy. Kyogre?! He had not thought about the Sea Basin pokemon since he came to Alola. It certainly was not in his possession either… As much as he adored it, he simply would not allow himself it.

💧 His panic grew worse when another called out his name. He knew that voice. Eyes whipped over to the Wailord shaped boat. You rushed over to him, grinning brightly. Your clothing were the ones he recalled you wearing. The other you seemed taken aback as you hugged him tightly. Slight relief entered his mind. You were not being all weird after all. “Who are you?” the other you snapped, reaching for a pokeball. He was brought back to reality. Right. Something unusual was happening.

💧 “Stop,” Archie ordered. They froze, listening to him. He could not grasp this situation entirely. Two versions of his partner… One in some odd Aqua uniform and the other wearing the clothes he knows they were earlier. One telling him about using Kyogre. His head heart. This area of thinking was not his usual one. He cared more about marine biology than complicated things like theoretical situations, but he identified it due to some show he watched. “I guess you're an alternate version of them,” the Aqua Leader really had no idea what he was saying, “You said your Archie doesn't look like me, yeah?” They blinked at his words. “You said I had a tan that he didn't or whatever,” he shrugged. Suddenly, they tossed out their pokeball to reveal a Sharpedo and surfed away on it, leaving you both alone.

💧 Archie was really lost. None of that made sense. Was there another him with a Kyogre here? Panic rushed through his mind. But, he was forced back to reality by you tugging on his Alolan shirt. Right. That could be handled later. Whatever was happening was concerning, yet he felt a strange urge to stay out of it. Coming face to face with a version of himself who succeeded in getting Kyogre... He felt strangely ill. Clinging to you, Alola suddenly felt a lot less like paradise.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 Something haunted Maxie as he tried to go about his day to day after everything. Naturally, people were upset with him. His actions were deeply misguided ultimately, and he felt foolish for not stopping when Tabitha had warned him. His madness to complete his work – To prove himself to everyone and bring about his ideals were too strong. What a fool he had been. He swore against going to such extremes ever again and dedicating Team Magma to bettering humanity through other means. Alola was a recommendation by his partner. A change of pace but not too dissimilar to Hoenn for it to be unbearable to Maxie. Somewhere nice for him to get away from his stress.

🪨 Alola had been a pleasant change in the end. While he may not have been the biggest fan of most water activities, which led him away from the beach, Akala offered a volcano for him to eagerly observe the rock formations at for hours. The Aether Paradise had been a place of interest, too, as the large structure floated in the water. Its dedication to pokemon preservation was fascinating, as well, and the many scientists in the facility were good conversation for him. He also travelled through the Haina Desert alongside the Lush Jungle to observe the variety of the islands.

🪨 A suggestion by him for another trip to the Wela Volcano Park for a hike together had been accepted by you. The heat was a bit unbearable to most, but Maxie quite enjoyed hotter environments. Everything had been going well, light conversation was shared, and he felt at ease with you at his side. Then, you mentioned needing to take a quick break to rehydrate and sit down for a moment. While he planned to stay with you as you rested, you encouraged him to go on ahead to enjoy more of the volcano. He agreed. Yet, a sight bewildered him as he went further up the mountain. A familiar uniform came into his line of sight, but it was slightly off. The fabric was different. He felt utterly confused when the person turned around to face him. You… How…? He was stunned into silence. That seemed utterly impossible. You had been behind him, after all, and he did not think your bag was large enough to carry a change of clothes.

🪨 You trailed over to him in a trained stride. Something that was expected of his grunts. The Magma emblem on your chest made him pause. Of course, the horned hood should have been a dead giveaway, too, but Maxie had held on to a small hope that he was simply seeing something else. “Leader Maxie?” you called to him, stopping a few steps out, “I thought you sent me here to investigate the terrains of this world before you initiated your plans. Did something change?” Maxie blinked. His plans…? He supposed he had intended to ask you out to dinner, but that did not seem related. Leader Maxie? Hearing his title come from you felt unbelievably odd. “Are those specialised glasses?” you continued, “Actually, what happened to your uniform?” He took a step back. His uniform? Well, he certainly had no intention of wearing that on his vacation. Then, his panic worsened. Another voice called out to him from behind.

🪨 You waved at him and jogged over, apparently recuperated. Two of you…? Except, logically, the you that had just appeared was almost certainly the real one. The doppelgänger recoiled at the sight of you standing at Maxie's side. You stood bewildered yourself. “Leader Maxie?” they called out again, “… What… What is going on?” He struggled to comprehend everything himself. It was truly maddening. Yet… He would not call himself unimaginative or ignorant to certain concepts. The multiverse theory entered his mind. Was it possible that…? He almost wished to deny it. There was no way that in some other universe, his plans had actually continued on without being stopped. The idea was simply too terrifying.

🪨 “… I believe,” Maxie spoke carefully, “You have mistaken me for someone else.” They seemed lost, as did you. He sighed. There was no need for an entire explanation, was there? His hand unconsciously moved to grasp yours in a hidden motion. Everything felt like it was spinning. The redhead swallowed. “Let's go,” he tugged on your hand, “I wish to see the peak again before it is too late.” You seemed to catch on to his wish and followed him immediately, not wishing to be left with your odd look-alike. They did not seem to follow.

🪨 He nearly fell to his knees once they were out of sight. Heavy breaths came from him. Did you support him in some alternate world? The thought terrified him. Then you seemed to agree with his plans of expanding the land even here in Alola. He simply felt shaken to his core. Before he could fall further into emotional turmoil, you called his name, pulling him back to reality. A shaky breath was sucked in. None of that mattered. No. He had changed and learnt from his errors. You had expressed your opinions to him, he recalled. His plans always seemed like some blown up argument between him and Archie. He soothed his hair. Embracing you, Maxie forced down his panicked thoughts. For now, he would enjoy the volcano park with you.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Alola... The salty breeze and tropical heat brought him back to a place he would rather forget. One that would torment him possibly throughout the rest of his life. Cyrus fought against the mental chains that sought to bind him. He had been born anew, in a sense. The pain that he used to allow to dictate everything he did was suppressed. It could not be forced away – be it through remaking this world without spirit, nor could it leave through his best efforts. He managed it. That was all he could do. The life he had, after all, was not so bad. Galactic allowed him as their head, and Cynthia managed to convince the International Police to let him go. Something lingered in her eyes that had bothered him. But, he was enjoying his pseudo-vacation. In truth, he had been asked for his aid personally on the Hokulani Observatory's recent project… And by a certain officer to help manage suspicious goings-on.

☄️ His romantic partner, you, naturally had decided to tag along. While he had not mentioned the information about possible investigative work, you seemed to enjoy the thought of a proper tropical getaway. Cyrus ultimately had been unable to say “no,” past the first time. His pay cheque was still handsome enough that he booked a place at the Hano Grand Resort, and he planned that it should keep you well enough entertained while he attended the meetings required of him. Molayne had been quite impressed by him while his younger cousin, Sophocles was fascinated by the company president. What Looker asked of him had not been so unbearable, either. It had taken him to the Aether Paradise to investigate lightly about his general feeling about their true nature. It appeared they were moving away from their more sinister actions, in his opinion.

☄️ His plan was to leave and meet Looker about his findings, but a figure on the elevator caught his attention as he was going to leave. Familiar hair colour appearing up from the lower floor. The docks, likely. However, something truly gave him pause. A familiar uniform. No, he had not retired them, but you had never really worn any, nor did he think that you would pack it. Your eyes lit up when you spotted him standing near the front desk. Shoes clicked against the floor as you rushed over to him. His stomach twisted. Why were you doing this to him? Had you not been the one to encourage him to change?! You stopped just before him.

☄️ “Master Cyrus?” Your voice sounded far too formal for his liking. Hearing that title come from you made him feel more distressed. “I thought you wished to remain in your office. This world was too filled with spirit to be bearable, you said,” it was trained manner of speaking, not to let emotions enter. He had been changing, he swore. Your suggestions for him to move forward despite his shame helped him finally leave the Distortion World. Not once had he let his mind linger too long on his hatred of sprint. Why would you claim him to say such a thing? Sickening feelings swirled around inside him. Then, another voice from behind called out his name. His head turns to see your visage again, plainly dressed for Alola.

☄️ That version of you rushed over to him, grasping him arm in a playful manner and smiling up at him. Clearly, this encounter had been unexpected but exciting. His hand shakily went to your cheek to cup it. Warmth. His attention went back to the other you in the Galactic uniform. They stood frozen, blinking a few times and trying to process what was happening. “… What is this…?” their voice filled with confusion. You stared at them in as much shock as they were. “Master Cyrus…?”

☄️ “… How odd that I let you call me that,” Cyrus's scientific brain quickly worked to unravel this mystery. Something was amiss here, and they did not seem like an illusion or anything similar. A theory of many worlds entered his mind. A version of you that sided with him. One that perhaps had succeeded. A chill ran down his spine as his arm pressed you closer to him, afraid that if you strayed too far you may vanish. “An alternate version of…” he called your name, “… One that supported me.” They took a step back in shock, eyes going wide. No discussion followed as they rushed away in the depths of VLFS. He decided that chasing them would be a box that he was not ready to open just yet.

☄️ You called his name, reaching a hand to cup the back of his neck. He felt his breaths growing short and quick. Embarrassment flooded his mind. Here? Of all places? He wanted to curse the spirit in his chest – But, he was stopped. Your voice pulled him back from the madness he had been driven back to the precipice of. His new world… It was long gone. Perfection lied here in this one. It lied at his side. The way you called him your sun forced him back here. The meeting with Looker needed to be postponed. He needed time alone with you first.

[tonati143]

Anders rant

Lowkey, I need to talk about this and Im sure other Anders fans have probably talked this to the ground.

But I feel like Anders suffered so badly at the hands of the creators and its both heartbreaking and the largest reason I love him so much. We see him, easily one of the most hated characters in the fandom, and he is not handled with nuance by either fans or anti’s because the writers never even gave room for that nuance.

You either are hate him or you love him, because there was never an option presented that allowed for a grey area.

Lets talk about easily one of the most popular options (and mirror to Anders), Solas. He easily does so much worse for even less of a reason. What he tries to do in Veilguard, what he did in Inquisition. If I remember correctly, bro gives the anchor to Corypheus bc he couldn’t understand it and thought bro would fix it for him.

If this would have been Anders, there would be outrage.

But because Solas has the benefit of writers that love him in both games, he gets the benefit of getting a grey area. There is not nearly as much hate, no one sits down to talk about how secretly he is the cause of every problem here.

I cant help but wonder what Anders did to lose out on such nuance. Cullen, one of my favorites, receives that nuance, when we are well aware what can happen with his story line if we dont play our cards right in Origins and DA2.

To have a writer that basically wants you dead is so crippling.

There is no nuance, there is no forgiveness. Even the route where your Hawke doesnt stabby stab him is made to look like you made the wrong choice. I was lucky, my Hawke in inquisition does not paint Romanced!Anders as a monster, my Hawke is much more forgiving and speaks of him as someone who needs to be taken care of. But Ive seen other people talk about how their Hawke speaks of Anders.

We lose out on Awakening!Anders in a way that almost doesnt seem natural. It is like we were given a completely different character. One is capable of facing trauma, and I would even say having to give your body to a spirit holds some form of trauma as well, while maintaining core parts of their personality. It wouldnt have hurt to show us bits of that previous Anders once in a while.

Its hard to look at really, because there are things that he says in DA2 that gives us insight to what is going on in the chantry, things that gives us insight to why he is going through such lengths. But because everything is structured around the idea that you are supposed to hate him, no one ever really acknowledges him in game or in the fandom.

I saw on a comment a few days ago that states that Anders tried so hard to be heard, to have his stance listened to but throughout the game almost everyone shrugs him off. No one takes him seriously. And yes, he can be obnoxious about it sometimes, but if I put myself in his shoes, I would also be talking and talking about it until someone acknowledges me. In smaller cases where I would have things to say in places like highschool and everyone would ignore me, I would find myself repeating it again until someone would tell me “yeah, we heard you already”. Its in a way where I understand what it feels like, to have something so important to say and to be pushed to the side, I understand what Anders feels in party banter in a way that cant be said outloud without being questioned if I agree with his decision towards the Chantry.

He could have been perfect, a way to start a conversation where we ask ourselves, at what point are extreme measures acceptable? At what point can we consider what a person did to be necessary or unnecessary? Would anyone have listened to the cause if that measure hadnt been taken?

Unfortunately, its answered for us, it ends the conversation before we can even have it. It tells us what is supposed to be the answer. It tells us it is wrong, it tells us that this is a black and white conversation. What could have been a legitimate substantial conversation cut short because of their efforts to make the fandom hate Anders as much as they do.

And I mourn that ever since 😔

[collapsedsquid]

So anyway – the reason that this is on my mind is that a lot of people tend to assume that productivity growth (the annual change in output per worker-hour, which we economists heroically assume to be representing the limitless Whiggish march of technological progress) is in some way a mean-reverting process.  Specifically, that it reverts to a trend which, since the war, seems to correspond to roughly two per cent real GDP growth per year.  Why?  Economists tend to put it down to technological progress, but personally I think it’s more likely to be pixies. Trouble is, this productivity trend used to be a very well-established empirical fact, but then it ceased to be so.  Basically, there have always been temporary deviations from the trend associated with booms and busts in the business cycle, but the deviation in the great financial crisis in 2008 never got mean-reverted.  Instead – well, look at this chart, which also shows the expectation of the consensus of mainstream economic thought, as summarised by the Office of Budget Responsibility, that the mean reversion imps would come along to do their stuff.

Something has gone on here, it would appear.  Getting into questions of policy and structure is definitely beyond the scope of this post, so let’s presume for the moment I’m right and the problem with the series is simply a lack of activity on the part of the relevant supernatural woodland spirits.  There’s basically three possibilities: 1)        This is the new normal, we’ve mortally offended the pixies and the new trend rate of productivity growth is much lower forever. 2)        We just had a run of bad luck with the pixies; there’s no particular reason to believe that they won’t come back really soon and we’ll go back to the good old 2% a year. 3)        Same as 2), but when the pixies come back, they will realise that they’ve been slacking on the job and we’ll have to have a period of higher growth to get us back to the trend. You can tell various stories with more economic content to them obviously, but I think it’s important to be clear here that the really optimistic 3) is not at all something you can rule out as nonsense.  If a country has, for one reason or another, fallen a long way behind the maximally efficient frontier, then it’s perfectly reasonable to expect a period of “catch-up” growth, as there is more low-hanging fruit around in the form of good investments which should have been made but weren’t.  This matters to me because I think it’s quite likely that our Chancellor believes in mean reversion pixies.  Partly because, as I say, the theory of productivity as a trend-reverting process is quite orthodox (for the heads, it’s known as “the unit root debate”, for even more annoying historical reasons that don’t tell you anything at all about the problem than “regression to the mean”).  If one takes Napoleon’s maxim seriously that to understand someone’s worldview you need to think about what the world was like when they were in their early twenties, then this was, I think, the house view of Former Bank of England Economists at the start of the century.

Sometimes my post is just an inadvertent rip off post of a post someone else made that I read but partially forgot about, oops

[whiteheartlight]

hey I wrote a fic while my internet was down about the world's grumpiest Toa while he and the others were traveling back to Mata Nui with the Matoran. please let me know if you enjoy. Onewa is such a bastard. but a bastard with nuance?? I've always thought he and Vakama should get to talk after the Visorak arc

.

It would actually be pretty cool, Onewa thinks, if Nuju didn't manage to concuss himself so bad while he did it.

He was up there where he needed to be, that's the thing. And Onewa's not afraid of heights like Whenua is, but when that bird smashed through the window of their airship and tried its damnedest to get Vakama by the waist, Onewa did think to himself, for a moment: I'm a Toa of Stone. Maybe the others should handle this.

Nuju might have intuited that thought, or maybe he had just been itching for some action after being stuck on a ship with the rest of them for weeks on end, but one way or another, he pulled out those ice spikes and practically leapt out the window to go after that over-sized set of knives on wings.

“Can't we just let the poor thing go?” Whenua had called, clinging queasily to a nearby support pole as the wind rocked over him. “It was probably hungry!”

“So it gets to eat Vakama?” Matau replied. “Or do you think it needs two of us?”

“If we let it go it could go after the Matoran spheres,” Vakama called over the wind. “We need to at least knock it out of the sky!”

“I'll handle the draft it's riding!” Matau shouted, leaping out the window and spreading his wings. He dipped hard before he caught the wind and came back up towards the bird, one hand curving through the air as he redirected the draft.

Unfortunately, he didn't redirect himself to avoid it. The bird panicked at the sudden change, flapping hard to try and course-correct, and Onewa heard Matau go “oh, whoops” before a metal wing was slicing towards his own. Matau disengaged his wings to avoid the blow, and he instantly started to plummet.

Onewa grabbed him neatly by the back of the armor from the side of the ship.

“Can you watch it, Matau?” he snarled at him. “What a stupid fucking stupid way to die that would have been.”

“Aw, were you worried?” asked Matau, making a fake pout.

“There would have been a whole village of Matoran with no one around because you weren't paying attention. Do you even care about that?”

“Spirits, Onewa, I would have quick-caught myself. Don't be a stuck crab about everything.”

“You two both focus!” Vakama called sharply, and Onewa swore before hauling Matau back in to safety. The bird swooped past them again, enormous talons reaching for either one of them before it darted back out again. He probably did need to focus, but honestly, in that moment, he felt so angry he could scream.

Look, it's not just been this, okay? Ever since Vakama got back from his stupid fucking solo trip that he still won't even tell them about, the others have been wearing on his nerves like they're getting paid good widgets to do so. He doesn't even really know why. They're just all... the same. They're all the same beings they always were. Weren't they supposed to change over time? Not just Vakama putting his shadows to rest, or Matau toning down the sarcasm, or whatever you want to call what any of them have been through. Wasn't there supposed to be a moment where he looked around and realized that they were all – you know – professionals?

Aren't they supposed to feel like real Toa?

Instead they're here, on a busted old airship, trying to caravan a pack of comatose Matoran across unexplored waters because they couldn't save their real homeland. It seemed to strike him in the chest for a second, as the shadow of the bird's wings passed over him. No matter how many times he thinks it, it always punches him. He always thinks to himself Lhikan expected more from us.

He was thinking it again when Nuju distracted him by finding his footing along the side of the ship. Onewa couldn't even see what support beam or structuring he was standing on, but, with his ice spikes in the side of the ship's metal to steady him, Nuju got up.

“Oh, wow, he's up there,” said Whenua, and then promptly covered his eyes with his hands. “Be careful!”

“Matau, be ready to catch him if he falls,” Vakama ordered, and Matau bounded back into the sky. Nokama had a selection of clouds pouring down a fence of rain, bringing the predator bird towards Nuju, there on his feet, and he pulled an arm free, striking it through the air like he was giving a command. Onewa saw the light catch brilliantly on the heavy ice that formed along the creature's wings, sending it swerving, shrieking, and then falling. It came close to Nuju, who leapt away gracefully, back towards the entrance of the ship –

And, in one unfortunate push from the bird's spiraling wing, cracked his head hard against the edge of the open window.

“Oh!” groaned both Whenua and Nokama at the same time, everyone shifting towards Nuju in a collective alarm. Vakama grabbed Nuju's shoulders from the front while Matau swooped back inside to grab him from behind. He was only limp for a second or two, a white hand staggering up to grab at his head, but they had all heard that metal clunk of his cerebral casing connecting solidly with the harsh edge.

“Is it cracked?” asked Onewa tersely, coming to stand at Vakama's shoulder, hand out-stretched with nothing to do. Vakama was looking at Nuju's casing with a forger's eye, searching for any fractures.

“I don't think so. It'll be the inside we should worry about. Nuju, you need to sit down.”

Nuju was trying to get onto his feet without needing support, but not having much luck at it.

“I'm fine,” he snapped, voice shaky. “I handled it.”

The attitude is what's really getting Onewa mad, now that they're all here, crowded around Nuju. Onewa scoffs, shaking his head at him. “Seriously? You could have fallen too. We couldn't have just handled that from inside the ship? A couple ice darts wouldn't have taken it down the same? Oh, you were just aching for a fight.”

“Onewa,” warns Nokama, trying to get Nuju to at least lean back on them. “Not now.”

“Don't worry, sister, I think the odds of him remembering any part of today are pretty slim after our resident genius's latest idea.”

“Nuju, sit down,” Vakama insists, pulling his shoulders. Nuju's being such a pain. Is this how Toa act?

“I don't want you all touching me!”

“We're trying to stop you from falling. Let us get you checked over and then we will all back off, I promise.”

Nuju grabs at his mask again, groaning, but he doesn't let them lower him. He grips at the wall and then shoves Matau's arm off him. “Brother, just one second,” Nokama's telling him gently. “You're okay, we've got you.”

“I'm fine, get off!”

“Oh, by the spirits, Nuju,” Onewa hisses, something molten rising up in him. “Just sit down and shut up.”

Nuju's legs give out from under him so fast he nearly smacks his head a second time, but Matau scoops him up with a yelp. Pale blue eyes pierce Onewa with a fury that needs no words, but as his mouth fails to glow, Onewa realizes he can't talk.

Something races down his spine. He didn't mean to command him like that. Or maybe he did – the intention was there, it has to be, for his mask to work, but he didn't mean –

Nokama grabs Nuju's wrist before his hand can come up to strike back with ice. He grabs her wrist in return, mask contorting, but then something goes blank in his eyes and he sways, just trying to breathe. He hit his head hard.

“Onewa, go cool off,” Vakama orders shortly.

Oh, yeah, of course the Fire Toa's going to handle this. Their fearless leader.

Onewa scoffs and turns his back on his siblings, feeling four sets of eyes on him as he goes.

He shouldn't have done that. But this is it. This is... this is destiny, he supposes.

It doesn't feel right in his chest. Nothing has for weeks.

.

“You come to kill me, ice-weaver?”

Onewa's adjusting the shape of his whetstone carefully in his hand, its form shifting like water beneath his fingers, when he hears the steps approaching him.

Honestly, he's impressed Nuju knows about his little hiding spot. At the back of the landing bay, on the bottom of the ship, the tow cord stretches out towards the airships connected to their own. The windows around it are meant to allow Matoran to check that the cord is intact and undamaged, but it also makes a nice viewpoint. The other ships bob along through the air behind them, and at this time of evening, the sun comes through everything like its trying to cram the light inside. He likes the white noise of the nearest blade spinning through the air too – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, low and heavy.

“Nokama's trying to talk him down,” comes a voice that isn't Nuju's. “He was more sullen than angry. I think he's embarrassed. It wasn't very kind of you.”

Onewa turns to level Vakama with a look, taking in the sight of him crouching to meet Onewa's gaze, still outside the bubble of the tow cord area, which is not tall enough for a Toa to stand in. Onewa shakes his head and pulls out his proto pitons, setting them on his lap.

“There's no difference between embarrassed and angry for a Ko-Matoran. He'll have his revenge, and I'll take it. End of story.”

“You lost your temper with him.”

“My real punishment is right now. Nokama really knew who to send to give me the most grief, didn't she?”

“She didn't send me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Come on, you know she's focused on Nuju right now.”

Onewa snorts. Okay, that's fair. She takes care of all of them in a lot of ways – probably more than she should – but she does pick favorites sometimes. He doesn't care, though. He doesn't want her coddling and he loves his sister no matter who she's standing up for.

“Look, Onewa,” Vakama says, taking in a deep breath. “I understand entirely that you have extra doubts about everything since what I did with the Visorak, but – ”

“Can it,” Onewa cuts him off, curving his whetstone along the underside blade of his piton. He loves that slide of protodermis on stone. “If you could get out of your head for more than five seconds you'd remember that I'm not treating you any differently than I always have. Honestly, that whole drunk-on-power shtick might be the most interesting thing you ever did in your life. No more big sad eyes. Just bright red rage.”

Vakama scowls at him. “It was monstrous.”

“I can't tell you how little I care about your pity party. Seriously, if I tried to find the words – ”

“Alright, alright,” Vakama sighs, sitting down beside him. “Well, you're certainly treating the others differently.”

Onewa examines his piton in the light. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure,” Vakama answers flatly. “Onewa, one way or another, couldn't we try getting off on a better foot? All of us?”

Onewa finds that pretty funny. “A tiny bit late to be asking, don't you think?”

“Now's the time. We're going somewhere new. Leaving old enemies behind. Old shadows. Speaking for myself, I can acknowledge I'm in a much better headspace to be...”

“Less aggravating?”

Vakama pins him with a look. “Whatever you need me to be.”

“How noble.”

“Onewa. You controlled Nuju today. He's going to have your head. You can't be treating the others like that. I don't know why you'd choose Nuju of all people to pick on, but whatever I need to do to help you – ”

“Did you ever meet Toa Rooka?” Onewa asks.

Vakama stops short, evidently turning this change of topic over in his head. “No,” he replies. “Saw him from afar, you know how it would go. Rooka, of course, was – ”

“Larger than life?”

“In a number of ways,” Vakama agrees. When Onewa doesn't answer, he presses on. “You knew Rooka?”

“I saw Rooka die,” Onewa says.

Vakama goes quiet. “I didn't know that.”

Onewa nods at nothing, frowning out the window.

“How did it happen?” Vakama prompts him.

Yeah, he still remembers that answer in vivid detail, no matter how the years pass. Onewa presses his thumb hard into his wrist, below his vambrace. “Dark Hunters. Long before Nidhiki started crawling around or anything, just... the war, or its remnants. I was out in the fields where the fighting had happened, part of a search and rescue thing that the Mangai were leading. All the Hunters were supposed to have cleared out, but... I wandered onto them. Had my carver's tool in my hand. I remember coming over this crest and seeing him there, more gold than brown in the sun like he was. They put an axe through most of his throat, and the ichor sprayed like crazy. He didn't make any noise or anything. I think I said his name, so I'm lucky they didn't hear me. Or maybe I said 'Toa.' I think I just said 'Toa.'”

Onewa shifts in place and shrugs. “Anyway, some of the others must have been patrolling with him, because Naho and Lhikan were already looking for him before he was gone. I didn't go fetch them or anything, but they saw me sitting on top of the rocks, watching. Naho started cleaning up Rooks, and Lhikan came and got me. He picked me up – and you can imagine how much I would tolerate that normally, but I let him that day – and he took me home. Checked on me, afterwards, and then, he just never stopped checking on me.”

He can see the second Vakama becomes tempted to cut in with some anecdote about how Lhikan was always so caring like that, wasn't he, and Onewa cuts him off sharply.

“So I'm saying you aren't the only one who lost him, Vakama.”

“I never said I was,” Vakama shoots back, with a little of that Fire Toa heat.

“Yeah? You act like it sometimes. Now you know. And whatever, okay, you were stuck in your head, that's fine. But if you could stop acting like this is the fire-spitter show for two minutes, it would help me out, thanks very much.”

“It's always something I'm doing wrong, isn't it?”

“And here we go, right on schedule.” They glare at each other for a second before Vakama reels himself in, puffing out this hot, annoyed breath and crossing his arms over chest.

“So, what? You're saying you're just grieving, then, and that has you tearing into Nuju for no reason?”

“First of all, the reason was that he's insufferable. But no, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying – it's been on my mind – I just thought you should know that I miss him too.”

“Oh.”

Onewa twists his vambrace around unhappily. “Yeah, fucking 'oh.' And I know that I've been an ass too. And now there's a lot to adjust to, and I don't know, Vakama. I only ever started following you to whatever degree I did – or sticking with any of the five of you – because I thought it's what he would want. But now look at us. Are we really getting anywhere? I'm supposed to believe we can lead a whole society of Matoran now? I don't understand why he picked us. Any of us, sometimes. But I loved him too.”

Vakama sighs and spreads his hands in an open gesture. “I know you did, Onewa. I know you're not actually... I don't know. Unkind.”

Onewa scoffs, shaking his head. “Really? How would you know that?”

Vakama frowns. “Well, I know you're not.”

“And you're so sure?”

“Yes,” says Vakama simply.

Onewa drops his hands into his lap, frowning back at him.

“Onewa,” says Vakama. “I would rather be your brother than your enemy. We all would.”

“So you're asking me to start being nicer and then we're good?”

“I'm asking you to follow me,” Vakama replies, which is pretty fucking bold, considering what they were just talking about.

“Why should it be you?” Onewa asks. “What have you ever done to deserve my loyalty? Two weeks ago you ran off on your own back to Metru Nui! Why would it ever be you?”

“Are you so opposed to it?”

He's not, Onewa realizes, turning irritably back to his other piton. No. He thinks Vakama could do it, actually. He saw him there at the end of the Visorak, coming back to them as himself, somebody upright and certain, if worn. He saw a leader.

“Maybe you're just not used to following, to being part of a team,” says Vakama, softer. “Which is fine. But here we are, Onewa. You're looking at your future and realizing we're all going to need to be leaders, together. We're going to need to be united. And not just to save our own tails when trouble comes, but because...”

His hand moves towards the other ship in the sky behind them, and Onewa stares out at it. He knows. There are hundreds of Matoran there who will need all six of them. United. There are Matoran who might need someone to carry them somewhere safe, and then to look after them. And that's him, somehow, him and these others. Because Toa Rooka and Toa Lhikan and the others are all gone, and Onewa and these five beings here with him – they're what's left. No other options, not anymore. Onewa and his brothers and sister.

“Deep down, I think that starts your heartlight flashing in a way you're not used to,” Vakama continues. “So maybe instead of telling us you're nervous, or scared – ”

“Watch it, fire-spitter.”

“ – you lash out. But Onewa, the reason that it should be me – just so we're all on the same tablet – is because that's the leader the others chose. And I have not done anything to deserve that. In fact, I've done plenty to be banished from your sights forever. But here we are. Call it destiny, or Lhikan's hope for us, or even say it's only because this is the fire-spitter show, I don't care. Here we are. I never want to be five minutes late to helping you because you didn't call for me, Onewa. I want to be your brother. I'm asking that you fall in line at my side – and all of our sides – and start accepting what we are now stepping into.”

“Well.” Onewa looks down at his pitons again, touching the cold metal for a second. “Maybe I don't know how to do that.”

Vakama hums at him. “I think you do.”

Say what you want about Vakama, but truthfully, this is that Fire Toa bravery they always talk about coming out to play, because in that moment, he has the nerves to put his stupid fucking hand on Onewa's shoulder.

“By the way,” Vakama adds, as he claps his armor and then starts to rise. “You're more gold than brown in the sun, too. Think I know where you got that from. I can't be Lhikan, but I'd be happy to check on you instead. Whatever happens, you won't be alone. We all want to be in this with you, no matter what comes next. Believe it or not, brother, but... we have your back.”

Onewa covers his mask for a second, sucking in a deep breath.

“This is real, huh? This... I'm really stuck with all five of you forever. Lhikan's really dead. It's the five of us. Mata Nui. You lot are stuck with me!”

He can grasp that Vakama's trying to be a cool and collected leader who came to give him words of wisdom, but really, when he breaks and start cracking up... Onewa thinks it's a good sound. Been a long fucking time since he heard Vakama laugh like that, bent over himself and covering his mouth. Or maybe never. Maybe he never knew Vakama when he was full of laughter. He shakes his head and turns away from his brother.

“I have your back too,” Onewa says. “At the end of the day, at least.”

“Yes,” Vakama says, smiling at him. “I know that. I'll see you later, Onewa.”

Then he's gone. Self-righteous forger.

Onewa looks back at the other ship again, the spheres that hold his people gleaming just a few bio away, and he's no tower-loving Ko-Matoran with a penchant for star-gazing of any kind, but in that moment, well... when he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine, he thinks he sees the future.

Yeah, Nuju's going to kick his ass. But there will be good things too. And bad things. And mistakes. And triumphs. The six of them will navigate it together.

.

He knows what Vakama means to do before he does it.

Maybe Onewa always knew it would be the price. He doesn't know how any part of him was ready for this, but somehow, he is. He sees Vakama reaching out his hand, and he doesn't feel scared. He isn't surprised. He's ready.

Vakama touches the Matoran sphere. A light begins to change him. When it's done, he's not Toa Vakama anymore, and Onewa feels the others staring at him and the spheres in silence. Onewa steps up beside him. He puts his hand on the next sphere over.

.

thanks for reading <3