#it certainly does Not Help that the majority of it all is So Damn Good as well????

[oldkamelle]

any tips on how to consume tf2 lore? i'm not a gamer i just want to rotate scout in my mind 24/7 :] thanks

NON GAMERS UNITE

I'd say watch the official animations, read the comics, peruse the game update pages on the official site cuz they of course hold some good shit (you can get to most of these by reading the side comics if i remember correctly, at the end it'll show a button that takes you to the update page for that particular comic)

Besides these, i don't know of any other canonical lore sources (for more canon info, maybe watch videos that explain the full background of the characters, they'll include tidbits that the previous sources dont).

After these, from my experience, it's just all fan content, of which there is an ungodly amount (game came out in like 2007 so you'll never get left with nothing). They inform you about the community more, while also fulfilling your blorbo needs.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 16: The One About That Time I Shot an Arrow into the Air

“…It fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight.”

Archery has always been one of my fortes in life. I have absolutely no idea why, but I’m strangely quite good at it. My father, of course, attributes it to my ancestors; something passed down to me in my genes. So, I’m not sure that any arrow I shot into the air wouldn’t naturally find itself in the direction of its intended target. Today, that target would almost certainly be in the jugular of a Cerberus-like creature. Ah, yes, that mythical hellhound with three heads that guards the entrance to the Underworld. Not only does it dictate who can enter the realm of Hades, but also who can leave. And I’m not fond of creatures that would rather devour you alive than let you leave of your own freewill. Plus, could you imagine having three heads with three different personalities? Ugh, that would get confusing quickly. And, even worse, could you imagine all the in-fighting? I mean, an arrow to the throat – if it didn’t dismantle the beast – would almost certainly silence it. Luckily, we don’t have any three-headed dogs in this fandom…

Where am I going with this? Well – besides down a long and winding path that draws attention to the fact I enjoy poetry and archery – actually, I chose today’s poem for a specific purpose. If you haven’t figured it out from my previous cracks about the Kraken, I also like Greek mythology. In fact, learning about Greek mythology at around the age of 11 – yes, that defiant age where we’re no longer interested in Barbie (not that I was ever interested in Barbie) but we’re also not cool enough to be considered teenagers – was the first time I remember finding myself “thinking outside of the box.” And by that, I mean asking the question that I probably should not have said out loud: “If Zeus is a myth, does that mean God is fake, too?” That went down like a lead balloon (and, I hope, no one takes offense to reading that now; it is not meant with any disrespect). My mother was, of course, telephoned by the school and, when I returned home, she greeted me with (something along the lines of) a simple: “Did they answer your question? No? Then I suggest you find it for yourself.”

We all have our own truth, don’t we? Even in this fandom, we are each tasked with choosing our own path. Weeding out facts from speculation and speculation from rumor. Choosing what we want to believe over what is being pushed on us. Overcoming our willingness to follow blindly versus our refusal to be backed into corner. I suppose that’s why I’ve always liked Greek mythology (and, perhaps, storytelling in general) – because it helps us navigate life’s challenges by better understanding human nature. It’s also one of the reasons why my favorite story has always been the trials and tribulations of Eros and Psyche.

Ah-ha! See, I told you I had a purpose for bringing up those damn arrows!

Yes, Eros was the Greek equivalent of the Roman Cupid; that weird little dude who fired love arrows like a bouquet of flowers at a wedding. But Eros wasn’t some creepy little cherub in a cloth diaper; he was the devastatingly handsome God of Love. And he fell in love with the equally beautiful human Psyche. That part about her being human, however,managed to get Psyche some major side-eye from Eros’s mother, Aphrodite. In retaliation for humans worshiping Psyche’s beauty over her own, Aphrodite sent Eros down to earth to pierce Psyche with one of his love arrows so she would fall madly in love with a hideous monster (unfortunately for the Cerberus, it wasn’t them). But Eros defied his mother and, unbeknownst to Aphrodite, kept Psyche for himself hidden away in a castle. There, Psyche lived – mostly happily – with Eros visiting her every night. Eros promised Psyche she could live there indefinitely so long as she never looked upon his face (hence why he only visited her in darkness). But humans have this uncanny knack for being curious and, of course, Psyche peeked. Well, fuck! Haha, I won’t ruin the rest of the story for you except to say, yes, Eros was royally peeved at Psyche’s betrayal, fled their home, and sought refuge with his bitchy mother (because, of course, he did). Devastated, Psyche went clambering up to her pseudo-mother-in-law’s shrine to beg for forgiveness and Aphrodite, being a bit of a bitchy goddess, gave Psyche a series of impossible tasks to complete to prove her worthiness. Amazingly Psyche did in fact complete each of these four tasks but only because she managed to get a little help from some fantastical friends. Well, except for that final task for which Psyche was warned – don’t look in the fucking box. Damn humans.

Like all stories passed down from generation to generation, there are multiple versions of this myth, particularly when it comes to who helped Psyche complete her four tasks. Sometimes it’s one god(dess), other times it’s multiple; sometimes it’s earth’s creatures (the ants, the plants, and the flying things). But my favorite version is the one where Eros was the one pulling those invisible strings – or, at the very least, keeping an eye on Psyche from the shadows – because no matter how angry he was with her, Eros still loved Psyche and wanted to protect her.

Why do I bring this story up? Well, for starters, if you didn’t notice (because you were too focused on carriages and mirrors), Bridgerton Season 3 made quite a few parallels between Colin and Penelope and Eros and Psyche, even referring to the latter by name at the end of the fourth episode. The show also brushed on the importance of trust, the consequences of betrayal, and the idea that love can conquer all. Funny thing is I never thought Colin to be much of an Eros; he made a better Psyche, in my opinion. I mean, he was the one to peek into Penelope’s secret life!

But Colin’s real-life counterpart, Luke, makes a rather entertaining Eros.

On December 16, when Luke reposted to his Instagram stories a link to Nicola’s “Part 1” of her 2024 Year, the fandom went wild. And I’m not talking about just the Lukolas going insane with excitement; the Jakolas were having a field day, too – but not in a good way. The unease they’d almost certainly felt with those coordinated airplane and “Polin” posts from October returned with a vengeance when Luke resurfaced in support of Nicola – the woman for whom he consistently comes out hiding. I realized then that the one person who could simultaneously make the Lukolas’ hearts flutter and the Adjacents’ blood boil was Luke (i.e., our Eros could make Psyche rejoice while making Aphrodite lash out in anger).

If you really think about it, Luke has pulled us out of the black waters of the River Styx multiple times, making him the perfect Eros to our Psyche. Yes, our Psyche. The fandom is absolutely the Psyche of this story. After all, the fandom was the one who betrayed Luke with our collective reaction to Papsmear (but, in the fandom’s defense, that was a shitty fucking day). And, of course, that wench Aphrodite is collectively all the side story bullshit, from the Adjacent narratives to rag-mags sticking their ever-growing noses into places they don't belong.

As we finish out the year, I thought it would be fun to give Luke some credit where credit is due. In other words, I thought I’d highlight four times Luke “Eros-ed” (i.e., “rescued”) us from some mucky ass shit. This is not every moment Luke came out of hiding to do something wonderful; these are simply my top four moments where I believe Luke single-handedly resuscitated the fandom. You’re welcome to share your best Luke moments in the comments.

No. 1 - That Post-Papsmear Thing That Everyone Ignored:

Fuck, yes.

I am starting with the most overlooked event in the Lukola-verse – Luke’s post-Papsmear Cressida story. This is the taproot that keeps my faith in Lukola from falling over during a storm – Luke taking one for Team Lukola by promoting Season 3 using the scene from Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening. Yeah, yeah, Luke totally missed the target with that post but – again, in the fandom’s defense – everyone was still reeling from the sudden-but-not-so-sudden materialization of Antonia at the London premiere. In hindsight, though, you know you want to give him an “atta boy” for basically throwing shade at the Lutonia narrative while using a massive social media platform to do so. It was jaw-dropping, brilliant, and ballsy as fuck.

If you’re totally lost about how entertaining this Cressida story was, go read Entry 1 to be my blog. But, seriously, how have you not read it already?

No. 2 – Delivering the Cake:

Alright, fast forward three months (yes, three goddamn months!) to September 7 when Luke posted pictures from his stay at the Puente Romano resort.

No big deal, right?

Wrong!

It was a big fucking deal because, for starters, Antonia creeped in and posted random pictures of herself at roughly the same time Luke posted his resort pictures. And, of course, Luke had to like Antonia’s Instagram post. To make matters worse (gasp!) Luke’s had palm trees in his pictures which were oh, so reminiscent (but, not really) of palm trees posted by Antonia the previous day to her Instagram stories. Oh my God! And, then the real kicker? Luke’s slide deck included him eating a picture of himself from the London premiere sans Nicola! The horror! I mean, what probably started out as a cute post by Luke turned into a full-on Lukola heart attack within 30 minutes or less!

But then Luke pulled out a defibrillator and revived the fandom. Almost immediately.

After presumably hearing the cries from the Lukola fandom that he’d cut Nicola from the London premiere image, Luke demonstrated through his Instagram stories that (a) he was eating part of a cake (he was even darling enough to put the cake emoji with a smiley face), and (b) that the cake never had Nicola’s image on it to begin with (meaning, he didn’t remove her from it). Thank you for that clarification, Luke. Seriously, the fandom appreciated it.

After they recovered from their near-death experience, the Lukolas finally took the time to look at the images Luke posted. A not-so-random chaise lounge; a random white shirt; a restaurant called El Pimpi (which is a word used for the people who delivered messages to a ship’s crew and passengers); Luke throwing up the peace sign with his now infamous digits in – what appeared to be – the reflection of a glass table; and a reference to cake. It was Lukola- and/or Polin-coded shit. And, to make it just a smidge better, there was no visible reference to Antonia anywhere.

And, yes, I will cut in here to acknowledge that Antonia would, on October 25, include a lone picture of a balcony which was identical to the one Luke posted in his – what I like to call – “clarification stories” from September 7. Do I care about Antonia’s balcony? Not in the least. Could she have been at the resort? Sure. In fact, I’ve always found the idea of Antonia being present quite comical since Luke made it fairly obvious he omitted something (ahem, someone) from his Instagram post and instead filled it with random shit that seemed Lukola- and/or Polin-coded. Plus, if you want me to be perfectly honest, “insinuation” posts from Antonia stopped doing it for me months ago.

Back to what I saying… We must give Luke a round of applause for placating an entire fandom with something as simple as a cake emoji. Bravo, bravo!

No. 3 – Shutting Down the Mean Girls:

We closed out September with Antonia riling up the fandom by posting Instagram story after Instagram story, none of which were worth a second glance from a Lukola except for the “phone screen” one (see “Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, ‘Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?’” for reference). Oh, wait, there is another story – just for my own amusement – on October 1, Antonia reshared a story where she was labeled “Aphroditi.” Rather convenient for my story today, isn't it? Any ways, the Lukolas were a bit high-strung by October 2 when Nicola announced via Instagram that she had been named as part of the Time 100. Luke liked the post – but apparently to the haters on X he didn’t do it motherfucking fast enough. These weird-ass people do actually exist – the ones that genuinely believe Instagram likes (and the speed thereof) equate to true love.

Any ways, Luke apparently decided he was having none of that bullshit and stepped in on October 3 with his Polin-themed “Mean Girls” story. It was a throwback to a conversation he and Nicola had had in, I believe, 2022 on, haha, X.

“On October 3rd, he asked me what day it was.”

“It’s October 3rd.”

Luke captioned the story, “Xx.”

Not only did the fandom rejoice that Luke had returned to post something after nearly a month away, but the post included a throwback to Nicola, and it came on the heels of Halley Brisker’s now legendary “Nicola lately” post. Yeah, the one with Luke in the background (seriously, convince me it was someone else). Luke’s story also seemed to be one hell of a clapback to a rabid pack animal on X who faulted Luke for not leaving a comment on Nicola’s Time 100 post.

“Xx.”

No. 4 – The Littlest Things:

I debated over choosing Luke’s People magazine interview for the fourth moment, but that interview – although it made the fandom incredibly happy – didn’t pull our heads out of our own asses. So, I decided instead to go with the little things Luke has done over the past few months, namely, joining in on the Like Wars but in his own oh, so subtle way.

Let’s start with Antonia’s September 21 post of – honestly, who the hell cares? She posted and we knew Luke’s obligatory like was coming. It just took 10 ½ hours for Luke to get to it and it was only given after Nicola posted to her Instagram stories pictures from a concert she had attended. Was the fandom a bit deflated Luke liked Antonia’s post? Of course! But it was also fun to see the like come hours after Luke had already been online and on the heels of Nicola popping up online.

On October 11, we had a similar event happen. Antonia posted to her grid and Luke seemingly ignored it for roughly five hours. But, while Luke was ignoring her post, Antonia was going hard at it with Instagram stories and TikTok videos (Nicola, for her part, seemed to be playing her own game on social media during this time). Luke finally liked Antonia’s post and Antonia went silent thereafter. Then, on October 12, Luke officially made it back from his October 4 “Brb” moment and posted “Somewhere in Mayfair” to his Instagram stories. Let the fandom rejoice!

But I’m not stopping there. Let’s not forget about Luke and Nicola’s coordinated “Polin” pictures on October 21 or that, while Antonia was “rolling pasta” on November 17, Luke made it a point to go back and like Nicola’s Dr. Who post from November 15. On December 6, when Luke coughed up a like to Antonia’s grid post, he also handed a like out to Nicola at the same time (and a few others). Do you see a pattern starting to form?

Honestly, I believe Luke is owed a standing ovation for the way he has taken control of his own narrative and managed to deflect from the so-called “importance” of these bullshit Instagram likes. Although Nicola has historically attempted to distract the fandom from Antonia, in my opinion, it was always Luke’s responsibility to diminish the importance of Antonia’s role in his story. And, for the past several months, he has been doing just that – in the quietest way possible.

I’ve decided Luke is a bit like a shadow. Inconspicuous – sometimes even completely invisible – but when the light hits just right, it’s impossible to ignore his immense presence.

When Luke posts, or when he coyly plays around with the Instagram likes – even when he likes Nicola’s posts – it somehow resonates differently with the fandom. Nicola could post her year-end stuff and the fandom would be, like, “Oh, that’s cool.” But, when Luke reshares her post to his stories? “Holy fuck, that’s awesome!” It's a "different energy on set." Somewhere in the middle of all the bullshit that goes on within the fandom, Luke found his own truth. The “Bad Guy” who was “on a break” during Hot Boy Summer somehow became our hero; the shadowy figure that pulls us out of the water and sets our heads back on straight. Over and over again. It's been so subtle, we've barely even noticed.

I’m going to end this entry with the Longfellow poem I quoted at the beginning, mainly because I like it, but also because it’s about something that cannot be easily seen once released into the world but, if found, can have an everlasting effect on us.

“I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight;

“I breathed a song into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for who has sight so keen and strong; that it can follow the flight of song?

“Long, long afterward, in an oak; I found the arrow, still unbroke; and the song, from beginning to end; I found again in the heart of a friend.”

P.S. In the story, Psyche is rescued by Eros (hurray!) and is made the Goddess of the Soul.

[kuromori4]

Gabriel Agreste's despicable request

I started this rant after watching the London special and I figured I should finally finish it and post it.

"Make sure Adrien never knows the villain that I was, and instead try and remember the times I tried to be a good father."

Who the hell does he think he is to make such a request?? He's relying on Marinette's desire to protect the boy she loves. He KNOWS that she'll do as he asks for Adrien. He's counting on it. And that's AWFUL. He has to know exactly what he's putting on her shoulders. He knows that she knows what an awful father he's been to Adrien. This isn't a heartfelt request to protect his son. This is a CURSE ON HIS ENEMY. A way to ensure that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladybug, the major thorn in his side since day one, continues to suffer long after he's gone. Ladybug foiled all of his plans from the start, Marinette dared to win the heart of his son, whom he had promised to someone else without his knowledge. She was his downfall, and surely, in his mind, the (albeit indirect) cause of his impending doom.

If he really cared about Adrien, if Adrien's well-being was his real goal and final wish, then he should have given in. He should have decided, "You're right Ladybug, I fucked up. let's try and fix this, for Adrien." But NO. He chose to attack her, even after she gave him a chance to make things right. He wasn't willing to let things end on someone else's terms. If he was going to go out, he was going to do it HIS WAY. And he was going to make sure that his memory would never die, one way or another. So instead of doing the right thing and finding a way out of it that was less harmful to his child, whom he was about to leave an orphan, he steals the Miraculous and makes damn sure that his death will go down in history.

I don't give a shit if he changed the initial intention of his wish. He still wasn't sacrificing himself for some greater good. That's just how he wanted Marinette to perceive it, because she is good, and a child, and therefor easy to emotionally manipulate. He knowingly put both Adrien and Marinette into a position where a future of hurt and pain was inevitable. Everything Gabriel does is self-serving, right to the very end. His final act of villainy ensured that he could maintain control over his son's life even after his death, and keep his enemies suffering long after he's gone. And what's worse, he used the girl his son loves to enforce it. Which is the ultimate fuck you to Mari/bug if you ask me; forcing her to become the new keeper of his son's ignorance, maintaining that Adrien stays in the dark and never learns the truth about anything.

You could argue that he gave his life for Nathalie and that's somehow redeeming, but I argue that it was just another way for him to guarantee that his affairs were taken care of after his demise. Sure he does seem to care about Nathalie in some manner, maybe there's even some love there. (But as we well know, Gabriel's twisted 'love' seems to come at a price.) I'm sure Nathalie knows how to run his company in his stead, to make sure his assets stay in tact, and to a certain degree, maybe even thinks that Nathalie might carry on his mission, or at the very least protect his secrets. Even if she had a change of heart in the end and tried to stop him, she has been complicit all these years and knows most of, if not all of, his secrets and goals. She also has a position of authority over Adrien. She knows that he's a Sentibeing and where his Amok is, and has used it on him before. I truly think that Gabriel believed that Nathalie would help wrap everything up with a nice bow for him. Who else could he trust to handle his final affairs? Certainly not Tsurugi.

If Gabriel had turned himself in to Ladybug, he would have died alone, pretty much then and there. Without his wife. (Emilie's status of dead or nearly dead being unknown to us) Nathalie would have died, His company would fail, his contracts with Tsurugi enterprises would allow Tomoe to pick the Gabriel company apart like a vulture, and his empire would shrivel up. His son would know who and what he was, and would hate him. The plans he put in place for Adrien's future would fall apart, allowing for Adrien to grow and be who he wants without his father's influence. Maybe he'd be remembered for his villainy, but his accomplishments in life as Gabriel would be forgotten, lost, even resented. And what's worse, he would have lost everything to a couple of children. His son's girlfriend and her pet cat would be his downfall, his undoing. The great Gabriel Agreste, Monarch, bested by a young girl. Gabriel's blatant pretension would never stand for it.

His wish ensured that he got to be together with his wife in the end, Which was always his goal. It ensured that Mari/bug (And by extension, Chat Noir) would continue to suffer for daring to oppose him. He got his way. He won. IDGAF if he died. HE WON. He destroyed so many lives. He doesn't deserve the little comments in the special talking about "Rekindling what was still good in Gabriel Agreste" or "What finally made him a good father to Adrien." HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS ASKING OF HER. He knew what it would mean for her, and his son! The power he holds over Marinette and Adrien from beyond the grave guarantees that even with a new Butterfly holder, that he will ALWAYS be the formidable villain who defeated them. He will ALWAYS loom over their heads, wrap his fingers around their throats. He got to defeat his enemy AND look like the hero. He gets to have his cake and eat it too. He gave both of his identities a fucking LEGACY.

[requiemism]

maybe its just because jinx is bpd (or, at least, HEAVILY coded as such) and i have a mood disorder but i truly cannot help but be bewildered by the lack of understanding and empathy towards her character both in the show and in the fandom. shes essentially a broken, manipulated, desperate child- even if shes "grown" now, shes so severely traumatized i sincerely doubt her brain developed properly and she certainly didnt and doesnt have the help required to become a well adjusted stable individual. i dont say this to take away her agency or infantilize her- her actions ARE her choice, and she DOES understand what she is doing. however, despite this, a majority of what shes done has NEVER been in a moment of rational thinking. she only did what she did as powder due to desperation; she threw the bag in the water because she was cornered, she accidentally caused the deaths she did because she didnt understand the tech she had and she was desperate to save her family. everything she does after as jinx is largely due to silcos manipulation, being severely disordered, traumatized, and abandoned, and literally every single person in her life telling her all shes good for is destruction and causing pain. she spends almost her ENTIRE life being told by EVERYONE but the person actively manipulating her that she is incompetent, annoying, destructive and batshit. OBVIOUSLY SHES NOT GOING TO BE NORMAL. OBVIOUSLY SHES GOING TO LOSE IT WHEN THE O N E PERSON SHE HAS LEFT FUCKING DIES BECAUSE SHE ACCIDENTALLY SHOT HIM DURING A PTSD DRIVEN BREAKDOWN CAUSED BY HER GODDAMN SISTER. O B V I O U S L Y SHES GOING TO DO SOMETHING RASH AND IMPULSIVE IN HER MANIC, BROKEN STATE. because now, she has nothing left. she has nothing to lose. shes a jinx, and she ruins everything that she touches, and maybe, just maybe, she can use that to honor her fathers lifelong goal. obviously this goes horribly and backfires on everyone, putting a target on the entire undercitys back, but she ABSOLUTELY wasnt thinking about that when she bombed the goddamn capitol mid breakdown. in season 2, after making this impulsive (and frankly idiotic but thats neither here nor there) decision she lays low, avoiding causing any damage unless necessary (although it IS overkill whenever she does harm people, thats what shes been taught is normal. she literally grew up in the undercity where people are murdered and mugged on a daily basis.) and using every opportunity to scourge her own existence. she VERY clearly hates herself for what shes done, and she certainly doesnt seem to be proud of any of it. i think this is best displayed in the discussion she has with isha when they first meet. when vi and the enforcer squad come after her, shes literally minding her business, making a GIFT for the woman who has repeatedly hurt her because "it was something (she) could fix." she cant even shoot vi when shes actively gassing her, literally CRYING at the thought. the only reason she actively begins attempting to kill her and caitlyn is because THEY'RE DOING THE SAME DAMN THING, and once again she very clearly cant bring herself to do so to vi. even in s1, during the tea party scene, its pretty evident that she doesnt intend to kill vi in my opinion? to make matters worse, when vi tries to kill HER, she practically BEGS her to do it.

i understand that jinx is objectively NOT a good person!!! she has literally killed tens of maybe hundreds of people and yes, she did kill caitlyns mom (although very honestly i could care less about that ngl caitlyn is absolutely a good character but i dont like her as a person for reasons largely unrelated to jinx 😓). she literally builds bombs and guns and whatever the fuck for fun. she enjoys watching people be beaten and killed. but i think the absolute lack of any empathy or understanding towards her a lot of people exhibit is a little ridiculous and it infuriates me to no end 😭 thank you for coming to my autistic ted talk!!!!

[rataccatak]

Analysis of how KaySD draws Sergey Razumovsky

Or: trying to justify a thirstpost about the world's most terrible man

Sergey's gone through a number of artists through the years, and I gotta say, KaySD's rendition has captured my heart. In fact, it was a screenshot of Kay's Sergey that first got me into Major Grom. While Phob's is the official art style that we associate with the comics, Kay's style, I believe, better serves Sergey's character in the current PD run.

Genre-wise, PD returns to being a big-action, ensemble comic, which--compared to The Game's tight conflict and human drama focus--deliberately implements Kay's more traditionally comic-book style to this effect. The first arc (nine volumes in total) of PD are all Kay; though the current issues are being outsourced to a number of different artists now, Kay's style--with its roots in distinctly American superhero comics, such as DC--was what they wanted to prime audience's expectations with. After Time of the Raven, there was a big push for Bubble to adhere their stories to big names like Marvel, and with that came the desire to usher in things like a multiverse, space and supernatural elements, and franchise crossovers. Plague Doctor was one of their latest installments of that new "culture," and they had to match their aesthetics appropriately.

Okay, but that brings me back to the brainrot part of this post, which is HOT DAMN KAY'S SERGEY LOOKS SICK???

The whole idea of Plague Doctor is that, for like seven years or something, Sergey has been declared dead or missing or otherwise MIA. Nobody, both in-universe and irl, knows where he is or what the fuck he's up to. You crack open issue 1, encounter a guy in sunglasses and a hat who is painfully obviously Sergey, but you get to the last page and

(I will say this is probably the most unflattering frame of him. His chin makes him look like such a chad derogatory)

BAM. HOMEBOY IS ROCKING A NEW HAIRCUT, HE'S WEARING ANOTHER STUPID PURPLE SUIT, HE'S RIPPED, AND HE HAS BLUE EYES.

This isn't the soft, sort of angelically beautiful Sergey we're used to seeing from Phobs. It's radically different, an entirely different character almost, which was the intent.

His new look is more practical, both tactically and socially. His hair is cut, so people won't recognize him as easily. It won't get in his face or get grabbed during fights, and combined with his more muscled build, this is a Sergey who's taking things more seriously this time around. Gone is the flamboyant cape and swishing fiery locks; the plague doctor campaign is no longer a passion, but a duty. And he's ready to enter the thunderdome and get his hands dirty and god damn it, he will die trying.

Kay does take care to preserve the core elements of Phob's Sergey, while making a hard left into traditional masc territory. He's still unrealistically attractive, in that distinctly soft and youthful way. He's more noticeably fit but still maintains a slim, smooth appearance.

But on top of that, he adds this charm and charisma to him that is distinctly boyish (as in, young and mischievous, a pretty face that's up to no good). It makes his persona as a young, leftist radical more believable; he looks like a student revolutionaire, angry and passionate about all issues topical and trending.

He does look more obviously aged. Guy is now in his mid(?) thirties, and the past five years probably amounted to like three lifetimes of stress, so it certainly makes sense. Compared to how Kay drew The Game Sergey, his face is more defined with sharper lines, muscularity, and wrinkles. The short hair also ages him somewhat, making him look less angelic and more like... a regular dude.

And of course, there's the overnight peach fuzz.

The more mature, aged look helps him actually look like a person who's lived a life as loaded and fucked up as Sergey's. He's a guy whose parents died, grew up in foster care, became a CEO that rocketed to stardom in five years, committed the most elaborate fucked up terrorist campaign ever, and then immediately fell from fame to the deepest coldest cell in St Petersburg (and this is all just the OG Major Grom run). He's not Phob's Sergey (or Rag, whoever it was in The Game)--a blameless childish pretty boy who's detached from his crimes. Kay does a good job in making Sergey have this subtle undertone of... unsettled, unhinged, what have you. I don't know how much of this is hindsight bias, but he looks like a guy with a fucked up secret. You wouldn't think twice if you were seeing him in a grocery store or something but I can imagine later recognizing his mugshot on the news and thinking wow now that i think about it, he really does look like a serial killer.

And let's talk about his fashion. For all the features of Sergey's flamboyant costumes in Phob's renditions, Kay dresses him quite casually, and it works, ironically, to make him look deceptively plain in the way all extremely rich people dress (think of the $10k white t-shirts and sunglasses get-up all rich men wear). He dresses like his current social stature: a new-money sod who has gotten used to his wealth enough that he doesn't have to show off with his clothes anymore. Of course, this could also be turned on its head and instead, be an indication of Sergey's original, cheap clothes that he habited from his childhood. Certainly, the ironic rightwing graphic tees Kay puts him in edge towards that point of view, only now they're colored by Sergey's sense of political humor. I doubt a "god guns government" shirt is selling for $500 at some luxury tailor shop.

This is what I love about Kay's Sergey. In making him look more human, we get to orient him more organically into our own world. He looks like a thirty year old loser who studied CS in college and now commits cyber terrorism and doesn't know how to cook. He looks like a young adult leftist who is terminally online and has 500+ open tabs on Marxist theory. He looks like a guy who became too rich too young, who was the world's angle and then its devil in the span of like two years, and is now disillusioned with it all, who wears $5 graphic tees and stays up all night looking behind his back and tries desperately to find something that actually matters.

Once Sergey looks more believable, he becomes more understandable. And the more we understand him, the more the story has the potential to make him intrigue and surprise and reach us in multiple, unexpected ways.

[orchidbreezefc]

edgar woe.begone: low empathy, high masking

THESIS: my reading of edgar woe.begone is that he's a low empathy autistic who has no innate intuition for social cues and has had to teach himself everything about social interaction from scratch, which is an interpretation that i think explains a lot about him.

now, i am very critical of edgar as a person. i think he's a less than good person and a bad boyfriend. but let me be VERY clear right off the bat: these symptoms don't make anyone a bad person. these symptoms aren't even bad per se. theyre all disabling symptoms that make social interaction more difficult for the person who has them. like any symptom, they have to be managed and compensated for.

some people under the neurodivergent/mentally ill umbrella, as with any group of people, are bad people. being a bad person flavors one's approach to their mental illness, and mental illness in turn flavors the manner in which they're a bad person. the mental illness isn't what makes you bad, but it does affect how your shittiness manifests.

disclaimers done, a good place to start is the way edgar speaks, especially with jeremy's performance. edgar always sounds very reasonable, approachable, and agreeable, and there is never an ounce of genuine emotion in his voice. he talks like an autistic person with zero innate intuition for social interaction who has taught himself to speak in the way that he's learned will get the best response.

edgar's customer service voice is the only one we hear and likely the only one he uses if he can help it. we know edgar's a tactician, a persuader. why use any other voice than the one he's carefully fine-tuned to make people like him and be receptive to what he's saying? this isn't even necessarily cynical: what do you want him to do, talk in a more uncontrolled, emotional way--that he's not used to managing--that will make people like him less?? what good would that do?

edgar likes control. he's more comfortable when things are in his hands, and only his. propagation definitely factors in here--if [link: my theory] that propagation is what solidified the certainty of edgar's death is true, it's no wonder he wants to control and limit the spread of information. edgar prefers to be in charge of making the plans, ideally alone.

this is part of why mike is perpetually out of the loop, even regarding decisions that concern him--which is pretty damn paternalistic. but there's a more wholesome aspect as well: edgar genuinely thinks he's doing mike a favor.

edgar knows mike has undergone and is undergoing a lot, and that he's terrible with plans and a major blabbermouth. if edgar can take care of a problem without mike having to worry his pretty head and perfect eyebrows about what to do, without knowing it ever existed, isn't that so much better? that's edgar being a good boyfriend, actually. he's helping!

it probably doesn't even occur to edgar how much this limits mike's agency, how much it hurts mike that edgar refuses to let him in, how this puts them on unequal footing, how fucking patronizing it is to not let your boyfriend make his own decisions about his own life. oh, how the tables have tabled since him originally telling mike that keeping the story of woe.begone from him didn't protect him, it impeded his ability to make informed choices.

here's where the low empathy creates problems--edgar doesn't have that innate intuition for how mike's feeling, and he doesn't (effectively) manage or compensate for it, and he definitely doesn't communicate with mike enough to know how he's affected by this shit (avoiding too much information sharing is good, remember?)

and mike certainly isn't going to tell him! mike is a goddamn simp. he's not going to establish boundaries. he's not going to put his foot down and demand better treatment. as if he fucking deserves that in the first place, pshaw. the only time he pushes back is in season 10 when he doesn't remember their relationship, and edgar is deeply shaken.

edgar is devastated to learn he hurt mikey, because he does genuinely adore that man. he would get lasso lessons from michael and rope him the moon if he could. his low empathy and efforts to manage everything himself keep him from realizing that mikey, a hyperempathetic mess who gets sentimental about pens, seriously suffers from being shut out like this.

edgar's thought process must be equally inscrutable to mikey, who just figures it would be asking too much to be an active and equal participant in his own relationship and life. edgar's perfect and great, so if mikey deserved that, he would already be giving it to him. if mikey's unhappy with any part of their relationship, no he isn't. he's lucky he has edgar at all. he's lucky he has anyone.

recall michael's agonized admission that "everything is about rugby, dammit" 10(++++) years and edgar's literal death later. we can only guess at how bad his rugby was, but we do know michael never talked it through with edgar. he tells mike this was him 'letting it go' actually, when the fact that theyre having this conversation at all is proof that he extremely hasn't. this is what 'letting it go' looks like to michael: burying an issue forever and giving up on ever getting closure.

so yes, edgar does authentically deeply love his mikey-bear. unfortunately, if you never establish the communication to bridge the differences between your own methods of operating and that of your partner, love will only get you so far. and the first time around, where it got them was michael fighting back tears in an apartment in latvia over a wound from edgar that he suffered in silence until the day he died.

[clerifik]

Major Character Dissection: Alastor (Part 2)

(MAJOR SPOILERS)

Three: Alastor’s Way of Coping With His Deal:

Alastor knows that his deal is infallible and there are no loopholes to get around it, but he certainly knows he can bend the rules of his deal and take charge of his own fate. @ohbother2 made a good point about this.

Alastor always presents himself as cool, calm, and collected. It’s all a façade so he can make people believe that he always knows exactly what he’s doing, and make them believe that he’s always in control. He admitted it to Charlie when telling her to smile. It is also shown when Alastor treats Husk like his “pet” when he threatens him. He knows he has more control over Husk and he takes full advantage of it. He hates being seen as lesser than the other Overlords. He wants everyone in Hell to know his name, he wants to be known, to be feared, and he doesn’t like when he’s dismissed. During the Overlord meeting, be announces that he’s back, claiming, “I’m sure you’ve all been wondering”  in reference to where he had disappeared to the past seven years. The reaction he had after Carmilla dismisses him just goes to show how much he dislikes not being viewed as the most powerful Overlord in Hell.

Lucifer too… Why does he instantly have a distaste towards him? Why does he instantly feel like he has to one-up him? Alastor knows Lucifer is more powerful than him, he easily outranks Alastor and that intimidates him. He also knows that realistically he will never be at the same power level as him… so he grabs ahold of something Lucifer can’t; a good relationship with Charlie.

Alastor is so incredibly calculated when it comes to finding others weaknesses, he’s had a lot of time to get used to it. He stings Lucifer where it hurts, and that’s how he gets under his skin. He mentored Charlie when she needed it, and was there for her when Lucifer wasn’t. He even claimed in the song that she could “call him dad.”

Why can’t he accept that he is powerful too? Why does he always have to be the best?

This abuse of power was shown once again in the hallway when Husk confronted him with, “big talk for someone who’s also on a leash.” His anger wasn’t cool, calm, and calculated. He wasn’t thinking, he was acting on a whim and it was shown when his jabs were personal against Husk which led him to also threaten to make him the next voice on the broadcast. There was nothing meticulous or collected about that response.

Everything about that response screamed fear. Alastor was fearful of his deal and fearful of the person he made it with. He wouldn’t have actually killed Husk, because if he wanted to, he would’ve already done so. Husk clearly serves a bigger purpose to Alastor, and Husk clearly knows a lot about Alastor, so I think that threat was genuinely to just shut him up… or to try and remind him that Alastor was powerful too. Alastor would hate if someone thought of him simply as a puppet bound to a leash.

Alastor is stuck at this hotel of redemption where he does not want to be, but where he has to be. He’s forced to follow Lilith's orders, he’s forced to deal with Lucifer who outranks him, so what can he do?

He can get Charlie’s soul.

And he did get Charlie’s soul. All it takes is a smile and some naivety and you’re already halfway there. He now has something to twist against Lucifer and Lilith. He has their daughter. This brings back some of his control. He finally feels powerful again.

Except for the fact that this stupid fucking hotel is growing on him.

He has been shown to protect the hotel, which simply is not part of his deal. He just has to be Lilith’s eyes, her camera. He’s to blame for his own attachment to the place. There is a scene where he admits to Niffty that he had grown accustomed to the place. He also assisted in the Extermination battle, and got Rosie to help with her Cannibals. He didn’t have to do that, but he chose to. He grew connected to the damn place and the damn people. He suffered because of it.

During the battle with Adam, the most daunting thing to him was slinking away and “cowering”. The last thing Alastor would’ve wanted to do at that moment is retreat from the battle. He had no other choice. It was losing, or death. Both of which are two important things to him. He was willing to take the sacrifice of his status over death. Knowing how much Alastor craves control, craves status, that shows you just how terrified he is of death. The wild look in his eyes too? Ugh.

If Lilith’s deal with him is centred around keeping an eye on Charlie, it makes sense why Alastor was absolutely horrified that he nearly died for them. He’s horrified at what the deal is forcing him to do, who it’s forcing him to be. When he originally made the deal there was no harm done, no real threat to him. But now he was sent to keep an eye on Charlie who was pissing off the entirety of Heaven and taking her father with her? Well, Christ. He really fucked up this time!

He had a panic attack in that damn Radio Tower, because he is absolutely fucking terrified. He’s losing control, everything that is happening around him is something he cannot control, and unless he finds a way around his deal, it’s not changing. He was literally pulling the hair out of his head because he couldn't believe what he was doing. It horrified him to no end.

To Summarize:

Alastor is a brilliantly methodically well crafted character. (Anyone who wants to say I’m looking too far into this, Alastor has been around since Viv was in high school so she has had a lot of time to let his personality and backstory cook.) He’s clever, and he’s powerful, but he’s also a little bit of a fool. He made a deal to gain control, and in return, it came back to bite him in the ass after a few decades. He knows he is nothing without his deal, but he also knows that his deal could ruin him.

He’s stuck in the most masterful way possible, and unless he figures out how to twist this all. Maybe use Charlie as his puppet? He’s going to continue to be a slave to his contract.

[nyarumitsu]

before the year ends, i'm just going to make some sappy post about ace attorney and how much this franchise or game series has changed my life so much for the better this year.

i don't know, but ace attorney really does find you when you lowkey need it the most. i've always been interested in ace attorney, and have watched several gameplays and even bought the trilogy a couple of years ago but only this year have i really played it for real. and i have very bad short-term memory so i totally forgot all the plotpoints that i have previously watched from gameplays...

i've never had the best summer breaks, such is the the fate of some guy born into a low income family who just rots at home for majority of the break. (unfortunate for me, who is also a sucker for socialization.) i don't hate it, but i certainly also don't like it too much.

when i picked up the trilogy for the first time during the start of my summer break, it really set the mood for the rest of my break where i played endlessly until inreached spirit of justice. and boy was i hooked. i was even more than hooked to be honest, it felt like the game series saved me.

depressive episodes be damned, this silly game about lawyers and ridiculous cases will help me cope! except, ace attorney was more than a "silly lawyer game". this year might as well be one of the worst years i have ever lived, and i had a total depressive episode + Not So Good Thoughts about my life—but ace attorney helped me so much.

because at the end of the day, ace attorney wasn't just about ridiculous characters and impossible cases. it was also about strength. every single one of the main characters has withstood immense and intense traumatic experiences and found hope and a better future for themselves through it. as corny as it may sound, i found myself in them at their lowest and most hopeless. i almost really did consider giving up, until i realized these characters have gone through so much as well... but they never really relented.

it's corny, it's cliche, but i'm being so for real when i say ace attorney helped me live. this is so much more than a comfort game series to me at this point, it's one of the most important things in my life. crazy thing to say, but it really is true..... whether i like it or not. it just hit me thinking about what all the characters went through (phoenix and maya especially) but they still lived through it.

trials & tribulations deserve a special shout out for the best quote in the entirety of the series in my opinion, and has really helped put things into perspective for me.

"it's only natural for living creatures to fight to protect their own lives. but what makes us human is that we fight for others. but who do you fight for? how hard must you fight...? that's the true measure of what human life is worth.

we defense attorneys are warriors who are constantly challenged by that question. even when the battle is over, and the bonds that connect us are severed... we always return...

time and time again. mia, maya, pearls, mr. armando... ...and maya's mother, too... i learned that... from all of them."

ace attorney is so much more than what it's mostly known for, and i really do suggest for everyone to play the first trilogy for themselves because of how life-changing it genuinely is. it's about living despite it all, and the trilogy really nails this theme so well. i will never ever regret picking up this game series that has saved my life countless times this year. through all my ups and downs, it was there for me. i really owe so much to how much this game has influenced me, especially at probably one of the biggest turning points of my teenage life. THIS IS SO CORNY PLEASE, BUT I GENUINELY CANNOT END THIS YEAR WITHOUT THANKING MY GOAT.

[sophiasharp]

Thinking more about my role swap au, particularly how much Wyll would probably fucking DESPISE Astarion at first.

Cause like, in this au, Wyll was the one turned into a spawn and forced through 200 years of awfulness, and I think that probably would give him a very different opinion of heroes than the Wyll we know and love in-game.

This Wyll felt a deep sense of betrayal at never having been found by his father or the Flaming Fist- at almost no one being able to suss out his master’s true nature, and those that can either being too prideful in their attacks and getting themselves killed or being in in on the cruelty and letting it continue unfettered.

This Wyll has a GREAT distaste for so-called heroes, convinced that the vast majority of them are self-aggrandizing louts that are just in it for the acclaim.

I say “the vast majority,” however, because I think that the idea of a true hero is still something he clings to at his darkest moments: that maybe there could come a day where someone good and just could do in his vampiric sire for good and finally end his reign of terror, and that maybe, just maybe, he could be recognized as more than the monster he’s been turned into.

This, however, only increases his contempt for those that fail to live up to that paragon status.

Enter this au’s Astarion: the most dramatic bastard to ever play hero.

Wyll’s attention goes STRAIGHT to Astarion once the group reaches the grove, probably having heard tell of the illustrious Blade of Frontiers in the taverns he frequented and being curious as to whether the legend held up in reality.

And oh. Oh it certainly does not.

Adventuring wasn’t really a choice for Astarion. It was either mope about his banishment and his eternal servitude to the Fae till something killed him OR use his newfound powers to earn some respect and get by that way.

Archfey pacts mostly deal in charming those around them, enhancing their presence beyond what a mortal alone could accomplish. As a result, a lot of how Astarion works is by having his reputation preceded him, letting the subsequent fear or adoration do a lot of the heavy lifting in his encounters.

In this way, the Blade of Frontiers is completely an act, one that Astarion profits from by keeping it up. Yes, he’s helping the people at the Grove because it’s the right thing to do, but he’s also totally doing it because he knows they’ll be willing to give him food and shelter despite not having much to go around in exchange for the protection he provides.

Astarion upholds the charade of the Righteous Defender in front of the Tiefling refugees but is quick to show his true, not entirely selfless nature with the other tad-fools since there’s no use in putting up a front when they can literally read his mind and they might all die in a few days time.

And ohohoho man will Wyll have PROBLEMS.

Wyll, in this au, is far from the fairy tail hero we know him to be in canon. He follows a lot of the same playbook that in-game Astarion does for most of the journey. He tries to manipulate those around him into protecting him, will always go for whatever option is more in his favor, and has a very dry, borderline gallows sense of humor that he uses to cope with his situation. In his eyes, though, he comes by his selfishness honestly. Astarion, meanwhile, seemingly shoves his hero status in everyone’s faces while, in Wyll’s eyes, not having truly earned it.

To Wyll, Astarion is a hypocrite of the highest order who works in his best interest and then would chastise him for doing the same.

It makes when Astarion’s fae ties are revealed and he’s punished for sparing Gale all the more satisfying. Wyll damn near revels in Astarion’s transformation into a faerie, watching him struggle to come to terms with the giant ram horns sticking out from his skull and his sudden change in eye color. Because that’s what you get for messing with powers beyond your control. That’s what you get for pretending to be a hero when all you are is a failed magistrate toying with those around you.

That’s what you get for thinking yourself so much better than the monsters you keep for company: you become one yourself.

Wyll finds it funny, a karmic justice for all the times the folk hero had looked down on him for voting for the less virtuous option or for joking about what flavor their companions might be.

It is so very, very funny.

…until it isn’t.

Because the transformation doesn’t force Astarion to drop the hero act like he thought it would. Oh no, if anything it has the only strengthened his resolve to do the right thing no matter the consequences. He wears the mantle of the Blade with more vigor than ever before, earnestly trying to live up to his own impossible legend now that it will never be within his reach.

It makes no damn sense to Wyll. Why bother? Why go to the trouble when you know the effort won’t be appreciated? When everywhere he goes, all anyone will see is a fae creature looking to cash in a favor?

He just doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t get it until they make it to Last Light Inn. It’s there, as he watches Astarion talk to Councilor Florrick, to the High Harper, to Isobel, Alphira, Rolan, Raphael, everyone they meet as the threat of the Absolute weighs heavy on them all, that Wyll hears something in Astarion’s words that he hadn’t before:

Fear. Desperation.

Astarion doubled down on his Blade persona for the same reason he made it in the first place.

It’s all he has left.

And if he doesn’t, then everything he’s done since his banishment will have meant nothing. He’ll have given up his life, his reputation, even his own body for nothing.

But if he can be a true hero, if he can use the power his pact grants to protect those who have none, if he can be the kind, just man that the Blade represented, maybe it would all be worth it somehow.

It truly sinks in for Wyll just how heavily it all weighed on Astarion the day after they first make it to Moonrise Towers. Wyll had gone out into the night searching for any living creature he might get a meal out of within the all-encompassing darkness of the Shadow Curse when he heard groans of pain nearby.

Keeping to the shadows, he followed the noise till he found a disheveled Astarion, pulling at his horns and knocking them against trees in some half considered attempt to pry them from his head. Looking at him closer, Wyll could see bags under his eyes from weeks of sleep made uneasy by the two additions. He watched as frustrated , pained tears gathered in the eyes of the same man that had brushed off any concern from their traveling companions about whether he was coping well with his sudden, agonizing transformation.

Wyll tried to grasp at that satisfaction he’s felt when that liaison of Astarion’s patron had bestowed the punishment for letting Gale live.

Instead, he found a profound sympathy he wanted to bury as soon as he’d found it.

Because he remembered his beginning days as a vampire spawn. How long it had taken him to be able to speak clearly around the new protrusions in his mouth. How he’d cut his tongue on them every other sentence. How he’d succeeded in ripping them out once only to regret it when their absence only left him starved and still expected to entertain and seduce victims anyways.

Wyll backed away before Astarion could notice him, but the sight of his seemingly unflappable companion buckling under the pressure stuck with him. Come the next day at camp, Astarion was back to his usual flamboyant self, all signs of his previous anguish carefully hidden out of sight and out of mind. Things were, as far as anyone else knew, as they’d always been.

And yet, if one knew to look, they might have seen Wyll covering for Astarion more often in fights, taking down enemies before they could get too close to their raucous hero. They might have seen him sneaking extra health potions in his pack when he wasn’t looking, or being the first to assist if he went down. They might have even noticed Wyll collecting bits and pieces of cloth, fabric, and other softer materials that whenever it was possible to scavenge.

About a week later, there finally comes a day where Astarion goes out and Wyll stays back, and after coming back from a long and concerning day exploring the Gauntlet of Shar, Astarion is shocked to find a new addition to his tent: a patchwork pillow resting on his bedroll, thick enough to give the extra support needed for someone with horns like his. When questioning the others left behind, Karlach eventually tells him that Wyll had been oddly absent for almost the entire day.

And when Astarion questions Wyll on whether or not he had anything to do with it, Wyll merely shrugs. “Us monsters need to look out for each other, don’t we?”

[lemonlamblaura]

My Husband is the God of Pestilence - chapter 21

In this chapter, Lilybell cuts her hair, Mortamer loses it entirely, Kallamar and Narinder have a good brotherly chat, and Shamura has a meeting with "The Fanatic".

Snip...

...

Snip, snip...

...

...

"How's it going over there?" Rowan called from the other side of the bed.

"Good!" Lilybell returned, brushing some stray wool off her legs. "I'm almost ready for my back!"

A pile of wool circled the chair she was sitting in. Spring was coming very soon, and the warm weather combined with longer days meant that it was time for shearing season. Lilybell always looked forward to this time of year, not just because of the end of cold and snow, but because shearing made her feel refreshed and she could see how much her wool had grown over the months. While she was experienced enough to do her own body by herself, her back gave her trouble, like it did most sheep, and either her mother or father would have to help her.

Rowan gathered his wool into a bag while he waited for Lilybell to finish. In the years before, the family would save the wool and make things with it for themselves or for people in the village to use. But he doubted any of the ocean-dwellers would want such things. They had their own way of doing things down here. The ocean certainly was a different place compared to land.

"Okay, I'm done," Lilybell announced.

When Rowan made his way to the other side of the bed, he was shocked to see Lilybell with the majority of her hair cut away. She preferred to keep it long, and though she trimmed it every year to cut off split ends, it had never been this short. It curled around her ears and the base of her chin, while the rest of it sat in a large pile on the table.

"Oh, you really went all out this year," he said in surprise.

"Does it look bad?" Lilybell asked, reaching up to feel her hair nervously.

"No, it's just so unexpected," he said reassuringly. "You've never had it this short."

"I know, but I needed it. I want to make something for Kallamar, and my hair was the longest to work with."

"What are you making for him?" Rowan asked as Lilybell turned to sit sideways in the chair.

"That's a secret!" Lilybell smiled.

*

The cold winter, combined with more mouths to feed than previously expected, had decimated the cult's food storage. Rationing had to be implemented, something no one liked, but with food running out there were no other options. Even Kallamar had to stop eating to provide for the others. It didn't affect him the way it used to, but he missed the joys of eating.

Shamura had taught Kallamar what to do in these dire times. A magic spell could make the crops grow, but with the weather still cold he wasn't certain how long the plants would last. With the ground still icy, the seeds couldn't be planted anyway. They needed to be sprouts at the very least for the magic to work.

Thank heavens Astaroth was healed and gone and didn't have to see this.

"... if things continue like this, we won't have enough food to go around before the new crops can be harvested in the spring," said a supervisor.

"What do we do, Lord Kallamar?" Said the other supervisor.

Kallamar was slumped over his desk with his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. Shamura would know, but he was sick of running to them for every little problem. It wasn't fair to them, and it made him look incompetent. They still had kelp and some rice, but the rice would be gone soon and they couldn't live on kelp for the rest of the time. Most of the fish they usually ate had gone away and the ones that stuck around weren't worth the time it took to catch them.

Damn it. He would have to go to Shamura. He didn't have much choice.

"I shall confer with my colleagues. Now, please excuse me." He left the study without another word, eager to find Lilybell. She had told him earlier that she and her father had some business to take care of. When pressed for explanations, she only smiled and told him to wait and see.

He saw two new people outside the bedroom door. Oh, wait, one of them was Rowan. He looked a bit thinner somehow, and was missing some wool from his head. He didn't recognize the other creature, as their back was turned to him, but after coming closer he realized they were wearing one of Lilybell's dresses... good gods!

"Lilybell!" He cried, rushing over in distress. "Your hair!"

She turned to him finally, her eyes wide at the alarm in his voice. When she realized his concern, she smiled, reaching up to run her fingers through the short wool. "It will grow back!" She assured.

"I'm aware, darling, but this is too much! What convinced you to do such a thing?"

"I needed it! I'm going to make something!"

At that moment, Merryn and Anna came out of the spare bedroom, each carrying a basket of laundry to hang outside. When Anna saw Lilybell, she stopped short, clearly not recognizing her either. Lilybell turned to her, and Anna dropped her basket, letting out an odd squall of disappointment, her face twisted in horror.

Merryn came to her rescue immediately, recognizing the signs of an imminent meltdown. "Anna, honey, it's okay!" She soothed as Anna began to cry loudly. "I'm sorry, she doesn't react to change very well. This may be a little too much for her."

"Oh, no!" Lilybell exclaimed, rushing over to her injured friend. "I'm sorry, Anna. It's still me! I just cut my hair, that's all!"

Anna couldn't be consoled. The women took her back to the spare bedroom with a little difficulty as she was crying very hard.

Kallamar looked down at Rowan. "Have you any idea what she is planning?"

"No," Rowan lied, not wanting to give away Lilybell's surprise. "But, whatever it is, I'm sure it will be very good."

"Hmm. I must pay Shamura a visit. Please let Lilybell know when she is done with her friend."

Kallamar called every available follower to the lobby. When everyone who wasn't busy was in attendance and paying attention, Kallamar announced:

"I must leave the temple, however I will not be gone long. In the meantime, my wife will be in charge. Her word will be taken as my own and is to be followed without question. Understand?"

"Yes, Lord Kallamar," returned the followers before Kallamar sank through the floor.

The ocean-dwellers dispersed. A fuming Mortamer signaled for three of the newer followers to come to him, and they huddled close so no one could hear.

"What did I tell you?" He growled angrily. "He put her in charge, just like I said he would."

"He's gone too far this time," a fish whispered. "First we starve, now this!"

"Is, is it really so bad?" Mumbled an eel worriedly.

"Of course it's bad," Mortamer snapped back. "I don't know about you but I'm not letting that spoiled brat boss me around. I say we take some drastic measures."

"Like what?"

Mortamer thought for a moment. Four mortals against one god was a losing battle no matter how you looked at it. It would help if they had more people on their side. But how to do it?

"Where's the old sheep?"

*

"Dear brother, why did you not come to me sooner?"

Kallamar was almost ashamed. His first year as an official god was coming to a close in a few months and he felt no better at it than when he first started. He would never be as capable as Shamura, no matter how hard he tried. This was just another test he had failed.

"I am always coming to you for help, sibling," he said quietly. "Are you not disappointed in me? Am I not a failure to you?"

"My dear child, not at all. You are still young and learning to adapt. All gods face trials in their reigns. I know I have."

Kallamar looked up in surprise. "Really?"

"But of course. When I was young I had many different experiments I tested, some on my cultists. I attempted to force my people to work many days and nights without rest to see how much they could take. Some dropped dead from exhaustion and many of my followers left me, accusing me of cruelty. It was a silly experiment, really, for not long after I discovered a spell which could do much the same thing without such drastic side effects. So bold I was in those days! Ah, but I was younger then, not much older than you are now."

The story put Kallamar's mind at ease and he relaxed a little. Just hearing that Shamura also had trouble with their cult was a load off his mind.

"I shall give you enough food to last until spring. It may not be as palatable as your followers are used to, considering I have mostly insects in my following, but it will suffice in the meantime."

"Thank you, sibling."

Shamura stood up from their desk and walked around it to stand in front of Kallamar. "And now, I have something to ask of you, brother. I have business to see to and I would not like to leave Narinder alone. I believe it is time for you to spend some time together."

Kallamar swallowed. He had never been alone with Narinder. He didn't want to be alone with Narinder. The kitten didn't even seem to like him, anyway. "But, sibling, surely you have left Narinder by himself before?"

"Kallamar, you are going to have to do this sooner or later. It would be good of you to get to know one another. Besides, after all I have done for you, you would deny me this one request?"

They were right. Here he was taking advantage of their experience and kindness and giving nothing in return. He was being selfish. "You're right, sibling. I'm sorry. I will stay with Narinder."

Shamura laid a hand on his shoulder. "We are reviewing the history of our lands, as I taught you quite a few years ago. You remember your history lessons?"

"Yes, sibling. They were very fascinating."

The two walked side by side through the corridors of Shamura's temple to a small bedroom that, only just last year, used to belong to Kallamar. It was very different from when Kallamar last saw it. The biggest difference was that it was much messier, with more cobwebs and dust. Kallamar always liked to keep his bedrooms tidy and clean, and the state of the room that was once his bothered him. The small bed against the wall was unmade and had picks and holes in the fabric of the mattress, a sure sign that Narinder had been kneading before bedtime. Books, papers and toys were scattered everywhere, and Narinder was scribbling on some papers on the floor with a pen and ink.

"Narinder," Shamura announced, catching the boy's attention, "brother Kallamar will give you your history lesson today. Sit up straight and pay attention, and do not cause trouble. I shall return later."

With that, Shamura teleported away, leaving the two young gods alone. Kallamar stood uncomfortably before sitting down in front of Narinder, who immediately slouched over and began to pick his nose.

"Don't do that," Kallamar said. Narinder replied by flicking a booger his way, making Kallamar shriek in disgust, scrambling away from its projectory.

*

Finally, it was time to act.

Mortamer reached up to the top shelf of the storage closet, pulling down a poorly constructed megaphone. It was just a few pieces of driftwood tied together with seaweed, but it would do just fine. As long as his message could as many people as possible, it could be made of dirt for all he cared. They had to know the truth, and he would be the herald.

Taking the megaphone, he made his way back to the lobby, the place with the most traffic. His cronies would be along soon with the old sheep. It would have been better to have the girl, but she would probably be fiercely protected. The old one would be less troublesome. If something happened to him, Kallamar wouldn't care... as much.

He took his place on a small crate just outside the dining room.

Let the truth be heard.

"Everyone!" He announced loudly, the megaphone amplifying his voice. The people that were present turned their heads, and a few peeked out from nearby doors. "Gather 'round! Do you know what kind of god you serve?"

People were coming over. He relished in the attention, feeling more powerful by the second. Someone raised their hand. "Lord Kallamar?"

"No," Mortamer replied, annoyed that his words had been misinterpreted. "You serve a tyrant! Someone who wants to change the way the ocean has been for as long as anyone can remember! Someone who welcomes evil doers! He wants to change our way of life!"

"What's he talking about?"

"I dunno, maybe he's just mad Kallamar married miss Lilybell and not him."

Laughter echoed throughout the small crowd. Mortamer stomped his foot angrily. "No! Don't you understand?! Serving Kallamar is going to make things worse for everyone! Think about it: he killed Lord Carcharias, right? He said so himself! And now the ocean is different! We all feel it! You have to admit, Lord Carcharias was strict, but he did a good job taking care of things! Now that he's gone, Kallamar is taking over, and he won't look out for us!"

"Carcharias was the real tyrant!"

"Did he let us starve? When he was in charge the ocean was abundant, and there was lots of food to go around. These parts never got this cold! Did he let land-dwellers set up shop down here? They're going to be the ones in charge, not us!"

At that moment, a voice was heard yelling down the hallway. "What are you doing?! Let me go!"

Mortamer's accomplices were dragging in a struggling Rowan, whose face was red with anger. They threw him to his knees beside the crate so that he was facing the crowd, people looking shocked and confused at what they were seeing.

"Like this one!" Mortamer continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Rowan. "Kallamar just let him waltz in and do whatever he wanted!"

"No, he didn't!"

"He works just the same as the rest of us!"

"You're just being a bully!"

Meanwhile, Saleos peeked an eye around a corner, trying to remain inconspicuous. This was getting out of hand. It was bad enough that Mortamer was trying to turn the others against Lord Kallamar, but now he had a potential hostage.

"I don't like this," he murmured to another guard. "Find miss Lilybell and protect her, make sure she's safe. I'll deal with Mortamer."

"Is that really necessary, sir?" Asked the guard.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to think about that if something happens to her and he punishes all of us. Go!"

The guard rushed off and Saleos stepped around the corner, stomping intimidatingly in Mortamer's direction, pushing through the crowd. Two other guards followed behind him, not looking nearly as menacing. "I told you to stop this, Mortamer," he said loudly.

"Well, well! If it isn't Kallamar's favorite ass kisser!" Mocked Mortamer.

"What do you think Lord Kallamar will do if he comes back and sees this?" Saleos asked. "You think he'll let you off so easily? Remember what happened last time you acted out?"

How could he forget? He still had nightmares about it. "This is different," Mortamer insisted. "We're taking control now. Everyone is finally getting the truth. He's nothing without his following. He will have to bend to us for a change!"

"You're crazy," Rowan finally said, quietly, almost in disbelief that this was happening.

"Quiet!" Mortamer snapped. He motioned to one of his partners, snapping his fingers, and they passed him a kitchen knife from their belt. "Don't you say another word!"

"Is this because of the knucklebones thing?" Rowan said desperately, seeing the knife out of the corner of his eye.

"I said quiet!" Mortamer yelled.

"Listen, I'm sorry you lost!" Rowan trembled, rambling now. "I don't understand what you have against us but I promise we don't have any bad intentions-"

"QUIET!"

Mortamer raised the knife over his head.

"NO!" Saleos cried, lunging forward.

Before the captain could reach the captive, the knife plunged into the old man's shoulder making him scream in pain.

*

"... and Anura was, at long last, established. The goddess of life took interest in the fungi in the area, realizing that they were not animal or plant, but living all the same. With her magic, she gave them sentience, and the Mushroomos were born."

Kallamar's bored voice echoed throughout the lifeless room. Narinder had stopped paying attention a long time ago, doodling on the paper in front of him instead of taking notes. Kallamar didn't realize this, as he was so focused on the tattered old scroll so he wouldn't have to look at Narinder. How much longer was Shamura going to be?

Eventually, Narinder gave up on doodling and turned his thoughts to mischief. He rose silently on his back paws, tiptoeing around Kallamar.

"While other animals took residence within Anura, the Mushroomos were considered the true owners of the land. However, they taught the animals to use the arid ground to grow food, and to use menticide mushrooms to create medicine. In time, the animals and Mushroomos learned to live in peaYAAHHH!!!"

Kallamar must have jumped ten feet in the air. Something had snuck under his cloak and bit him. Now furious, he drew the cloak away, ready to crush whatever little creature had dared offend him, but stopped when he saw two big red eyes staring back at him. There were bite marks in one of his tentacles, a few drops of blood dripping from them and down Narinder's chin.

"What the hell are you doing under there?!" Kallamar demanded.

"I wanted to see what squid tastes like," Narinder said simply, wiping at his mouth. "You were being boring anyway."

This little brat! Kallamar reached down to snatch him up, but Narinder evaded his grasp, jumping over the injured tentacle and running back to his papers. Narinder smirked, sticking out his tongue.

"Don't you stick your tongue out at me, you brazen child!"

"What are you gonna do about it?"

"I'll tell Shamura, that's what! And then you'll be sorry-" Kallamar's voice trailed off when he noticed the papers at Narinder's feet. "Did you draw these?"

"Duh."

Kallamar picked one up to examine it. The drawing was certainly condescending, considering its creator. It was very obviously Kallamar, with drool coming out of his mouth and eyes crossed, with a speech bubble beside his head saying, "blah, blah, blah!"

"It could be better," Kallamar said, curling a lip in irritation. "My head's not that big."

"Yes, it is," Narinder said without hesitation. "It's like a balloon."

The squid ignored him. He let the paper flutter down to the floor. "I could teach you how to draw better. Things that are actually good, and accurate."

"I don't care about drawing. I only did it because I was bored."

"Oh..." So much for having something in common. Kallamar picked up the fallen scroll, rolling it back up. "Well, what do you like to do?"

"I don't know, burn stuff?"

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Why do you hate me?"

Kallamar froze. Where could he begin? Was it because he stole Shamura from him, or played pranks on him, or was saucy with him? Or maybe because he was on the path to growing up to be extremely dangerous? From all the time he had spent with the kitten, it was clear he only treated Shamura with respect. There was absolutely nothing he liked about Narinder. And yet, he hesitated to say such things to a small child, knowing it would be cruel, no matter how developed he was.

"Hate is a strong word," he said after a moments reflection.

"The crown says you hate me."

The crown...? No, that wasn't possible. Shamura said the crowns didn't even attempt to speak to their bearers until they were more powerful. Considering how long Narinder had had his, it just wasn't possible.

"It says you hate me because of its power. That you're scared of me."

"Stop it," Kallamar snapped, turning to Narinder. "The crown isn't speaking to you. It can't possibly."

"How do you know?"

"Because Shamura said-!"

"Do you believe everything Shamura says?"

A dark presence was rising in the room, though Kallamar couldn't feel it because of how frustrated he was becoming. "Oh course I do! They raised me better than my own parents!"

"You shouldn't. They don't know everything. In fact, there's a lot they don't know."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"They don't know what love is. They don't know what happens after mortals die."

"Shut up!" Kallamar cried, finally losing his temper. "Someday Shamura is going to come to their senses and realize what a nuisance you are! They'll get rid of you!"

"No, they won't. Because..."

The dark pressure had reached a boiling point, and Kallamar finally felt it. With horrified eyes, he saw a split go across Narinder's forehead, a few drops of blood falling down the dark fur, and open wide to show a large eye, just as red as the other two, staring deep into his soul with a dark grin. Kallamar recoiled in fear.

"... they like me better than you."

Screw this. He didn't care if Shamura scolded him for leaving Narinder. He teleported out of there, leaving the satisfied kitten alone.

*

"There, Anna, you can have some of my wool until the rest grows back, okay?"

After what felt like hours, Anna had finally calmed down. Lilybell couldn't understand what the big deal was, but she tried to be understanding while Anna cried, not wanting to be touched. She fiddled with the wool in her hands. Maybe she didn't understand that it once belonged to Lilybell, but she seemed to enjoy playing with things, and threaded the wool through her fingers.

"Well, I won't be doing this again any time soon," Lilybell said tiredly.

Merryn gave her an equally tired smile. "Why did you cut off your hair? I thought you really liked it."

"I'm going to make a present for Kallamar. He's always giving me things, so I wanted to return the favor."

"That's a sweet idea. Sometimes handmade things can have more value."

A knock was heard on the bedroom door. "Miss Lilybell, are you in there?"

Lilybell wasn't sure if she recognized the voice. It was familiar though. "Yes, come in."

A guard entered, and Lilybell and Merryn were immediately worried. "Oh, good. Cap'n told me to make sure you were okay."

"Why?" Asked Merryn.

"Mortamer is causing trouble. Cap'n doesn't think you should be out there right now, so he told me to look after you."

"Causing trouble how?"

"Ranting about Kallamar and stuff. It's probably best to stay in here until it all blows over. I'll just wait outside, okay?"

He left, and the women exchanged troubled glances. "He's saying stuff about me, probably," Lilybell said gravely. "He's never liked me and I don't know why..."

"Bigots will justify their hate anyway they can. He can't see you for who you are, and that's his loss. Don't waste another thought on him."

Lilybell smiled, putting her hand on the seal's warmly. Anna was so lucky to have such a caring, patient person as her mother. If Lilybell could be half the mother Merryn was someday, she would be the happiest woman in the world. "Thanks, Merryn."

"No problem. Now tell me more about this present."

*

Saleos tackled Mortamer, knocking him off his box and landing on the ground with a hard thud. He could have sworn he heard something crack when the shark's head made contact with the stone floor. Mortamer cried out in pain, and Saleos quickly rolled him over, trying to grapple him and keep him from moving. But Mortamer was thrashing too much, using his elbow to deliver a hard blow to Saleos's chest. The jellyfish gasped and wheezed, trying to catch his breath as Mortamer tried to wriggle out from under him, only to be met with a sudden kick to the face from one of the other guards.

Two of Mortamer's other accomplices tried to restrain the guards while the cowardly eel follower ran away. The two guards pulled their swords on the goons. With no weapons to defend themselves, they did the smart thing and gave up, sinking to their knees and holding up their hands in defeat.

Mortamer laid on the ground, unconscious. Saleos watched his chest rise up and down subtly. He wasn't dead. Good.

The crowd of followers gathered around Rowan worriedly. With all the excitement, one of the supervisors was drawn to the scene, kneeling down to help him with a roll of bandages.

"Deep breath," they said. With one swift movement, they pulled the knife from Rowan's shoulder, causing him to scream in pain again. The wound was packed with clean bandages and wrapped in cloth.

"Can you move your arm?" One of the followers asked.

"He shouldn't move it, it could cause more damage," said the supervisor, taking extra cloth and making it into a makeshift sling.

Rowan was in agony. The pain was like nothing he'd experienced before. There wasn't anything could compare it to; it was simply unbearable. Tears were running down his face, and he felt like he was falling asleep. His heart was racing so fast.

"Stay with me," said the supervisor. "You just had a traumatic experience and you're in a lot of pain. You're gonna get through this."

"My... my d-daughter," Rowan wheezed.

"We'll take you to her, just hold on."

Suddenly, Kallamar came up through the floor, his arms full of meat and vegetables from Silk Cradle. The scene caught him by surprise: the guards holding two followers hostage while Saleos was standing over Mortamer's body, Rowan bleeding on the floor while the others surrounded him supportingly. The followers all spoke up at once, trying to tell him what was going on, pointing at Mortamer frantically.

Meanwhile, Haborym rounded the corner looking irritated. "Oh, great," he said to himself, "why didn't anyone come to get me? I missed all the excitement!"

*

After a while, another knock came at the bedroom door. "Miss Lilybell, may I come in?" Came Saleos's voice.

Lilybell was hesitant. She knew she would have to speak to Saleos sooner or later, but she couldn't help but clam up when she heard him. She hadn't forgotten about him sticking up for her a few months ago. At least he was trying.

She looked to Merryn for help with pleading eyes. Merryn cleared her throat, telling Saleos he could enter. The last time he had been in here she demanded that he be punished. Did he hold it against her?

"The situation with Mortamer has been handled. Lord Kallamar is dealing with him now. Your father got into a bit of trouble, but he's okay."

Lilybell sprang up from her seat on the bed, startling Anna. "What kind of trouble?" She asked worriedly.

"Mortamer stabbed him in the shoulder. Like I said, he's okay and being looked after. He wants to see you, so I'll leave you to it..."

He turned to leave. No, Lilybell wouldn't stand for it. She wanted to know everything. "Wait, why was Mortamer angry in the first place? Why did he stab my dad? Is anybody else hurt? What is going on?!"

"Honey," Merryn said gently, taking her hand, but Lilybell pulled it away.

"Why are you still sticking up for me? I've been so terrible to you. Don't you hate me?"

Saleos was surprised by the questioning. Lilybell had barely spoken two words to him in months. Still, he turned back around and straightened up professionally before answering.

"Mortamer was angry about the lack of food, the changes in the ocean, Kallamar's way of handling things... and you and your father having more responsibilities around here. He brought your father forward, maybe to make an example of him. I tried to get him to stop, but he attacked, so the guards and I managed to get him and his partners to back down. No one was hurt too badly except your father, and they're being held in the dungeon now.

"As for your other questions... I don't hate you, miss Lilybell. I completely understand your resentment towards me. I acted without thinking, and it led to death in the process. There's not a day that goes by that I don't regret what I did. There's nothing I wish for more than to go back in time and stop myself from pulling the trigger. But I can't do that. All I can do is learn from my mistakes.

"In the meantime, I will still continue to look after you. When I came to Lord Kallamar's temple, I swore an oath to serve him any way I could. You, as his wife, are an extension of him now. So I will continue to protect you, even if you hate me. That's the promise I made to Lord Kallamar."

Words could not express how moved Lilybell was by Saleos's speech, and for the first time in a long while, she was ashamed of the way she had handled things. Here he was, carrying on like a professional while she was holding on to the past and carrying grudges. He had proved he'd learned from his mistakes today. No one had been killed and everything turned out okay.

The silence becoming awkward, Saleos lowered his head and mumbled, "Well, I should go see if Lord Kallamar needs help with the prisoners-"

Saleos was cut off by Lilybell rushing towards him and throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. His eyes widened in surprise, his body becoming stiff as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice slightly muffled by his cloak. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you, Saleos. Please forgive me."

His heart melted, a lump rising in his throat. He slowly put his arms around her, hugging her lightly. "There's nothing to apologize for, miss Lilybell. It's me who should be begging for your forgiveness."

They held each other for a few moments, their friendship reforged with new understanding of each other. Merryn smiled sadly, as Anna continued to play with Lilybell's hair absentmindedly.

*

Next to no sunlight reached this corner of Darkwood. The canopy was so thick that only a few slivers of light managed to illuminate the forest floor. A few torches attached to trees helped the animals see, and thankfully the melting snow helped keep the wood from being set ablaze. The god of records kept their temple here, where only the most dedicated could find them. The other gods hardly ever bothered with them, but Shamura had business to take care of.

"An alliance?" Repeated the snake, looking up from their scroll and ink.

"Yes," said Shamura, remaining stoic. "There will be changes to these lands. We shall need assistance to erase... others from the pages of history. You have been a god for far longer than I have. You have seen much, and you know better than anyone how the minds of mortals are easily molded like clay. Join me, and we shall stand atop all others and rule not only these lands, but all the world."

The snake regarded them quietly, their eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I have heard things of you, Shamura," they said, setting down their quill. "You have been taking in younger gods and teaching them your ways. You led your student to destroy Carcharias. What will become of this world when the other gods are gone? The world will not be the same - it will be thrown into chaos. Is that truly the world you wish to rule over? Do you believe you and your merry band can commit such heresy?" They shook their head. "No, I shall not join you. I suggest you give up this frivolous crusade, for it will bring nothing but disaster. You are not thinking of the future."

"On the contrary. I have a great vision of the future, and I shall pursue it into fruition. If you shall not aide me, then I have no further use for you..."

The hairs on Shamura's head stood up on end, signaling their attack. They launched forward, but the snake vanished into thin air, leaving their work behind. Not about to show disappointment at a lost kill, Shamura tutted, leaving for Silk Cradle. There was nothing they could do now. In truth, they didn't need the snake to help them fight. They only approached them with the belief it would be beneficial to have them on their side.

Plenty of time to gather the right recruits.

They would have this world one way or another.

[irkimatsu]

Okay so i made this request for another writer but didn’t like the answer very much (no hate towards the writer, just want a second opinion on this) this request may be a bit weird. But like, wanted a headcannon of husk choosing between the reader and angel. While Husk comforted angel, reader comforted husk when alastor threatened his soul, reader always tried to be close to husk, offering help at the bar and staying -when they could- by his side to help him to close up, without asking much. But, for Angel’s benefit, reader isn’t much special, they aren’t nearly as pretty as angel, and can be seen even a bit as annoying. Wanted a headcannon of your vision of husk, who would he choose? And why? And how would he?

Again! No hate towards the first writer, just wanted a second opinion on this! Thank you!

I will open this response with the same assurances that I give whenever I discuss Husk/Angel - I do not hate Angel, and I do not hate the ship. I love Angel, and I love his friendship with Husk, whatever form that friendship may take in the end. I want Angel to find peace, and if he finds that peace in a romantic relationship with Husk in canon, I'll accept it. Hell, that's likely so far off in the future that I'll almost certainly have time to get used to the idea. I shipped my last F/O with other characters eventually, I'm sure I'll be able to do it with Husk.

...that said, I do still want it to be possible that, in some timelines, Husk chooses me over Angel. Again, not out of hate for Angel! It's just, damn it I love that man, and it's nice to think of myself as his first option and not just a backup plan if things with Angel don't work out.

With that in mind, there may be some bias here... but in the scenario you described, I do think he'd end up choosing Reader. Angel being conventionally beautiful doesn't impact Husk's decision at all. "No one cares how famous you are, how hot!" He strikes me as the type to see physical attractiveness as an added bonus to a relationship, not a primary reason to start one. His partner's heart is much more important. And if you're there for him, comforting him through his troubles over his past and his contract with Alastor, letting him know he has you to confide in and he doesn't have to act so tough around you... the opportunity to let down those walls means the world to him.

Okay, so you're a little annoying - not like you're unique. Angel was fucking annoying when they first met. (Again, I say this with love, Husk understands now why Angel acted out the way he did but he was clearly not happy about it at the start.) He may be blunt when he tells you to fuck off and stop doing whatever it is that pisses him off so much, but it doesn't mean he doesn't care; hell, I think with both you and Angel, his willingness to actually tell you why you're pissing him off is because he does care on some level and want you to be able to improve. If he saw no hope in any form of relationship with you you'd just get sworn at and ignored. (See his treatment of Mimzy.) He sees something worth knowing under the annoying shell... he just needs you to drop the shell first. (Maybe that's one of Husk's flaws, always trying to fix people... it doesn't mean he can't accept that you're not perfect. He just wants effort.)

If he fell for Angel first - not just a crush, but a true intent to make something work with him - I don't think anyone would be able to break them apart. But by the same token, if you're the one who catches his attention first, Angel won't be able to come between you. To me, Husk is the type who, while loving the concept of romance, takes a long time to properly feel it for someone - but once he does feel it, he's hooked, and it'll take a pretty major deal breaker to pull him away. Treat him gently, but still like an independent person, not a sad animal that you need to "save". Show an interest in his hobbies. (Please let him perform magic tricks for you!) Be a good source of conversation, insightful, intelligent, maybe able to hold a good lighthearted bitching session. Be willing to learn and explore. Don't brush off all his advice without a second thought, but still be your own person who makes your own decisions. Make him fall for your mind and your heart and the rest will fall into place. You don't need to be a famous porn star to win Husk's affections. Just be you, and your authenticity alone will catch his interest.

I'm sure Angel can pull it off in canon, and good for him! But in other timelines where Reader gets there first, he doesn't have to be competition, and I'm sure he'll be happy that his best friend has found love, even if it's not with him.

I love Husk/Reader where Angel is their biggest supporter and wingman. He'd never try to come between what he can see is a genuine relationship. (At the very least, now that Husk is finally showing an interest in someone, Angel is going to make sure that cat gets laid damn it. Maybe getting some hole will finally pull the stick out of his ass!)

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Nine: Tides of Fate

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: Unintended consequences catch up with you.

This chapter is rough, but please hang in there! Remember, there are four more chapters after this <3

Thank you to @silcoitus for beta reading! <3

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor, @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [Major Character death] [angst] [mentions of suicide] [gore] [torture] [5.3k words]

Every fiber of your being floats on a cloud of bliss, coming down to earth one sense at a time. First, it’s the slightly dusty, sex-tinged scent reminding you of a night well spent. Then, the feeling of Silco’s fingers lazily massaging your scalp, prolonging your drowsy state as your face rests on his warm, gently rising chest. And lastly, the ungodly ache settling in between your legs and in your throat. It’s almost enough to keep you from feeling the straps of his vest digging uncomfortably into your cheek. 

You lift your head, eyes weepy with sleep, barely noticing the string of saliva still connecting your face to him as you try to rub the linear indents from your cheek. When you do, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed and clean off his vest with the corner of a blanket, flashing him a reassuring smile that’s not returned. 

“What did that accomplish?” He asks, gesturing to the slightly damp blanket with a small, irate flick. 

“To clean it? Do you not know what cleaning is?”

His face scrunches up, bewildered, before his voice rises with well-practiced contempt. “By soiling the bedding?”

“Even more, you mean?” You flash him a puckish smile, and his face relaxes almost immediately. 

In another moment, he can’t stop the crooked smirk that curls his scarred lips. And you can’t help but kiss that beautiful curve, pushing yourself up with a hand on his chest for a quick but adoring peck before falling back down. The accosting affection happens too fast for Silco to guard his expressions, and you catch a delicious glimpse of vulnerable shock before it washes away as quickly as it appeared, leaving only a notable color on his unmarred cheek. 

“I’m relieved that you’re feeling yourself again—I worried the position caused lasting brain damage.”

“I mean, maybe. I was upside down for a while. And if that didn’t do it, the finale certainly did.” You nuzzle your face into him again with a content smile; straps be damned. 

Silco’s arms tense around you as he speaks slowly and deliberately, “Brain damage is not a good thing.”

You bark out a laugh, unrestrained. Silco twitches, slightly perturbed by your outburst, and loosens his grip on you. Slightly embarrassed but unable to quell the storm, you cover your mouth and roll onto your back as you unravel into sleepy giggles. 

“No shit!” You finally manage to say after a few shakey, deep breaths. “Of course, it isn’t. I’m just a troll.”

His brow raises, head nodding in agreement as he traces your jawline with a finger. “Beautiful menace.”

You smile like a fool, all too proud of the title. 

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

The thought of using your legs has a low groan escaping your pouting lips. 

“I don’t want to go home yet, Silco.” You say, eyes pleading. 

“Why go home,” he pauses with a proud air about him, “when you could use my bathroom?”

You prop yourself on your elbows as it dawns on you. “There’s running water?!”

No sooner does he nod that you’re sprinting to the bathroom on weak, wobbly legs, shouting behind you. “Good, ‘cause I really gotta pee!”

Silco is still on the bed when you return as fresh as you can be without a shower. His clothes are changed—rich blood-red silk drapes his body in shimmery decadence, and the mattress is now on the floor next to the broken frame. It’s quite the elegant sight; seeing your devil lying there, hands behind his head, dozing off. You’d prefer him without the clothing, though.

You bounce Silco awake by flopping onto the mattress, pulling a pillow under your head as you lie on your side, facing him. 

“Can I tell you something?” you inquire, biting your lip nervously now that the process has started.

He nods lazily, teal eye half-closed as he fights off sleep.

“I… dreamed about this. About us,” you reveal, confidence waning.

Are you being stupid? Probably. Do you regret mentioning it? Yes. Do you now have to explain it anyway? Also yes.

There’s just no putting the cat back in the bag. You take a deep breath and prepare to continue when he interrupts your slow thought process.

“I know.”

Two words. Two, simple, words. How can two words break your brain so thoroughly? 

“What–how?”

He answers with silence, one eye closed as the other drifts up to the ceiling, his breathing slow and relaxed. 

Did he seriously fall asleep while talking to you—after revealing something like that?! 

There's nothing like curious determination to put the wind back in your sails. You shake him awake, not even taking the time to appreciate the heat of his body bleeding through the rich fabric.

“What do you mean, ‘you know’? HOW?!” 

He groans, giving you an icy glare as he removes your hands from him.

“I possess the power to dream-walk, but it was you who made the connection. There are those among your kind that share these magical abilities—you call them ‘mages’.”

“I’M A MAGE?!” You explode into a fit of excitement. 

“NO—let me finish,” he chastises, continuing after you settle back down, “As I was saying, you are not a mage. It was just another side-effect of the flowers’ pollen.”

“Yeah, but, how do you know I’m not a mage?” You ask, very disappointed but still hoping. 

“You lost the ability to dream-walk, yes?”

The past few weeks have been quite lonely for you, and only now do you have a reason. You sigh as your hasty hopes of becoming a powerful mage dissipate. 

Wait. He can dream-walk. He was IN my dreams. 

And he has fucked you in every. Single. One. 

“Hey!” You playfully punch his arm, “You could have said something! And why did it always have to be a sex dream?!”

Silco smiles a mischievous, proud display of amusement, devilishly handsome. “You pulled me into the dreams—if you are searching for the perverse, you need only look in the mirror.”

You roll onto your back as your mind goes into shock, both from the whiplash of his sass and the grand revelation. 

“I would also like to confess something.” 

His voice has a strange, hushed tone, and you prop yourself on your side to face him again. The amusement fades from his features slowly as you wait patiently, sensing this is not the time to push him. 

“I cannot remember my past life—my human life. Only the shadows of memories remain, and they contain more feeling than anything of use.” His eyes never leave the ceiling as he speaks. 

You gently take his hand and say the only words your aching heart can find. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, accepting the small gesture of comfort as his eye flutters closed, heavy with sleep once again. Unfortunately, this is the perfect moment for your brain to remember something that may help him. 

“Hey, so, I know this guy—a scientist, mostly. He might be able to tell you something useful.”

He perks up, eyes settling on you curiously. “What makes you think he can help a demon?”

“He’s not exactly human himself. He was—at least, I assume he was at one point. Oh, and don’t be mad, but he did send that crazy guy after me.”

“He’s the one that tried to kill you?” Silco’s face twitches with anger. 

“Well—yeah. But you’re a demon! You’ll be fine.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Just promise not to kill him until you ask about your memories?”

“I will try my best.” He sighs heavily, conjuring his eye patch and donning it as a silent suggestion. 

Sleep comes fast to you both, and for once, you welcome your dreamless slumber with open arms. 

You wake in an empty bed, reaching out over Silco’s still-warm indent. Rolling over, you find him standing in front of the wardrobe, buttoning his sleeves. He senses your gaze and turns toward you, features harsh in the morning light. 

None of the softness remains from the night before, but you chalk it up to resting-bitch-face. 

“Tell me what you learned of the shop.” His command is blunt, but his voice is as sharp as a scalpel.

“Good morning to you, too,” you mutter, starting to gather your scattered clothing. “House Ferros is behind the factory.”

“Do you have proof?”

“They sent a fixer to the shop, and I just so happen to know who he works for,” you shrug before pulling up your pants.

“And why did they send someone?” he growls, patience wearing thin. 

Fully clothed now, you cross your arms, temper rising with each response. “Because I broke a fuckin’ window! You wanted to know who is behind it, and now you know—what’s the problem?”

He closes the gap between you, face tense with barely concealed rage. “Were you seen?” 

You drop your gaze and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

“How could you be so reckless?!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. 

The reaction surprises you as much as it shames, and you’re quick to backtrack. “It’s fine—he doesn’t know who I am! He can’t know who I am!”

“You cannot know that! Why are you so willing to throw your life away?”

“I’m not!” You protest defiantly, defenses rising. 

“I thought that monster of a man killed you when I found your mask in his hands! You would have been if I hadn’t ripped him to pieces!” He sneers, backing you against the wall with his rage. 

“I’ve changed!” You fight back, fists shaking at your side. 

“Your indifference in the face of danger is just as detrimental!” He grabs your wrists so hard you wince, shaking you as he continues his verbal assault. “You risked your life not because you care for those people—you’re suicidal!”

“Shut the fuck up!” You cry, trying to rip yourself from his grip. “Get off of me!”

“Did you not tell me as much the first night we met? Do you not remember?” He pushes you against the wall, hard and unrelenting, leaning in close to hiss through clenched teeth. “‘slit my throat—leave my body in this alley.’”

His hellfire breath burns your face, but not as much as his next words. “I thought better of you.”

All of the fight leaves you like smoke clearing from the rubble, leaving only damage in its wake. When he releases his punishing grip, you collapse against the wall, utterly numb except for your shaking breath. Silco steps away from you to peer out the window, and smooths back his hair, righting the errant strands, chest still heaving with anger. 

Your fight or flight response kicks in without his oppressive gaze to weigh it down. Pushing off the wall, you take off down the hallway, snatching your boots along the way. Clumsy feet stumble down the stairs, your shoulder crashing into the wall of the landing before sliding down the rest of the way on your heels—only Janna knows how you didn’t fall.

You hear him calling after you, but not clearly enough to decipher words. Why would you want to hear them, anyway? He’s hurt you enough for a lifetime. Tears start to well in your eyes as soon as you rip open the front door, bare feet hitting the pavement. You don’t stop—nothing can stop you. Bloody heels are a welcome pain next to the desolation brewing in your chest. 

Once you’re far enough away, you stop to slip the boots on, not bothering to lace them up. Stop too long and the raging storm of emotions will catch up; you feel the rain spitting at your back, tears slowly but steadily trailing down your face.

How could it have gone to shit so fast? Was your plan that hair-brained? You suppose it was, given that you were most likely spotted. 

This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you—everything you touch rots in one way or another. 

Dammit, you tried! You tried to be a better person, and you tried to do the right thing. But what if he’s right? What if you were just searching for a way to kill yourself this entire time? 

With home just around the bend, your feet pick up their already rushed pace, and you push your feelings back behind the overflowing dam for just a little longer. But when your front door comes into view, you see two people standing in front of it; one smaller, feminine figure with blond hair, and a large familiar man. 

You recognize the lady immediately as Sofia, Grim’s mother, and the other hulking figure as the owner of The Last Drop, Marius. The confusing pair turns toward you at the sound of your footsteps, and before you have time to think, she’s running you down.

The unstoppable woman meets the dumbfounded obstacle, and she tackles you to the ground. You land hard with your back taking the brunt of it. Her fingers claw at your shirt until it’s firmly within her steely grip. 

“Where is he?!” She screams in your face, hands shaking.

You don’t answer—how could you? She shakes you violently, and the back of your skull cracks against the pavement. Ears ringing, vision splotchy, you’re only vaguely aware of Marius pulling her off of you.  

She’s kicking and screaming, trying her damndest to break free from Marius’ iron embrace. You barely have the drive to sit up, lazily feeling the back of your head. Fingers come away bloody, and nausea swirls in your stomach. 

“Calm down, dammit!” Marius yells, “I said I’d help ya, so let me help!”

Surprisingly, she listens to him and doesn’t attack again when Marius releases her. Putting up a cautious hand blocking her, he walks to you. Meaty hands pick you up with ease, attempting to right you. 

His touch sends a bolt of anger through you, and you recoil with a pathetic cry, crashing against a nearby wall for support. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” 

Marius takes a step back, confusion and hurt flashing across his face. “She came to the bar looking for you—said you had her son.”

“And you believed her?!” 

“No—I told her you wouldn’t do anything of the sort! But she needed to know, and I offered to help. Look at what happened! It’s a damn good thing I’m here.”

“So, is he here or not?” She interrupts, voice venom-laced. 

“No, you dumb bitch! Why would he be with a fuck-up like me?! It’s not my fault you lost your son!”

She screams and lunges, but this time Marius is fast enough to catch her. He starts to heave her away, but before he leaves, he glances back at you, shaking his head with clear disapproval. 

Cursing under your breath, you move to your front door and push the key into the lock. Turning it, you’re surprised to feel no resistance. It’s unlocked?

Did you forget? You don’t think so—that’s one thing you always remember. 

Fuck it—you open it, letting it swing wide until it hits the wall with a soft thump. Everything is dark except for the kitchen light, which you most definitely left off. There isn’t a kitchen less used in the undercity, and you’re surrounded by abandoned buildings. 

Steeling yourself for what may be lurking, you cautiously tip-toe to the edge of the archway leading to the kitchen, staying out of the light spilling from it. Holding your breath, you peek over the woodwork, heartbeat pounding in the back of your head. Then you sigh, sagging in relief when you spy nothing amiss aside from a piece of paper on your otherwise empty table. 

The wooden chair creaks heavily as you collapse in it, and you take a moment to rest your aching head on the cool metal surface of the table. 

Dizzy and dozing, a random medical fact wiggles its way into your ear. 

Don’t fall asleep alone with a concussion. 

Somehow, you peel your heavy eyelids open and force yourself upright. The paper is either blank or upside down. Lazily, you flip it over, blinking at the handwriting. Jumbled and ever-changing, you have to refocus your eyes multiple times before you can read the whole message. 

My dear, 

you couldn’t have left a clearer trail. I should thank you, really. 

You weren’t home, so we grabbed the next best thing. 

Meet us at the old factory, and he’ll live. 

Sine

The paper falls from your hands as the meaning dawns on you. You fucked up, and now they have Grim. 

Pushed to the edge with a temper like a hairline fracture, you flip the table, screaming as you do. The chairs are next in your path of destruction; you grab them one by one, smashing everything you can before the wood is just as splintered and broken as you. 

Only after there is nothing left to destroy does your mind come back to you. Surrounded by the remnants of your kitchen, you fall to your knees. The whole world shrieks at you, recent memories clawing at your chest, all while something dark stirs within the vortex of pain consuming your heart. 

Something familiar—something that should have stayed buried. 

Silco’s voice echoes in your mind, “You risked your life not because you care for those people–you’re suicidal!”

Tears streaming down your face, you laugh. Pathetic, barely audible, gasps of air that could be mistaken for sobbing. But then the mania hits, and your whole body is shaking with the force of it. Despite the pain it causes your head—despite your torn, bloodied hands—despite ruining everything you worked so hard to achieve these past few months. 

You laugh. 

“Nothing’s changed!” You cry with every last drop of air in your lungs. 

Whimpering now, slumped in the mess you made with jagged breaths and hoarse lungs. “I’m not changed…”

Silco was right. 

The thought is bitter in your mouth as you take in the sights of the Undercity one last time. Yet here you are, walking headfirst into certain death. 

You can claim that it’s all for Grim, but you’re not in denial any more. Ekko would surely blame you just as much as you blame yourself. There is nothing left for you in this world, and it’s about time you stop pretending. 

You’re not nice or kind—certainly not selfless. The warpath is laid in front of you, primed and paved with the blood of the innocent; and your broken soul is reaching through the cracks, hungry for violence. 

At the very least, you’d like the chance to take out that bastard Sine. If you don’t deserve to live, he deserves to be dismembered. So Infamous are his crimes that House Ferros is among the most feared in the political world. 

Of course, with him gone another rat will fill his place—just not one as efficient and heinous. But that’s not your problem, even if they do somehow find another as cold and cruel as him. You won’t be here to see it. 

The old factory comes into view, its gate just as bent and broken as the last time you saw it. Hands shoved in your pockets, you trudge forward, keeping your head on a swivel. So far the place looks completely abandoned—the trucks and crates are all cleared out, leaving your footsteps to echo eerily as you approach the mouth of the factory, open and inviting. 

The darkness swallows you whole for a moment before your eyes adjust to the dim, windowless interior. Drips and drops of leaky pipes ricochet off the stone walls, and the damp, moldy air claws at your nose. 

You walk through a second set of doors leading to the main factory floor. Light filters in through the ruined glass ceiling, its dull light revealing conveyor belts and machinery littering the room, too deteriorated and dusty to have been used in this decade. They seem to have been cleared somewhat to the side, leaving a wider area of free space. 

You freeze when your eyes lock on the unmoving form of Grim. His mouth is gagged, and his head is sagging off to one side. Sweat beads at your temples as you look for signs of life, holding your breath even as your lungs scream for air. 

He sways in his seat as his chest rises and falls slowly. A shuddering breath of relief rips from your chest, and you act without thinking. One step forward, another—faster this time—you stumble toward the bait, panic gripping your heart in a vice. 

Cruel laughter erupts from behind. You spin around and fall squarely on your ass. Scrambling backward like a frantic crab, you move away from the predator about to make his move. 

“Are you even trying, my dear?” Sine sneers, lips curling upward in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “This was too easy.”

You grit your teeth and stand tall, anger taking the place your fear should be. Even in the low light, you recognize the glint of a knife in his right hand. 

The overdramatic tones of his voice contrast harshly with his threatening visage, and the dissonance makes him appear nightmarish as he leisurely approaches. Each step is calm and collected, but you sense the danger underneath, coiled tightly like a snake about to strike.

You maintain your distance, treading backward cautiously as your eyes never leave the monster in front of you. Grim lets out a hushed sob, and you cannot help but glance behind. Before you can blink, Sine is on top of you, pushing you to the ground. The thin blade of his knife presses against your throat, cutting your fight short. His weight pins you to the floor, rancid breath bathing your face in a disgusting stew of rotten teeth and onions. 

“Please tell me you brought a weapon?” He pleads while his free hand pats you down.

You push fruitlessly against him as your entire body tenses under his touch.

“Get the fuck off me!” you growl through gritted teeth when his touch lingers where it shouldn’t.

“But the fight is the best part!” He laughs, madness seeping into the heightening tones of his delight.

A shuddering growl leaves your trembling lips. The sound excites him, and the prospect turns your stomach. Eyes closed tight, you beat your emotions down with a few deep breaths.

Forget the knife—forget his hand. Focus, dammit. You do not have to give him what he craves. When your eyes open again, you see the pathetic man under the monster’s skin and smile.

“You’ll get no such satisfaction from me,” you say with a flat voice. 

He sneers, pondering you for a moment before flipping you on your stomach. With movements stronger than you would credit him for, he binds your hands behind your back and pulls you off the ground by your arms. You’re barely back on your feet before he pushes you into the chair opposite Grim. 

For the first time, your terrified gazes meet. Tear-streaked, dirty face and watery eyes—the sight is a punch in the gut. 

“Let him go—you said you’d let him go if I surrendered!”

“And that’s still true,” his voice sing-song as he loops your bound arms around the back of the chair. 

“I won’t talk until you do.”

He chuckles as he ties your feet to the chair legs from behind. Cursing under your breath, you hoped he would tie them from the front so you could at least kick him. But no—he’s too experienced for your petty tricks. 

When he rises, he hums curiously as his hands poke and prod at your blood-matted hair. “My, my—you have such an affinity for trouble.”

You grimace as his fingers press into your wound, but hold back your cry of pain. Your body betrays you though; back as stiff and straight as a gurney, fingernails digging into your palms. 

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” He walks into your view, twirling his switchblade in his hand. 

Grim starts to shake when Sine grows near, terrified eyes locked on the knife, but it’s out of his sight before long. You struggle against your bindings when Sine stops behind him, holding the knife out threateningly with a smile. 

“Don’t you fucking hurt him!”

He smirks, satisfied with your outburst, and cuts Grim free. 

The boy flops to the ground, his movements wobbly and uncoordinated. 

“What did you do to him?” You ask, wrought with worry. 

“Oh, come now. I don’t hurt kids. I find them loud and irritating, but that’s nothing a little sedative can’t cure.” Sine takes great joy in watching Grim stagger out of the factory as fast as his drunk legs will allow. “He’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

You can only hope Sine is telling the truth. Janna only knows what he did to Grim before you arrived. The kid can barely keep his mouth shut, and yet he didn’t utter a single thing. 

Seething hatred courses through you at the thought. But with no hope of freeing yourself, and no wiggle room to even make a dent, you hang your head in defeat, revolted by your weakness. 

You should have brought a weapon, dammit! But you foolishly thought there would be more than just Sine waiting for you. Why did you think that? You’re not important—not terribly dangerous either. Why would you warrant such a greeting?

A short burst of air forces its way from your lungs, the sound of forbidden amusement. You really haven’t changed, have you? Even after all of this. 

You can’t help but find it funny, in a hopeless way. 

Sine drags the empty chair closer and takes his seat, unfazed by your reactions. Expertly, the blade pushes through your pants at the knee, and the point of entrance stings as fresh blood hits the air. 

“Oops!” Sine looks overjoyed at the sight of the small cut and dangles the point of his knife over it. 

Resting just behind your patella, you can only imagine the world of pain it would cause if he sunk it deep into your leg. 

“Now that we’re alone—we can start. You’ve been such a naughty girl, but you’re not capable of dismantling the factory single-handed. Politics,” he spits, scrunching his face in disgust, “never interested me. This is personal, let me assure you. See, not only did you destroy such a lucrative business, but you also cut them off from those intoxicating little flowers. I supplied the subjects for their experiments, of course, and in turn, I observed the most remarkable transformations since the invention of Shimmer!”

Sine’s voice hits an all-time high, brimming with excitement, but starts to warp, contorting with rage. “And you RUINED it!” 

Your blood-curdling scream echoes through the factory as he sinks the knife into you. The pain is white-hot, shooting up your leg and shredding your nerves as it rides the rigid posture of your spine. 

You see the knife sticking out and hyperventilate, barely holding in another scream. Loud, heaving sobs shake your body, sweat soaking through your clothes. 

Sine looks bored through it all, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs like he’s in a waiting room. “Do hurry up and get it out of your system….”

All gnashing teeth and strained muscles, you lash out like a caged, feral animal. He snorts, clearly tickled by your pathetic display. The fight leaves your body with a final, wretched sob, and you bow your head again: jaw slack, a line of drool hanging off your lips, and quietly sniffling. 

Sine clears his throat as if your pain were a mere annoyance. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Other than an obviously unrelated report of a burger-stealing demon, I haven’t heard much of anything of our dear friend. Won’t you tell me about him?”

“I don’t,” you swallow hard, voice raspy from strain, “I don’t really know him.”

“But surely you can tell me where to find him?”

“Why?” The answer comes to your bedraggled mind as soon as the question leaves your mouth. 

“To put him out of his misery—the same as you.” Sine drops his casual facade and leans in close. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

The words should come easy, but you choke on them. You hate him—don’t you? Yes, you fucked up, but Silco used you. Dammit! Then why can’t you give him up? 

Sine grumbles and grabs the knife, wiggling it while watching you with sick satisfaction as you squeal. 

You beg incoherently in between shuddering sobs before crying out, “I’ll tell you-I’ll tell you everything! Pl–please stop!”

Sine releases the knife and sits back again, mercifully letting you catch your breath. 

“He lives by the old r-revolutionary statue. The place with the glass roof,” you slur, voice quivering. 

“And here I thought you were loyal.” Sarcasm drips from his melodic tones.

“You didn’t give me a choice,” you murmur, head lolling off to the side. 

“There is always a choice. You could have chosen to be a beggar on the street rather than work in a chop-house. Just like you could have chosen to take the bullying, but the same is true now as it was then. You despise people; you work at Mort’s because, at the end of the day, you like it. You’re the dredge of society, and you know it.”

“I’m flattered you took such an interest in me,” you rasp.

It is with only small satisfaction that you imagine Sine’s gnarly fate at the hands of an actual demon. He pulls the knife from you in a swift, fluid motion. Through gritted teeth, you bare it, and the feeling barely registers over the swelling pain. 

Sine stands over you, leaning one hand on the back of your chair while pulling back the other, and sighs. “Mort’s won’t be the same without you.”

The air leaves your lungs in a burst as his hand punches into your gut, and it’s only on the pullout that you see the crimson spilling out of you. Another punch, another, and another. Sine grunts from the effort, panting, eyes wide as he plunges the knife into you without end. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, watching your shirt stain red. 

Sine rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath with a wide, manic smile stretching his face unnaturally. Calmer now, he wipes the blade on your sleeve as he walks behind you. Just as swiftly as he cut Grim free, he releases your bindings, pushing your already slumping body the rest of the way to the hard ground. 

The fall was hard, and you swear you hear your shoulder pop from the impact, but you don’t feel it. Your warmth drains out of you through so many wounds, but you don’t see it. 

Body growing cold and numb, your mind sinks somewhere further in, deep inside your body, but not of it. You welcome the feeling—this is the release you longed for, isn’t it?

Tears spill from your eyes as readily as the blood from your abdomen. Your wants no longer matter when you’re adrift between life and death. 

Everything grows still—so very quiet that you think death has taken you. It is here, floating on the precipice, that you hear faint echoes of familiar voices. 

Then, screaming hurts your ears as the world comes rushing back into focus. You open your eyes to see two bloody hands snapping in front of your face. Sofia kneels before you, eyes brimming with fiery anger. 

She speaks—you’re too far gone to understand her, but she’s holding your hand oh so gently. Why? Why do you deserve such kindness? Oh, Janna, you don’t deserve this, but it feels so nice. 

With the last of your energy, you squeeze her hand tight and mutter, “I’m sorry.”

The numbness overtakes you, carrying away your torment and your pain, along with your last breath.

Next Chapter

[msmc-796-official]

Fair greetings! Lord Torrentes the Third of Venerable House Bilal, a Minor House underneath the Major House of Smoke here; This may come as incredibly strange, as one such as myself would not be expected to contact, hire nonetheless, a group of "Dirty" and "Uncouth" mercenaries from outside the Karrakin Trade Baronies, but I frankly do not give quite the amount of fucks required to please my Noble contemporaries, but I do indeed desire your security services. Not only do I offer two-thousand units of Manna for each of your mercenaries, but I also offer gossip, dirty secrets, free seats for several Pankration Mekhani matches, and perhaps a bursting a Hagipgraphic Noble's nerve by sheer annoyance. Transport to the Baronies will be paid for by yours truly. Why do I require these services? Let us say that upsetting Stonelord Ferdinand Cannamos, the baron of the House of Stone, which is deeply Hagiographic and affiliated rather closely with the infamous House of Sand, may not be a good idea in the long-run. Unfortunately, Lord Cannamos is incredibly amusing and easy to upset, so I could not help myself. - High Lord Torrentes the IIIrd of Venerable House Bilal.

// ...well. This is certainly a first for our squadron; we have served many clients in our time with MSMC, but to be called to service at the direct behest of the Baronies themselves? I... I'm not entirely sure what to say in response; this is uncharted territory.

hang on a sec - isn't Torrentes the same guy who kungpowpenised the House of Stone a while back? and now he wants to hire us to piss the same person off again??? holy shit, the absolute stones (er, no pun intended) on this motherfucker - I hate to admit it, but I kinda respect the hustle

> Slipshod is correct; High Lord Torrentes is indeed the same noble who orchestrated the public humiliation of Lord Cannamos. I will openly admit to my suspicions regarding this contract offer, as we have already desecrated the Baronies once prior. Furthermore, declaring open alliances among warring houses in such a volatile political climate is unlikely to fare well for us, especially with two of the most dangerous Hagiographic houses openly conspiring against our would-be contractor.

// I fully agree, Kennedi - this offer puts not only our would-be employer's life at risk, but all of us as well. That being said, two thousand Manna apiece is nothing to scoff at, and the offer of receiving potentially incriminating information relevant to the Baronies is rather tempting. The payment suits the job, does it not?

> ...hmph. Consider me sufficiently intrigued; you have my permission to accept this contract. Dress uniforms will be a must, of course - the last thing we need to do is leave a poor impression of MSMC on such influential hosts as the Karrakin Trade Baronies.

look, I'll be completely honest here - I dislike dealing with the KTB as much as you two do, but this I have to hear more about; stuffy dress uniforms be damned. sign me the fuck up, chief!

// Then it appears we have reached a consensus. High Lord Torrentes III of Venerable House Bilal, MSMC-796 "Heaven's Fury" accepts your offer of employment. Allow us a brief time to prepare for our term of service, and we shall be ready to depart for the Baronies shortly.

-- Angel, Slipshod, & Lockbreaker

[laurelnose]

good news! I don’t have a brain tumor 🥰

so basically what happened is

mid-december: i acquire Debilitating Migraine, 10 out of 10 worst pain I’ve felt in my entire fucking life Migraine, worse than the time I spent three weeks recovering from major surgery completely sober because I am inexplicably resistant to just about every class of painkiller I’ve ever tried Migraine. (I actually only rank the surgery experience about a 6 out of 10 on the pain scale.) we get the migraine down to Bad But Manageable by locating several new Christmas light strings that turned out to be flickering at speeds the human eye could not detect but my human brain certainly could and throwing them all out. I make a doctor’s appointment.

last week: I finally see my PCP. she prescribes me a triptan, which is an abortive med that is meant to stop migraine attacks. the triptan decreases the headache but does not remove it entirely. also, the damn thing keeps getting worse again. I try it three times over the week, which is the maximum number of times you’re supposed to take a triptan in a month. almost like you’re not supposed to have more than three headaches in a month or something?? weird. well, technically I haven’t had three. it’s all the Same Damn Headache.

this same day I also pick up a topiramate prescription, which is a preventative. i am advised i can start the topiramate even if i am not pain free. maybe if i give it a day or two it will help even if i am currently having an attack??

wednesday i see my PCP for followup and tell her i am still in pain. she offers to get me squeezed in to have an intramuscular toradol (heavy-duty NSAID) shot. this kicks in within 20 minutes and doubles my migraine pain. I was at 3-ish and now I am at 6 and unhappy about it.

i do not come back down from the level the toradol kicked me up to. i survive thursday by not doing very much of anything.

uh? holy shit? yeah, sure?

friday the pain becomes unbearable. back up to an 8, which isn’t the worst it’s been but it’s also Day Forty Fucking Two and I’m so tired. I leave work early & go to urgent care where they pump me fulla benadryl and dexamethasone. absolutely none of this is fun — the dexamethasone feels like a panic attack and the benadryl makes me dizzy and light-headed + makes it very hard to think of words? what the shit do people take benadryl recreationally for? but! the pain diminishes dramatically. after the IV’s done they get me in for a CT scan and are like hey! you don’t have a brain tumor! (I was not actually worried I had a brain tumor but it’s always nice to rule it out.) but you do have a sinus infection and a bunch of fluid buildup that’s probably triggering the migraine. (really? but I haven’t been congested?) yeah, no, it’s really deep in there. do you wanna do antibiotics and sudafed about that to clear up the fluid?

saturday morning the head pain is back but it’s mild and it feels LIKE A FUCKING SINUS HEADACHE and not a migraine anymore oh my god. Guess what kinds of headaches are fucking fixable and tend not to be intractable and unpreventable. It’s also like, a manageable amount of pain? It hurts but I feel okay?? I get thru work without taking my breaks in the dark with a heat pad? I look at headlights on the dark road coming home and am not immediately debilitated? 😭 Maybe in a week and a half when the antibiotics course is done I will actually just be Fine??

I really shoulda gone to urgent care back in December. Too bad I didn’t quite realize you could go to urgent care for migraines until I’d seen my PCP for the first time and that couldn’t happen earlier bc, well, appointments are hard to come by.

I’m wondering in hindsight if the triptan WAS kicking the migraine more effectively than I thought it was and i couldn’t tell because I had a sinus headache underneath (which kept bringing the migraine back). this also explains why I was getting decent results with Vick’s VapoRub LMAO. Like some people do swear by menthol for migraines but it was probably helping the congestion too.

anyways this is why I’ve been quiet. I will be quiet for a little while longer probably bc the sinus headache is still not fun but it is getting better. in fact i had to get up and eat breakfast to take my antibiotic but it is sunday and i don’t actually want to be awake so i think i’m going back to bed

i am never letting anyone talk me into taking another NSAID ever fucking again.

[thevondoom62]

Well, this has been a bit of a controversial one. From its very announcement to delivery date, the Marvel Legends Retro Venom has been one divisive figure. I've heard people praise this thing to high heaven and others who absolutely HATE it, calling it trash. Where do I sit on the matter?

First thing's first, wow! A Walmart exclusive where preorders were up for a long time and it actually shipped out! Incredible! Congrats for doing the bare minimum, Wally World.

Let's address the biggest issue upfront here: that neck. Right out the box, that head articulation is nigh worthless. You get some tilt, but the up movement is PITIFUL. I normally like to mince words, try to be nice, but it is actually just bad. I took an exacto knife to it and carved it up until it got better movement. Then I sanded it down to make it look smoother. I shouldn't have to do that. Hasbro seems like it just can't figure out the dumbell joint, except when they can. Like, classic War Machine, Baron Helmut Zemo, and NWH Green Goblin all have pretty good ones. Even movie/KiB Venom was passable to me. This, though? No good. Might be a safety standards thing, but if so, they're better off sticking with disc hinges.

With that fixed, the second biggest issue I've heard is that it's gummy. Well, mine doesn't feel that gummy. Certainly more solid than the Pulsecon Animated Venom felt. It's about par for the course with Hasbro, maybe a little softer but not by much. It's certainly no first release movie Ant-Man, that's for sure. That one felt like it was made of Twizzlers.

The paint has been another sticking point, quite literally. The logo feels thick and tacky, which... yeah. It does. My Pulsecon Venom and Retro Carded Symbiote Spidey had the same issue. Both of those eventually destickied and I can already feel the same happening to this one. It has to be the process they use to print the logo on so cleanly. However, I do have one major complaint with the paint! The inverted ab crunch clashes with the pelvis when pushed fully forward. This has resulted in paint damage on the logo, which I had to patch up. Now I can mod a figure no problem, but I HATE painting them. My hands are too damn shaky and the way the colors never fully match unless you mix, augh. Paint wear is inevitable, especially with how I handle my toys, but it would have been nice if they designed it with extra clearance between plastic.

Wow, that's a lot of words! A lot of this might seem negative, but I'm just addressing the current conversation. I've seen a lot of varied opinions on this one. I feel you can tell by how many pics I've taken that I fall on the very positive end of the spectrum. It is probably the closest I've gotten to that ideal Venom in toy form. He's so squat and chunky looking, while still being appropriately tall. Not overly hulking, proportions are juuuust right. Articulation is superb, neck aside. Everything feels fluid, even if I'll always want more movement at the hips. Sculpt is good. I wasn't crazy about the tongue lashing head at first since it skews so modern, but I kinda dig it now. The real prize is that grinning face, though! Looks like a mix between Bagley and McFarlane, it rocks!

I don't know if I've ever typed this much out for a toy before. I try to keep as brief as possible, but there was a lot to say. It's for sure got problems, but I can't help but love it.

[all-pacas]

chase cameron and foreman all went for drinks regularly on s1, then again on s3. they might not have been best friends but they weren't hostile at all unless things got bad at work.

they have very few non work related interactions in the season, weirdly - i wouldn't say they get along or not. the first time we see them getting drinks is halfway thru the season in sports medicine. we don't actually see them do so all that much: a few times in that episode (one of which was dinner with a drug rep) but again until s3. i do think they generally get along as coworkers, but… friends?

even when things are fine, they certainly do have a lot of moments of snark and animosity. just off the top of my head, foreman openly dislikes chase (and chase tells a patient such), and he openly derides him over the vogler situation. cameron gets teased by the guys for being naive and for her crush on house; she in turn picks on chase a little, and expresses frustration with them both. chase picks on foreman a little (most notably his telling a patient while foreman is in the room that "foreman doesn't like me, either").

in s2 there's a lot more. there's Article-Gate, of course, but we also get foreman complaining to stacy about how fake and annoying chase is, we get cameron's little comment in euphoria about foreman being terrible with patients, we get foreman trying to manipulate cameron and we get the start of "i couldn't have made a mistake, it was obviously chase" from foreman; . on a slightly more… meta?… level, we get cameron doing meth and hooking up with chase on the assumption that he would fuck her on meth; she even tells him she doesn't think he's a "good guy" when he hesitates, and later she gets pretty snarky towards him about her performance.

s3 there's yet more! cameron and foreman both make fun of chase for being a spoiled rich kid and assume he's going to rat to tritter because of it: cameron also has a quite rude comment about how chase's dad never loved him in 'lines in the sand.' chase and foreman have a whole Thing in 'cane and able' about whether or not chase fucked up a test, with foreman really going for it: foreman outright tells chase he never liked him later on, and chase refuses to help him with his job application: foreman is also generally exasperated with chase and cameron's fwb thing, which, fair enough, but also makes a fair number of comments about how cameron is 'insufferable' (as in, don't dump her, chase, she's annoying enough without heartbreak). foreman also implies cameron is weak/needs to toughen up (she calls him on it, and he does apologize although he doesn't take it back).

conversely, what about times they do show friendship or compassion? they get drinks 2-3 times. cameron tries to support (slash pry) chase when his dad is around, but chase shoots her down flat. chase is worried-ish about cameron when she might be infected with HIV, but house calls it fake: cameron doesn't throw chase under the bus when stacy is digging in the mistake. foreman does call cameron a good doctor and a good person in euphoria, but she makes it clear she knows he's manipulating her, so who knows how much is sincere or she believes. cameron is nice to foreman when he resigns, and chase is nice to foreman and offers to get drunk with him after he kills the lady in s3. neither of the guys reaches out to cameron in s1 when she's upset about the dead baby (foreman criticizes her openly); neither foreman or cameron react that we can see when chase is broken up about the dead baby in s3.

of the three, foreman is actually pretty damn open about the fact that he does not like chase, but he's dismissive about cameron as well. cameron and chase get along slightly better - they're less likely to have major arguments, i think mostly because they're passive-aggressive in similar ways - but she can be pretty mean to him, and he can be pretty bitchy towards foreman. aside from 2-3 times socializing after work, we never hear of them being friends: foreman is adamant that they're not, for all that cameron and chase become an Official Couple they really aren't close either. they're coworkers who work together. they get along, but they aren't friends. they are far more likely to snark than to bond, it's very rare they are supportive, and when they are it's usually cameron doing the reaching out. (to foreman, i think. the two actually do seem to get along when they aren't having huge blowouts about articles; i think they respect one another more than either respects chase, lol)

i'm not saying you're wrong. i don't think, jokes aside, they sit around plotting to undermine and destroy one another. but they also are not friends. it's really not until s4 and 5 we see them go out of their way to socialize.