#it’s exactly how I type

[the-void-has-questions]

There’s something so charming about the humor in early aughts shows….. yes I’m watching ninjago….. yes I’m giggling at the stupid low brow jokes

[danibee33]

how I picture price’s body😩

[eats-a-berry]

i wasn't sure exactly what i thought adult gideon should be doing, but i DO quite like the triple combination of cowboy-biker, drag queen, and used car salesman at the same time. she's always a busy person!

[aquamarinebling]

isats as a treat. for me.

[paintedcrows]

Watched Pyramids of Mars and... yeah I'm obsessed with this guy

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[russell-crowe]

Rhod Gilbert: A Pain in the Neck for SU2C (2023)

bonus:

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[soni-dragon]

apologies to the bagginshield nation

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[lesbicosmos]

edwin: *holds up spoon* do not breathe a word of this to anyone. not even crystal.

charles: are you threatening me with a spoon?

[seiwas]

boyfriend iwaizumi hajime fixing your posture every time he sees you hunched over and slouching—the way he holds your shoulders and straightens it by rolling it back, thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades.

he gently pushes your lower back whenever he notices you curling into yourself, runs his fingers up your spine too.

and he does it all quietly, your only warning the feel of his hands on you.

it’s almost like he has a radar for it, some posture-sense that tingles every time your back is anything but straight.

when you complain about back pain, he snorts, mumbling a ‘wonder why’ before coming over to knead out the knots anyway.

he buys you an ergonomic chair to hopefully help out, even leaves x-rays and scans of bad backs lying around to give some subliminal message of what could happen if you don’t fix it now.

and when he takes you from behind, pushing down on your lower back to give him that arch he likes, he’s teasing, telling you that you only seem to listen when he has you like this.

he’s really starting to think, should he start fucking you with your back straight?

[serpentface]

What are the three different afterlives, on the moons?

The afterlife consists of three lunar lands, conceptualized as being literally on the moons (which are correctly understood to be spherical bodies in a rounded orbit). The world is, in the common imagination, effectively a floating island and seabed in the middle of a vast cosmic sea. The seabed eventually drops off somewhere far into the open sea, and the cosmic sea in its totality is beyond and beneath this and and goes on infinitely (though if creation stories are taken literally, it can't actually be infinite considering that God is cited as dredging up muck from the bottom. This is a philosophical problem for the literalist minority and no one else). The moons, sun, and stars travel through the cosmic sky and sea in their daily cycles, in an orbit around the earth. 

The lunar lands are usually dark (they only experience full light in times when the moons can be seen in daytime hours), but they are much closer to the stars, so they never experience the same darkness as night on earth. In some branches of folk thought, the light of the moons comes from the torches and fires lit by the dead. The moons are protected from the extremes of cosmic sea and sky that they orbit through by the continuous presence of God’s soul (at the most dead-literal, this is conceptualized like a spherical bubble that surrounds the land/earth with the moons orbiting on its plane, but is mostly understood in a more spiritual, less logistical capacity) and do not experience the terrible heat and cold of each primordial extreme. 

---

The blue moon (second largest in the sky, has a very slight bluish tinge) is the best of three afterlives and the place for the most honored dead. This place is limited to people who performed great deeds in life, and very few people ever go here.

The only completely predictable way to get here is to be the dry season human sacrifice (which also makes you a saint), or being the Odomache. It takes great deeds to be declared a saint, so all canonized saints have gone here, as have most legendary heroes. There’s some doctrinal division over whether royalty goes here automatically or they too require the actual accomplishment of great deeds. Public opinion and general consensus veers, quite heavily, towards the latter. It’s resulted in a tendency for kings to perform lavish public works and building projects and instigate expansionist campaigns to better their chances.

The blue moon is a lush garden with palaces and homes built with lapis lazuli. A mythical blue lotus grows here that is said to grant everlasting life (*until the end of the world. there is no true immortality). Some mythical heroes (and characters in animal folktales) have been said to reach the lunar lands while still alive in pursuit of the lotus, but it has remained entirely elusive for the average joe. These lands are comfortably warm year-round, the rains are gentle, all plants grow in abundance and are always in fruit. It is thought that the souls of great sacrificial animals (those offered up in public rites, limited to animals that are specifically sacred) go here as well. The dead do not have to labor and all their needs are met with ease. It is a place of great serenity, rest, and happiness.

This afterlife is, notably, where the first men are enthroned (And Also Their Wives Are There). The eldest brother of this set is considered the most important saint (he is the one who actually performed the sacrifice of God), and all are effectively semi-divine (though not venerated), being the direct offspring of God via Its insemination of the cosmic sea. These first men are credited with actually shaping the world as it is today via the division of God’s body, and they now rule over the afterlife.

This is the best of all afterlives, but comes with profound responsibilities. The souls of the dead here are bound to survive the end of the world and will someday will be the ones to sacrifice the bodily reborn God, shape the next world, and become the progenitors and guides for the next people. All other souls in all other afterlives will not survive the end of the world in their present state, rather they will be returned to God and await reincarnation into a new human body after creation.

---

The white moon (visibly largest in the sky) is where people who died honorable deaths and/or have spirits weighted as pure go. The easiest guarantee of getting here is to die in battle, or in childbirth (which is fortunate given the high rate of pregnancy-related mortalities). People who live honorable and virtuous lives, maintain spiritual cleanliness to the best of their ability, and follow right practice are otherwise the main demographic. This is the best afterlife the average everyday person can hope to end up in.

It is vast grassland eternally in flower, with ten rivers running through it. The sacred (and actually real) orange lotus grows here in abundance. Homes are built of moonstone, gardens of crops run between them and the maize can be harvested year-round and provides eternal and easy sustenance for the dead. Most time is spent at rest and leisure.

It’s thought the souls of ‘petty sacrifice’ animals go here (those offered for individual benefit, rather than in public rites for the good of the people/world itself). Animals considered to Have Value without necessarily being sacred are appropriate for these petty sacrifices (horses and fowl are very common) so there’s plenty of livestock here for milk, wool, and eggs.

---

The egg moon (named for its slightly ovular shape to the naked eye) is the lesser afterlife, where people whose spirits are weighted unclean and/or did not die honorable deaths end up if they succeed in their death-journeys. Most people go here. This is not a Bad afterlife, just the Mid option of three pretty good ones.

It’s described as a vast grassland with five rivers running through it. It is very much like the world of the living, with normal seasonal change and cycles of plant growth. The dead have to labor here as they do in the world of the living, but without the risk of starvation or need to fight for resources. The land is fertile, the rains come and go as needed, the harvests are always good and the livestock are always well fed. All in all, it's far easier and more peaceful than life on earth.

It is thought that the souls of most sacred animals that did not die in sacrifice go here (so the majority of the world’s cattle, aurochs, khait, lions, cobras, hespaean, reed ducks, skimmer gulls, and albatrosses). The cattle and khait tend to be the center of focus, and there isn’t really a set concept of what the carnivores are eating, or whether the lions and venomous snakes pose any danger to the people there (there IS at least loosely a notion that the dead can die a second time and will be sent back to the cosmic sea to await reincarnation, though this mostly plays into eschatological beliefs and not into concerns of 'what if I get to the lunar lands and am immediately mauled to death: 2 by a lion').

This one HEAVILY overlaps conceptually with the Celestial Fields, with these aspects likely being influenced by a history of cultural exchange between proto-Finnic and proto-Wardi groups. In some folk traditions this syncretism is even more obvious via inclusion of Mak-Urudain guard dog figures (most Ephenni folk-traditions say that funerary guide dogs stay there to protect the cattle and khait from the lions, Ephenni Riverlanders straight up have a Mak-Urudain figure present as the First Ever guide dog who now protects the cattle all by himself, Erub provincial folk traditions state the dog constellation guards the cattle in all afterlives, etc), though this has no presence whatsoever in official doctrine. (On the reverse side, the heavenly cattle that the agricultural goddess Od brought to the Fields (to ensure ancestors can never starve if their shitty descendants neglect them) is probably at least Partly Wardi influenced).

---

SOME NOTES:

-This religion technically views reincarnation as the ultimate fate of the dead, but considers this to only occur after the end of the current world. Eschatological beliefs are not even remotely central to this belief system (it's not a concern of the average practitioner like, at all, though raises to greater prominence during lasting droughts), but it’s assumed that the earth itself must eventually die and be reborn like all other created things. It was born from water and so will end in drought, then fire. All life and all souls but those of the most exalted on the blue moon will perish again and be returned to God.

God will be bodily reborn, and begin the process of self-sacrifice and creation over again. The survivors from the blue moon will become the first people, will sacrifice God, and build the next world from Its body. God will again inseminate the cosmic sea before Its death (releasing human/sophont souls to await rebirth), and will spill Its blood on the earth (releasing animal souls to await rebirth), and the world as we know it will begin again (but perhaps better, with the guidance of leaders from the previous world).

-most animals do not go to the lunar lands. All animals are regarded as having souls, but non-sophont animals were born from the earth (fertilized by God's blood) and are more intimately tied to it. The standard view is that most animals immediately return to the earth to be reincarnated upon death, though some can persist in the form of ghosts (not regarded as torturous for them like it is for humans, they're meant to be tied to the earth). Animals that make the journey to the lunar lands do so ultimately as assistants to humans (in the form of funerary guide dogs) or due to their sacredness (which also is functionally a form of assistance to humans).

-The afterlife status of any dog killed to be a funerary guide for the deceased is somewhat ambiguous. Funerary guide dogs are thought to at least Get To the lunar lands, but there's no consensus opinion on whether they can Stay There (unlike funerary khait and lions, guaranteed a spot due to sacred status). Most interpretations see the dogs returning to the earth (often to continue serving as funerary guides), but some death-journey stories describe the noblest and most loyal of dogs gaining entry along with their masters.

-All sophonts Recognized as sophonts (via the capacity for forms of intelligent speech obvious to humans) are understood to have been created the same way as humans and have the same type of soul, and to theoretically have access the lunar lands if they follow the same methods.

-The majority of people in this world, obviously, do not practice Imperial Wardi standard funerals, and are therefore regarded as Probably Fucked. It's accepted that any form of cremation is sufficient to at least send the dead on their way, but the dead who don't get the full Materially Correct Wardi Funeral Treatment will surely have a MUCH harder time completing their journeys (THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO GO TO THE MOONS LOL!!!!!).

-The dead require substantial help from the living in terms of actually getting to the lunar lands (proper funerals, grave goods and animal guides to assist their journey, etc), but are considered fully provided for once they get there in the doctrinal Faith and most of its folk variants. Maintaining and visiting family tombs (holding cremains and grave goods) is usually regarded as being a matter of familial piety and honorable behavior (and also just being like, a way to grieve), rather than something that directly benefits the dead in any capacity.

Ancestor-worship practices requiring the dead to be continually provided for were Possibly first brought to the region by Proto-Finnic migrants (though it's not beyond question that some groups with longer histories here had similar practices) and have had impacts outside of this immediate sphere. The biggest and most obvious is a 'feast of the dead' holiday being nearly ubiquitous across the cultural spheres of almost All groups here. Among most of the Hill Tribes and some of the North Wardi, this is specifically a holiday where all ancestors return to the earth and are provided food, gifts, and warm clothing (it occurs on the winter solstice). Most in the Imperial Wardi sphere do not have 'the dead are capable of coming back down to earth and also need continual support in general' as a part of their religious worldview, but variants of this holiday have been so widely adopted that it's celebrated anyway. The most ancestor-worship free version frames it more as a celebration of life and a time to remember the dead, and doesn't involve the feast being left untouched until morning so that spirits of the dead can eat its essence before the living get to it.

-In all three afterlives, the dead are perpetually in the presence of the Soul of God (the body is the earth, and the Faces are Its living spirit, god fucking damn it I made a trinity,). This cleanses them to become spiritually pure beings (a state impossible to be in and only possible to Approach while alive), any sufferings of disease or curses they experienced in life are removed. This is regarded as a very peaceful and restful state of being.

-There’s no discrete Bad Place afterlife, but there's still religious avenues to regulate behavior via threats of a Bad Afterlife with the notion of being trapped as an earthbound ghost. Per doctrine, it's possible to have one's connection to God severed (usually via extreme spiritual pollution, which just so happens to mostly come from behavior considered morally unfavorable) which can result in the soul being unable to complete their journey and being trapped as a ghost. A dead body being allowed to rot or be eaten will result in this automatically, whether by neglect or 'incorrect' funerary practices (cremation is the only funeral method considered safe). Very widespread folk belief additionally holds that people who die from drowning or non-ritual suicide are also trapped.

Burial of the dead and sky burials are regarded as horrific barbarism, damning the dead to suffering throughout the afterlife. Cannibalism/consumption of the dead in any form is regarded as almost unspeakably evil. Mummification is Okay as a temporary solution if cremation is impossible, but not as a permanent one (it's not as strongly condemned since the dead can stay with their intact, un-rotten and un-eaten body and in theory eventually be saved, but it's on thin fucking ice).

An earthbound ghost is stuck in the location of their death, deprived of rest and feeling their body rot around them, and usually becomes dangerous to the living. It is believed that some earthbound ghosts can be saved, but this requires extensive intervention and is not considered to work every time. Many evil spirits started out as earthbound ghosts, and at this point are warped beyond any possible human intervention. Doctrinal end-times consensus holds that all earthbound ghosts will Eventually be delivered from their nightmare at the death of the world when their soul is returned to God for rebirth, but the average person is not all that concerned with the end times and being a ghost is probable millennia of suffering either way. The average person is very, VERY strongly motivated to avoid this fate.

[wizardnuke]

i'm so thrilled at essek's characterization. seven years in he is still flaunting his powers and mocking people. threw mean little barbs into every single line he said to astrid just for the hell of it. he is better he is not good. no one is asking him to be good, i would think least of all caleb

[unriding]

a … a gift from the talented @kruinka 🥹 thank you so much!! ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

[mudpuddless]

AU where Obi-wan is Can Drallig's illegitimate son except of course everyone knows and no one cares except for qui-gon of course.

based on this post by @twinterrors29