#locust attack in UP

[cephydeluxe]

WHO OR WHAT IS RESPONSIBLE FOR TUMBLR PUTTING HORNY SANS AU FANART ON MY DASH?

[ennn]

Hold the fuck up, this isn’t a real trial.

In retrospect a number of things about the episode, especially the coven's characterisation felt off... and now on rewatch I'm pretty certain this isn't a trial of the Road at all – it's the Salem Seven punishing Agatha.

Clues under the cut with some spoilers from future scenes in trailers / promo clips.

Clue #1 – No screen aspect ratio change

As @wolfcracker points out, for the two previous trials the screen ratio changed once they entered the place (going full screen). We didn't get that for this cabin.

Clue #2 – No phase of the moon decoration at the entrance

We've had these obviously built into the previous trial entrances but there's no sign of one for this cabin.

The coven's so panicked getting chased by the locusts they don't notice it running in. The door is made of wooden planks with tiny gaps in between and you don't see a sign of any moon on the other side either.

Notably, in a trailer and promo shot, you see the moon featured prominently again for an upcoming trial, when Agatha and Billy cross a stone bridge structure and approach an entrance (presumably of the tower).

Clue #3 – Each trial has an element, this cabin doesn't

This was something that seemed odd even before this episode, we saw five weird horror movie-trope settings – assumed to be trials – in posters and promotional materials but there are only four identified elements for the Road.

Sure you could have more moon phases (like we do irl) but the Ballad that is central the show only mentions four elements: fire, water, earth, and air.

Our first two trials had strong ties with an element: if you failed you'd be killed by that element or something associated with it i.e. drowning or burning.

Now from the promos, an upcoming trial with the anti-gravity effect going on in a tower fits well with the air element. And the threat of death here is associated with going into the air (spikes in the ceiling).

Notice from the flying forms that this trial does go full-frame like the first two we certainly had (clue #1).

Another upcoming trial we know of (that looks like a morgue or asylum-like place) can be linked with the earth given that we see rocks and earth falling in a shot. Death by crushing earth.

This cabin had no element associated with it at all. The threat of death was by... Agatha siphoning your magic? Or in the case of Agatha, to be tortured forever by her mom?

Clue #4 – The trial area doesn't necessarily keep out the Salem Seven

From the promo shots of presumably the air trial (see above), we clearly see the Salem Seven in the tower attacking them. Why then did Locust and the rest of the Seven leave them alone in the cabin when they were right behind them?

Other sus elements

OK, these are more ambiguous and could be the result of bad writing but here's the other stuff in this "trial" that just seems off

The coven turns really really quickly on Agatha and viciously. And they literally just rode broomsticks where it's mentioned it's "about selflessness" and "we fly together or not at all". I mean yeah the people might lie but they were enough of a team that the magic for the broomsticks worked.

The trial's instruction was to just "punish Agatha"? That's oddly specific and pointed. Previous trials had the entire coven in danger (e.g. everyone had to drink the poison). Between this and the above point it feels like someone is mad at Agatha for killing lots of witches over the years. Some people like the Salem Seven.

The trials so far have tested the witch's ability in the craft (potion-making, protection) and how they work together. How does punishing or sacrificing Agatha align with the Road's test of "Burn and brew with coven true / And glory shall be thine" -- which we were just reminded of last week.

Jen calling and dismissing Billy as a familiar is... more mean-ness that I'd expect. You could make a case for her disliking Agatha, but the amount of venom in this moment towards the boy for trying is surprising considering she was trying to watch out for him not too long ago. Of course, it could be her frustration and fear in that moment boiling over.

Pretty much everything at the end after Billy snapping and going all dark and vengeful.

Ultimately we don't know what the Salem Seven can do. Sure they shriek like Nazgûl but turning into animals isn't the most threatening thing? So, bad writing and copium or is this show being truly tricksy and reality-bending?

[evilminji]

Okay, but... now I'm wondering >.>

@the-witchhunter We talked about Danny being Morningstar's feral, probably engineering oils and ectoplasmic goo covered, mad scientist/himbo hybrid (attack) purse dog. His special lil guy.

But!

I seek your Knowledge(TM).

From second hand accounts? He seems to HATE the hypocrisy. The blaming HIM for humanity's own choices. The rat race and endless song n dance of "Righteous Good VS. Cartoonish Evil". Because it let's humanity paint themselves the helpless victims. Because it's all surface level. Because it is not so easy to escape the ugliness of your Sins, yet they keep trying to scapegoat him.

Fuck um.

He was tired of it.

But? He still has CONSIDERABLE POWER. It's probably written down. And the Ring Of Rage? Is proooobably not the loveliest of artifacts? I imagine, like the Crown, it's NOT leaving Danny alone. One of those "we don't CARE if there is no throne left to sit upon, you WILL wear us, as King" sort of systems.

It genuinely would not and DOES NOT matter, if not a single soul in all the Zone bows to him. Did he defeat the previous holder of their Right To Rulership? Yes or No.

If No, fuck off.

If Yes, new monarch.

Is it hurting him? Not the rings problem. Nor the Crown's. Heavy is the weight, etc etc. But! DANNY would certainly care. He is... is ANGRY all the time now. Has no idea who would even MAKE this bullshit ring. Why JUST Rage? Yeah, it makes ghosts stronger, but at what COST?

He can't even get rid of it!

......by himself.

Luckily, he's still clear headed enough to know that he's NOT in this by himself. And it's amazing what "mom, dad, this ring is trying to drive me insane. Help me" in a terrified and tearful voice, can brush over. No one threatens their baby and all that.

It would honestly be hilarious, seeing the extended Fenton clan decend like LOCUSTS on Pariahs Keep, searching for clues, terrifying the local ghosts, if... if he wasn't so tired.

God he's so tired.

It's Aunt Alecia who... "politely encourages" a passing scholar to lend them the book they need. Took the poor sucker right out of the sky. Guy never stood a chance. RIP.

He learns he has to head..... over? Like... 27 that-ish way, then up. Huh. 27 WHAT?

Realities, apparently. He's in the wrong bundle. Branch? Neighborhood? Eh. Clan Fenton rolls back out, he packs his bags, and hilariously enough? Goes off to the devils night club. Hopes he likes rings. Or hates them.

Thankfully, being "king" means the Zone? Kinda... humors him? Like... it still has RULES(tm). He can... can FEEL that now. But it's willing to bend some for him, if he asks. And anything NOT against the rules? If it's in the right mood? He need only ask. It's weird. Being suddenly so powerful, yet NOT, at the same time.

Cause none of it's his.

All he has is the Zone's attention. The ability to ask pretty please. If you don't mind. And then? The highways between... ALL will just? Shift and change for him. He can see how it went to Pariah's head. The Zone is pretty agreeable. Is by nature Amoral, cause it's not a Being, it's... well, it's the Zone.

And everyone wants him to ask things. Do things. Demand this or that. Use this power.

Maybe he doesn't WANT too! Maybe he didn't WANT to be king! Doesn't he have the right to say NO? To refuse? Why do they think he OWES them service? An eternity of politics and people trying to kill him, for something he never wanted in the FIRST PLACE.

He's so tired.

The nightclub's pretty cool.

So he comes to ask, politely of course, cause the guy's probably busy, if Morningstar could... dunno, fix or destroy it? Want a ring, maybe? Also he heard you MADE the stars. Huge fan of all of that. Can I ask about the process? Or are you in the middle of something?

And? Lucifer? Turns around, from where he's Leaning Seductive Yet Elegantly(tm) to see... scrawny. Tiny corpse child. No... half? Corpse? Alive. Dying. Alive yet dying. Huh. Well, that is different. And here he didn't think he'd get see anything NEW. You, child, are NOT a zombie. What are you?

Halfa.

I have no idea what that is. What do you want?

He gets shown the ugliest, crudest, peice of shit ring imaginable. A genuine foul little curse. Really stinks up the place. He destroys it, obviously. This club has STANDARDS. Hope that wasn't important?

Kid just smiles the biggest fangy lil grin. No. No it was not.

Obvious, lie, but cute lil teeth. He'll allow it.

He gets dragged into talking about the stars. And talking. And talking. Mostly bragging and explaining. Kid hangs off his every word. Follows him around as he makes his rounds. Asks good questions. Completely focused, dispite the booze and barely dressed dancing all around him.

Lucifer can't help notice the crown.

Lovely little thing. Space ice and star dust, glittering like jewels and light catching the mist. If he remembers right... that one iiiiiis..... not Limbo, it's.... Zone! That crown is the Zone, it changes to suit the wearer. He recognizes the vibe. Awfully young, aren't you?

And.... it all burst forth. He didn't even need to press. Use persuasive words and honeyed tones. Like an inflamed, festering wound. The merest brush is enough to spill everything.

Negligence, greed, blood lust. Bigotry and xenophobia. A tyrants endless quest for power. Ah, humans. They truly don't change do they? Realities away, dead or alive. Now they're harrasing a child. He honestly looks miserable. Whereas just a moment before, listening to Lucifer talk about his work on the stars, his soul practically GLOWED with light. A tiny little star unto himself.

.......maybe it's the big ol "I'm you BIGGEST FAN" eyes. The sad wet cat aura. Perhaps the scrawny "could snap you like a twig" teenager, all elbows and knees. The fact he is, in fact, NOT human; for all that he once was. But?? The kid? Is... not terrible company.

He'd even go so far as to say? It's like having a pet intern.

He can sleep on the couch.

Tell you what, you stay here? I'll keep taking about stars and YOU can do the chores I don't feel like doing. I'll take care of you and all that.

And Danny? Honestly was sold at the word "stars" but? This sounds like a phenomenally terrible idea... and he has yet to meet one of THOSE he hasn't made out sloppy still with, so deal! But as a minor, that DOES make you his new gaurdian for the next four-ish years. He's legally obligated to finish schooling.

Ah.

.....well shit.

(Just? Local stressed 14-15 year old Ghost King does RESPONSIBILE thing and finds Adultier Adult. With more qualified Adult powers. Unfortunately for everyone, the adult is Lucifer Morningstar, night club owner. Even MORE Unfortunately, said ghost kind has pack bonded with the Nice Star Man, who saved him from the Bad Ring, and effectively offered to let him crash on his swanky couchs.

Now Morningstar has to? Somewhat VAGUELY pretend he gives a shit local schooling system, as he puts his charge INTO it. Actively giving waking terrors to the magical community. What evil plot is afoot? Where did he get this tiny minor death god? What is his end goal FOR said child?

No one knooooows~

But Lucifer is just doing this cause he's a Being of his word. He hates the tedious minor chores he'll be foisting off onto Danny. And? Most importantly? Look at that face. *shoujo sparkly eyes of Star Sempai Noticed Me!* it's like having a golden retriever puppy. Ffs he has STANDARDS.)

(It'd be hilarious to watch the hostile 5th dimensional chess DC characters have going on in the background, all while? Danny is like? Man! Isn't this universe GREAT? Everyone here is so CHILL! And nice to me! I'm so relaxed now! Finally, I can finish my education in peace.)

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[amirasainz]

Omg I've literally just read all of the works you have put up. LITERALLY LOVE ALL OF THEM. Could you write on where baby sainz has a panic attack while in the paddock because of the paparazzi and carlos gets mad and Alex, Rebecca, and Kika try to help her afterwards while the drivers take action.

Hi loves! This request was so hard to write. I hope I did good. Please send me some requests and enjoy reading. (The title got inspired by the Weeknd "Happy House". A great song) -XoXo

Happy House

Amira stood frozen in the center of the paddock, her senses assaulted by the relentless barrage of flashing cameras. The paparazzi had descended upon her like a swarm of locusts, their lenses hungry for every detail of her life. She had seen this happen to her brother, the other drivers, even the glamorous partners of the racing world. But never to her.

Her heart raced, and she fought to maintain composure. The tight circle of photographers closed in, their shouts echoing in her ears. She squinted behind her sunglasses, trying to locate a familiar face among the chaos. Her trusted members were nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of flashing lights.

Amira’s breaths came in shallow gasps. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She attempted to break free from the paparazzi’s grip, but their collective force held her captive. Tears welled up, blurring her vision. The questions hurled at her were like daggers, each one piercing deeper into her vulnerability.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos—a lifeline. “Hey, everybody, take at least seven huge steps away from her!” The male voice was authoritative, commanding. Amira’s blurred gaze fell upon her savior, but she couldn’t make out his features. He gently took her arm, leading her away from the suffocating crowd. Her dam broke, and tears streamed down her face, a mix of relief and exhaustion.

In that moment, the stranger became her hero, shielding her from the paparazzi storm. Amira wondered who he was, but gratitude overwhelmed any other thought. She clung to his arm, seeking solace in the unexpected sanctuary he provided. The world outside might still be chaotic, but within the circle of his protection, she found a brief respite—a chance to breathe.

“Shhhh, you’re alright, pequeño Sainz,” said the soothing voice of Sergio “Checo” Pérez. The two of them had interacted quite often already, because sometimes it was easier for Amira to speak Spanish with someone. And Checo had to listen to all the yapping from Max about her. And let it be known that Max could talk for hours about her.

He gently started to steer her away from the prying eyes of the public before he stopped them gently again. “Make sure that all these monsters are banned from the team garages ,” Checo ordered a Red Bull employee. “And someone inform her brother!”

“Vamonos,” he ordered Amira softly. They had to walk quite slowly because her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. Thankfully, after walking for about 5 minutes, Carlos ran towards them. At the sight of her big brother, she let out a big sob.

“Ohhh, Amira. Estás bien. Nadie puede hacerte daño ahora. No dejaré que nadie te toque,” Carlos whispered while he hugged her tight. Picking her up gently, he brought their little group to the Ferrari garage. At their entrance, the happy smiles from Rebecca, Kika, and Alexandra faded, replaced by concern and relief.

Carlos reluctantly released his grip on Amira, allowing her to be enveloped by the comforting embrace of the girls. Their whispered reassurances—“It’s okay, little dove,” “Deep breaths,” and “You did so well”—echoed in the air, soothing her frayed nerves. They settled her into a plush chair, each taking their place around her. Rebecca knelt in front of Amira, holding her trembling hands. Kika sat on her left, guiding her through calming breaths. Alexandra, on her right, gently stroked her hair.

As the girls tended to their princess, Carlos turned to Checo, his voice edged with urgency. “What happened?” he demanded, his eyes searching for answers. Checo’s calm demeanor contrasted with the tension radiating from Carlos. “I don’t know, mate,” Checo replied evenly. “One moment, I’m walking out from the media pen; the next, I see her surrounded by a horde of paparazzi.”

Carlos ran a hand over his face, his concern etched deep. He lowered his voice to a whisper, not wanting to alarm Amira further. “Thank you, Checo. Truly.” After a brief pause, he inquired, “Are those idiots still here?” Checo nodded in confirmation. Carlos’s resolve hardened. “Tell the others what happened. We’re meeting in ten minutes at the entrance. We’ll handle this ourselves—no FIA, no teams. And most importantly, no cameras.” The protective brother in him had awakened, ready to shield Amira from the storm that raged beyond the garage walls.

Carlos gently approached his sister, relieved that her breathing was now under control. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but the panic had subsided. Rebecca, seeing Carlos’s arrival, made space for him. He took her place, cupping Amira’s chin with one hand. "Look at me, hermanita,” he ordered softly. When Amira finally met his gaze, he reassured her, “Those idiots will never come close to you again. I promise you on my life. Aunque sea lo último que haga en mi vida.” His vow hung in the air, a shield against the world.

After a small nod from Amira, Carlos stood up, pressing a kiss to her hair. He instructed the girls to remain where they were. Unseen by anyone else, the wags exchanged glances—hesitation and unease etched in their eyes.

At the entrance, Carlos found a gathering of drivers. Some, like Nico and Kevin, surprised him. Nico explained, “I have a wife and a baby daughter. I want to make sure that nothing like that can ever happen again.”The others murmured their agreement. Before Carlos could outline the plan, Lance interrupted. “I’m sorry, but Lewis, did you seriously bring Roscoe here? I mean no offense, but he isn’t exactly—” Before Lance could finish, Roscoe growled, catching everyone off guard.

“Boys, attention!” Carlos commanded. “Now our plan looks like this…”

And if the media asked the next day why so many drivers had cracked knuckles or bruised eyes, they’d be met with smirks. Sometimes, actions spoke louder than words.

[astra-ravana]

Astra's List of Baneful Components

I hope to make this list as comprehensive as possible and will be adding to it whenever I discover something new. If anyone has any suggestions for things that should be added, please let me know. 🖤

Herbs/Plants

• Bloodroot- Substitutes blood

• Jezebel Root- Wickedness, ending relationships, punishing cheaters

• Bindweed- Binding, ensnaring

• Dogbane- Deception

• Rue- Misery

• Saffron- Destruction

• Lemon- Sourness/bitterness, reveals damaging truths

• Lemon Verbena- a boost of power, ending relationships

• Lime- Sourness/bitterness, encourages deceit

• Lobelia- Discord

• Hemlock- Discord, sadness

• Spanish Moss- Bad luck

• Vertiver- Silence

• Mace- Misery, strife

• Slippery Elm- Bad luck, negativity

• Bittersweet- Loss, sadness

• Mandrake- Misery, strife

• Mistletoe- Isolation, confusion

• Wormwood- Delusion, misery, strife, madness

• Sumac- Bad luck, negativity

• Mullein- Spirit work, nightmares

• Patchouli- Illness

• Mustard Seed- Strife, discord

• Hemlock- Destroys sex drive, break ups

• Poke Root- Confusion, upset

• Blackberry Root- Distress

• Myrrh- A boost of power

• Tobacco- Subs any baneful herb

• Belladonna- Discord, conflict, illness, suffering

• Cinquefoil- Discomfort

• Ague Weed- Confusion

• Blueberry- Confusion

• Cloves- Domination, stops gossip

• Stinging Nettle- Jealousy, discomfort

• Cramp Bark- Pain, illness

• Licorice Root- Domination

• Tormentil- Distress, harm

• Asafoetida- Drives enemies away

• Henbane- Emotional instability, melancholy, storms, spirit work

• Hot Peppers- Anger, fighting, discord

• Blackthorn- Illness, bad omens

• Elder- Suffering, spirit work

• Dittany- Mistakes, setbacks, depression

• Garlic- Disgust and repulsion

• Yew- Spirit work, destruction

• Onion- Disconnects relationships, strife

• Poppy Seeds- Intoxication, confusion, discord

• Foxglove- Manipulation, heartbreak, devastation

• Alum- Stops communication and speech, impotence

• Wolfsbain- Madness, loneliness, rage

• Knotweed- Binding, trapping

• Black Pepper- Revealing the truth, binding

• Green Apple- Unrequited love

• Radish- Sexual shame, STDs, infidelity

• Yohimbe Bark- Impotency

• Chicory- Discord

• Agrimony- Return to sender

• Datura- Psychic attack, nightmares, misery

• Bay Berry- Depression

• Angelica Root- Misery, strife, distress, discord

• Dragon's Blood- Destruction, pain, misery

• Chili Powder- Anxiety

• Bladderwrack- Illness, weakness

• Boneset- Distress, confusion

• Black Locust/Hawthorne Thorns- Struggle, agony, injuries, wounds

• Calamus- Control, domination, commanding, compelling

• Cocoa- Bitterness

• Black Mustard Seed- Confusion, discord, non-stop trouble

• Sumac- Discomfort, bad luck, painful lessons

• Willow Bark- A dose of their own medicine

• Stagger Weed- Disabling, trips them up

• Bar Berry- Stops progress

• Black Nightshade- Sickness, depression

• Oleander- Devastation, silence, doom

Crystals

• Opal- Amplifies negative energy (Black Opal works best)

• Ruby- Focuses intent on target

• Malachite- Anxiety, fear, cowardice, nausea

• Peridot- Confusion

• Obsidian- Reveal their darkness

• Petrified Wood- Ruin, abandonment

• Clear Quartz- Amplifier and energy holder

• Black Moonstone- Deceit, distrust, confusion, paranoia

• Onyx- Breakups, loss

• Amethyst- Self destruction, nightmares, paranoia

• Garnet- Siphons target's energy, steal their love/friends

• Diopside- Reveals a target's true colors

• Bloodstone- Sucks the life force from enemies, chaos, frailty

• Carnelian- Pain, anger, rage

• Black Quartz- Darkness

• Sardonyx- Return to sender

• Jet- Cloud their vision/blind them

• Serpentine- Illness, unsteady ground, mishaps

• Jade- Domination, control, manipulation

• Amber- Trapping, cause obstacles and setbacks

• Hematite- Negativity

Misc. Ingredients

• Salt- Painful cleansing, salt in their wounds

• Sulphur- Stops plans, causes harm

• Alcohol- Makes the work last

• Vinegar- Souring, dissolves relationships

• Pins/Needles- Pain and agony

• Thumbtacks- Makes the work stick in them

• Razor Blades- Sadistic actions, sharp words

• Broken Glass- Cut ties, emotional wounds

• Scorpions- Betrayal

• Spiders- Danger, ensnarement

• Wasps- Punishment, non-stop pain

• Grave Dirt- Enlists spirit's help

• Snakeskin- Removes them from your path

• Cigarette Butts- Snuff their will

• Thorns- Annoyance, pain

• Dog/Cat Poop- Rottenness, depression, life stinks

• Sticker Burs- Crippling emotional shock

• Spiderwebs- Crossing, binding

• Coffin Nails- Stay home, withdrawal, binding

• Lead- Weigh them down, make them late

• Black Salt- Misery, strife, banishment

• Dog Hair- Agression, combat

• Cat Hair- Passive-Aggression, conflict

• Bad Water- Stagnation, depression, illness

• Murder Scene Dirt- Crimes, complete ruin, terror, demise

• Nails- Binding, pain

• Thumb Tacks- Pain, discomfort

• Broken Glass- Disaster, accidents, injury, pain

• Blood- Longevity, boosts curse power

• War Water- Chaos, psychic warfare, banishing

• Razor/Barbed Wire- Pain, restriction, loss of freedom

• Fish Bones- Decay, bad reputation, loss of friendships

• Moths- Fragility, tunnel vision A

• Goofer Dust- Crossing, misfortune, illness

• Bone Ash- Instability, weakness, demise

• Storm Water- Destruction, upheaval, chaos

• Potato Eyes- Rot, loss of control, sickness

• Cat Claws- Helps curse cling to target, sudden agony

• Butterfly Wings- Loss of control, injury

• Egg Shells- Breaks down barriers and boundaries

• Ants/Ant Hill Dirt- Annoyance, overwhelming, banishing

• Hospital Dirt- Illness and injury

• Bullets- Devastation, destruction, suffering, demise

• Iron- Banishing, destruction

• Super Glue- Permanence, binding, damage

• Dirty Pennies- Financial loss

[jennifer-jeong]

Angst + Fluff | Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Next time

hehehe see what I did with the header picture, they're leaning on each other (you'll get it if you read)

SUMMARY Sukuna promises you he’ll be better for you in your next lives.

CONTENT NOT SPOILER FREE, suggestive, angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, it’s supposed to be a happy ending if you pretend that things don’t go according to canon LOL, very OC Sukuna so he actually has emotions, near death experiences, injuries, blood, death, suicide, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES I can’t write canon Sukuna because he doesn’t even like humans 💀 Basically this is pookie Sukuna LOL There’s a lot of deviation from canon in this fic. I'm probably going to make a smut portion to this in a separate fic so stay tuned hehe, I'll link it here if I finish it!

WORD COUNT: 2244 why did this turn out so long... maybe I actually do like him

Back in the Heian period (a millenia ago), Ryomen Sukuna, “the king of curses,” peaked in power. At the same time, you were just getting started with your adult life. Unfortunately at this moment, however, it seemed that it would be cut short. A strong, locust-like, curse manifested in your village and you’ve been trying your best to stop it but to no avail. In fact, it’s currently pinning your body to the ground, trying to bite your head off. You imagine that the curse came to be due to the fear of famine in your farms, but you didn’t think it’d be this strong. You struggle but the curse is much larger than you are. You don’t even know what your last words should be, your mind going blank in panic. Your life starting to flash before your eyes-

“I suggest you fuck off my turf,” says a dangerously domineering voice. The curse looks up down the road and sees something you can’t in your current position. You barely need to look to figure out who it is though. The curse above you freezes in pure fear and eases up on crushing your body in a jolt. You hear the same voice “tsk” at the curse’s “disrespectful” hesitation and suddenly the giant bug flies in a seemingly random direction before essentially exploding due to the force. You sit up slightly with shock evident on your face, you turn around to finally see your unfortunate savior. He takes your silent shock as confusion and explains “the area is mine… filthy curses have no right to do as they please around here.” Your body feels heavy from the sheer aura of power he gives off but you can’t help but still make a mildly disgusted face at him for what he’s saying. You’ve heard he treats humans like livestock and you have always despised him for having power like that and choosing to do this instead of something good. He makes an angered face back saying “hah?” and just when you start to regret your choice of facial expression, he rolls his eyes and walks away. You pause for a few seconds before taking a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You mutter a “thanks” that you don’t think he hears before heading back to your home to tend your wounds.

Sukuna had been watching you recently. It was no coincidence that he appeared in front of you that night. He first noticed you when you were able to kill any of the curses that attacked your village. He watched, quite amused, that you continued to struggle with no fear against these monsters while the rest of your idiotic village sat back and watched, some even calling you insane despite you saving their lives. Sukuna doesn’t understand why you don’t just beat up the humans that don’t listen. You let them take advantage of your kindness even though you could wipe them all out with an arm tied behind your back. You’re overly kind but you still have the guts to stand up to someone like him. He heard your small mutter of gratitude while he walked away and smiled slightly. He’s never met someone he actually felt bad for in this way. He’s found something he feels pity for, and it’s enough to make him want to protect it, treat it like it’s special.

So now you’re here, a few days later in his temple, bowing 90 degrees in front of him with an offering in your hand. You came here to show him respect for not killing you or the other villagers. He’s impressed you even found him and more impressed that you made the trek here. He walks towards you and reaches for your chin with his hand to make you look at him and stand up. His eyes inspect your slightly flustered face while his thumb very slightly caresses your chin. He releases his hold on your face and takes the offering. You stand there, still on guard and weary of the man. But you know he hasn’t done anything to your village in the time that you’ve been alive, you just know he’s the “disgraced one” and that it can’t be good.

For the next few weeks, your time is spent half at the village and half at Sukuna’s temple. He decided to help you with the journey by just teleporting you with a “simple” technique that you couldn’t comprehend. You slowly discover that Sukuna is actually just so strong he’s bored, no one really stands on equal ground with him. Even if all the sorcerers in the world fought him, he’s confident he’d win, and you don’t doubt it (canon).

He thinks it’s cute that you still go back to the village to help out here and there. He’s only okay with it now because he can watch over you and intervene if anyone wants to be rude. Many of the villagers are kind to you from a distance, only some actually approach you to thank you from time to time. A small group of the villagers unfortunately highly suspect you to be a curse of some sort though and don’t trust you because you’re so powerful. You’ve only ever done good with your power and you know that for a fact, so you ignore them. Sukuna, however, sits in his temple absolutely fuming whenever they interact with you, he’d maim them if you told him to, but you specifically told him he can’t hurt any humans unless they attack first.

Sukuna enjoys watching your little daily endeavors, smiling whenever you’re clumsy while cleaning or when you accomplish hunting down and killing some curses. It brings a sense of innocent joy to his life that he hasn’t ever really had. He’s had violent, murderous joy in his life, but nothing like this before. Some might say it made him soft, but really it made him stronger in a sense, he finally had something to protect.

As time goes on and seasons change, you and Sukuna only grow closer. You can’t explain why you’re still here with someone you used to hate with every fiber of your being. You think it might have something to do with how he actually sees you. He sees your struggle and your kindness and properly appreciates you for it. No one else in your life has done that for you. No one protects you and cares for you like he does. You also learned that he’s always been pretty good or at least neutral in using his power too. Only killing humans when attacked, beating up strong sorcerers but not killing them, and killing curses that bother him in his land. He was never actually as bad as the rumors made him out to be. Basically, Sukuna fell first and fell harder before you realized that you had fallen all the same.

Sukuna can’t help but be a little obsessive over you. You’re the only one he has eyes for afterall. He always checks in to make sure you’re safe when you aren’t at the temple and actually learns how to cook new dishes so he can feed you. His touches always linger on you: his hands on the small of your back, fingers brushing through your hair, lips ghosting over your skin. When you spend nights together, he’s essentially worshiping your body, telling you how beautiful you are and how he’s all yours. You make sure to return the favor and make him feel loved, it makes his heart feel so full and only deepens his love for you.

You’ve discovered overtime that Sukuna is actually human, he’s just so unbelievably strong and feared that people think he’s a curse. It was strange, you could almost draw a parallel between Sukuna and yourself. Both of you were feared by some because they just didn’t understand you or your intentions. It was an unfortunate part of this reality, but as long as you could live happily together, you didn’t really mind.

Another unfortunate part of this reality, though, was that things never go according to plan. Your plans of living happily together with Sukuna quickly fell apart soon after your 3 year anniversary. The sorcerers knew that they could use you to bait Sukuna and have a much better chance at defeating him. So that’s exactly what they did. They caught you when you were out in the village in the late summer. You were strong, but there were too many of them.

It was doomed before it even started.

In the end, Sukuna is out of energy, being forced to fight offensively instead of defensively if he wanted to save you. You managed to escape to return to him and help, but you were both quickly overwhelmed since the sorcerers decided to play dirty like this. You were both sitting outside of the temple, having teleported away to buy some time. You both just sit and talk. “Have we even killed anything other than curses recently?” you question. He chuckles at your seemingly lighthearted question in this situation, “not that I can think of… I think this was always coming for me though.” You look up at him with concern, he can only smile back even though you can see the clear sorrow in his eyes. “Humans are always scared of what they don’t understand. It’s just how it is” he says as he closes his eyes and enjoys the sun. The warmth drying the blood on both of you, some of it belonging to you both, most of it belonging to your attackers. You’re silent, not sure of what to say in what seems to be your last few moments. He leans on you and you turn your head to touch foreheads. He sighs and says “I’m glad I met you at all though… You showed me what being loved is like. It was something I never thought I’d find or deserve.” You start to tear up and reach a hand to caress his cheek. “You always deserved love, darling. I’m sorry the world was so horrible to you,” you say to him in a gentle voice. “Don’t apologize, love” he says as he kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around you.

“Maybe if we can get them to hate us enough, they’ll curse us together and we can live on like that” you say jokingly. He chuckles and says “wow you really do like me, huh?” You both laugh and hold each other.

A group of sorcerers are within view and are approaching fast. You give him one last kiss and speak your last words to him: “maybe we’ll reincarnate together someday. Maybe as curses, maybe as humans.” His eyes soften with sadness written all over his face “if that happens, I promise our lives won’t be like this one… I want to be a good man for you next time… I’d give all this power up if I could just live a long and happy life with you.” You close your eyes as tears fall. Your eyebrows scrunch as the pain washes over you, physically and emotionally. You see him tear up ever so slightly and whisper “I’m sorry for all the trouble, my love.” “Just make it up to me next time,” you giggle. He knows you never blamed him. He smiles.

You always knew what you were getting into when you approached Sukuna. It was dangerous, delusional, and stupid. But you know you would’ve never had it any other way.

You both still sat side by side, foreheads touching, holding each other. You quickly charged two shots of cursed energy. One piercing his skull, the other, yours.

You eventually become a small part mentioned by people when they retell the tale of the king of curses. Many described you as a traitor or as a curse. But some could see that you prevented Sukuna from spiraling deeper into his distaste for humans. Without you, he might have become a sadistic psychopath as time went on since no one would have any way to kill him. They praised you for that, thinking you did it on purpose to save the nearby villages. Both these ideas were lost in history though. In modern times it’s only written in some books at jujutsu high as hypotheses. No one truly knew what happened.

Sukuna’s powers sealed into his fingers upon death. A technique he used on himself before he met you and one he long forgot about. The sorcerers, out of fear, scattered his indestructible fingers to prevent anyone getting their hands on them and reincarnating the king of curses. Hoping to keep the man dead.

Again, reality makes sure things don’t go to plan, and it’s Yuji’s first day meeting some of his classmates. Sukuna has been wondering what to do since he’s been reincarnated into Yuji’s body. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet in Yuji’s mind and it makes everyone question if Sukuna is really the evil being they all thought he was.

Sukuna is barely paying attention until he feels a familiar warmth walk into the room, not even needing to see you to know who you were. He couldn’t believe it, he almost laughed, thinking that the universe really brought you two back together after more than a thousand years. But he paused, suddenly serious because he realized he had a chance to make things, not right, but different.

After class, Sukuna switches with Yuji, and lo and behold, you show him the exact same disgusted face you made to him centuries ago when he came to greet you in Yuji’s body. It made him smile as he let out a whisper,

“I missed you.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[lukolathoughts]

The art of bullying

I have thought a lot about the great literary heroes and heroines I could mention for this blog post. There is Harry Potter, who was so mercilessly bullied by his cousin Dursley and his aunt and uncle that he was forced to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs and even when released from that torment, he was still bullied by his adoptive family until the day they fled Privet Drive. There is also the courageous Jane Eyre who receives similar cruel treatment at the hands of her aunt and cousins and endures so much torment, she cannot bear her own reflection. She is a ghost of her former self. Who could forget Stephen King's Carrie. I think we all remember what happened with the infamous pig's blood scene and lets just say, that didn't end well. There is also our beloved Penelope Featherington who again is bullied by her sisters and mother right up until the end of season three. The bullying of Pen by Cressida Cowper was also agonising for me to watch, especially when she rips Pen's dress in episode one of season three and Eloise does nothing to stop it. It's an arrow to my heart that scene.

I also often return to my girl Elpheba from Wicked. A misunderstood figure simply because she was green and had magical powers. She was not afraid to stand up for the animal community when no one else would. She knew she was different and she embraced those differences to stand against a powerful force who had an army behind him. An army with minions and flying monkeys screeching overhead like locusts waiting to dive down and attack.

I do not pretend to compare myself to Elpheba, I mean I'm no soprano, and I do not think I have magical powers either. I have said consistently that my readings are purely for fun and entertainment purposes only. I do NOT know Nicola and Luke personally. I have never met them. They have no idea who I am. I simply read tarot and give my OPINION. Opinion is NOT fact. I can only read the energy of the cards as they come out. I could be wrong, I am not afraid to say that publicly. I am obviously also a Lukola, so I will admit I probably have some biases. I do try and separate myself from those though and read the cards objectively as I can. If you don't like my posts or content, block me or scroll on past. How are my humble opinions affecting you in your life? I have a small proportion of followers and people who like my readings and that is enough for me.

I have dealt with bullies my entire life. I remember some boys pulling my glasses off when I was five and snapping them in front of me. I have been called the most horrendous names and I'll be honest, high school was tough. But I'm also a strong person as I have endured a lot of crap. I am a mother also and nowadays I don't take much crap. What has always made me different in the views of others is my tenacity and spirit and the fact I will not give up even when the going gets tough. During my teacher training practice, I was paired with the most dreadful person. Lets call her Karen. Very dark energy, but I was also pleasant with her and I tried my best. She was often passive aggressive and made derogatory comments for no reason. Things like this leave me perplexed because I just don't have it in me to be mean to others, especially in real life. I am an empath and whatever energy I give out, I receive it too. It literally hurts me to hurt others.

Anyway, the one day I received a high grade on a teaching observation I had done and Karen said to me that the assessor who had observed me teach must have been having an off day and felt sorry for me. You know sometimes when people say awful things to you and you can't process them properly? This was a moment like that. Until, a while later I realised why she said it. Oh, yes my friends the J word. Karen was as green as Elpheba's face.

Now I'm not saying that the troll who had me mass reported and subsequently had my X account suspended is jealous of me. Not at all, I'm not that big headed. But I did get under her skin somehow, didn't I? So what is it 'matty bee Nicola's wh**e', (I'm sure Nic would love that name by the way - not) what did I do that was so egregious that you set your flying monkeys on me? What seven deadly sin are you conjuring if not envy, is it wrath? Did the call come from higher than you? Or is it hurt pride that that I might be right? Is that what scares you? I mean if I'm sprouting lies and nonsense, what is there to fear from me right? I'm just some nutcase tarot reader on the internet. No threat at all.

Or is it your lust for Nicola that has made you so hateful? In my last blog I wrote about the split within in the fandom. I failed to mention the solo Nicola fans who would hate to see her with either Luke or Jake and it's not because they think she is better off without a man and we should celebrate Nicola's achievements solo, it's because they want Nicola for themselves. It is some messed up stuff in my opinion. Luke being in the background these last few days must be incredibly triggering for both the Jakeholes and the Solo Nic stans. So they come for me and come for me they did indeed. In droves and not only that, they admitted it gleefully all over the X timeline and in their little group chats. How stupid have you got to be to admit this publicly? I also know that if I have received bullying then Nicola and Luke have received it tenfold. is it any wonder they are barely active on social media these days. Keyboard warriors think they are clever hiding behind their screen, but it's just pure cowardice.

There have been others bullied off their social media platforms by these trolls and they know who they are. They went one step further with me and forced me off. It is actually quite funny, because it won't stop me talking. On the contrary, dear Watson. Nothing short of a kamikaze missile is taking me down. I am here to see this through come hell or high water.

What happens to Cressida Cowper at the end of season three of Bridgerton? Spoiler, but she is penniless, unmarried and being shipped off to the country with her aunt while simultaneously Colin and Pen christen their marriage bed. The Wizard is banished from Oz on his hot air balloon. The Dursley's end up losing their home and sanity. What I'm trying to say is, what goes around comes around and small victories can often lead to bigger losses.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

[ashpeth]

The first Aetherdrift stories released today and they got me thinking about this set, about Magic as a whole and about current world events and attitudes.

While it is easy to dismiss Aetherdrift as just another “Magic characters in hats” set, like the common and not wholly deserved (or undeserved) criticism aimed at MKM and OTJ and DSK, it has been made clear that, at least from a story and worldbuilding perspective, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

This set is about change. More specifically, its about change versus tradition, the forward movement of culture versus the knee-jerk reaction to stay in what is known and comfortable, the future versus the past and the hope for a better tomorrow mixed with a desire to move past what didn’t work before versus a fear of what we could lose combined with a revulsion for the new.

We see this with the change from Kaladesh to Avishkar. This plane that represents invention and a bright future has its own past (both in and out of universe) to reckon with. In “The Dashing and the Desperate,” Episode One of the Aetherdrift Story by K Arsenault Rivera, we see this dichotomy represented with Spitfyre/Sita and her formerly wealthy conservative father Mohar Varma. In the morning we spend with him, he continually deadnames Avishkar, laments the changing of the status quo and puts up a facade as if to convince himself that nothing has changed, with the lavish breakfast that goes to waste and his complaints about being treated the same as “commoners”. On the other hand, his daughter Sita is the masked star of the Aether Rangers and only feels herself while in her Spitfyre persona. She is an integral part of the change her father so despises and laments. Mohar is all about traditional roles, both politically and personally. He longs for the old days of the Consulate and the social structure that it instituted and the only future he can imagine for their two person family is for Sita to get married to a wealthy individual (likely a man, but that’s not confirmed or denied anywhere in the text). It is clear that Mohar only respects wealth and status as he understands it, as it had been, not how things have become in this new and egalitarian society.

Change is an integral part of life and is not inherently good or bad - it simply is. Regardless of how common it is, we tend to resist it. It is impossible to know with any certainty what the outcome of change will be and that scares a lot of people.

In Hour of Restoration by Hadeer Elsbai, the first side story for Aetherdrift, we see Basri Ket on Amonkhet trying to bring his deceased god Oketra, back. With the help of Mahitab and Niharet, the two survivors from his crop, as well as Marunaten and Marinaten, human twin embalmers, Basri seeks to find the embalmed Temmet and hopefully return Oketra to life with his help. Along the way, they delve into the trauma left by Bolas and his tyrannical reign on Amonkhet. Niharet had been buried alive by angels for speaking out too many times about old, dead gods (like The Scarab God/Scorpion God/Locust God, or the Chitin Court, as they would come to be known). She had been rescued by Mahitab during the Hour of Devastation, but is still traumatized by her ordeal. Upon finding Temmet, they are attacked by monarchs from the Chitin Court who seek to reclaim Temmet for themselves. Niharet sides with them and ultimately leaves with them. The rest of the group is rescued by a god who reveals himself to be Ketramose, the son of Oketra, brought here by Basri’s faith in Oketra.

This story highlights the same conflict of past and future, change and tradition, but in a different form than “The Dashing and the Desperate.” Basri seeks to bring Oketra back, but to heal Naktamun from its trauma left by Bolas and the Phyrexians. Niharet seeks to help the Chitin Court, as she believes that, as the original Amonkheti gods, they are uniquely positioned to help transform Amonkhet into what it should be, as it was in the ancient past.

Both parties are parties of change, but Basri wants Amonkhet to be able to move forward, while Niharet only wants to move backwards to the pre-Bolas times. This contrast is further highlighted by the fact that Basri, who seeks to rejuvenate a dead god, finds a new one and decides to move forward and is opposed by Niharet, who works solely with undead gods and their undead priests. While she still seeks change from the status quo, Niharet’s change is one that erases progress and trauma instead of dealing with it and healing and moving forward.

Magic has been going through some changes the last few years that have not been widely liked or accepted. The largest change is ahead of us in 2025, where there will be three Universes Beyond sets, all of which will be standard legal. Half of the sets coming out in this new year will be of IPs other than Magic’s. It is not an exaggeration to say that many Magic players are upset by this. Several Universes Beyond products have sold well and been acclaimed by people in the community as good additions to Magic. Others have been less successful, such as Assassin’s Creed. Even successful products such as Lord of the Rings have brought problems, like the format-warping One Ring or the very powerful Orcish Bowmasters.

There is a lot of frustration surrounding Universes Beyond, as many players feel, not unfairly, that the influx of products are just another cash grab by a company that has flooded the market with more and more products over the last few years in order to squeeze every last penny from Magic players. Hasbro seems so intent on slaughtering its golden goose with its greed, destroying its reputation and goodwill in the process with products like Magic 30th Anniversary Edition or certain business decisions such as the limited print run Secret Lair. In 2024 draft boosters and set boosters were replaced by their new synthesis: Play Boosters, which have also been polarizing.

Things change constantly. To try to prevent that is futile. It has now been 25 years since the new millennium. There has been plenty of progress since then and just as much, if not more, backlash against it. Like Mohar on Avishkar, demographic changes have begun threatening the hegemonic power of the wealthy and powerful. Political movements, especially in the last ten years have reflected that backlash to perceived changes to the status quo of social mores and roles. Increased immigration and acceptance of queer people have inspired fear of loss of power and brought some of the most virulent and hateful politics to the mainstream.

We are living in a time of great change and every day something new happens. It can feel exhausting to try to keep up with it all. I think the Aetherdrift story is going to represent that really well. I’m excited to see where it goes!

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Locust

The Locust was one of the most common BattleMechs in existence, having been in continuous production since the design was first introduced by Bergan Industries in 2499. One of the smallest 'Mechs ever built, the Locust was designed exclusively for reconnaissance and quick strike missions, using its then-phenomenal speed to outrun most enemies. In a situation where it was unable to outrun its enemies, the 'Mech did have a light array of weapons with which to defend itself, but the Locust lacked the firepower or staying power to be a true front-line combatant and as a result few MechWarriors enjoyed piloting Locusts. Within its weight-class though, the Locust was considered an excellent 'Mech, overshadowed as a scout only by designs which mounted jump jets. Often when a Locust engaged in combat it was as a holding action until reinforcements could arrive, although when operating in groups of three they could swarm lone enemy 'Mechs that were separated from friendly support.

The main weapon of the LCT-1V Locust was a single Martell medium laser mounted in the center torso. Backing this up were two Sperry Browning machine guns, which effectively deterred infantry attacks against the Locust's vulnerable legs. These were located in either arm and fed by a one-ton ammo bin located in the center torso. Lacking hand actuators the Locust was vulnerable to other 'Mechs when engaging in close combat.

The primary asset of the Locust was its speed, using a 160-rated fusion engine to attain a cruising speed of 86.4 km/h and top speed of 129.6 km/h. This speed is necessary for the 'Mech's survival, since four tons of armor means the Locust can be quickly crippled or destroyed by direct hits. The standard engine-mounted 10 heat sinks are sufficient in most cases, although those variants which mount more energy weapons can suffer.

Bergan Industries built Locusts from eight different factories and supplied the Star League and its member states right through to the Amaris Civil War. During the Succession Wars the number of manufacturers increased and the design was being built in nearly a dozen factories, including ones in the Periphery. The wide variety of manufacturers meant production costs for the 'Mech were low and parts were widely available, leading to everyone from lowly pirates to corporate defense forces buying Locusts in large numbers. It also led to many different variants of the Locust, including a failed Davion version mounting a PPC, although those in the Periphery were largely limited to building the original LCT-1V model.

As the Succession Wars wound down those manufacturers within the Successor States began to experiment with new and rediscovered technology to build updated versions of the Locust. The Capellan Confederation in particular modified the Ares facility to build the LCT-1L variant of the Locust with a version of the Triple Strength Myomer that wouldn't catch on fire. Other updated variants, including the LCT-3D, LCT-3M, and LCT-3S were introduced just in time to take part in the Clan Invasion. After the war the Word of Blake approached Corean Enterprises about creating a new Locust variant for their militia, agreeing to buy the entire first production run to assuage the company's misgivings. The various Periphery powers, still largely reliant on the Locust, also began fielding updated variants of their own, although none of the Great Houses were much interested in revitalizing the line. Even into the thirty-second century though the Locust continues to be produced and used out in the Periphery.

* Manufacturers:

The following manufacturers produced the Locust at some time. Models and planets are noted where known. Vicore Industries was licensing its Locust variants to other companies by 3067.

- Bergan Industries has produced the Locust throughout its history, even licensing it to the four Periphery powers before the Amaris Coup.

- Ares: The 1V was in production from its introduction through at least 3054, by then being produced in limited numbers for triple-strength myomer testing using its 1L refit. The 1E was introduced in 2811, commissioned by the Capellan government to reduce dependence on ammunition. Production of the 1Vb was revived during the Jihad. The variant produced in 3080 was not specified. Bergan introduced its 7V during the ilClan era; the 7V2 is presumably a refit or production variant of the Bergan product.

- New Earth: The 1Vb Royal SLDF model was produced from its introduction in 2610, ceasing during the collapse of the Star League.

- Achernar BattleMechs' main facility was on New Avalon. The West Fabrication Facility on Achernar was a longtime producer of IndustrialMechs before its capture by the Word of Blake, who converted the plant to produce the Osprey; the plant was destroyed in June 3077.

- The WFF facility produced the 5W variant before its destruction.

- The New Avalon facility was producing the 3D in 3050 and 3054. They purchased the 5M license from Corean, with production starting in 3067.

- Alliance Defenders Limited: Produced the 1V in 3025, 3050, and 3054. The 3080 production model is not known.

- Bordello Military Goods, Inc. was producing an unspecified variant on Antwerp in 3080.

- Clan Ghost Bear salvaged the Locust line on Alshain after its conquest, producing the 1V by 3054.

- Corean Enterprises MacAdams-Suharno: Corean produced the 3M in its Stewart plant in 3050 and 3054. The 5M was part of the Project Phoenix revival, with the Word of Blake receiving the entire first production run during the early Jihad. The 6M was in production by 3071 and still going in 3085. The model produced in 3080 is unknown, though the 5W2 was in production by 3085.

- Defiance Industries: Defiance produced the 3S on Furillo in 3050 and 3054. The 5S was a Jihad-era design. The version produced in 3080 is not specified. Near the start of the ilClan era, they introduced the 7S.

- Diplass BattleMechs produced the 1V on Timbuktu until the SLDF invasion of the Rim Worlds Republic.

- Gibson Federated BattleMechs: FWDI produced the 3M at its Gibson facility in 3050 and 3054.

- Interstellar Armaments on Rockwellawan was producing the 1V in 3145.

- Majesty Metals and Manufacturing: MMM produced the ubiquitous 1V in 3025, 3050, and 3054. MMM was producing one or more variants on Canopus IV and Dunianshire in 3080.

- Pinard Protectorates Limited on MacLeod's Land still produced the 1V in 3050 and 3054. In 3080, PPL was producing an unspecified variant.

- Protectorate Military Industries on Erod's Escape was producing an unspecified variant in 3145.

- Rim Motors on Otisberg was producing an unspecified variant in 3145.

- Taurus Territorial Industries on Taurus was producing the 1V in 3050 and 3054. In 3080, TTI produced an unspecified variant.

The site or even producer is not always known or specified in available documents:

- The Marian Hegemony was fielding the 1V2 by 3067, though its source was unknown.

- The Magistracy of Canopus and Taurian Concordat were producing the 5V by 3067.

- The "Periphery-born" 5T was in use by the Capellans by 3085. The use of a machine gun array implies a Taurian origin.

(okay, holiday break is over, back to posting polls!)

[sofarfarout]

Got Enki's S Ending, here are my disjointed thoughts

-This took like four days between work and just being bad at the game

-Dash Dash Dash, Enki is running around the funger dungeons in the soaps from Sonic Adventure 2

-Greater Hurting carried early game

-I died more to the elite guard in front of the blood pits elevator lever than almost any boss, fuck these guys

-swarm of locusts my beloved, if nobody else got me I know my locusts got me

-i lost an arm early on but that's it, thank you salmonsnake soul

-Nosramus is my best friend, they just wanna make their little homunculus and chill

-a lot of the bigger fights can be cheesed and that works for me because I'm stupid

-knight isn't bad, just run when the spectre shows up and fight them again, rinse and repeat til the armor is all gone

-Francóis is cake, just talk to him and tell him he's a little bitch and he won't attack for three turns, focus the limbs and then the head when he goes gold

-Big brain boy can also be trivialized with poison darts and talking, answer the questions right for good damage on all parts

-tormented one is kind of a bitch, use poison early and explosives to jam the wheels

-Nameless is straightforward, just focus the limbs

-my skeletons Sans and Sans 2 are my dream pipe rotation

-Sylvian wasn't too bad, leg sweep gets the little tentacles and blood golem can sponge some hits, locusts are based, have lots of ale and whiskey for this one

-don't forget to equip the soul anchor

-the ending image wouldn't load idk if that was because of my censor mod or what

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

Saw your Bug!Vicagent.

... could you please give us some more tidbits of them in your Au? Because I've been staring at that post since you posted it lol-

I'm so normal about them /j

Sure! :DD I don't have any references for them on hand, but these two images show their designs pretty decently.

Agent is a pretty rare case of a tall dragonfly, so he's one of the lucky few bug species who can still fly.

Victim is a very special case: a cordyceps fungus in a locust host. Cordyceps are pretty rare, and locusts are just as rare. Locusts aren't born, they are triggered. Usually from a grasshopper or cricket, after going through an extreme trauma they become locusts, but the only locusts discovered are dead. Victim is no different.

Cordyceps are also pretty weird. Most cordyceps simply take the body and woe. zombug be upon ye. However, ancient Roaches wanted to try and replicate immortality and thus began the kidnapping of other bugs and experimenting on different species and themselves with cordyceps. It IS possible for somebody to live on thanks to the fungus, as the fungus can take and hold memories rather than replacing them. Only thing is, those cases tend to be artificial due to the extremely specific requirements

That being magic and a strong body. Poison and Ice are the easiest kinds of magic to work with, and one of the few species that can physically handle the cordyceps and magic without overloading the fungus are moths.

Victim got lucky. He was Alan's first little experiment when he discovered that bugs come from little larvas and eggs and if he grows his own bug then he can have endless entertainment. Victim couldn't fight back well against Gammas or whatever other Deadlanders Alan threw at him, but Alan is observant. He knows bugs use roach crystals to heal by hitting them. So he basically impales Victim alive with a crystal and murders him lmao

Cordyceps finds Victim's body and attaches to it, and he got lucky enough to where the tiny shards of crystal stuck in his system was just enough for the fungus to hold his memories and self. So victim basically becomes the fungus.

BUT THAT IS STILL NOT GOOD. It was sheer luck and because hes not even a moth the connection is pretty unstable. In a strong bond, there would be no worry about reverting to the zombie-like state, but since his connection is so unstable it can get triggered.

On the bright side, this makes him a living magic detector. Its how he finds one of the shards of the Wasp King's crown so easily, which allows him to brainwash Chosen One. On the ugly side, you get this:

This happens after Victim tries and fails to kill Alan. He basically gets really pissed that Alan doesn't want to kill him anymore, that he isnt even trying to fight back, and starts mentally spiraling because of it. He compares himself to the other Hollows which are all sorcerers and have magic, and chalks up his failure and lack of control over the situation to that lack of magic.

So to fix that he basically ditches everyone and goes to Snakemouth Den, aka the original lab where the Roaches experiment cause goddamn that place is potent with it you can literally see it in the air. Basically goes there and something something recreating the events of trauma so you can control the outcome, smashes a shit ton of the crystals into smaller shards.

Agent brings the color gang into this (the only mercenary who knows about vics situation) because he had a feeling shit would go wrong and boy was he right. Victim drives the crystals through his exo-skeleton and

he does it. he gets poison magic. but he still gets knocked down easily so rinse and repeat of him attacking, getting beat, healing by impaling with a crystal, and so on. But yeah the more magic he siphons from the roach crystals the more it makes the fungus kinda lose it and slowly but surely the grip the fungus has on his memories and self starts slipping and the instincts from the fungus and the sentience starts getting blurred. Yeah sorry victim in your obsession and greed for control for others you lost control of yourself

Basically a boss fight at that point, feral zombie vic vs his loyal lapdog of a bug and 5 children. At first its just operating off of the instinct of getting them OUT of the territory, but he also burns through the magic really quickly which means he needs more and oh look at that cute little bee hes full of magic. Basically a stalling game of blocking off the exist and making sure he doesnt rip the crystal stuck in seconds head out.

Eventually they win and after a quick revive from Second, an unconscious victim gets carried to an inn by Agent and everyone leaves the caves that day with so much trauma yippeeee

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 8 — A Hazy Temptation

—☾—

Someone is attacking the desert.

The foundations of their base shutter between each thunderous boom, and ever-growing cracks clung along the seam of every wall.

There’s shouting, screaming, and Scar’s sword is in his hand and its grip is wrong against his palm and his mind roars but he can’t get his bare feet to unstick from the sandstone beneath him—

Scar wakes in a single heaving gasp.

Sleep’s syrupy pull tugs at his heavy limbs and seeps into every pore, and it’s burning; suffocating. The thunderous rumbling falls heavy against his ears and it won’t stop.

He forces a breath through his smoke-clogged throat, then another. Belatedly, he realizes the sound is his own pounding heart rattling within his own chest.

In, out. The sturdy beams above him support an intact ceiling. In, out. The desert is quiet around him, and the light of the nearly-full moon spills in through the slim window on the opposing wall, a pretty contrast to the faint embers still crackling in the furnaces. In, out. Grian slumbers on by his side, warm, trusting, vulnerable.

The thought nearly chokes Scar as he scrambles against it, desperate to keep his clear lungs. Beneath his gray skin, something red-hot and razor-edged buzzes like a swarm of locusts, eager to consume; eager to destroy. Bloodlust is a stranger beside him no longer, but its lingering presence will never be something Scar regards as a friend.

Checking on Grian is as much of a comfort as it is a distraction. He’s in his sweater and bundled beneath the blanket cast over them both, the desert nights too cold for—if he’s honest with himself—the lack of clothing Scar insists upon. His face is relaxed and his left arm hangs partially off the bed.

He doesn’t want to hurt him. He’s scared that he might.

Scar scooches back until he’s as far away from his partner as he can manage without falling off the narrow bed. He mourns the line of brisk air wedged between them and begs his brain to come up with something, anything else to think about. The thoughts are sluggish to break through the haze that seems to circle his head, and Scar holds each one he can get a grip on tightly. Slowly, in fits and starts, he recounts to himself a familiar tale.

It starts with an ingenious scheme and enough silver-tongued sweet talking to fill a barrel or few. It starts with a prank gone wrong and a promise of devotion laid at his feet. It starts with a sunset over newly claimed land and a partner on the llama at the end of Scar’s lead.

Alliances rise and fall; enemies are made and plotted against. Tensions grow as the number of lives dwindle. Grian, a green life who shouldn’t yet know the taste of blood, kills three and breathlessly declares it in Scar’s name and Scar can’t do this.

With trembling fingers, Scar moves the blanket aside as gingerly as he can and holds his breath as he lifts himself off the mattress. With one leg swung over the side of the bed, he starts to get up—

A hand gently, clumsily wraps around his wrist.

“Scar?” Grian’s voice is sleep-heavy and rough around the edges. Scar freezes. “What are you doing up?”

Scar collapses back into bed at Grian’s light tug, and his heart starts its nervous drum once more. Grian’s facing him now, and he’s hardly awake but his eyes are crinkled with concern.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Scar replies after a beat too long.

Grian hums slightly. “Insomnia loves a friend, doesn’t it? Stay with me; I’ll keep you company.”

Scar could cry. Wordlessly, he nods, and tries his best to get comfortable. Grian’s hand finds his own beneath the blanket and he interlocks their fingers, warmth pulsing softly between their palms. The tightness wound around Scar’s body slowly starts to thaw.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scar says quietly, after the silence has stretched on long enough that he’s sure Grian has fallen back asleep, and saying it out loud brings a sort of hesitant relief that cuts through his quiet suffering. The bloodlust isn’t him. It can’t be.

“You won’t,” Grian says, and his voice startles Scar. He shapes the words like something absolute, like he’s not in bed with a red life and the world around him isn’t one ruled by death.

Scar believes him.

He believes him even more when Grian unlaces their hands so he can throw his arm over Scar’s hip, pulling them closer together until his head rests lightly against Scar’s collarbone. Scar rests his own arm against Grian’s back and squeezes him lightly; Grian responds by snuggling further into him.

The story that dances behind Scar’s eyes stops and starts spinning again like a disk set upon a jukebox; violent throes melt away into the golden light cast against the kitchen floor the first time he and Grian baked together. Aching pins and needles soften to the sensation of running his hands along Pizza’s shaggy coat, and shared laughter drowns out the calls for blood.

Scar couldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t.

He won’t.

[albertfinch]

Exhortation - January 16, 2025

Have you felt like you've gone into the grave? Have you felt like it is over, and the enemy thinks he has you beaten? This may have felt like a season of handing over the broken pieces of dreams -- watch as God breathes new life into what you thought was dead and impossible to raise.

"Therefore prophesy and say to them: 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says: My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel.'" (Ezekiel 37:12)

NOTHING can stop what God is doing right now. You may feel warred against on every side, pressed, persecuted, and backed into a corner, but God is moving in your life in ways you can't see yet, but soon will. Closure is happening, and a new beginning in heart, environment, and mission is already underway. For all the taunts and constant attacks, NOTHING has been held back, or prevented, that God has promised for your Christ calling. Things may have been delayed and diverted for a time, but they have not been destroyed.

God bringing you into a time of fresh baptism of fire and intimacy with the Lord -- God bringing you into a time of dreaming again, and "re-visioning" -- God restoring the years that the locust has eaten -- God is taking you through the process of speaking with new themes and messages which He is preparing for you to carry.

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[tabletopmonsteroftheweek]

Return the Slab...

Yeah

This one I was a bit indecisive on what type of Phenomenon it'd be, so I included two types

Phenomenon: King Ramses’ Curse

Type: Panic (motivation: to make people act irrationally) OR Zone (motivation: to harm anyone in the area where the slab is)

Power: King Ramses’ Curse has three plagues listed on the slab, with a 4th symbol showing himself. The symbols on said slab will vanish when the curse is in play. A few hours after first obtaining the slab, King Ramses will manifest and demand the slab to be returned to those nearby. If refused, he will cast the curse. During that time he will watch on, and when the curse passes demand the slab once more. This will repeat until all curses have gone through.

1st curse: Floods. The area in which has the slab will begin flooding uncontrollably

2nd curse: Noise. Overwhelming noise will consume the area, not leaving a moment for any silence.

Final curse: Locust. Ravenous locusts are sent into the area, devouring anything and anyone in sight. It will not stop until the slab is returned, or all in the area is consumed.

The presence of the Slab makes others act a bit irrationally as well, where they will attempt to keep it for themselves or try to sell it off to a high bidder. People in the area will have this nagging feeling to search for it, to the point that when its found they will fight and possibly hurt each other for it. Those that are in possession of it will refuse to give it up, may hide it away, and/or even kill to keep it for themselves. If offered a high enough price they may give it up. They will never listen to King Ramses.

When the slab is moved to a different location, the curses reset.

Weakness: The simplest way to stop all this from happening is to return the slab, either by bringing it back to Egypt or handing it over to King Ramses’ spirit. The slab can be returned at any time, even during the curses.

1st Curse: easiest solution is to drain the flood water somewhere, especially if its in a building.

2nd Curse: plugging your ears will help muffle the sounds, but you must make the area soundproof to fully stop the noise. Sometimes the source of the noise will manifest that you can find and destroy.

Final Curse: none, returning the slab is the only way to stop it.

Custom Moves:

ITS MINE! The Slab has a weird effect that people always want it and refuse to give it up once obtained, believing it can make them rich beyond their wildest dreams. Hunters can be influenced by the effect when they first enter the area that is affected by The Slab. They must roll +weird to avoid getting affected.

On a 10+, they resist the effect until the Slab is relocated.

On a mix, they have a choice: they either resist the effect or follow its influence. If they do the latter, they mark experience.

On a miss, they follow its influence, attacking the other hunters if they get too close to the slab. They take -1 ongoing in the Slabs presence.

The Noise! The 2nd Curse brings an overwhelming amount of noise into the area. If the hunters don't have any noise-suppressing ear muffs or plugs, they take -1 ongoing until some are aquired or the cursr ends.

[atamascolily]

While we're waiting for the Thunderbolt Fantasy final (sob) movie to come out, here are some of my predictions/wishes/hopes for what's going to happen:

-the demon gods are banished/sent back to their original realm. Once they are gone, there's no more need for the Shen Hui Mo Xie, so those will also go (probably also back to their original world, where they'll just be ordinary swords). I would love it if the Index became sentient and chose this fate, though!!

-Shang might use the scrying mirror he picked up from Xing Hai for one or both of these things OR he might save it for some secret timey-wimey thing bringing his own life full circle (although I really hope that isn't what actually happens). One way or another, he's gonna use it, though.

-with no more swords to guard, the Hu Yin Shi dedicate their lives to healing the world/Wasteland of Spirits, where their new fortress happens to conveniently be located. Unless the Lotus MacGuffin sword heals everything first???

-Bo Yang Hou dies. Sorry, old man, you represent the old ways, and also someone has to die in this movie for pathos, and I'd rather it be you than Juan Can Yun.

-Juan Can Yun and Dan Fei survive and have a million babies and rebuild the Dan clan; Urobuchi had BETTER not kill either of them off or I'll be so pissed.

-I would love it if the new Dan clan fighting style ends up as some combination of sword and spear techniques!!! Let Juan Can Yun use a spear again 2K25!!

-I think Lin's plan to target the Demon King will not provide him with the catharsis he seeks because it's not clear to me that the Demon King has the emotional capacity for the kind of reaction Lin craves. (He's like Locust in this way.) So regardless of how much disruption Lin causes, I think he'll be ultimately unsatisfied with the results.

-because of a dearth of "villains" in peacetime, Lin will give it (mostly) up and travel the world with Shang instead. One or both of them might ostensibly have a task to do, but I would love it if these two just wandered the jianghu and lived their best lives. Bonus if there is some dialogue that is suspiciously similar to wedding vows (technically, Lin already proposed with the whole "wrecking havoc on the world" line back at the beginning of S4, so all that's left is for Shang to take him up on it).

if this movie doesn't end with the two of them walking off into the sunset while "Darkest" plays, I'll be shocked. and the immediately go back to writing fanfics where this totally happened.

-Yan Xi becomes the ruler of a reunited Wan Yu because he's the only one left. Shu Liang Bi's headache gets deeper. Hopefully he gets a raise.

-Partway through S4, I thought Yan Xi and Chao Feng might get married for state reasons, but having embraced her obsession to become a Dark Magical Girl, Chao Feng is probably doomed. Lang is probably going to kill her, which is only going to make him spiral more. She might also have a Gollum-like role, where she accidentally does something good or useful while attempting to fulfill her own self-interest.

-hopefully Lie Mo Xian is human for good, but he might turn back into a pipa again when not in the demon realm, who knows

-character poems for Azi, Locust, Chao Feng, and Shang (redux), I think, although given that it's only 90 minutes, who even knows

-Azi vs. Lang fight. Hopefully Lang won't use the seals, but let's face it, he hasn't been making very good decisions lately, so he probably will. Killing Azi will bring him no joy, only more angst. and once he becomes a demon god, he'll start attacking the human realm.

(Bonus points if Azi's last words are "subarashii")

-Lang's demon god form will also be incredibly hot and different from his Azi-like "Awakened" form we saw briefly in S4.

-there's a picture on the official website of a giant 4-eyed demon god with an entire city/castle on its head peering out of a hole in the ground, so yeah, that's happening at some point

-please please please let Tian Ming's song be what brings Lang back from his Demon God rampage of revenge please please please. Also Shang and Lie Mo Xian, but LET TIAN MING DO SOMETHING

-also Lang and Tian Ming are probably an endgame ship

-I still don't know exactly what Locust has planned (probably becoming fate itself or something equally grandiose) or what his and the Demon King's fates will ultimately be (probably both dead) not to mention what Lin has planned for both of them and whether or not it will work…. but hopefully it'll be awesome.

-I would love a Lin vs. Demon King fight, or to see the Demon King fight at all.

-WHAT about those secret weapons Bo Yang Hou shipped across the Wasteland of Spirits???? PLEASE BE ANOTHER CANNON OR SOMETHING (but let's face it, it's probably more swords).

-anyway, the major conflicts as I see it are each of the heroes fighting their narrative foils/shadow selves (literally and figuratively): Lang vs. Azi; Lin vs. Demon King; and Shang vs. Locust.

-there's also a snippet in one of the S4 BTS videos with a clip of the Xi You army and a palanquin with the chancellor beside it, so presumably Chao Feng is going to try and get the Dong Li humans to surrender and/or double-cross them. Hopefully the Xi You forces will ultimately side with humanity instead of accepting the demons as allies.

Anyway, I'm really only scratching the surface here, and am probably missing a lot, but this is at least a good start.