#mostly for a thing between us

[maruzzewrites]

Tome of Strahd

I posted the link to my Ao3 before (here, if you want!), but I figured I wanted the full thing on Tumblr too. Expanded on the Tome to give more context to my players, with my own ideas about Strahd's character, relationships and story. All the warnings typical of Ravenloft apply, of course.

The first time I saw a man die in front of my eyes, I was still a youth and easy to upset. For years, I have waited to join the people of my country on fields virgin to blood. 

Never I contemplated the possibility of death in war in my young mind, filled with every possibility but mortality. That was when I was confronted by the reality due to a soldier having his guts spilled on fresh grass, now too heavy for the blood to dance with the air.

I regurgitated every last piece of food sitting in my stomach that same moment, and again that evening when I could see the scene the moment my eyes closed. 

Now, more than a decade later, the same sight wouldn’t leave the same impression. On the other hand, it’s the same indifference I experience that troubles my mind. A man should not find himself not caring for the life of others, so why can I mourn a soldier in less than a minute now that I’m older and wiser?

When I admitted to others the growing concern about this affair, I am met with issues of similar entity. Never with solutions, however. My closest companions would either offer sympathies or comfort, but no amount of words can really quiet the noise, not when they’re not at my side. I can drown these thoughts only so much in conversations.

One thing I never wished for was these worries to reach my father’s ear, yet one day he approached me and imposed his will: I should stop agonizing over pointless doubts and accept the reality of my duty. Death follows those who sow it, he said.

Despite his warning, I feel restless. Every moment devoid of action, is devoted instead to resist either the knowledge I’m losing some part of me or the attempts of my brain to remember the fallen through their last moments, lived in front of my eyes.

Death truly follows me, yet I forget.  

Thus, I now find myself noting down my thoughts so that they may not escape in the fog that is my memory. Everyday, words escape me, thoughts are like wind blowing between mountain tops, and my body seems to lose the limits of the flesh when I stall too long.

For this, I am always moving and occupying myself in an attempt to keep everything inside the boundaries I need to maintain. And for this, I note down the names of those we lost and will lose. I may not speak of them, per my father’s request, but I will carry them.

---

My father lost his life in the last battle.

Our troops were in a frenzy, as soon as his body hit the ground. Scrambling to reach him so that he could be brought to safety, hoping that his life could still be saved. It was too late, however. Fatal blow, he died almost instantly.

I knew it, of course. One could survive a wound like his to the chest, to the legs, to the arms, not to the brain. The last image of my father is of a bloody gash opened in the middle of his forehead, his skull concave.

I regret thinking about how peculiar it was to me his men would rush to his side to save him. Was he truly a great king and a great general, to the point people would overlook his shortcomings? And yet his own son felt a spark of relief in his death, immediately suffocated by heartache?

I admired my father. I want to love him. And now, I find myself wondering if I can even step in his shoes. I wish for someone to admire me, wanting to love me as well; but I despise the thought of ending my life on a battlefield.

---

The war ends, at last.

My enemies are weary as much as my men. I do not see the need to continue if we can reach the right compromise and live in harmony. I cannot hope for friendship, but peace will be enough.

---

The valley is the most beautiful I have ever seen. Nature doesn’t seem to fight the villages and towns here, but embrace them. The river and the lakes are clear, cold to the touch, yet beautiful to observe.

My friends always lauded the wonders of the sea and the benefits of a life with dried salt on your skin, burning because of the sun. It is hard to let them understand the grace and charm of the mountains surrounding a peaceful valley: emerald and colorful when spring comes, muted and candid with snow once winter takes hold.

The quiet can be healing to the spirit, but if one feels too isolated and craves the noise of a town, in the heart of the valley you can find people. I had no hesitation in celebrating von Zarovich’s ritual to claim the land and now my blood runs inside the earth. In honor of my father, I named it Barovia; shall he oversee this new land and rejoice that his name can carry on.

Lost in nature but still vibrant with life. This valley reminds me of the words of a person I knew long ago. 

Perhaps I’m just blinded by memories once again. However, I cannot deny myself this reverie, for it is too delightful.

---

Today, a woman came knocking on the door of my new castle. The sister of the last survivor of the dusk elves’ court and the one I usually refer to in order to talk to them. Her name is Patrina and she was offered a room, for I wish to be a respectable host.

Rahadin isn’t too fond of her, to be expected. He doesn’t seem to favor anyone of his kin and, no matter how it pains me to see his loathing, I have to accept his reasons. He can be sentimental about family, despite everything.

This woman has an incredible understanding of magic. Her arrival at my castle was motivated by her hunger for knowledge and she attributed to me a source of magic and learning. I do not see how I could teach her much, I have seen her read spells of great power without a hitch; yet, I find myself unable to refuse her presence.

I am no fool and I am not one to deny evidence. I have been alone for a long time, engrossed in the expectations of my father and my army, so the interest of a person so remarkable does something to a lonely man’s soul.

---

There is something uneasy lingering in my brain lately. I am restless and unable to succumb to sleep easily, it is as if feelings and sensation I cannot remember rush to my mind the moment I close my eyes and escape me as dreams do in the morning.

It is not simply the same old, the nightmares of war festering like every night. This is different. There are voices in tongues I do not know, shadows are deeper and darker in the corners of my room, there is a weight in the back of my head that grows when I have less control over myself.

Patrina smiles at me, when she sees me like that. I wonder if she wants to comfort me when she tells me humans are fragile things, susceptible to time. She can speak so lovingly, yet her words cut deep and she cannot see it.

When I look at her, in the moments together in the library or on the balcony, I see a defiant youth who can defy mortal rules and a pang of envy grows cold in my chest. That is when I can hear those voices more clearly.

Perhaps they are simply thoughts I suppress and fight not to understand. 

---

The solitude poisons my mind. Despite the presence of my fiancee and my loyal friend in the castle, despite servants ready to answer my every word, I feel as if there is nothing for me here.

The beauty of the valley is still there, but I now see the truth: spring dies too quickly, winter is bitter and unending. The spectacle nature can offer has a short life, then it leaves space for death and desolation. Ulmed invited me to spend some time away from Barovia, somewhere warm and welcoming, and I do miss his friendship; however, it is my duty to serve Barovia as it serves me.

All the same, his words did give me the idea: I should inform my mother and my brother that they can live here, if they wish. If they come, perhaps, the cold will be nothing more than an excuse to spend time together.

---

Words full of contempt have reached my ears, they have insinuated in my head and they will not leave. 

The people of the valley whisper rumors that are founded on nothing. Tales of my perceived bloodlust, of slaying creatures only for my cruelty and no care for the consequences it would bring to those under my care. Some talk about how I hold powers who feed on the souls and life of mortals. Others see me as an old man wrecked by horrors and unable to act properly.

I am either treated as glass or as scourge. And while they do not dare to tell their thoughts to my face, Rahadin brings back information regarding what they say. I wish for him to stop reporting these rumors to me. But he is only doing his duty, most useful ally and most precious friend he is.

My mother informed me that she does intend to move into my castle and she will bring my brother with her. It surprises me that Sturm would leave our old house, but I will welcome him as a worthy older brother. I just worry, alas, about these rumors.

They shall not bring anguish to my poor mother’s heart. She should not suffer hearing the ingratitude of these people towards her son.

---

Patrina’s knowledge is truly something otherworldly. I have studied languages before and I know many, but to speak the words of the underbelly of the world has a strange charm to it. Seeing her speak Abyssal with such ease, and offer nothing but smiles when I ask her where she could have found her source of inspiration.

I have to admit, in spite of the beauty and grace of this fiancee of mine, I feel my heart tremble in my chest for causes beyond infatuation. It’s difficult to place this frenzy, it’s not like myself; when Patrina talks to me, it’s a feverish feeling of wanting to please her and knowing I can’t get there quite yet. 

Nonetheless, there is more to it than simple devotion.

Still, she teaches me Abyssal and Infernal. I learn, easily. And now I understand some quick words coming from the voices who accost me on the edge of sleep. I still forget them come morning. 

Maybe I should ask her if she knows, if these lessons are deliberate. However, I fear I will only see her cryptic smile.

---

I received a joyful report that my mother and my brother are on their way. They are close. The peaceful feeling surrounding this information is only the prelude to a prosperous life, I want to hope.

Even the continuous voices and rumors reaching me on the peak of this castle cannot silence the delight I have in my body. May these people be ungrateful, may they forget who they owe their loyalty to, for now I will only care for the reunion with my beloved mother.

---

It has been difficult to write or think lately. 

To think I was envisioning days spent with my mother. I knew she was weak and ill, due to her age, yet I still hoped the change of air and the undemanding life she could lead here would have given her new life. Instead, she arrived at my door in a coffin and with my brother following her.

Only that, it was not Sturm. My younger brother, Sergei, resides in my castle now. I had heard voices and rumors about the last son of Barov and Ravenovia, but after my father’s demise I have not received news. I feared the grief could have compromised my mother’s health to the point of loss.

Instead, he is here with me. In my castle. In our castle.

It made me think how I knew so little about what happened to my mother. I knew of her illness, unknown to the best doctors of the land and believed to be divine in nature. Despite the annoyance such foolish conjectures can be, I truly knew nothing about her condition and its gravity.

Was my request the last blow for her? I should have been more lenient, waited for information about the feasibility of the journey and sent my best men to be sure she was healthy enough. 

Seeing her body, preserved thanks to the abilities my brother gained in his life, was humbling. My father and now my mother are not here anymore, and I tasted mortality truly and bitterly. 

Sergei is sensitive, I learnt. He had to be strong while coming here, he had to make sure the people around them would arrive in Barovia and he had to lead them. Admirable, for how young he is. Almost half my age.

Yet, in the intimity of family, he let himself weep as we buried our mother in the crypts. I had to, I couldn’t bear the thought of her resting place being far away from me, and if I wish to visit her grave at any time, it is within reach of my restless nights. Right in front of the one dedicated to my father, beneath my castle.

Our brother Sturm has been informed. For now, it’s only me and Sergei, with our sorrow. I never felt as faint as when I saw the poor man melt into his tears at the knowledge he had to depart from the only parent he has ever known. I was touched by the sight and could not help myself but comfort him.

As I held him in my arms, I could feel my heart fill with love. He was helpless in his mourning and sought the understanding of the only other person who could feel the same. 

He needs me. That's all I could think about as I held him. It has to be enough for now.

---

A few weeks have passed and dark thoughts linger in my ears, before vanishing while I wonder if they’re even mine. My mother lays under my feet, and every night I feel the need to leave my room to spend hours in her crypt.

I resist the temptation as I found that complete silence makes the voice of my thoughts louder, if only because it contrasts with nothing. There is no use in losing my mind in the darkness by myself, but staying in my bed is just as haunting. Not even the rhythmic pacing of Rahadin’s steps through the halls during the night comforts me anymore.

What truly weighs on me during the night, besides the natural mourning of my mother, is the conversations I had with Sergei. I wondered about his life, his studies, his ambitions, anything to have a feeling of how my brother truly is. We are, after all, the last family we have close. Sturm came to pay his respects, but he seems to have come to terms with the reality of our mother’s passing. 

And Sergei gave me his answers: our mother did not want him to take the path my father wanted for me, so he chose the cloth. His kindness, his charity, I can see the people following him with love in their eyes, even here in Barovia. Even Patrina stood by my side and whispered to me that that brother of mine is a pearl kept hidden and now discovered.

He is, he truly is. I see the levity and joy of youth in his eyes, the same traits we share are painted with different brushes. I can see the love my mother poured into him, or he would not be quite as lovable.

How I wish she could be here, and sing his praises to me while we watch him rush to Vallaki to talk to the people or travel to Krezk to return the following day because he was caught up in discussions with the clergy there. I did not have the possibility, though. I was robbed of the last chance to hear my mother’s voice.

Do I even remember it? When I observed her face as we attended the private ceremony, did I truly remember everything about her features or did so much time pass that I had no reference anymore, thus using what I had under my eyes to draw her in my memory? If I was asked to tell a story about us, about my filial love, would I be able to recall the details or would I have to delude myself into believing them?

These questions creep up my marrow, sticking to the back of my brain until there is nothing that allows me to ignore it. At times this darkness becomes oppressing to the point I need to seek solace, wandering until I find myself in Patrina’s arms and she tells me my doubts make me human, and my humanity makes me tender.

She tells me I have to prove to myself I am worthy of love, because the people in Barovia truly do not think so anymore. Her heart bleeds at the hurtful beliefs they hold, yet it does not matter if I can make myself worthy of love. 

There is one last way to listen to my mother, and the documents she left behind. Her memories, her last logs. I have seen them, in her belongings. 

Perhaps that is the solution. 

---

Sergei asked me not to read my mother’s last thoughts on paper as a form of respect, but I told him he had a lifetime to listen to her. I, on the other hand, never had the possibility to see her again.

Yet, those documents lay on the desk in my study as I attempt in any way to avoid having to read them. I know I would feel betrayed if someone important to me read my private musings. I should desist, but the temptation is too great.

Everything has been opened and read already, even if I have no idea who could have pry in my family’s private life. Reasonably, I can assume it was Sergei, however I find it hard to believe.

Indeed, even dwelling in this mystery is just a form of unwillingness to read the contents of my mother’s words. I just need more time to face the last opportunity of having a one-sided conversation with her.

---

I have thought for days now. When I was young I could never imagine venturing into such paranoid yet enlightening truths.

My mother, her last will, wanted to leave all that is left of our family’s grandeur to my brothers. If the wound was not deep enough, my brother Sturm would inherit only the house he so meticulously has taken and continues to take care of, while every heirloom and vestige carrying our name would go to Sergei.

At first I wanted to believe her wish was because she knew I had conquered a land and fortune for myself, but the reality was evident even to the blind eyes of a devoted child. I still can recite every word, but I will refrain from writing them with my own hand if this will prevent making them indeleble under my eyes.

My mother feared me. In her memories, she would report how the invite to my castle made her fear for hers and Sergei’s life, how the day approaching would make her muse over my cruelty and how the rumors traveled from Barovia to her ears by some scandal monger. And all she had to say was that she was distressed that her hypothesis was useful.

That she felt less guilty when her honest thought for years has been that she would have felt relief if I forgo my dreams of conquest or, in case I would not, I would perish for them. For something I have done for my family and for my father’s will.

What fault do I have? If she feared my actions so much, why didn’t she stop my father from using me in war? Why was I robbed of my youth, while my brothers could stay home and build their lives? Sergei is kind, and sweet; but he has never felt the smell of blood, and guts, and flesh clawing its way up his nose and haunting his spirit. 

Why am I the one to be feared?

All I have now are tainted memories, a lot of land populated by ungrateful rabble, a mother who could not bear to love her child, a father who haunts me with a probable destiny and my brothers.

And my brother. Sergei, the perfect and kind son. My father would have loathed his weakness. Or perhaps that was reserved for me.

---

There are voices in my head tempting me into reading every last word in my mother’s memories. It is torture, pure and simple, yet I cannot stop read and reread every passage with my name.

I take from my mother the habit of not writing down my thoughts often, a single journal spanning years and years. Only notable events in her life were graced of her consideration and penned down so to remember; but all were gloom. If my birth was a happy moment, the following days filled my mother with grim foreboding and fear of the evil she could see in my eyes. As an infant, not yet able to talk or move.

I never knew pain could feel quite like this; numb, cold. Patrina asked to have the journal and dispose of it, citing how my compulsion to read it was only harming me. In a moment of clarity, I did give it to her and yet I cannot forget the words.

---

There are voids in my memory lately. Patrina attests to it. There are times where she seems to speak with the same words my mother reserved to me in her memories, but when I question it she observes me with sorrow in her eyes and she tells me I told her those exact words.

She is right. With how restless I feel, I am lucky I have a patient woman to my side. Her caring nature is only enhanced by her willingness to wait for the right moment for marriage, never pushing or asking when I intend to ask. 

Perhaps it should be soon.

---

The winter goes, once again. It is spring and I detest how the cheerful air cannot help my humor. My heart feels heavy, my soul is spent. Alek speaks to the nobles in my stead, Sergei is loved by the population.

It is easy for them to desire him in charge when all they know of him is charity and kindness. But a ruler cannot function like that, he has to be headstrong and know how to impose his will.

Perhaps Rahadin is right and I will return to reign properly. If everything in my past has been ruined by the selfishness of others, I can forge a new future. With a wife, and potentially children.

---

Patrina seemed elated by my desire to truly rule over my subjects and take my rightful role as the count of this land. Her support makes me believe my choice has been the right one, that she is truly a wonderful candidate as the countess of Barovia and my future spouse.

I have informed her of my intentions and soon we will announce our decision together. We hope this union will favor a peaceful relationship between humans and elves.

Perhaps as a gift for this proposal, Patrina shared an ancient secret of this land with me. She informed me she has been wanting to reveal it for a long time, but she was certain the moment came when I asked to be linked in matrimony.

Apparently, a venerable temple was built in the southern mountains of this valley. Hidden by the snow and the harsh road, this temple is a cove of secret knowledge gathered by powerful wizards to share with the world. Due to their death, the temple has fallen into anonymity before Patrina found it.

We traveled to it. It is an impressive structure and it is a wonder it has been unknown for so long, but what really made my heart sink was approaching it and the voices that tormented me for months fusing into a single, clear voice: my own, repeating the same upsetting ideas into my ears. The only difference is that now I could remember them, and I felt like I always had them in my head.

Could it be an effect of the obvious magic hosted by the temple? When I asked Patrina if she felt different arriving there, she denied and she wondered if I felt anything odd. I denied too, worried it may alarm her. She did not elaborate on it and I was grateful.

---

Everyone just thinks they can take everything from me. It is a cruel joke of the universe that I shall suffer for the errors and selfishness of those around me. Rahadin was right, the dusk elves are nothing but a mass of pathetic liars and wretched lowlives.

I do not know how they could claim their action was self-righteous when they have the blood of their own kin on their hands, for nothing but petty offenses. Patrina was killed by them in a cruel and dishonorable display of pure narrow-mindedness.

I could not let them claim victory for this battle, and I instructed Rahadin to do as he wished to them. I know that any ounce of rage I may feel cannot compare to the hatred he has felt for years. So, may he find peace now that the deed is done.

---

Barovians care not for actual leadership, they only crave the indulgence of those who can give without taking. A demanding herd following the words of subversives, but if they do think I take pleasure in the thankless task of guiding them they are sorely mistaken.

Let the barons lead. If they so wish, the masses can resolve their own issues and manage their own treasure. I will not invest money of my own in communities who will not be gracious enough to give back and respect authority.

Sergei is not in agreement with my methods. If he wishes to use his newfound inheritance for the people, I am no one to impose my will on this finances. I can offer advice, but not issue orders to him. 

However, he needs to remember he is a man of the cloth, and not a statesman. My parents gave up that title for him when they forced it on me.

---

Sergei had a surprise for me today. He invited me to Vallaki, to the central plaza. I should have told him I was unavailable for his frivolous games, but perhaps I was filled with fear to prevent myself from experiencing the beautiful autumn this valley can offer. It is the last occasion before winter will arrive and freeze every place, person and sentiment.

Therefore, I waited for him in the plaza. I have avoided relationships with the population for so long that many have no idea of my face, but those who remember who their ruler is would regard me with contempt. Those same people who would celebrate my birthday and my arrival like sheep, now are unable to form thoughts of their own about my person.

In spite of the faults of this crowd, there was someone who shone bright in the shadows. A woman reached my side and spoke with such candid modesty. She has a rare beauty to her as she carried the colors of autumn as she went, and I can only imagine she will harvest the spring when it will come.

Her manners were typical of the common folk, yet devoid of the flattery of nobles. She spoke to me with honesty and humanity. It was a vision, until I saw my brother join our conversation without being noticed by me, such was my attention grabbed by this woman.

Then, she was introduced to me. Tatyana is her name, soon attached to von Zarovich. The same breath who gave me her name, ripped her from my hands. This was Sergei’s surprise; his paramour.

Her ‘brother’, that is what she referred me as. 

Once again I had to see someone taken from me. I do understand my brother is a suitor many would want to marry, but I could see genuine affection between the two of them. Sergei has been fortunate enough to find someone to love him earnestly, while I was once again robbed of this possibility by the cruel path forced upon me.

That is what separates me from him. I have been death’s companion for long, and people cannot stand the sight of a man who wasted his youth. Even if it was for them. Sergei never had to.

That is why Tatyana can look in his eyes and find love, while looking into mine and find pity.

---

I knew winter would bring nothing but sorrow, but now even spring betrays me. Sergei has informed me of his and Tatyana’s intentions to marry this summer. My soul aches with the same intensity of old wounds, and my heart cannot choose the emotion on which to settle.

I had months to forget and forsake these feelings, for I know I could not forgive a brother loving my wife. All the same, her carefree and youthful personality brings light into this valley and she stands so close, her presence lingers in this castle long after she leaves.

When I see her, my heart falls out of my chest and into my hands. I taste mortality again with every day I see them savor their youth without the worry of age. And even then, when they do reach my age, they will have been blessed by a secure and untroubled life.

Worse than anything, those voices continue to push and probe at my morality. I have already done unimaginable things, and endorsed those of other people, they tell me, what is stopping me from another sacrifice. I want to convince myself that these voices are separate from me, but such a thing is ridiculous.

To think I would find myself battling my own voice and my own ideas, struggling to even sleep lest I fall victim of spirals of terror.

These afflictions force me out of the castle, seeking knowledge. I visit those abandoned halls guarded by the cold everlasting winter of the mountains. The temple holds immense wisdom dating back centuries and I find comfort in the eventuality of an answer.

But last time there was something calling to me, in the depths of the temple. In its belly, something was calling to me and promising me eternal life for a price. No matter how much I bargained, I would receive no answer about my part of the deal.

Exethanter would not answer either. He simply found the situation hilarious.

Now, in the dead of the night, I continue to rethink those words. If noting down my thoughts has helped me in these years, the last months have been filled indeleble words fogging my mind.

I can think about nothing else unless I am besides Tatyana. 

She gives me peace, and she may be taken from me.

---

Rereading everything in this tome reminds me of the frantic line of thoughts that kept my head full, and still now there is the shadow lurking in the back of my mind waiting for those moments of calm to strike and plant discord.

I wonder how much time has passed. The ink on the last page is dry, consumed, and I now live with the memories. For now I am the Ancient. I am the Land. I forged a path of blood with that one entity calling to me in the temple.

I touched its tomb of amber and I knew instantly the price. To sacrifice someone I love, and my mind wandered immediately to my brother. On the day of his wedding, I fulfilled my end and drank his blood.

I felt as if I was filled with rapture and reached the balcony, where the ceremony would take place if the groom was alive. Among the nobles, the clergy, the guards, in front of Tatyana, I appeared beastly and sanguinary.

She fled from me. Only rage fueled me, as I strived to make her understand the lengths I would go through to prove my love. Yet, she ran from me and reached the edge of the balcony, stealing one of the swords from the guards too petrified to react, and she threatened to jump.

No amount of persuasion could convince her to step down and let me explain. When I approached, she would get closer to the edge, and her heels ended up balancing on the fine line separating her from the void.

She would not stop yelling at me and I could not help myself from grabbing onto her dress, hoping she would just come to reason. She did not, she swung the sword and the blad sunk into my chest. However, I did not die. I did not live either.

I exist in the limbo between, I belong to the beasts I hunted for years. I am undead, and Tatyana was the one who sealed my pact with my own blood. It tainted the pearly white of her skirt as it splattered all over. 

She looked at me with horror as my transformation came to an end; now people describe me with red eyes I cannot see, with fangs and deadly skin. She would rather jump to her death than accept my promise.

I searched every inch of the land under the cliff personally, and the limits of my domain will not set anyone free. Her body disappeared, as if swallowed by the mist haunting the valley now. Not even I know what was of her body.

I lived long with the torment of having lost the light of my life, while still having to pay the price of the deal. Barovia now shows its rotten nature and it was supposed to be my eternal hell.

However, I found her again. Under another name, but her appearance and her behavior cannot be mistaken for anyone else. I truly believed I could hold her at last, and exorcize the voices and the curse lingering around me once and for all.

Once again, though, the world was complicit in tearing her from me. And again. And again. She is taunting me. The land itself is taunting me. I shall find a solution. Perhaps the temple holds the answer, perhaps I can fabricate my own answer.

Perhaps I should simply pursue Tatyana until she understands and we shall find peace together. She took my mortality and plunged into the earth with it. If she took it from me, she can give it back.

[keferon]

The tac net crash chapter is one of my favorites so far~

Ah and. Guess what. I just discovered that including this post, I made 50 pieces of fanart for Mistakes on mistakes until.. I’m so sane and normal about this story can you tell👍

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[kizzer55555]

Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.

[fl00mie]

honestamente, no sé

to prevent confusions i'm giving credits of every fankid in order (starting with the tall one)

layden (fresh x ink fankid) by @/sugary-alienn dot (cross x ink fankid) by @/yo-honne abstract (reaper x ink fankid) by CATA-824 on wattpad gradient (error x ink fankid) by @/askcomboclub paper jam (error x ink fankid) by @/7goodangel palette (dream x ink fankid) by @/angeutblogo blueprint (swap x ink fankid) by @/pepper-mint aiden (zack x ink fankid) by ariscastleart

[astranauticus]

Director of the False Last Act

[sisaloofafump]

I know that possession is ranked third most likely canon superbat kiss but it is first in my heart… solely because of Lois’s hypothetical reaction.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

[dykedvonte]

The second fic idea is a what-if scenerio where Jimmy dies in the crash due to and altercation with Curly and how Curly would navigate being Captain once he has to notice the little things and how he and Anya's relationship develop as he adopts an identical view point to hers rather than just keeping the peace.

And maybe i will write it but only time will tell tbh but it's stuck in my brain dome for the time being.

[spiritofpassionfruit]

A–Aventio TGCF idea?? Wherein Civil God Veritas Ratio meets the infamous Ghost King Aventurine during his first mission cuz cuz like— The "live for me" paralels?!? The one who has all the luck partner as well?!? The villain who was actually not the Villain this whole time!?!? The loving humanity a little too much it causes their downfall !?!?!?

Rant AU in the tags proceed with caution

[shock-micro]

earlier today i had SUCH an intense rivulet moment. despite my five hours of sleep i had boundless energy i was literally running up and down the really steep hill that i normally slowly climb to get to where i need to go and i could not stay still for the life of me

anyway this was how it felt sitting in class watching presentations

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

It is truly fascinating how the common tumblr narrative around John and Paul somehow makes the guy who literally got violent multiple times over people insinuating he was queer appear more "on board with the whole gay thing" than the guy who said some awkward/dated stuff in interviews a couple of times.

[morzowo]

there's something to be said about how class differences are shown in aof's works and how so little mainstream series actually show everyday life outside that fantasy bubble of upper/upper middle class people living in villas being able to own and maintain their own modes of transportation all that to say i was just really excited to see metro represented in thai show, love that underground tubes and fast trains

[wheucto]

"I think we can help each other out!"

reference images

gosh the color palette in these is great

[coquelicoq]

i've been dying for a poll option ever since i saw my followers' answers to that text post from february 2022 asking people whether they pronounce beloved as "be-lov-ed" or "be-loved". many people were emphatic about only using one option, and many others use both but were not always able to articulate when they use 2 syllables vs. 3. so out of the goodness of my heart and my insatiable lust for knowledge i have gone through the notes on that post and written down some likely contenders! you're welcome!!!!

BEFORE YOU ANSWER! think about how you would pronounce beloved in the following syntactic contexts:

noun, talking directly to the beloved: hey there beloved

noun, talking about rather than to the beloved: my beloved lives in a pineapple under the sea

adjective in a noun phrase: my beloved x lives in a pineapple under the sea

verb participle: x is beloved by y

okay poll time! there are no wrong answers!! and apologies in advance if i didn't capture your truth, i only had 10 options and life is a rich tapestry!!