#note: things to write on my gravestone

[kirk-says-wah]

One of my current WIPs just hit 18k and I think I’m halfway? Maybe 3/4? Idk but it’s taking it’s fucking time

[nr1chaedickrider]

I can only be me when i'm by your side - i'm not a monster.

As time passes recovering, you've seemed to found your place in Jihyo's arms.

cw: fluff, smut, angst, petnames, virgin!reader, sweet girl!jihyo, popular but not so popular!jihyo, basketball player!jihyo, both are 18 but they are students, mentions of death, drunk confessions, they fall in love pretty fast, lwk rushed, lmk if there is more ^_^, ~ 4k words

if you're thinking "hm! i read this fic somewhere... yes! its my heeseung fic from my bg blog @adorwoo ! which i wanted to use for jihyo !^_^ hope you enjoy anyway.

men dni.

It's not your fault.

It's not your fault.

It's not your fault.

It's not your...

Is it really?

The rain beats down on your black umbrella, the lines from Dahyun's letter playing over and over in your head. It feels like you're trapped in a vicious cycle, not being able to think of anything else.

But why?

Why didn't she tell you?

Were all those conversations about the mutual trust between you two a lie? Was it just talk to keep you from worrying?

If someone had told you a week ago that you had to be at her funeral because she had killed herself, you would have laughed at that person. Dahyun was always the happiest person you've ever met.

Even if you had been told that a day ago, you wouldn't have believed it. Because in theory, it's the stupidest thing you've ever heard.

In his letter, she wrote about how much she loved you, how she enjoyed every minute and every moment with you, how it's not your fault that she's not here anymore.

She's probably right, not just probably. She's right, and you know it. But you can't stop blaming yourself. Someone has to take the blame. Someone is responsible.

You could have helped her.

You should have helped her.

Tears run down your cheeks as you stare at her grave. Her family, her friends, they are all gone. You stand here alone, not daring to leave.

'Kim Dahyun

Born on may 28, 1998.

A friend, daughter and lover.

She will continue to live in our souls.'

It feels like your eyes are glued to the writing, you can't look away. You try to regulate your breathing, taking a deep breath.

A sigh leaves your mouth as you place the white rose next to the gravestone.

You take one last look at her grave before turning and slowly walking away.

-

"I'm Y/n, nice to meet you all."

You look at the students in front of you, all of them giving you strange looks. Of course, you are a new student, but you feel uncomfortable under their gaze. The teacher smiles at you and tells you where to sit, next to a girl called Mina.

It's as if everyone has forgotten about you again as the teacher starts teaching. You sit down next to Mina and she smiles at you.

"Nice to meet you," she whispers. You smile at her.

You can't talk to her for long because she starts taking notes for the lesson. You look around at the faces of the others. It actually looks like a normal class, but your eyes land on a girl.

She looks shorter than you, her hair is brown as well as her eyes. She's wearing a white t-shirt.

"Have you laid your eye on someone?" asks Mina, laughing a little.

"No!" you answer, a little too loudly, and you put your head on the table as a few people look at you. "I was just looking at her," you whisper.

"Yeah yeah... that's what they all say" she says.

You slowly lose yourself in your thoughts as memories of Dahyun come flooding back.

Should you even look at other girls? Is it bad?

Would Dahyun hate you for trying to find love again?

It's been more than two months since she died, but you can't stop thinking about her.

Maybe it's normal, your behavior. Your overthinking of everything, maybe you're not the only person who feels this way? Maybe there is someone else who is just as lost in their thoughts as you are.

Maybe you are simply not alone.

However, your thoughts are interrupted by the bell and Mina.

"I can show you a few things here at school if you want," she suggests, and you gratefully accept her help.

You spend the whole lunch break running after her while she shows you around.

"Why did you change schools anyway? Your old one is a pretty well-known one, and much better than here," she asks, before taking a bite of her sandwich.

The question makes you wonder, and you think about whether you should just lie to her and say that you moved, or that you were somehow bullied at your school - but somehow it feels wrong. Because you neither moved nor were you bullied. No, everything was actually fine.

Actually,

Somehow everything changed after her death.

Your classmates started looking at you funny, and you still don't know whether they are looks of pity or looks of condemnation because they blame you.

"I don't know" is your answer, and somehow it's true. Sometimes you really have no idea why you changed schools, but Mina doesn't need to know the whole truth.

She just nods in response as she continues to eat.

"The girl you were looking at in English, her name is Jihyo by the way" she says.

What?

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask.

"Because you were staring at her a lot - you looked really interested in her" she replies with a little grin.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I wasn't staring at her..." you laugh a little, but can't hide your despair. Why does she think you're interested in her?

-

"Watch out!" someone shouts, but before you can react, a basketball hits you.

You fall to the floor, your head hurts and you feel slightly dizzy as you slowly open your eyes.

The girl from your English class is kneeling on the floor in front of you, looking at you, trying to see if you're okay.

It's like a cliché high school movie.

"Are you okay?" she asks, a couple of other girls come over, but she just tells them to get something to cool off and shoos them away.

The things that can happen when you want to visit the gym...

You nod slowly, after a few blinks your vision is no longer blurry.

Another girl comes back and hands Jihyo a cold pack.

"Here, take this," she says and puts it in your hand, her hand on your shoulder to support you.

You hold it to your head, biting the inside of your cheek slightly from the cold.

Before she can say anything else, she is called by his coach, at the same moment Mina comes to you.

"I was looking for you," she says and helps you up.

You watch Jihyo jogging across the field before you leave the gym.

-

New week, new luck?

Every day you tried desperately to talk to Jihyo somehow, but suddenly she was always gone after class and you were never put in a group together.

But it looks like luck is on your side for once.

"Here's the list of groups, you have to give a presentation in pairs on a play of your choice," your English teacher announces.

You look at the picture projected on the wall.

Chaeyoung and Mina,

Sana and Miyeon,

Jihyo and Y/n,

Jeongyeon and...

Wait, what?

You read the list again and once more you see your name and Jihyo's name next to each other.

"Jihyo and Y/n," you say quietly.

"Are you happy?" Mina asks teasingly with a grin on her lips.

"Are you happy that you have to work with Chaeyoung?" you ask back - Mina doesn't answer.

Before your teacher can give you any more homework for the break, the school bell rings and everyone rushes out of the classroom.

You walk (or rather, run) to Jihyo who is packing her things away.

"Hey, I was wondering when we should meet," you say, and she looks up at you and smiles. You feel your cheeks turning red.

She puts on his backpack and stands up.

"How about Friday afternoon? My place?" she suggests and you nod.

She takes a pen from her pocket, "Give me your hand," she says, you are confused but do it anyway.

She opens the pen with her mouth, the cap between her teeth as she gently writes on your hand.

Her phone number.

It feels like she's giving you an autograph.

"Text me and I'll send you my address," she says, and before you can answer, she walks out of the room.

You look down at your hand and see a little smiley face next to her number.

You can't help but giggle as you look at it.

-

You stare at your phone - up to her front door and back down to your phone.

You are 10 minutes early and don't dare to ring the doorbell.

"You know you can just ring the bell?" someone asks you, you look up and see Jihyo smiling at you.

"I'm early, that's why-"

"Not a problem," she interrupts you.

She lets you in and closes the door behind her.

Her house is beautiful, modern and yet somehow old-fashioned.

"My parents aren't here, so I thought we could study in the living room," she says, and you nod, leaning your backpack against the table.

"Water?" she asks and you take it gratefully.

You drink a little before she sits down across from you.

You both leaf through the books, take notes, talk briefly about certain passages, but otherwise no one says anything.

Jihyo decides to break the awkward atmosphere.

"I wanted to apologize again, for the basketball," she says, and you laugh a little.

"You don't have to apologize, things like that can happen," you reply.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?" she asks, and instead of answering, you are completely silent, thinking.

Memories of Dahyun come back while Jihyo looks at you and waits for your answer.

"Yes, I did, but she died a few months ago," you answer.

She nods slightly, "Can I ask how he died?" she asks in a quiet, polite tone, as if she really wants to make sure that she's asking something that doesn't hurt you in any way.

"Suicide," you say, short and meager, without many details (whether you know many details at all is another question).

She looks at you with a supportive look, one that makes you feel like she's really listening and that she really understands you.

Maybe she understands you even more than you think?

She puts her hand on yours with a slight smile.

"Thank you for confiding in me," she says, your cheeks slightly flushed, hers too.

You both look at each other for a moment before she lets go and you both go back to work.

-

If only the work had gone on for longer.

After the one meeting, you saw her every day of the vacation. Always with the excuse that you supposedly "need to add something" (does going to the movies together add something to your project?).

It's been more than a week since you first met.

"You're in love," Mina says as she parks her car in front of Jihyo's house.

"I-"

"Don't even try to find an excuse, it's all good" she replies with a small grin.

You both get out of the car and walk to her house, the music so loud you can hear it several meters away.

How Jihyo, who is slightly drunk, hears the doorbell is also a mystery to you.

"Hey guys!" she greets you, she shakes Mina's hand and gives her a kind of high five, she gives you a hug.

You smile at her as the three of you walk into the living room.

"I'm going to Chaeyoung," Mina whispers, or rather shouts, in your ear before disappearing.

"Y/n, do you want to play a drinking game with us?" asks Jihyo, you nod.

Maybe it was a stupid decision.

Jihyo and her friends (of whom you only know Jeongyeon) only understand drinking games to mean taking shots and asking stupid questions.

Either answer - or drink.

You always chose the second option.

After about 7 questions (maybe more, maybe less - you lost count of that pretty fast) you get up and say that you need some fresh air.

Since you've been to her house several times, you know where the upstairs balcony is.

It's quite big, with a parasol and two folding chairs. You sit down on one and close your eyes, your head throbs a little.

"Are you okay?" someone asks after a few minutes.

To your surprise (not really a surprise), Jihyo stands next to you before sitting down on the chair to your right.

"Yeah, it's just the alcohol," you say.

You and alcohol, not really a good combination.

Especially not when you're sitting next to the girl you're in love with.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" you ask out of nowhere.

She shakes his head, "I thought it was obvious" she says and laughs a little.

"I love you" you confess.

She turns to you, but before he can answer anything, you keep talking.

"I know we haven't known each other that long... a month?? more? less? but-... I just have this feeling with you that I only used to have with her"

"I thought I'd never feel it again," you say, a tear running down your cheek.

Jihyo looks at you, her eyes slightly watery.

Is she crying too?

"Y/n" she says, interrupting your continued rambling.

She gets up, kneels down in front of your chair, and -

kisses you.

Her soft lips on yours.

She pulls away after just a few seconds and you already feel like you miss her lips.

"I love you too Y/n" she says softly.

You look at her in amazement.

"Really?" you ask.

"That's why I asked if you had a girlfriend" now it all makes so much more sense.

She pulls you up and takes you to the guest room. She tries to lay you down on the bed but you pull her with you and she falls on top of you.

You both stare at each other and laugh a little.

"You're drunk, get some rest," she says, kissing your forehead.

"I'll be here when you wake up"

-

And she really is next to you when you wake up.

"Good morning..." you groan as you rub your eyes.

She smiles at you, "good morning" she says, from the look on her face you suspect she woke up just a few minutes before you.

You pull her closer to you by her collar and kiss her, she kisses you back while her hand is on your cheek.

The kiss is just perfect, gentle, slow, a perfect way to start his morning.

But it can also be perfect in another way.

It gets warmer under the covers as you continue kissing, she kisses down your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses on it. You can't help but rub your thighs together a little.

"What about the others?" you ask.

"I kicked them out yesterday after you fell asleep" she says, continuing to kiss your neck, even nibbling on it, making you let out soft moans.

"Jihyo, I think you should know that I am a virgin" you say, your cheeks heating up a little in embarrassment.

She giggles a little, kissing you on the lips again.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about baby" she replies with a smile.

She gets on top of you, continuing to kiss you.

You think kissing Jihyo is the best thing in the world.

Her hands trail over your body, giving you a soft squeeze here and there.

"Can I?" she asks, her hand playing with the buttons on your pants.

"Please" you answer with a smile.

She complies and opens them, pulling off your pants and leaving you in your underwear.

You sit up a little, your hands on her waist, feeling up her muscles, especially her abs.

"Want me to take it off?" she asks, you nod.

She pulls off her shirt over her head, dropping it somewhere on the floor.

Your finger trails up his stomach to her bra, looking at her like she is a work of art (she definetly is one).

"Done admiring me?" she asks with a teasing grin, to which you reply "never".

She leans down again, kissing your face as she starts to trail them down till he arrives at the waistband of your underwear.

"Can I?" she asks again, "yes" you answer, already out of breath.

She takes your underwear off, her hands placed on your thighs as she leaves kisses everywhere.

You can definetly tell that she has a thing for kissing.

When she places a kiss right on your clit though, you let out a small moan.

She begins licking and sucking on it, making you grab her hair with your hands as your fingers curl deeper into her scalp, leaving a delicious burn.

She drags her tongue down as she circles your core, slowly entering it a little.

You let out more moans as you turn your head to the side, moaning into the pillow.

Her tongue feels so good when you realise that you are closer and closer to your climax.

"Jihyo- I think I'm gonna-"

"Let it out princess" she mumbles against your core, the vibrations of her voice stimulating you even more as you cum into her mouth.

She smiles at you as he sits up, watching you coming down from your high.

You smile back at him as your cheeks turn red again.

"Can I?" she asks, her fingers trailing down your soft skin as her nails scratch you a little.

You look at her hand, a few veins poking out, her fingers thin but long.

You look at her again, nodding.

You pulled her closer as she rubs your clit with her fingers, you suck in your breath as she slowly pushes them in, the little stretch burning in a way that makes you even hornier.

She slips them in completly, you let out a moan in response. She takes your hand with her free one as your fingers intertwine.

She starts to slowly thrust into you, kissing you again as her tongue explores your mouth.

"You're so tight baby.." she mumbles into your mouth.

You can't help but let out louder moans when she starts to speed up a little.

Her fingers drive you crazy, it feels like she is everywhere, you feel her everywhere in your body as she exits and enters you.

"P-please jihyo- faster" you moan out, and who would she be if she wouldn't listen to your wishes?

She speeds up her thrusts, kissing down your neck again as her hot breath hits your skin.

Your hand grips the pillow your hand is laying on, moaning against your arm as you can feel Jihyo curling her fingers.

She thrusts into you again before you moan loudly, cumming as your thighs close around her wrist, panting heavily as she lets herself fall onto the spot next to you.

You both stare at the ceiling, the only sounds the heavy breathing from you.

You move her hand to yours and intertwine your fingers. She moves her head to the side to look at you, smiling.

You think seeing her smiling is something you can never get enough of.

-

Idiots in love, thats how you two can be described.

The next few months were full of love. Kisses here, kisses there. It didn't even have to be sexual, no, it was always romantic, no matter what you did together.

After a few months, she gave you a ring.

"One day I'll buy you an expensive, real diamond ring and ask you to marry me," she said, and since then you've both worn the matching rings without taking them off once.

If only it had stayed that way.

It's late at night, you're lying in bed reading a book when you get a message.

"I love you,

I'm sorry" - from Jihyo.

You sit up and stare at your cell phone.

"What's wrong?" you type and send the message, she replies,

"I can't take it anymore"

She can't take it anymore?

You feel a twinge in your head as you suddenly realize something.

It's too similar to Dahyun's goodbye.

"I can't live in this world anymore" she wrote in her text.

You look at her location, and without hesitation you walk, no - storm out of your apartment and run to her.

She's not far away, a bridge situated over a river only 5 minutes away, and you think you've never been so grateful for anything.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to see anything while your clothes get wetter and wetter, the rain completly drenches you.

Again it feels like a cliché love drama.

Only maybe this time you have the chance to have a happy ending.

Your legs are burning from all the running as you arrive on the bridge.

"Jihyo!" you shout, the rain pattering loudly on the asphalt, forcing you to shout even louder for her.

Her bike is right next to her, one leg over the railing, her hands gripping it tightly, as if she's...

Scared?

"Y/n?" she answers, her voice low and shaky.

"Please..." you say as you walk slowly towards her.

She doesn't stop you when you take her hand in yours.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, she looks at you as a tear runs down her cheek.

"I-... I didn't want you to worry. I thought this feeling would go away if I didn't talk to anyone about it," she says.

Whether your face is wet from the rain or your tears, you don't know.

"Believe me, you have to talk to me, then it will get better," you say.

Her face comes closer to yours and, without answering, she kisses you.

You kiss her back, try to grab her so you can hold her closer - but she lets go.

Completely.

You slowly open your eyes, afraid of what you will see - but you see nothing.

No one.

The rain completely overwhelms you.

"No..." you whisper, looking down on the floor and picking up something shiny.

Her ring.

You look out over the railing and see the water turning slightly red.

It feels like you're trapped in a vicious circle, like you'll never find peace again.

You are trapped, with no way out.

-

While other people find the rain soothing, you find it to be more like torture.

While other people would stay indoors in weather like this, you're outside again.

Again in front of a grave.

But this time it's Jihyo's.

Everything feels too similar and you hate it more than anything.

"It's not your fault" is a sentence you started to hate.

You hoped so much that you would never have to hear or read it again.

"Why didn't you talk to me..." you whisper, as if she could hear you.

Your hand clutches the letter, it slowly getting soaked by the rain.

You don't dare to move.

"You knew what happened..."

All time does is passing -

"Why did you hide it from me..." Your voice is full of despair.

And all you ever do is grieve.

"Life without you is no way to live" the white flower falls on his grave -

just like her ring,

engraved with your name.

She helped you recover from Dahyun's death.

You just wish you wouldn't have to recover over her death alone now.

In another universe, you've seemed to found your place in Jihyo's arms.

In this universe, you're left alone,

again.

[bingwriterxo]

a love more than love

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: in which wednesday breaks her normal routine to visit you

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 750+

author's note: i posted this on wattpad a while ago, but i really enjoy it, so i wanted to bring it over to this platform, too!

"Isn't this your designated writing time?" Enid asked her roommate, watching with curiosity as the raven-haired girl dug through her wardrobe, looking for a specific piece of clothing. 

Wednesday sighed, drew away from the piece of furniture, and turned towards the blonde. "Yes, Enid, but more important things have arisen."

"Such as...?" The blonde knew it was a dangerous game to pester the other girl, but she wasn't used to Wednesday going against her calculated schedule. It intrigued her more than it should have, and she wanted answers. 

"If you must know, I'm going to visit Y/N," Wednesday admitted. "It's been one year."

Enid's gaze flitted to the floor for a moment before returning to her roommate. "Oh." 

A heavy silence blanketed the two girls, and the Addams turned back around to continue her search, though it only lasted for a moment or two before she faced the werewolf again. 

"Have you seen my sweatshirt? The one with the zipper?" she asked, tapping her foot on the floor as she impatiently awaited a response.

"Thing dragged it under the bed the other day," Enid said, pointing towards Wednesday's mattress. With a curt nod as a thank you, the raven-haired girl walked over to her bed before dropping to her knees and reaching beneath it, her fingers finding the offending item. She pulled it out, dusted it off, and then put it on over her shirt. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Wednesday ignored her question. "I'll be back before night fall."

* * * 

The cemetery was completely empty of anything living when Wednesday arrived. She wandered through the area in search of your gravesite as she hadn't returned since the burial, but it wasn't hard to find: your tombstone--a stark white granite and surrounded by vibrant flowers, all left by friends that had visited that day--stood out amongst the others.

She sat in front of the gravestone, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them, her arms wrapping around her legs. For a moment, she merely stared at the epitaph that had been engraved in the stone:

We loved with a love that was more than love.

It was a quote from your favorite Edgar Allan Poe poem, "Annabel Lee," and was a sentence that Wednesday had heard fall from your lips numerous times. It slipped off of your tongue in such an elegant way that it had seemed almost as natural to you as breathing. 

"We loved with a love that was more than love," Wednesday recited in a murmur. She reached a hand out, traced the words with her forefinger, tried to ignore the feelings that were stirring within her. "I loved you with a love that was more than love." 

Softly, she pressed her palm flat against the stone as though you would be able to reach out and touch your hand to hers, run your pinky along the edge of her own before looping the two together, bring her hand to your lips and press a light kiss to the tips of her knuckles. But you were no longer able to do any of these things, and she would never experience your fingers interlocked with her own again, and that thought alone caused a tear to slip from her eye and roll down her cheek.

"You weren't supposed to die." She pretended not to notice the crack of her voice, the guilt that was weighing in her chest, the sadness that invaded her heart. "It was supposed to be me."

It was Thornhill that caused your death: a single bullet had exited the chamber of her gun, and it had found its home in your stomach rather than Wednesday's. Minutes later, the raven-haired girl was left cradling your lifeless body with a horrible emptiness settling inside her. 

"You loved everyone with a love that was more than love," she whispered, frowning. "It wasn't meant to end so soon." A sob threatened to erupt from her throat, but she swallowed it down. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, cara mia."

With a shaky hand, she pressed her fingers to her lips before touching them against the stone, a gesture that the two of you had made your own. When you first began dating, on days when Wednesday couldn't stand much physical affection--which was quite frequent--you would kiss her by doing that exact motion, and she often found herself returning it. It quickly turned into a normal act of appreciation, and the two of you found yourselves doing it on a daily basis. 

"I will always love you with a love that is more than love."

[cq-studios]

Do you have any screenshots of your favorite details from KHUX?

HAHAHAHAHA, yeah I do

Gonna just drop a read more here 'cause if y'all know me at all you know this post is probably gonna be 10KM long lol

So, I'm gonna try to hold myself back a little because I literally have like 10 pages of notes about specifically stuff in the backgrounds and I doubt the internet will find my bench and lamppost count interesting. (Also image limit lol)

I'll list just 4 things for now (in no particular order) and talk about them a bit underneath.

NUMBER 1 || STREET SIGNS

So there are four street signs that we’ve seen in Daybreak Town. Two are in the Fountain Square (A and B), one is in the Marketplace (C), and one is in the Clocktower Outskirts map (D).

For B and D it’s pretty easy to figure out what the represent. B is a clock, probably representing the Clock Tower… or maybe the best place to see the Clocktower because it’s in Fountain Square. The overall shape of it is different from the rest of the signs so I imagine that means something. D is a gondola or canoe of some sort, which makes sense because it’s next to stairs that seemingly lead to the canal that runs through town. Maybe there’s a ferry system of some sort?

A and C I’m less sure about. The designs don’t really bring anything obvious to mind. Maybe C is Munny because it leads to the Marketplace? I’m not sure.

NUMBER 3 || DOOR UNDER FOUNTAIN SQUARE

See what makes this interesting to me isn’t just the fact that apparently Fountain Square is hollow underneath (maybe for pipe repairs or something, I don’t know) but just the general fact that a lot of structures in this town, that maybe shouldn’t be, are hollow.

If you look even some archways have windows, so there has to be an open space inside, right? Most of them seem at least connected to houses so I assume they’re basements or something. (The one by murder house gets me tho, like that’s right under the bridge. Who’s living right under the bridge)

And I also feel like this leads into the fact that, similarly but not as extreme as in Scala, Daybreak Town is kinda built on top of itself. Maybe that’s a symptom of being around so many (and possibly on) mountains but I still feel like it should be talked about more.

NUMBER 4 || LIGHTHOUSE INTERIOR MAP

There is so much to unpack here but I’ll try to keep it brief.

So I’m pretty sure this is one of, if not the oldest building in Daybreak Town. Two reasons.

1. Instead of having little wall lamps, like the rest of the town and buildings, all the light seems to come from mounted candles.

2. There are swords (A) on the walls and not Keyblades. Why would the Keyblade town not have Keyblades on its little shield emblem? Is it possibly because it was there before Keyblades?

This staircase here (B) is also the only known (not sewer drain) way into the waterways. It leads into the sewers then out to the little dock below the Lighthouse with the boat, hence the sign.

There’s these maps here (C) that I don’t really know what to say about, but is definitely worth pointing out. They’re all the same and I assume show the layout of the area surrounding the town (the darker parts being water). It could be a world map though (darker part being continents)… I don’t think we’ll ever really learn lol

And also I don’t know what this is (D) but I think it’s interesting that it has writing on it. It kinda gives me the vibe of those flat on the ground gravestones…

NUMBER 5 || BANNER

Daybreak Town actually has a flag it’s all over the place and you’ll start to see it everywhere if you look for it. They also kind of look like the banners in Radiant Garden. The colours and shape/mounting are the same but the designs on the flag itself (and mounting) is different.

I have no clue what that implies, if anything, but I figure it’s worth pointing out ‘cause it’s interesting.

[jessamine-rose]

♙ ♘ ♗ Chess Piece ♖ ♕ ♔

………..hi. I would like to present the side story to Disjecta Membra, a collection of bonus scenes + epilogue told from Pierro’s POV. Do enjoy this fic and suffer  ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

A big thank you to @diodellet for her peer review, @frogchiro for her help in my Pierro characterization, and @seakicker for the fic inspiration!! I’m still questioning how I ended up writing for the Jester, and you can thank them for making it possible <3

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, coercion, blood, violence, death, psychological trauma, self-deprecation, alcohol consumption, Dottore is here, spice, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader who is a fallen goddess, pre-release Pierro

♡ 5.4k words under the cut ♡

i. pawn

The entire forest is consumed by mist.

He walks down the path, maneuvering around the haze. As the mist shifts, he rushes to an unobscured patch of grass to elude its grasp.

Another blind spot. How many more areas are free from her surveillance?

Knowing his savior, she’d detect his location once the mist touches him. Despite their heart-to-heart conversations, the fact remains that his life is in a god’s hands. It would be good to know the way around the forest without her guidance.

Remain vigilant. If he isn’t careful, he may end up like the lost animals ensnared in her hunting traps.

After a few more blind spots, he finds a familiar stone path. The area is cleared of mist to reveal weathered gravestones and deep blue flowers. He walks along the perimeter and stops in the heart of the cemetery, where a veiled figure is sweeping the fallen leaves.

He hides behind the trees.

In her human guise, the God of Mist is indistinguishable from an ordinary human. Her expression is solemn as she cleans and greets each gravestone.

“Fane.”

“Kay.”

“Algos.”

“Charis.”

And so on. Such devotion to one’s followers is unheard of; then again, the mere fact of ______’s kindness sets her apart from the gods who destroyed his nation.

Her friends and followers are fortunate to have a peaceful resting place. If only he could say the same for his own compatriots.

The statues are next. She approaches the shorter figure and plucks the dead flowers out of its cracks. Her voice takes on a lighter tone.

“Pasithea, your flowers have outnumbered mine. I can’t tell if it’s because yours are multiplying or if mine are dying out. Either way, you’re as competitive as always.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. She lifts her veil.

The Khaenri’ahn peers closer at her face. This is an expression which he has never seen during their meals together. The smiles directed at him are usually gentle and uplifting, never this desolate. When she greets the other statue, her smile disappears completely.

“Hello, Oizys,” she whispers. “Happy birthday.”

He tenses. Despite ______’s assurance that she holds no grudge against Khaenri’ah, her loss is strongly felt. The Child of Night’s absence looms over them in the tableware he uses, the chores assigned to him, his next destination.

She checks his grave. “Not even a blade of grass? What kind of plant will satisfy you? You’re so picky until now.”

His gaze shifts to the statue’s Claymore. The weapon is real, bearing the telltale marks of a Field Tiller’s attacks. Just how many of his people were cut down by that blade?

“The Khaenri’ahn is doing well,” his savior continues. “It won’t be long until he leaves for Miseria. I know, you’d be furious…but what do you expect me to do? How could I leave that poor thing to die?”

That poor thing.

He can’t tell if he feels more relieved or offended by that statement.

“...I’m sorry.” She disperses the mist around the statue’s eyes, meeting its discolored gaze. Her voice shakes as she looks around the cemetery. “You…all of you know that, right?”

How long has she been weighed down by grief? Is this not the same person who claimed he would one day move on from the calamity?

All of a sudden, the mist rises. The Khaenri’ahn huddles closer to the tree to avoid it. Through the haze, he watches as ______ stomps on the barren grave and bursts into tears.

“Why did you even bother to come home?!” she shouts. “To see me one last time? To put a stop to my waiting? To…to punish me with the sight of your corpse?!”

Is this what will become of him? Will his vengeance ever amount to recovery?

The statue blankly stares ahead.

Her voice breaks. “It’s not fair that—why did it have to be you? When will it be my turn?!”

Or will he, too, live the rest of his life burdened by his own survival?

The Khaenri’ahn resists the urge to leave his hiding place.

For what feels like ages, the only sounds in the cemetery are the anguished cries of his savior. Still sniffling, she calms the mist and faces the statue again.

“I…I have to leave,” she says softly. She casts a strained smile at her friend’s likeness, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’ll come back with your cake tonight, okay? See you later.”

With that, the statue’s eyes are concealed once more. She sets her broom aside, and the Khaenri’ahn leaves the cemetery.

He is able to retrace his steps without difficulty, but the lingering pain from his injuries is debilitating. Before he can enter the temple, a hoarse voice calls out to him.

“What are you doing outside?” ______ approaches him, her veil back to its usual style. Under the sheer fabric, a frown crosses her face. “I thought I told you to rest.”

Does she suspect anything?

“I needed some fresh air,” he replies, keeping his voice light.

“I see…”

The mist swirls around them. The Khaenri’ahn meets her gaze, holding his breath.

The curiosity in her gaze gives way to concern. “Let me accompany you next time. I don’t like the thought of you wandering the forest alone. What if you get hurt?”

As though she doesn’t already fret over him at the slightest lift of a finger.

He walks past her. “You need not concern yourself with that possibility.”

Spoken too early. Pain suddenly shoots up his broken ankle, causing him to stumble. He almost falls, if not for ______ catching him.

“Are you all right?!”

How humiliating.

He avoids her gaze. “Thank you. You can let go of me now.”

______ is unconvinced. She keeps a firm grip on him and examines his new scars. “Let’s go inside, dear. I’ll check your injuries.”

“If you insist,” he mutters.

…Up close, his savior’s puffy eyes and dried tears are visible under her veil.

“Where were you, anyway?” he asks.

“Oh, me?” The smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I was just tending to the achlys flowers. Moving on, I’m baking a berry shortcake later. Would you like some?”

He hesitates. “That would be lovely.”

It is futile to offer comfort to someone who clearly refuses it. What could he possibly say to her as one who has just recently lost his own people?

No, that isn’t the right mindset.

If grief will not leave him, he must make it into what fuels his vengeance. Only after his weaknesses are burned away can he become strong enough to rebel against the divine.

He walks through the mist this time.

Only then will he be in a position to wipe her tears.

ii. knight

The religious art is disappointing.

Pierro studies the weathered fresco. It depicts a veiled figure hovering above a crowd of faceless followers, isolated by swirls of mist. The subject’s face is eroded beyond recognition.

She was wrong. None of her sacred depictions can compare to their model.

He touches the figure with a gloved hand. The image is divine, passive, untouchable. He doubts that the original face has the kind eyes and gentle smile from his memories.

“Sergeant Luda.”

A Fatui subordinate rushes towards him, bowing slightly. “Yes, Lord Harbinger?”

Pierro gestures to the fresco. “Extract this painting from the wall and include it in the list of artifacts to be transported to my personal estate. I expect no transit damage.”

“Noted, my lord! Do you have any other orders?”

“I have but one command. Demolish the temple before you leave.”

“Excuse me?” Luda’s tone turns doubtful. “You want us to destroy this place? All of it?”

He gives her a cold look. “Must I repeat myself?”

She bows again. “N-No! Forgive my blunder, Lord Harbinger!”

“That is all, Sergeant.”

With that, Luda quickly stands up and barks a few orders at her coworkers.

Pierro looks around the temple ruins. No mist hovers over ______’s old territory. Several Fatui subordinates are sifting through the debris for surviving artworks and relics.

Would she ever forgive him for erasing her existence from the world? Can he say the same for himself, with the knowledge that he is committing the crime against his homeland?

“My lord!” Another subordinate enters the temple and kneels before him.

“Lieutenant Daniil,” he says. “I presume that Agent Leonid has departed from the forest adjacent to Miseria.”

Daniil nods eagerly. “Correct, sir. According to my spies, Agent Leonid has made a full recovery from his injuries. He and the previous defectors have permanently settled in the city.”

About time that traitor left her company. “Punish the next traitor. The attackers need not follow them this time; just ensure that they reach the forest in a wounded state.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“That will be all.”

Pierro approaches the next set of scattered fragments. The old manuscripts have been reduced to yellow shreds. He pieces together what seems to be a quote by █████ herself.

“May you find refuge in every place where my blood has mixed with the air.”

He smiles to himself.

His savior is truly too kind for her own good. With how easy it has been to orchestrate a hostage situation, ______’s voluntary surrender is guaranteed.

He wonders if she will recognize him during their reunion—or even welcome him, given his new status as the director of the Fatui. If she doesn’t, he will still consider it a pyrrhic victory.

It is only proof that he has outgrown her mercy.

iii. bishop

Their reunion goes as planned.

It doesn’t take long for ______ to accept their new power dynamic. Prior objections aside, she quickly adjusts to her new life as the Jester’s partner. She is an elegant sight in her Snezhnayan dresses and Khaenri’ahn jewelry.

…Pierro does miss their peaceful days of home-cooked meals and friendly conversations. His darling’s fear and respect is as frustrating as it is gratifying. She isn’t afraid to challenge him with moments of petulance.

For what it is worth, she no longer addresses him as “dear” or her other patronizing pet names. At times, their double-sided arguments are quite engaging.

At any rate, his other objective has been achieved. The new resources acquired from ______’s relinquished territory serve more purposes than the Lord of the Hearth’s fire.

“Jester, I come bearing a report on our latest Archon Residue experiment.”

Pierro looks up from his signed documents. “Dottore, I expect impressive results since you took the initiative to request a meeting with me.”

The Doctor closes the door behind him, smiling. “You will be pleased to learn that we are making progress with the remains of the Goddess of Consciousness. Her powers have manifested in the test subjects, albeit their mental faculties remain incoherent.”

Pierro recalls ______’s last visit to Zapolyarny Palace. She didn’t seem to recognize the melody sung by the test subjects.

“Rectify that side effect immediately.”

“As you wish.” Dottore looks up from his research notes and glances at the empty sofa. “Is your darling currently at home?”

“Does her presence have any bearing on your report?” he asks sharply.

“No, it doesn’t. I was merely curious, given that I’ve only had the privilege of meeting her once. Oh, but I did find something very interesting in the test subject’s speech patterns.”

Pierro grips his pen. “Go on.”

“Imagine my curiosity when I noticed a recurring name,” he continues. “‘█████.’ The test subjects kept shouting that name—quite hysterically, I might add. Initially, I brushed them off as an insignificant friend of the deceased god until I made an important recollection.”

Dottore walks over to the sofa and runs his hand along the headrest.

“Do you remember our first meeting, Jester?”

“How is this relevant?” asks Pierro. “I recruited you in Sumeru and you eagerly accepted my offer. I can vividly recall your hysterical reaction to your new title.”

“No, after that. If my memory serves me correctly, you inquired about the House of Daena’s religious archives. After which I noticed a few ancient books and manuscripts amongst your luggage, most of which referenced a divine being known as █████.”

He knows.

Dottore adjusts his mask, a crimson twinkle in his eyes. “I did question your interest in that unknown god. If we can obtain the remains of the God of Mist, as we did with our current specimens and the Lord of the Hearth, I can use—”

“Dottore.”

The air grows cold. The Doctor pauses, meeting Pierro’s glare.

He puts down his pen. “You should know by now that I am not one to entertain baseless assumptions. Moreover, I must address your previous invasion of my privacy.”

“Oh?” Dottore approaches the desk, eyes wide. “I presumed that you could fill in the blanks for me, seeing how none of those ancient texts are listed in the Fatui’s libraries. Shall I ask your darling instead? I heard that you acquired her from the same location which sourced the new Archon Residue specimens.”

Enough of this.

“I advise you to watch your words, Zandik,” says Pierro. “My partner has nothing to do with your little investigation. I do not pry into your private affairs, particularly the Akademiya scholar you have been stalking, so it would do you well to reciprocate the gesture.”

A moment of silence passes.

“Of course. I know better than to pry into forbidden knowledge.” Resigned, Dottore picks up his research notes and flips to another page. “Before I leave, I have another report to share with you.”

Pierro picks up his pen. “Proceed."

“In seemingly unrelated news, I have the results of the chemical test you requested. For the most part, I identified common household substances in the carpet samples you sent me…apart from one compound.”

“And that is?”

“Among the chemical components, I found low traces of Archon Residue.”

So his suspicions were correct.

Dottore’s smile returns. “I wonder how such a substance ended up in your estate. But given your earlier admonishment, I won’t pry into the matter any further.”

Pierro gives him a stern look. “If you have nothing more to report on, you are dismissed.”

“Very well. I bid you a good night.”

With that, Dottore places the research notes on the desk and leaves the office.

That explains the information from his spies.

Pierro reads the second report.

He did find it quite odd that ______ requested an extensive tour of the estate and was later seen with a bandaged thumb. So she had claimed her prison in his absence.

How clever of her.

It was wise of him to lock the doors to his personal quarters. Until it is necessary for him to divulge his awareness of her scheme, he should avoid formal meetings in his estate.

Despite his irritation, he can’t help but feel impressed.

Well-played, ______.

iv. rook

The replicated festival is a success.

Since her birthday, his darling has been more docile. The smiles directed at Pierro are more soft, cheerful, paired with brighter eyes. Their dinner conversations are more relaxed.

However, her kindness remains a double-edged blade.

“Hello, little ones.” ______ crouches down in the snow, a warm smile on her face. “May I know your names?”

The children eagerly crowd around her, small hands grabbing at her dress and veil. One child takes advantage of their eye-level position to play with her necklace, to which she laughs and lightly scolds him.

“No, you can’t have it. It’s from—wait, don’t pull the chain!”

He should have kept her at home.

“Lord Harbinger.” The orphanage caregiver gives Pierro a nervous look. “If the children are bothering your partner, I can send them to their rooms.”

He turns to face them. “There is no need. You may proceed with your report on the next batch of recruits.”

“Thank you for your leniency, my lord!”

Pierro casts a final glance at the courtyard. His darling is managing the children quite well, all things considered. After saving her necklace, she carries the offender and lifts him high above her head. Her laughter has never sounded more lively.

What a heartwarming sight.

He will allow it, so long as she doesn’t object to their fate.

*✧･ﾟ

“You appeared to be in high spirits earlier.”

“Are you referring to the orphans?”

The bedchambers feel less empty with ______’s presence. She lies on her side of the bed, an enthusiastic smile on her face.

“They were adorable! Those precious lambs asked me to participate in all sorts of games. You should have seen little Damien; he kept running around and ‘defeating’ me with a wooden sword.”

Damien Morozov, eight years old. Already shows promise in swordsmanship.

Pierro hangs his coat in his wardrobe. “Are you partial to the company of children?”

“I guess so.” She takes off her veil, eyes dimming. “I used to play with my young followers often. Why do you ask?”

“I was merely curious. You were quite eager to entertain the orphans’ antics.”

Would she be as loving with their own children?

Pierro unlocks the drawer. His old Khaenri’ahn attire remains in good condition. He can still remember the time ______ mended his clothes, requesting permission to cover up the holes with her embroidery. Every little star and diamond seemed to breathe new life into the fabric.

If he is ambitious enough, he can envision it clearly. A new set of embroidered clothes for a smaller frame. A family portrait displayed in their manor. Tiny pupils shaped like four-pointed stars, sparkling with innocence. His darling’s gaze filled with love and devotion.

“Pierro? What are you looking at?”

He closes the drawer. “That is none of your concern.”

______ gives him a suspicious look. “If you say so.”

Now is not the time to entertain such delusions.

The divine rebellion has barely begun. Likewise, so long as his darling remains an unwilling captive, he would be a fool to imagine any semblance of a happy family with her.

It is a tempting thought, however.

Pierro locks the drawer and approaches the bed.

For whatever reason, his darling has morphed into her true form. Her skin is dusted with gray dots and swirls resembling mist. A clear reminder of her divine nature.

His gaze stops at her wrists.

Even with her divine markings, her bruises are evident. The same can be said for the dark blemishes on her hips and knees.

He observes her exposed face this time. It was quite satisfying to provoke those honest expressions out of her. He couldn’t get enough of the look in her eyes.

Neediness, trepidation, absolute submission. All for him.

His hand slams down on the pillow, a few centimeters away from her head.

“Pierro?” She startles, turning her head to face him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t offer an explanation this time, just leans down and kisses her. His other hand pulls down the neckline of her dress.

“Hey…ah! Stop!”

She lightly shoves him, only for her wrist to be easily pinned to the mattress.

Pierro pulls away, ending the kiss. His other hand traces the curve of her chest, eliciting another soft gasp. “Have you taken your contraceptive recently?”

She looks away, biting her lip. “I…”

He puts his hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards. “I asked you a question, ______.”

His darling looks so powerless beneath him. So easy to break. To desecrate.

She nervously meets his gaze. “I…I did.”

“Excellent. Then I don’t need to hold back.”

He sets his own mask aside and kisses her with more fervor.

The Old World is no place for the future of Khaenri’ah. Until absolute peace has been achieved, that dream will have to remain a fantasy.

Until then, his darling’s affection will solely belong to him.

v. queen

The Snezhnayan winters are becoming more frigid.

“Is the temperature of the room to your satisfaction?” Pierro drapes another blanket over his darling’s shoulders. “Inform me if you need another blanket.”

She gives him an exasperated look. “There is no need to coddle me. My human vessel isn’t that frail, you know.”

Says the person who once drowned him in blankets and hot tea on a rainy day.

“The nights will be colder at this time of the year. There is no harm in looking out for your physical health.”

“Then the same can be said for you.” Despite her earlier remark, she wraps herself in the blanket. “Even I can’t stand the Snezhnayan environment. Don’t you get sick of the cold?”

Pierro glances at the window. Outside, another blizzard paints the sky with swirling snow. White, frigid, nothing like Celestia’s sea of flames.

“I am rather impartial to this nation’s climate,” he replies, returning to the sofa.

A chessboard sits on the low table, along with a bottle of fire-water. ______ empties her glass and refills it to the brim.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I did not take you for one to overindulge in vices.”

Another glass finished. “You drank nearly as much as I did.”

“I know my limits.” He confiscates the bottle and hands her a glass of water. “That is enough wine for you. Any more, and you will make a fool out of yourself later.”

She rolls her eyes, but drinks it and lowers her veil. “All right. Shall we continue our game?”

Regardless, he will be the sole audience to her inebriated theatrics.

“If you are so confident that you can play with a clouded mind.”

His attention returns to the chessboard. ______’s opening move was a direct challenge. No mercy, then.

He moves a black pawn. “Disregarding the climate, you have become well-adjusted to Snezhnaya. I must commend your growth over the previous year.”

“You think so?” She stares at the chessboard, assessing the pieces. “That isn’t a big achievement, seeing how all I’ve done is behave in the estate like a model prisoner.”

A model prisoner who remains strategic.

“I beg to disagree. From what I have seen, your current conduct and level of education are befitting of your new status.”

The expression under her veil is doubtful. “You’re just being nice. My studies, this dress, the title you gave me…it doesn’t make me any more worthy for the New World.”

Her next move is clumsy.

Pierro easily counterattacks. “I shall be the judge of that.”

The game continues. Chess pieces are toppled. With each sequence, the influence of alcohol becomes more apparent. ______ begins to mumble, sway slightly, make bad moves.

“Another loss.” She frowns at her toppled king. “No fair…how are you so good at this game? How many victories would that make for you?”

Pierro touches her cheek. He can feel her warmth through the fabric of his gloves.

“You should rest,” he decides. He places the chess pieces back in their original squares. “Can you walk to the bedchambers on your own or shall I escort you?”

“What a chivalrous offer,” she scoffs. She gathers the sacrificed pawns, only for the pieces to slip out of her loose grasp. “You are insufferable, you know that? Impossible to comprehend…”

He might as well take advantage of her openness. “Why do you say this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” ______ rests her head on her palm and peers at him with glassy eyes, chess pieces forgotten. “For starters, while you have been concerned about my health all night, I have no doubt that you will scold me tomorrow and make me study despite my hangover.”

“You wouldn’t have to suffer from a hangover if you had drunk less wine,” he shoots back.

She shakes her head. “Honestly, I can’t figure you out. One moment, you’re absolutely cruel and strict towards me; next, you make me so happy that I almost forget our arrangement. It makes me feel so conflicted, the way you treat me…I hate it.”

“So why do you endure it?”

“Huh?”

The office feels more humid. Perhaps she had involuntarily raised her mist.

Pierro holds her arm, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You claim to be a weak deity, yet my research states otherwise. And despite your powers, you have never made an attempt on my life—both in the past and in the present. Why is that?”

She stares back at him, eyes wide behind her veil. “That…”

He glares at her, strengthening his grip. “Are you truly as foolish as you are kind? Or does your mercy stem from pity towards that poor thing you saved all those years ago?”

For a few seconds, his darling is silent. She looks away, her arm limp in his grasp.

“Of course not. I…I just don’t want to get in your way,” she mumbles. Her gaze trains on the medals displayed on the wall. “You’re amazing, you know that? You became stronger…found a new purpose in life…now you’re actively changing the world for the better.”

He could get drunk off her praise.

“So it would be a shame if you lost it all because of me,” she continues. Then she shakes her head, smiling. “But what am I saying? You will never let that happen, no matter your fondness nor gratitude towards me.”

He lets go of her arm. “There is no use in reflecting on that theory.”

“Really now? If the Tsaritsa ever viewed me as an obstacle, would you kill me for her?”

Would he?

When was the last time he found himself at a loss of words? As far as he can recall, it was years ago—back when the Tsaritsa posed a similar question.

-

“The God of Mist? I did not know she was still alive. So she saved you in the past, and now you intend to overthrow her and keep her for yourself.”

Pierro cleared his throat. “I humbly request your permission, Your Majesty. Apart from the elimination of a potential threat, the subjugation of █████ will provide the Fatui with a new territory and invaluable resources.”

“Yes, and I imagine that you recognized every possible benefit prior to this discussion,” she said knowingly. “You have my permission. I trust your judgment.”

“You have my gratitude,” he replied, bowing.

“Oh, but Pierro?”

He looked up to face her. The Tsaritsa was the opposite of his previous savior—pure, sacrosanct, a kindred spirit who had chosen the path of vengeance and revolution. From her lofty throne, she couldn’t look more divine.

Her gaze was cold. “Remember where your loyalties lie.”

Without hesitation, he kneeled before her.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

-

“It is illogical to compare love and worship,” he finally says. “Do not ask a question you already know the answer to, especially one which you will likely forget in the morning.”

“All right.”

The look on her face shows pure understanding. Yet despite the tears welling up in her eyes—from fear? Disappointment? Heartbreak?—her smile seems genuine.

“I am glad to hear that,” she says, voice trembling. “Any other answer, and you would be no better than a lovesick fool.”

How did she appear during their first chess game? Compared to the savior of his memories, the god before him looks so fragile. Acquiescent. Openly vulnerable.

This time, she doesn’t protest when he lifts her veil. Pierro leans over the table and brushes his thumb against her flushed cheek, wiping away her tears.

“Rest assured, I will never allow such a situation to happen,” he says softly. “My final choice would not be without internal strife.”

After all he has endured, such a scenario would be the greatest loss in his life.

“And why is that?” she asks.

“Because above all, you are the only good thing left of the Old World.”

vi. king

“Pierro.”

“Psst, Pierro.”

“Rise and shine…”

“Wake up!”

At the sensation of the pillow hitting his face, Pierro grimaces and catches her wrist.

“What do you want?” he mutters, opening his eyes.

______ looms over him, eyes faintly glowing in the dark. “Finally, you’re awake.”

He turns to his side and glances at the clock. “Is it already past midnight?”

She gives him a bright smile. “Happy anniversary!”

No wonder.

Pierro lets go of her wrist and sits up, facing the window. The sky is still dim, on the cusp of twilight. The lingering darkness is dotted with stars.

“Did you feel the need to greet me as soon as you woke up?” he asks drily.

Despite her nightgown and bedhead, ______ looks full of energy.

“Yes,” she replies. A proud smile plays across her lips. “This marks the ninety-ninth time I said it first.”

“Don’t look so triumphant,” he tells her. He brushes the loose strands of hair away from his face. “It will take centuries for you to catch up to me.”

“I know. So have mercy on your dear wife and let me have this one victory.”

He might as well. These days, her celebrations are solely limited to their birthdays and milestones. For this day alone, he will let his darling have her fun.

He still hasn’t returned her greeting.

“Happy anniversary,” he says with a soft smile. “Are you going back to sleep?”

She shakes her head. “No, so neither will you. We might as well prepare breakfast now that we’re awake.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I saw the menu last week, along with what you planned for lunch and dinner. Wouldn’t you say that our banquet is too much for two people?”

At that, she holds his hand and intertwines their fingers. The dim light is caught in the pale blue gems of their rings.

“Of course not,” she smiles. “After all, we are commemorating the day I was shackled to you for all eternity. Such a tragic event deserves a grand celebration, doesn’t it?”

Pierro presses a kiss against her knuckles. “If you insist.”

How long has it been since their wedding? In her Khaenri’ahn gown, his darling was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Her happy tears marked her ultimate resignation.

His darling is extra touchy throughout their daily routine. Eye contact in the bathroom mirror. An unruly necklace clasp and corset strings. Fleeting touches as she helps him change into his own suit.

“You may open your gift after breakfast,” Pierro informs her as he puts on his mask. “I believe you will find it to your satisfaction.”

She turns to him, fully dressed. Her divine marks have faded into her human guise. She looks elegant, dignified, perfect for a Harbinger’s spouse.

“How exciting. After all these years, you never fail to surprise me,” she says. “I hope you are equally receptive to your own present.”

Pierro slips an embroidered handkerchief into his pocket, taking a moment to admire the new four-pointed stars. “I can only imagine what design you came up with this year.”

Their daily routine is over. Before they leave the room, ______ faces him and pulls him into her embrace. Her grip is strong.

“Hey, Pierro, how much longer until the rebellion ends?” she asks.

He wraps his arms around her. “Why do you ask?”

Thin wisps of natural mist swirl around them, weak and bloodless.

She leans into him. “Ever since the Fatui began acquiring the Gnoses, you’ve been even busier. Do take a break once in a while. And don’t put yourself in danger, you hear me?”

Her hands tremble. The mist rises, enveloping them in a cold haze.

“I find it insulting that you still entertain those fears,” he shoots back. He steps out of the mist. “As I said years ago, it will take more than a vengeful god or your antics to dispose of me.”

The mist disperses.

“I’ll trust you with that.” ______ releases him, a sincere smile on her face. “The sooner the New World is achieved, the sooner you can rest. And the more time I have with you.”

Under her veil, her eyes shine brighter than the stars. She is still speaking—his real name, whispered in such an adoring, reverent tone.

He should enjoy their special day while it lasts. Once their private party comes to an end, it will be back to work. Back to Zapolyarny Palace, his petulant Harbingers, Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, the future of the New World. But today, he can enjoy the present with his darling.

At the last whisper, he smiles and pulls her closer. Lifts her veil. Silences her with a kiss. Holds her gaze, staring into those hopeful orbs which reflect only him.

“I look forward to it.”

♡

Read the Author’s Note here!!

To think Pierro would end up with the longest, most twistedly wholesome side story…….how tf did that happen ;-; Also hahaha cheers to Dottore appearing in another Harbinger’s fic for the second time. Chemistry reference, anyone?? :>

Thank you to everyone who expressed their love for Disjecta Membra!! I didn’t expect so many ppl to like my version of Pierro and Savior! Darling, and I hope you all enjoyed Chess Piece. Do inform me of your suffering brainrot and consider sharing this to spread the Pierro agenda~

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @kocherry @mirdance @victoria1676 @mnemosyneechan @artiifex @pierroswife @fluffy-koalala @lcveaesop @teabutmakeitazure @nicebonescomrades @ansy-tea @oofasleep @leftdestiny-posts @thescribeoflostmemories @elysiasfiance @frostedclementine

Thank you for your interest in reading!! @yandere-romanticaa​ @ddarker-dreams​ @cinnamonest​ @yanmaresu @gum-iie

[nimblermortal]

I'm beginning to doubt I will actually write this, due to an acute deficit of creative energy, so here are my notes in reaction to the July 1 SCOTUS nonsense. It plays out in my head as a comic.

The first part is a montage of Trump's campaign, his misdoings, and finally the Court's findings, with a panel of Sotomayor's dissent. In response to this newfound panel, in a way that is neatly foreshadowed, Biden orders SEAL Team Six to assasinate Trump, end chapter. Various pundits worry about what will happen to the country now, etc.

The next page, Biden is lying in bed. He gets up. He goes through his old man morning routine. (It is very important, throughout this, that Biden is always drawn/treated as a Little Old Man.) He sits down at the breakfast table. He tells his aide, "I have spent all my life defending the Constitution. I just don't know, in light of this SCOTUS decision, if I've done enough." There's a wordless panel of his face as he contemplates. Then he says, "Call a press conference."

At the press conference he announces that as an official act he will be killing one Republican per day until the decision is overturned.

A journalist raises his hand. He's from Fox News or similar. He says, "Don't you think that -"

Biden pulls out a gun (Bond Arms Bullpup) and shoots him. He flicks his aviators up on his face.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he announces, leaning into the microphone. And then he hobbles off stage.

The next several pages follow his next days: McConnell. Clarence Thomas. Ted Cruz. The sequence echoes Death Note (which I haven't read) rather strongly, with politicians trying to barricade themselves in ever tighter security, but no private force can stand against the amassed might of the entire United States marshaled behind its executive leader.

There's a vignette among the Secret Service as they question their own loyalty. Should they still be protecting this killer? This isn't what they signed on to do. But... it is what they thought they signed on to do. It's the coolest thing they've ever done, body checking private security out of the way so the president can get through with his [insert fancy gun here - @icryyoumercy I need another fancy gun please].

Note: Biden uses a silencer whenever possible to avoid making a racket. He's perfectly out in the open, he just doesn't believe in disturbing the peace with high decibel levels.

Cue to Biden at breakfast again. His aide is notably more cowed as Biden says, "I've spent my whole life defending the constitution. I just don't know if I've made a big enough impact. Henry..." The panel shifts. "Get me a machine gun."

This transitions to the chapter "President of the United Submachine Gun" which features the most epic action scenes: Biden framed in light as he crouches behind the Browning, clothes blowing back from him, shells scattering around, clearing rooms as he moves through the Houses of Congress.

January 6 featured a mob invading the Houses. Joe Biden will do it all by himself.

(Almost. The gun is too heavy for him to carry, so his aide has to keep moving it and setting up a support structure/turret for him to fire from. "Murrica," says Henry, bolting in the support structure for the executive Browning.)

After this we enter the epilogue and its voiceover narration. It's important that the action de-escalates lightning fast.

A few days later the Supreme Court retracted its decision and in a unanimous 3-0 vote (there being only 3 judges left on the court) declared the president is equal under the law to every other citizen.

Biden gave up his weapons peacefully and retired to prison without argument. He died five months later.

(This is over panels of him walking like a creaky old man into a prison facility, and a gravestone featuring his name, a carved pair of aviators, and the words NO REGRETS.)

In the resulting political vacuum, normalcy slowly asserted itself. Most politicians were either implicated in the rampage, or dead. On January 17, with emergency candidates dug out of obscurity, the president of [that one library that got famous for resisting censorship] was sworn into the highest office of the land.

(This section includes a panel of campaign paraphrenalia, including slogans such as Harris: Still an Option and Cruz: Holy Shit What the Fuck, with the latter crossed out and replaced with RIP.)

Her first act, to enshrine the limitations of the presidency into the Constitution, passed without contest.

[mothgodofchaos]

Spirits

In my defense, it was a fantastic pun. And sometimes you just gotta pour one out for the homies. On a different note, I hurt my own feelings writing this.

Ghost!Chase x GN!Reader, TW: alcohol, grief, death, funeral mention, human experimentation mention Words: 870

You get out of your car in the graveyard parking lot, the anniversary of Chase’s death. It’s gotten a little easier over the years, but it’s still hard to believe he’s gone. You take the grocery bag out of the back seat, heading through the gates to find his grave. You know where it is, your feet almost take you there by themselves, you’ve walked the path so many times. That laboratory deemed his death a “non-preventable casualty” and refused to give any details, and something inside you has told you it wasn’t an accident.

You pull your hood over your ears, the chill autumn air sending shivers down your spine. Just like you do every year, you stare at his gravestone, almost like you’re processing all over again that he’s truly gone. Like you never fully believed it. And you don’t even know if you ever will. You set the bag down, getting down on one knee as you rustle through it. From the bag you pull out a bottle of whiskey, an energy drink, and a small bouquet of flowers. Old flowers are discarded, long dried out and abandoned. You hold the beverages in your hands, staring at the labels. They’re his favorites, ironic how the drinks you tried to get him to stop drinking end up being the things you bring to his grave.

You pop the cork of the whiskey and open the can of energy drink, watching as the two pour out onto the ground, sinking deep into the ground. Something about it feels, good almost. Making a danger cocktail for him, exactly like the ones he used to try and get you to drink. When there’s nothing more than a few sips in each left, you down them yourself, making a face but, you do it for him.

You get comfortable, talking to him about how life has been this year. The ups, the downs, how you still check on his brothers for him. Trying to do best by him while also living your life. It’s a difficult balance, but you have support keeping you upright. When you run out of things to say, you set the whiskey bottle on the lip of the headstone, placing the flowers inside. It’s what he would’ve wanted. As you walk away, something inside you pulls you back, looking at his name on the stone. Through tears, you give him one last fistbump, for old time’s sake.

You step away, wiping your eyes on your sleeve as you take your trash back to your car.

“WAIT-“

You stop in your tracks, not believing what you heard. Maybe you shouldn’t have drank the whiskey and energy drink…

“Dude! I know you can hear me!”

You spin around to be faced with an apparition of Chase, ghostly blue but he almost looks solid in the evening light.

“Chase-“

You cautiously reach out to him, hand colliding with his chest. He’s cold, but he’s there. Your hands move to his shoulders, looking at him through tears before pulling him into a hug. All you can manage out are sobs, apologies, scoldings for leaving you without him, anything you can think to say to him now that you know he’s listening.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. Well, I’m not, I’m a ghost. But I thought you could help me with that…”

The idea of getting your friend back makes your heart leap, maybe, maybe you could fix things between the two of you. Confess the things you always wanted to.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, dude.”

“My body… isn’t here. It’s still at the facility. I didn’t even know I had a grave, although I guess I should’ve expected that.”

“It- it’s not here!?”

You fish through your memories of the funeral, realizing you never saw Chase in that casket. The top was always closed.

“They said the lid was closed because you were disfigured…”

“Yeah that’s a load of bullshit. They were the ones that killed me. They’re trying to use my body as a vessel for… something.”

Your face is a mixture of horror and disgust, which makes Chase chuckle a little bit.

“So… we’re breaking your body out of prison?”

“I mean, that’s one way of putting it.”

“And your brothers? They’ll want to see you. Want to help.”

“I know! I know! But, I wanted to see you first. I didn’t realize you still cared.”

“I always cared, Chase. No matter what your thoughts said. I thought I was waiting for you to come back to me emotionally, not spiritually…”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to. But, they grabbed me. The facility-“

“You need to talk to Henrik about that, later. Right now, I have my boy back. And we’ll get your body back, I promise.”

“Your boy… I forgot you called me that.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

“Always. Please.”

You look at each other for a moment, before you pull him to your chest, kissing the top of his head.

“Let's get you home. See your brothers. Marv will be able to help in the short term.”

“You’re staying, right?”

“Wouldn’t leave you even if they decided it was my turn to go to that facility.”

[triptanite]

Dear Gortash

This one shot is based on the dialogue option that Karlach has when interacting with the ornate mirror!

Option 3: I'd see the Hells filled with flowers, and my old boss Gortash on his hands and knees tending them for eternity.

the companion crew and co all need a shitload of whatever the faerun version of therapy is after saving the world and everything. this is how I imagine Karlach might find a bit of healing within herself

being real, it is a real therapeutic activity to write letters and the like to yourself or others and then to destroy it in some way afterwards. this can be good for venting, or cathartic when you dispose of it afterwards (e.g., ripping, shredding). so if you're feeling a little pent up and need something physical to do, there's an idea for you!

Pairing/s: none

Content warning/s: none

MASTERLIST

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

I didn't have an answer for her then, but I think I would now.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Gortash.

The crew and I are sorting ourselves out now that the dust has settled a bit. We're rebuilding things, healing and all that. We also get drunk under the stars and eat our weight in stew but I think that's also helping.

Some of us are working on things like forgiveness, and guilt. Some of us are training, socialising, moving on. All of us are grieving.

I struggled for a bit, thinking of a way to find my closure. I lost so much of my life. I was punished so deeply for a crime I never committed. I was put through the ringer, ripped out, and ran through again. One of my friends suggested that I write you a letter, and I won't lie, I laughed. A letter? What the Hells will that do?

But still, I kept it in the back of my mind. I think it's just in my nature to trust the people I care about. I carried a sheet of parchment and a quill in my pack with me for two weeks straight. Except every time I tried, I had nothing to say.

Then I went to visit my parents. I clean their gravestones and sweep away fallen leaves as often as I can make it. I tell them about my adventures, my health, everything really. I tell them about my nightmares, and my daydreams. There's a merchant at the cemetery who sells flowers out of a tiny cart. She's a widower. I pay her thrice her asking price for blooms to decorate my folks place, and ask her about her day. She was telling me about how she still talks to her husband sometimes, when she sleeps. She knows he's gone, but it brings her peace. She asked me about my dreams, and about my peace. I didn't have an answer for her then, but I think I would now.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see you.

You're dressed plainly, not an adornment in sight. You're crouched low in the soil, joints aching, hands calloused. The knees of your peasant pants are permanently dust-stained, and there is dirt under your fingernails that you'll never get out.

You water an endless field of flowers of every variety gently, there is no other way you are able to do it. There is no company. No conversation. Just a gentle wind meant to carry the pollen of infinite blooms to each other. Light beams down onto you. You've developed deep crows feet from squinting when you look up to note it's movement - the artificial sun is the only way you can track the time here.

You are quiet. Frowning. You're too exhausted to rage anymore. You tend to the flowers, a stark and lovely contrast to the hells that lie just beyond the field. You can never reach the edge, you can never crush the flowers. They simply spring back when stepped on, they simply regrow when ripped out.

You would have spent the first few weeks screaming, ripping roots out of the ground, scheming, plotting, swearing. What else would you have done? But over time, you began to resign yourself to your situation. I hope you find comfort that you're not the only one who knows how that feels.

Far away from the world's living and dead, unable to destroy or devise, this is where you'll stay. You can't sweet-talk the flowers, you can't take advantage of the wind's trust. You cannot leave and you cannot die. You will never hurt me again.

And over time, these dreams will fade with the nights. I replace them with my friends and family. I'll close my eyes and think about meals in the moonlight, about playing with dogs and cats and owlbears, or about nothing at all. I think more about myself now. About what I want to do with every day that I have. I learned to make mince pies, I admire the setting sun. I make more friends. I treat myself. I deserve that. I saved the fucking world. I saved my fucking self.

When I think of you, tending to a field of flowers in the Hells forever, I feel relieved.

One day, I won't think of you at all.

And that makes me smile.

Bye forever, pal.

Karlach.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

my sweet gal Karlach deserves all this and more

ty for the love and kind words/tags on some of my works!!! It's seriously so encouraging to know that actual people like what I do!

as I said in my intro I'm pretty inclined to do bittersweet, wordy pieces so I think you can definitely see that across my works so far

anyway thanks again!! :3

1144pm 3/6/24 1252 4/6/24

[roguephenon]

Hi, I started planning my own KND fic, and started with figuring out the ages and birthdates, and I have to ask. 1. How was it for you the process of coming up with a chronology of a show that doesn't really have a set and consistent timeline? 2. In what year does your fic takes place?

My process and answer is long so have it at under the cut

The first part of my process was deciding if I wanted a set timeline or just to go with what worked for me from fic to fic. Over the years (and after watching the series hundreds of times and taking novels worth of notes and screenshots), I’ve settled on a set timeline that works for me and what I like to do.

(Fun fact: I have 3 different timelines! 1 is the main one I use, and the other two are bit more loose depending on the AU I wrote. In one, the GKND doesn’t exist.)

First, I would decide how religiously you want to try and make sense of the timeline the show tries to give us. There aren’t many, but there are a few events that have specific years that can be pinned down. For example, one is the Great Junior High Rebellion of ‘99 where the recommissioning module was allegedly “damaged beyond repair” (maybe they didn’t try turning it off and back on again?). The next one is 1969 where the KND faked the moon landing so adults wouldn’t discover the Moonbase. They’re small throwaway mentions, but important if you need some dates to anchor to.

Also consider that (probably almost) everything in season 6 that’s not a flashback happens AFTER Op. ZERO due to the shots of the Moonbase being the rebuilt Moonbase Zero.

Now, saying all that, my next piece of advice may be weird, but honestly, I think it’s important: don’t stress too much about it! Details are essential, but getting hung up on them can be a headache and stop the process. As you mentioned, the show doesn’t have a consistent timeline, so trying to make sense of everything will run you up a wall.

Just breathe and pick any year or era you want that makes sense or resonates with you! Wanna set it in 2018 or even in 2024? Go for it!

But why aren't kids/teens seen using smartphones? Maybe there’s super duper strict regulation that keeps anyone under 13 (perhaps even 18 because Father apparently controls the Teen Ninjas) from not having smartphones, and the KND uses 2x4 tech as a way to get around it. There’s already legislation in the works in the US that does this already to ban kids from using social media.

How come sector V are all in the same grade yet are different ages? Again, maybe in this world, there’s some super weird law the adult villains lobbied for that keeps kids in certain grades for extended times. There was literally an episode that ended with a 4th Grade President going to City Hall and coming out and saying, “by the way, school day ends at 8:25pm now. Sucks to suck, also Father is the best.”

Let the show's lack of a consistent timeline be an unexpected strength! Besides one or two cultural nods as the show evolves, there's not too much to date it. For example, they make up corporations and franchises to parody real ones and never give the name of a sitting world leader.

Also, it’s a cartoon, and their world is not bound to the same laws as ours. It’s not real life! Be silly and stretch things if you need to! If trying to take the show and make it more realistic is your goal, then, of course, do that as well! Just for me personally, I try not to get bogged down with “this event or timeline doesn’t exactly match up or happen how it would in real life” because I’m not writing real life: I’m writing Kids Next Door fighting candy monsters or the living avatars of puberty.

I’m getting off-topic. Anyway, the last piece of help I offer is just (if you can) rewatching the show and paying attention to context clues in the background! In season 5, two shots of a gravestone end with 2005. So, with that in mind, we can infer a few things:

1. From wherever you put that episode in timeline, it at least happens during or after the year 2005.

2. The same gravestone appears again in IT, so everything that has happened up to Rachel deciding to call a game of tag, again, happens either during or after the year 2005.

Take that as you will!

For the next part of your question! If you’re talking about Cold Reception SPOILER AHEAD BECAUSE IT WILL NEVER BE DIRECTLY STATED IN THE FIC! ....

...

...

...

you really wanna know?

...

...

...

...

The year Cold Reception takes place is 2011.

Hope this helps! If not, let me know and maybe I can give more specifics! Good luck on your fic! Writing is fun.

[slxsherwriter]

The Spirit of Lending a Hand

Fandom: 2001 Maniacs

Pairings: Potential Buckman x Reader

Word Count: 4,073

Warnings: Cannibalistic spirits, death, witchcraft, talks of necromancy, honestly this whole movie and its contents probably count as a warning

Author's Note: Here I am, once again writing Buckman. My brain works in mysterious ways, even to me. This sort of took a life of its own. As always, not beta read and unedited. Information also taken from the comics.

Tagging: @slashingdisneypasta & @tinalbion

The semi-annual trip to Pleasant Valley had been delayed this time around due to unforeseen and unwelcomed circumstances that were beyond your control. Namely, a set of hunters that had been on your tail for the better part of four months. They had been smart, annoyingly persistent, and meticulous in their planning. Far more trouble than you had met in recent years.

Once you had felt confident that you had shaken their incessant pestering and attempts on your life, you gathered all the necessary supplies and headed out to the small, off the beaten path, ghost town. Well, cemetery, but it had the feeling of a ghost town. The energy there was indescribable. Then again, after such a tragedy, it didn't come as a surprise. The spirits likely lingered there, something you understood even if others didn't.

You had first come across the resting site of the small town in your travels for your doctorate, focusing on the fall out of a war on small towns in the south from an economic, social, and overall day to day living standpoint. It was hard when records of those that had been destroyed as a byproduct and casualty of war were wiped from the map. Before heading back, you decided to take the summer and explore some more rural areas of South Carolina and Georgia. Besides, there were plenty of supplies for your other studies to be found in that took time, too.

The tug in your gut had you making that left hand turn for the first time. The graveyard was large. A place full of sorrow, of mourning, of anger. But so were most places like this when lives were irrevocably changed. Which, really, was a civilized way to say slaughtered. From your understanding after reading the gravestones and doing some digging, that was what had occurred in Pleasant Valley. A massacre of innocent lives. It was a frequent happening when it came to times of war but made it no less tragic or horrific.

After that first visit, there was something that kept pulling you back time and time again. Before you realized it, you had routinely visited the place twice yearly for years. It was a place to calm your mind and gather yourself. Feel recharged but also perform those darker rituals that required a draining amount of energy. There was enough in the place that you could draw from it and get done what was needed. The occasional necromancy and such. Not things that you dabbled in too often but when it was needed, and unfortunately, there was a time and place for it, then being in a place like Pleasant Valley helped.

This year, it felt entirely different. More energy, more lively. Typically, you came during summer and winter, but because your winter trip had been delayed, you were entering the area during mid-spring. Lively. That was an odd way to frame it, and your brain stuck on it when the normal left was marked with a giant detour sign. You stopped the car and stared at it for several long moments. The lettering had been poorly done with the e of detour backward. Enough to make you laugh, but at the same time, there was a nagging concern. Had someone desecrated the resting place of these poor souls?

It was a smart idea to see what you were walking into before you did. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Parking the car on the shoulder, you settled back into the driver seat, closed your eyes, muttering the words of the spell, and concentrating hard. Astral projection was always one of those spells that you could never quite get the hang of, but this was worth the attempt.

It had to be repeated twice before you felt the telltale heaviness and then lightness of your limbs. Traveling slowly down the dirt road, hands in your pockets, you still took time to appreciate the beauty of the natural surroundings. Right as you were about to cross under the arch that marked the threshold, you were thrown back into your body. Gasping and coughing, it took a moment for your spirit to settle back in and breathing to come normally. Well, that was new. Something was happening. Something not of the natural world. With your intrigued spiked, the tires nearly peeled on the gravel as you turned the car down the road towards the familiar spot.

Instead of a graveyard, you were met with a quiet, quaint looking town. Something akin to what one would see in the south during the eighteen hundreds. You should know well enough. As you got closer and closer, there was a buzz in the air that felt electric. The anger that hung around Pleasant Valley was present, but this was far different. If an energy could feel hungry, that was what you would have described it as. There was a gathering of people ahead, surrounding two cars. The cheering and hollering were evident from a ways back. Your skin pricked, and your hair stood on end. And in that moment, you understood perfectly.

It was dangerous. So very dangerous for any living being to be here right now. These weren't people. They were vengeful spirits. How had you not made the connection before now? Was it because there wasn't enough energy when you normally stopped by.

“More guests!” The patch was recognizable. After so many trips to the site, you knew that it could only be George Buckman. Whether you made it out of this or not was up to how it was played. And that required a private conversation with the man that seemed to be pulling all the strings. Offering help seemed like your best chance. Should you feel bad about offering the lives of those who had unwittingly found their way here? The answer was yes. But would you? No, not likely. Who was dimwitted enough to follow a sign like that in today's day and age? Besides, fresh sacrificed blood was a hard commodity to come by unless you got your hands dirty yourself and even then, it could be iffy.

It took a little bit, and there were a few odd looks, as if people were trying to place exactly who you were to them. The familiarity of a place you had never been washed over you. It wasn't entirely true. You had never been to Pleasant Valley when it had existed with living people, homes, businesses, and the little quirks that came with such things. But you had been here before, had communed with the land and in ways with the spirits. In a way, they did know you, and you knew them.

Southern hospitality dictated a certain set of manners in return. That much you knew. Your history degree wasn't entirely useless after all. The sirs and ma'ams worked their way in, albeit a little unnaturally and awkward at times. Offers to help with whatever it is they were doing were made. They were declined each and every time but the offer was there.

There were other ways to be useful, though. Hex bags and a corresponding hex could provide easier targets for the souls stuck on this Earth. The problem was making them quick enough and properly placing them. You might be able to get one or two together and tucked hidden away, but would it be enough?

Before much thought could be put in, or you could gain a private audience with Mayor Buckman, someone else decided to grab your attention. Quite literally. The large hand clapped down on your shoulder, a firm touch that spoke a fraction of the strength it held.

“I think you and me need to have a chat, miss.” It felt like there was little room for argument. Nodding your consent, though it was hardly needed, the large man beside you was a presence that you would lose a physical fight against. And a fight would not help with your plans here. It was best to go along quietly and see what it was that he wanted to discuss. No one else was being pulled off on their own, at least not yet and no in a manner like this. Hopefully, you weren't marching towards your death.

The town was mostly out of sight by the time that the little walk had come to an end. You were finally able to turn and look at the man. Taller, broad shoulders. But an air about him. Another magic user. In some form or another.

“You're the one that comes around here.” It wasn't a question, a simple statement and acknowledgment that maybe some did know who you were. “Practices your witchcraft.”

“That is me.”

“You're late this year.” It shouldn't have been surprising, and yet, you were standing there, entirely caught off guard to the fact that the man knew your schedule had been entirely thrown off.

“I had a little problem to take care of,” you paused. “Well, not so little. Took me a good four months to handle. But, occasionally, things like that come up, someone tries to take my life, and it's a vicious circle for a short while.” An amused twitch of his lips was the response. You took that as a good sign for what was to come. It was all a matter of still carefully navigating the landscape.

“Yet, you are still here.”

“Well, did you think I was going to miss my routine just because I had two men trying to kill me?” At that, you ended up receiving a smile, which was counted as a victory.

“Why do you come back?” Now, that was something that you had asked yourself quite a bit over the last few years and never came up with a solid answer. Perhaps ones that sounded pleasing to the ear but never one that was genuine. Why not be honest with the spirits? More than you had been with yourself, at least. A small shrug came before the words started to flow.

“Because it always felt right.” A simple answer. “There was always something pulling me here, demanding attention and a commune. There was never really a solid explanation for it. I just knew the first time I passed something demanded, I show up, and that demand never ceased. The energy always felt right.”

“So perhaps you are the one.” The tilt of your head came unbidden, something that you couldn't help at the words grabbed your curiosity. Never one for chosen prophecies or the like, it was still something that was worth the intrigue. There didn't seem to be much more information forthcoming. “You do understand what is going to happen here?”

“I would be foolish to miss it in the air. Vengeful spirits create a certain…energy in the air. Intent shapes it and leaves lingering traces.” He nodded.

“Yet, you remain.”

“Admittedly, at first, I was worried someone had desecrated the graveyard. And when I felt something blocking me, I had to investigate. You all did catch me a little off guard with the whole, ya know, appearance thing going on.” He chuckled and nodded.

“I do suppose that would cause a bit of a shock upon arrival.” He nodded to himself and motioned for you to follow after him. This time, he wasn't leading you but rather trusting that you would be walking alongside him. Far more peaceful that way. There seemed to be people milling about, watching, but not really participating in anything now that there wasn't anyone to pay attention to them. You supposed you could understand such a thing. If you were stuck in a purgatory pattern like this, there wouldn't be much drive to do anything either.

“Didn't go getting lost now, did ya?” The mayor greeted with a wide smile, eye flickering back and forth between you and your companion, whose name that you never got.

“Think you and Granny Boone need to have a sit down with this one, sir.” There was an odd emphasis on some of the words, but whatever he had been trying to convey was apparently done successful as Buckman paused long enough to process the information.

“Really, now? Ain't that the darndest thing. We were just going to have a little chat, so why don't you just come along then?” This would be the make or break moment that had been looming since your arrival a few hours ago. Once again, you could only consent.

“Of course.” With Buckman taking over, you were led towards the small church in town, after it had been demanded that your former companion let Granny know that she was expected to attend the meeting.

During the short walk, you exchanged names properly, and there was an ease about it that could be appreciated. Rare was it that you got along well and right off the bat with others, a byproduct of the life that you led. A sense of calm that came from him, even though there was still that hint of rage simmering beneath the surface. As much as it would make others uncomfortable, you found a calming effect to it in the familiarity.

The church was void of everyone and everything, and while it wasn't exactly your favorite place to be but it wasn't the worst.

“Must be a reason he is thinking so highly of you, darling. You gonna explain or keep me in suspense?”

“Wouldn't it be easier to wait for the others?” Waiting meant that you wouldn't have to repeat yourself multiple times. It was far more preferable than spitting out the same explanation over and over and over. There was a moment of indecision, the choice flipping around before a sigh was given as an answer. He didn't have to wait long. The older woman who had been running the quote hotel of the town came in, eyeing you suspiciously. The response? A broad smile as you remained seated, allowing the two to gather around you.

“All right, Missy. Best start explaining what's going on.” Granny Boone was no nonsense. You liked her.

“Well, I've been coming to Pleasant Valley for years now, twice a year specifically. This is the first time that I've met any of the residents, though.” There was a tension that briefly filled the room, enough to give you pause and wonder if you had said the wrong thing before it broke and a sense of excitement took its place.

“Knew I recognized something about ya!” Buckman was practically joyous, while Boone remained a little more reserved but was all smiles like he was. “Looks like this year's festival is about to get a whole lot more interesting, ain't it?” Boone quickly batted at his knee.

“You haven't even asked yet. Don't get ahead of yourself.” The interaction was enough to make you smile.

“I'd be happy to help in any way that I can. Eye for an eye aren't just some fanciful words. I can spot others' work when I see it.”

“Ain't you a smart one.” You shrugged. “Well, we got our answer. We got our guests. All we need now is to get ready for the barbecue.” If you thought he was excited before, it was nothing compared to now. The man was all but vibrating with energy in his spot.

“I just have a quick question. And you may or may not be able to answer it for me. I've been coming here for years but this is the first time we have met, face to face, so to speak. Why now? Why not then?” There had been plenty of opportunities, but nothing had ever happened. The two looked at one another.

“Well, it's not always easy to appear as it is at other times. The more Yanks, the more it's worth the effort.” Interesting. Something caught, but the idea refused to fully form right yet. Stuffing that thought away for later, you nodded.

“Makes sense. Wasted time and energy if the reward isn't big enough.”

“Besides, you bring something with ya that just livens us all up a bit. Especially since you drop by at quieter times.” That idea drug forward a little further. Again, thought would be dedicated later in a quiet moment where you could concentrate on the feeling and what the idea was supposed to shape up to be.

“I suppose I should say I'm flattered.” The small laugh that accompanied the words had the other two smiling wider. It was a relaxed but giddy and anticipatory atmosphere. One that you found yourself sinking further and further into as the seconds ticked by. A place to stay. To be safe. The whispers tickled your consciousness. “Just direct me as to where I'm needed and what is expected of me. I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty if that's required.” Not to find joy in it. Maybe they did to some degree, but this was about avenging the egregious act that they had suffered. After suffering so long in a made purgatory, things started to twist a little bit, though.

“No use in sitting here like bumps on a log. We got work to do.” Buckman clapped and jumped to his feet. “Think I'm gonna keep you with me, pretty thing. Wanna see just whatcha can do.”

Boone went back to continue prepping whatever it was that she was in the middle of, something with the ladies that had arrived from your understanding. With her gone, it was just you and Buckman.

The seemingly jovial man was observing you still, though he was on his feet and motioning for you to follow.

“Ya know, ya been coming here so often, for so long, sort of makes ya an honorary resident of our little town.”

“Sort of feels like that.” There wasn't any use in lying or trying to deny that feeling. Being honest with the man had been your decision from the smart, so why stop with something as silly as telling him that there was something that made you feel so connected to this place. “Moved around a bunch as a kid. Never really had a set place, and that's sort of been the theme in my adult life, too. Moving minimizes the risk of being caught by those who would prefer to see me dead. Always liked it when we stayed in the south, though. Felt most at home. That subtle heat in the spring and fall. Different pace to life in the smaller towns. An abundance of ingredients for spells and such. Better energy, too. Something far more deeply rooted. Unless I visited places like Salem or Plymouth. Sometimes, there was less acceptance of the….well, lifestyle for lack of a better term but always made due.”

“That happen often? Someone chasing after ya like that?”

“Often enough. It's what delayed my appearance here this year. Though, I guess that it worked out in everyone's benefit in the end. Except for theirs….”

“Hm, then ya really won't have a problem helping us take care of these Yanks.”

“I've brought people back from the dead for less than honorable purposes. Yeah, I really don't mind helping you kill someone. Or in this case, someones given the turnout you have here.” The laugh that came from Buckman couldn't have been classified as anything but ecstatic and excited. A sound that others would likely think bordered on the sound of insane. For you, though? There wasn't a way to stop the grin that it brought. “My hands haven't been clean in many, many years. What's adding a little more?” And your view on the world and the people in it may have been twisted and just a little skewed, but it came with the territory.

“Just gonna have to gather up the town to make sure no accidents happen then. Let them know you are here helping.” He raised a hand to rub his chin, thoughts clearly going a mile a minute. Not that he could be blamed. You knew that while you were there to help and would, your presence ilkley threw a monkey wrench into whatever plans that they had.

While Buckman might have been accepting, it didn't mean that the rest of the town would be right away either. So a meeting would have been smart. You would have hated to cause a problem for one of the spirits because you had reason to defend yourself. They couldn't be hurt in the traditional sense and had probably gotten quite comfortable in their relative safety from physical harm. But, you weren't their usual prey, and while you didn't want to focus on it, having various methods of protection were floating through the back of your mind. Hopefully, there wasn't a need for it.

******************

It was a sight to behold, how quickly the spirits were able to create chaos, one that was under a tight control and allowed them such freedom to do as they pleased. Impressive, really. So much so that you were feeling immensely grateful that you weren't on the receiving end. No one was spared, and no corners were cut. The brutality of it wasn’t so uncommon to you that it gave a weak stomach, but on the same hand, it did press some sort of line. As complicit as you were, you kept your mouth shut. Besides, was there really room for you to talk? It was a reminder to yourself given all that you had done in your life.

There was such a captivating sort of aura around the entire thing, the passion and need that came from those around you enough to make you want to drop to your needs. All driven forward from desperation. If you helped them, how long would it take for them to finally know rest?

“He's getting away!” There was one that had just escaped the flaying knife of the cook, apparently not all the way dead. The urgent tone cried out loudly and caught your attention. The man was moving far faster than he should have been able to, adrenaline, and the critical need to stay alive kept him moving. And he had a heavy head start on just about everyone. So far, the spirits had appeared to move like normal humans. The first natural, gut reaction that you had was to lash out, the ground immediately rising into a wall in front of him. Head first he ran into it, with no time to hit the brakes and bring himself to a stop. How he wasn't knocked out cold was beyond you, but it was enough for others to catch up to him.

“Well, buttermilk pancakes, look at that.” Buckman was by your side seemingly out of nowhere, letting out a low whistle. It had been a long time since you had heard anyone even slightly impressed with your abilities. A twinge of pride swelled in your chest. “That's a mighty fine trick ya got there.”

“Ain't the only trick up my sleeve.” The comment slipped a little more flirty than intended. The chuckle that came from the man was well worth any embarrassment.

“I think you are going to do just fine here, sweetheart.” That old southern twang that came through was pleasant to listen to, an emotion that came unbidden and unexpected. Trouble. The thought meant big damn trouble. You were too far into things now, though, to give up. Giving in was the only option. What was the use of living a long life if a little fun couldn't be had every once in a while? It wasn't like he was going to be around forever after all. Once they were able to fulfill the force keeping them here on this Earth, they would finally be allowed to rest.

“Planning on keeping me, sir?” A proper southern gentleman, even if he was a vengeful, cannibalistic spirit, instead of offering back anything vulgar or too untowards, he simply grinned and rested a hand against your lower back.

“Oh, ya ain't ever getting free, sweetheart.” The possessive note sent a shiver down your spine. Not in a bad way. It had been many years since you had ever felt a flick of danger mixed with desire like he was able to ignite. He would be gone eventually, but until then? There was nothing saying that you couldn't enjoy yourself and bring a hint more pleasure to his life.

[cosleia]

Hux Crisis #2

I remarked yesterday that I was having another Hux crisis. (The first Hux crisis is documented a little bit here.) Basically, my Hux crises are caused by my personal understanding of him coming into apparent conflict with canon depictions. This also happened to me with Carlos the Scientist from Welcome to Night Vale. The situation isn't great; historically it has caused me to stop writing for a long time while I recalibrated my headcanons.

Because I'm hoping that won't happen this time, I originally wasn't going to discuss it too much, but then this morning I saw this post:

When I saw this, I just felt like that it fit Hux so well. The idea that his family line might be cursed in some way, resulting in all his perceived failures, is narratively compelling to me. It made me want to write down my thoughts and feelings about Hux.

I didn't want to clutter up OP's notes with my nonsense, so I made a screenshot for this post. If you want to see/reblog the original, I reblogged it here.

Let's get into it.

We know JJ named Hux after a name he saw on a gravestone. He wanted Hux to be a tragic character from the beginning. And Hux was. We learned that he'd grown up being abused, and that it's likely he was stolen from his mother when he was taken/rescued from his home planet during the New Republic siege. And of course we saw the tragedy continue through the films:

The stormtrooper program wound up producing a Resistance general

Starkiller Base was destroyed

The Fulminatrix was destroyed

The Supremacy was destroyed

Kylo Ren became Supreme Leader

The First Order failed to wipe out the Resistance on Crait

And finally, Hux was found out as the spy and executed

It could be argued that many of these things were failures on Hux's part. The comics give us even more failures: in Journey to TLJ: Captain Phasma, he does not issue an official evacuation order when Starkiller Base begins to collapse, which enables Phasma to keep troopers who saw her from surviving to report it, and probably also resulted in unnecessary losses. He also seems not to question Phasma's version of how the shields were lowered on Starkiller. In Hyperspace Stories #8, which seems to be set pre-TFA, he loses control of a wild creature called a Bramalish that he set upon a non-cooperative colony.

I get chalking all of this up to incompetence, to thinking that Hux kept failing because he was stupid or prideful.

But we have evidence to the contrary.

Hyperspace Stories #8 also shows us Hux is quick to adapt to change. When Ren arrives to fight the Bramalish, Hux orders the stormtroopers to help him immediately. When Ren brings back the city leader whose cooperation will secure the First Order's power, Hux instantly adjusts to "negotiating with" (threatening) him. While I won't deny that setting a Bramalish loose believing the stormtroopers could contain it was a miscalculation, the strategy was to terrorize the populace, and it worked. That plus Ren's contributions scored the First Order a win.

In the comic Star Wars Adventures #30, set between TLJ and TROS, Hux's plan is to send stormtroopers to Vendaxa to follow a lead that the Resistance might be there. It's Supreme Leader Ren who insists on going personally. Hux goes with him because he sees an opportunity to ingratiate himself to Ren, and he actually manages to get Ren to say he has earned his trust, "for now." It turns out there was no need for the leader of the First Order to go to Vendaxa personally. The Resistance isn't even there, and Ren and Hux wind up in mortal danger. I think it can be safely argued that Hux was right, and circumstances (Kylo Ren) worked against him.

In that same comic, Hux tells Ren, "I put my stormtroopers in charge of reconnaissance because leadership is trusting the people you lead to do their jobs." The loss of the Fulminatrix seems ludicrous in light of these words. Canady stood around waiting to be micromanaged; Hux is not a micromanager. (I ranted about this separately here.)

And then, of course, we have Age of Resistance - General Hux, another pre-TFA story. This is not only where we see more of Hux's abusive childhood, but also where we see him at his craftiest. He uses Ren's identity to manipulate Bylsma, and then he uses the shuttle sabotage to justify killing one of his childhood abusers. From this, it's clear he's not an idiot.

Let's go through the other perceived failures with a more critical eye.

First, the stormtrooper program. Yes, it "failed" in that Finn resisted his conditioning, as did Jannah and her company. But what percentage of stormtroopers actually defected or deserted? How does it compare to other militaries' defection/desertion rates? Is it even possible to have 100% loyalty? While I don't think we know the answer to the first two questions, the answer to the third is absolutely no.

The destruction of Starkiller Base would not have been possible without the shield being lowered. Hux knew the oscillator was a weak point and had it protected, not just by shields but by squadrons of fighters. It took an extraordinary series of events for the Resistance to win.

Trusting Phasma is either a blind spot, or he's playing the long game, as fellow kyluxers pointed out on my original Hux crisis post. Phasma conspired with him to kill Brendol; this was in both their self-interests, not the First Order's. If anything, TLJ cemented their relationship as a partnership. It's not a stretch to think Hux knows Phasma's true loyalty is to herself, and that he considers having her as a partner more advantageous than not. It's a gamble, but she's a powerful ally. I've wondered if their conversation when she returns to the Finalizer is coded...if what Hux is really asking is how well she covered her tracks.

(The fact that he doesn't seem to dwell on the loss of Starkiller, either in the Captain Phasma comic or at the beginning of TLJ, and he just looks annoyed when it's brought up in TROS, implies that he is forward-thinking, which is a vital quality in a leader.)

Hux not managing to keep Ren from becoming Supreme Leader is understandable. He's ready to kill Ren, but Ren stirs. Hux knows he can't defeat Ren in a fight. And unfortunately, Hux has rarely been able to talk Ren into anything. This is the rare moment he breaks emotionally: he's lost Starkiller, he's lost the Supremacy, and now he's lost Snoke, the one thing that has been protecting him from Ren. I don't think his action or inaction here is indicative of his intelligence so much as his trauma.

The battle of Crait wasn't actually lost. It simply wasn't a total victory. And the reason wasn't Hux or his commands. It was Kylo Ren. Without Ren there, the First Order would have wiped the Resistance out.

Hux being found out as a spy was, I've always thought, at least partially because Finn shot him in the leg instead of the arm. You'd think an enemy would aim for the head or chest. The arm would have been a more believable miss location. But of course, it also happened because of Hux's choice to report the escape to Pryde himself instead of going to medbay and sending a subordinate. This one I can't find a good explanation for, except maybe that he thought he would seem more loyal if he went personally. (I like to think it was because he knew Pryde would shoot him, and he took advantage of that to fake his own death.)

I'm showing obvious bias here, but even I can admit Hux isn't flawless. He can make mistakes and succumb to emotions like any other human. I just believe, based on my understanding of canon, that not everything he did was a mistake. In fact, I'd argue that the majority of his failures were due to circumstances outside his control. It's tragic, like JJ intended.

Because of that, I think that cursed family line idea fits really well. Maybe Hux finds out about the curse just when he's on the verge of giving up, and it makes him try even harder out of spite. Could he break free of the curse? Or is he doomed, like every other Hux?

[st-guliks-fnord]

Any other long term fans of OfHerbsAndAltars currently having their heart ripped out by Exit Note?

The chills I got reading “the truest thing I ever wrote was ‘On my gravestone this is what it said: whenever I’m sober I wish that I was dead’.”

Only 50 pages in, but oh my god. So glad Dorian’s still here. Watching their writing only grow across these 3 books has been a gift.

[landslided]

do you have any fic recs / favorite fics you’re willing to share with the class 🫶🏻

hi anon!! yes, of course!! i have a ton of fics i adore that i would love to share with you! actually, im a serial bookmarker on ao3 so if you want to check those out, definitely go take a look over there but for the sake of this ask and because i want to shout out works that i adore, here is a non-exhaustive list of gen and lawrusso fanfics i live for!

The Recidivists by @vimesbootstheory is a lawrusso fanfic set a few years before the show’s actual timeline and following daniel’s journey as he goes to prison for a twenty-month sentence. his cellmate happens to be a certain johnny lawrence. it is my absolute FAVORITE fic right now, i am so happy every time i get an update. the writing is phenomenal and daniel is sooo realistic in this, i love him so so much.

Fight Like a Man by @miyagi-hokarate is a gen fic exploring dutch’s character and the reading of him as a trans man. it’s beautifully written, it’s a really interesting take on the character and it’s a must read for me.

A Means, A Way, A Plan by an_sceal is a gen fic exploring johnny’s mental health after season three and before that, during his childhood, his teenage years and young adulthood. it’s absolutely heartbreaking and it made me cry three times reading it. you should however READ THE TAGS!! i like fics that sometimes talk about difficult or dark themes and i don’t want anyone to end up reading something that upsets them so read the tags before you read any of the fics i recommend!

ordinary things by @toothpuulp is a lawrusso fanfic that is a the piano teacher AU. yes, the piano teacher by michael haneke. if you’ve seen the piano teacher or if you’re familiar with haneke’s work you probably know what this fic is but if you aren’t i will just say that it’s a fic that explores daniel’s desires, his repression and his trauma. it’s a fic that i’ve become totally obsessed with in the past month and that i’ve reread five times. it’s violent and sensual and just so brilliant i cannot even express how insanely good it is. once again do definitely read the tags and also read the author’s note but goood, i love this fic. it will also make you feel things for daniel larusso that i can only compare to like, shrimp colors.

lost my head in san francisco by GoldStarGirl is a lawrusso fanfic where johnny and daniel both bring their students (aisha and miguel vs robby and sam) to a competition in san francisco but their plans end up getting a little messed up by an earthquake and daniel and johnny have to team up and actually act like adults. it’s funny, it’s sweet, the kids are great in this. just mwaaah.

Race to the Bottom by kbaxter is a lawrusso story about infidelity, babyyyyy!! these men are NOT working through their issues and they are making it everybody’s problem!! they’re emotionally STUNTED and they have to fuck it out! a great fic by a great author whose other fics i also adore!

last night i had a dream by shortcrust is a lawrusso slice of life fanfic that i love dearly. it’s super sweet, super funny and it makes my heart do funny things every time i read it.

gravestone flowers by menocchio is a lawrusso fanfic that is actually the sequel to another GREAT fanfic called bootstrapping. gravestone flowers is my favorite of menocchio’s objectively amazing lawrusso fanfics because they are DIVORCED AS FUCK!!! it’s basically a retelling of season one if johnny and daniel had dated for a long time before and then had the world’s messiest break up. i love this fic to death. you can read it as a standalone but i definitely recommend bootstrapping as well.

Boxed series by ezlebe is a lawrusso fanfic where johnny used to do porn modelling when he was young and the kids find out… through daniel’s hidden stash of magazines. it’s funny! it’s hot! johnny is a wet dream! daniel has conflicting feelings! wonderful fic!

if anyone wants to recommend me their favorite fics, you’re definitely welcome to and don’t think that im not open to other things than lawrusso just because i have a one track mind, feel free to send me all of your recs! also!! if you’re a fanfic writer come recommend me your stuff!!!!

thank you for this ask and happy reading!

[mitsvriii]

How would they react to getting a call from Death-Cast?

Based on “They Both Die at the End” book cause I’m still not over that ending Characters: Kazuha, Kaveh, Tighnari, & Ayaka More: modern au, Ayato isn't around for SHIT, Tighnari is Tighnari, Kaveh’s a drunkard, Kazuha tries to be nice but dies wow so original, angst, death, mention of how each character dies, not explicit, guess how everyone died and I’ll give you a cookie, I got lazy like halfway through my bad g, Tighnari’s part sucks LMAO, not really proofread, if it's weird blame grammarly Word Count: 680+

whole fic under the cut

Kazuha: I believe it would be like when a bird hits the glass in those cartoons and somewhat childish movies. It would start as a shock, then, as the bird slowly falls down the windows, Kazuha’s wall that holds back his emotions would slowly break. He would most likely ponder on whether to inform Beidou or not. His mind immediately goes to his old friend who had gotten a similar call, and how his world had stopped then just as it does now. Will and can live his last day alive to the fullest. He decides to try new foods, checks a few things off of his bucket list, and leaves a note for Beidou, not building up the courage and having to deal with his guilt to tell her face-to-face. Writes one final poem that summarizes his life before submitting it to be put on his gravestone. Out of the corner of his eye, Kazuha spots a woman in trouble, a man trying to snatch her purse from her. Pushing aside the fact he was going to die today, he set out to help her, unaccounted for the pocketknife the man had on him. He would soon later be seen by Beidou, but the location, however, would be in a morgue. 

Kaveh: Shrugs it off as a joke, actually believes Alhaitham hacked or paid the Death-Cast company and directors to freak him out. When he finally stops shouting a string of curses to Alhaitham, he finds himself somewhat believing what Death-Cast said and knows logically Alhaitham wouldn’t stoop this low. So Kaveh does what Kaveh does best when he’s stressed, he drinks. He did so while pondering over how his life would be over today. After all he did to help his mom, after all he did studying to be an architect, after all he did to get where he is now; he was going to die today without any knowledge of how he was going to die. All he could do was sigh as he took another sip of his drink. It’s a shame, though, that one’s liver can only withstand so much alcohol.

Tighnari: Is so close to having a breakdown. What do you mean he’s going to die today? He still had research to do, more things to teach Collei, and even a TCG game scheduled for late afternoon. He does what Tighnari does best, prepares. He makes a list of goodbye cards, makes a short will, seemingly uncaring of who gets what, and reads through a joke book Cyno had the nerve to send him one last time and goes to cancel all of his upcoming assignments. Exhausted after his tasks, Tighnari went to lay his head down on his desk, eyes dropping. Surprisingly, he didn’t catch the bag of toxic mushroomed powder that was directly under the way of his head, though. 

Ayaka: Is a mess. Her sobs shook her body after she got the call, and the only person who could get her to calm down enough so she could tell what had happened was Thoma. Ayato was nowhere to be found, most likely in one of his meetings. However, Thoma had sworn that he would get Ayato to come home and see her as soon as possible. Ayaka knew that it was only a matter of time before she would meet with her parents again, yet somehow had hoped she would beat death. She was constricted to her room to protect herself from whatever or whoever was going to end her time alive. She could do nothing but stay locked up in her room, wondering if she was going to get assassinated because of her status, or if she was going to get involved in a freak accident by tripping or something. Ayaka would soon find out when an unfamiliar servant went to serve Ayaka her nightly tea, and the bitter taste would soon feel like it was spreading throughout her entire throat. And of course, when her brother arrived, the only thing he would find would be his dead sister, head face-down on her dresser.

[raindrop-21]

any thoughts about death ghoul? 🙏

xoxo clown anon

I've been wanting to write more about my little creature <3

Death Ghoul Masterlist

Element: They're element is unknown. Their ability to get into a person's mind and calm then down means they have quintessence in them, they also have the abilities of a water ghoul to breath under water meaning they have water in them, when they take ghouls to the pit they have to open up the ground so they have earth in them, and in the pit they're fire proof so they have fire in them, and once they're done they can disappear into thin air like an air ghoul. They have all the elements, but aren't a multi ghoul. Multi ghouls are a mixture of the elements of their parents. Death just has all of them separately.

In other things I've written about them, they have no gender. They might be able to asexually reproduce, or it might be like my drabble about quint ghouls where they just have no genitalia. They mostly wear a cloak and mask, similar to that of Secondo's ghouls. It hides their body and face, giving more mystery to them.

After their summoning they were feral. They had to be wrapped in chains and knocked out. Another ghoul, one that's long dead now, was the one to talk to them and calm them down. That ghoul was the only ghoul or person they've loved, and the first one they sent back. They haven't loved anyone else since. When alone they repeat their Ghoulish vows that they shared with their partner over and over again so that they don't forget. This happened before cameras, so they don't have a picture of their lover's face. They learned to draw, they're very good at it, but everytime they try to draw the ghoul's face they hate their drawing. It's never good, it's never perfect.

Aether is the only one who's seen Death's face. Aether has only seen it once and that was to make sure that Death wasn't an intruder. Aether keeps every note that Death has dropped on his desk, the notes telling him that another sibling or ghoul has been safely brought into the arms of Satan.

Random head cannons:

While they mostly wear black, their favorite colors are rose gold and purple

They love hoodies

They like having long hair, but prefer short hair because it's easier to maintain

They have a room in the ghoul den, but prefer to be outside

They sometimes bake when no one's around and leave the sweets for the other ghouls to eat

They love rodents and cats

Rarely will they kill. They only kill when necessary

They love cleaning the gravestones in the ministry's graveyard

[kafkaoftherubble]

做工前肯定要讲几句有关249的事: 憂太的 领域展开

// I Must Talk About c249 Before I Work: On Yuta's Domain Expansion

This post contains spoilers for Chapter 249 of Jujutsu Kaisen.

If I don't dump it here, these thoughts will distract me later! I'm already very distracted lately! Too distracted for my own good! Ahhhhh!

First off, I was eating so good. Yuta fans, simps, appreciators, and Rika (good taste, y'all)—rejoice, for this chapter is basically 95% Yuta! That's right; the next 5% was Yuta's Eyebags!

Look at this! He's so cute! So handsome!

Oh, I have to learn to exorcise spirits now. Then I can kick that fake Rika away and become his Rika!

Also, some people are somehow even more handsome just by being shown slow breathing. Is it just me who thinks that? Or is this what "rizz" truly means? I mean, look at that slight frown! Look at those eyebags! Look at him breathing!

... I'm sorry. I'm usually not one to write something with such trifling, substanceless content.

It's just... Yuta, man.

Anyway, the main point. Please, look at Yuta's

Domain Expansion

Shit is so magnificent. The many swords are obviously the first thing one would notice (and all that joke about Unlimited Blade Works and that Bleach... thing), but it's the abundance of crosses and the knots behind them that attracted my attention.

I'll get the easy out of the way first.

The Crosses

I would suspect these are meant to be "gravestones." Not too hard to think of "till death do us part," right? Though, to be fair, death didn't do Yuta and Rika part. In fact, it strengthened Yuta's split-moment craving for Rika and cursed her—in true dukkha fashion—into something quite macabre.

If one's Domain is the extension of their mental-scape, then it makes sense that Yuta's would incorporate gravestones, since his genesis as a cursed energy user effectively began on the day Rika died.

----

The Knots

Now this is the part that attracted the most of my attention!

Japanese knot-tying traditions are largely influenced by Chinese knotting (中国结) [1]. The word for knots in Chinese, 结, means "to bind," which then comes to represent all kinds of "union." Marriage, for example, is 结婚 (hanzi) /結婚 (kanji) [2][3]. Given Yuta's "love" motif, you can already see why the knots are part of his Domain.

There are plenty of meanings for the word 结, inter alia, it's a pun on 吉 (blessed) [2][3]. The fact that these knots are intertwined also comes to represent "interdependence," "connection," and "bonds." [2]

It's a bit of a stretch, admittedly, but I suppose one could probably draw this to that time Yuta described himself as "blessed." He is blessed because he was loved—he is enriched by connections and bonds with other people.

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What is the knot type in Yuta's domain, then?

There are two candidates I could find.

I always rank each possibility from the highest confidence level to the lowest, so here goes. Note that I'm using the Chinese name (I would love it if someone added a more Japanese-focused viewpoint in this post on a reblog. I'm much more familiar with Chinese and cannot read Japanese, so...):

(1) 双钱结, The Double Coin Knot, 淡路結び [1]

It's shaped like two copper coins that are intertwined, hence its blessing is largely related to fortune and money [2][4].

However, the pronunciation of 钱 ("money") is similar to 全, "whole." Meanwhile, there is a pair of coins in this knot. This gives 双钱 an alternative reading—双全, "a pair that makes the whole." It also means 好事成双, "good things come in pairs." [4][5]

Yuta, as a jujutsu sorcerer, is more of a pair than an individual—he fights with Rika and is connected to her. These two together make a whole. A force of good that comes in a pair.

Due to sturdy enough sources corroborating the meaning of this knot, the similarity in appearance to Yuta's Knot, as well as the very fitting "pair + whole" symbolism, I have a higher confidence in this knot being the one in Yuta's Domain.

(2) 八字结, The “Figure 8” Knot

It's a pretty dime-a-dozen knot where the number 8 is formed. It has pragmatic purposes (eg. rock climbing), but here, because these two loops are intertwined, it apparently means "honest love" and "unchanging friendship." [6]

I rank this knot as lower in confidence level. It does at least pertain to the motif of love, according to one source, but it doesn't resemble Yuta's knot quite as well as the Double Coin Knot.

A bit of a caveat, in the spirit of intellectual honesty and rigor: The meaning of this knot has been found in only one source (see Citation #6), and it doesn't actually pass my internal rigor test. I've tried to search for corroboration from Chinese sources, but no dice. The only site in Chinese that corroborates the meaning of "eternal love" has busted web certificates and links.

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The Name of Yuta's Domain Expansion

The translated name by OP Scan is terrible. It certainly pays homage to Yuta's fame (infamy?) as "The War God of Pure Love," but the actual kanji is 真贋相愛。

真 - Truth or real

贋 - False or fake

相愛 - mutual love, or reciprocal love, or "in love."

真贋 literally means "truth and false. Together it usually means "veracity." Here though? I'd interpret it as "The (Mutual) Love Between The Real and The False."

Isn't this shit metal as fuck? I mean, it's also fucking poetry. Truly the kind of magnificence only one with premium quality eyebags could provide!

It's worth nothing that 真贋 itself makes a contrasting pair, which again, links back to the Double Coin Knot's meaning.

I'm sure yall can make your own interpretation of what 真贋相愛 could symbolize vis-a-vis Yuta and Rika. Let's go, people!

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Tangents to My Research - Side Dish

Knots have come to be a very important symbol of relationships, especially love, since the Tang and Song Dynasty [1]. To draw to the Japanese side of the practice, Chinese knotting practice reaches Japan during the Tang Dynasty as well [1]. It's not too surprising that this love connotation could also have been passed to Japan.

The entangling property of knots also comes to mind the term "连理（枝）", which means "interlocking (tree branches)." Here are two poems referring to the word:

(1) 同心结缕带，连理织成衣. —By Luo Binwang (骆宾王)

We tie this ribbon into a concentric knot, and we turn our interlocking branches (of love)into our clothes. Translation mine.

(2) 在天愿作比翼鸟，在地愿为连理枝 —By Bai Juyi (白居易）

In heaven, I want to become a Biyi Bird (with you). On earth, I want to be (a mesh of) interlocking branches (with you). Translation mine.

The Biyi Bird is a mythological bird recorded in the purely fantastical geographical treatise, The Classics of the Mountain and Seas (《山海经》). The bird is born with only one eye and one wing on one side. To fly, it needs a partner with the other eye and wing of the other side—and the two will fly together as a complement. [7]

It's very lovey-dovey and romantic and shit.

...Damn, Yuta is really all about love and connection, isn't he?

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Wow, I didn't work on my actual job at all. Because I deadass spend hours just on this. Seriously?

But then again, there has been a precedence to me breaking my lackadaisical attitude toward writing JJK-related things—and that is when it concerns my favorite character. You don't need to click on the link to know who that other one is; it was Gojo Satoru.

Yuta, bless his rizz, deserves all of my time. If he dies (NO FUCKING WAY, GEGE!!!), then at least I have made something of worth about him.

Thank you for reading my ramble!

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Citations:

"Chinese knotting" from Wikipedia

"中国结的历史来历和寓意" ("The history and meaning of the Chinese knotting") from 妍妍旅行记 on Sohu.com (in Chinese)

"Chinese Knots, Winding the Best Wishes with Cords" by Beijing Tourism

"双钱结寓意和象征，双钱结编法" ("The meaning and symbolism of the Double Coin Knot; How to Make a Double Coin Knot") on 结艺网 www.zhongguojie.org (in Chinese)

双色绳的编法有哪些？("Whast are the ways to make knots using two different colors?") on Zhihu (in Chinese)

"19 Popular Types of Chinese Knots and Their Meanings" on AnyofChina

"比翼鸟" from Wikipedia (in Chinese; English page not created)

There are also other links embedded in the ramble; these are references for that one specific instance and so do not warrant their inclusion under this section.