#or some historic true crime | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astonmartinii · 1 year ago

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you and me got a whole lotta history | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x historian!reader

y/n is a historian and it’s not her fault her bf’s job takes him all around the world…

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 102,561 others

location: melbourne 📍

yourusername: so it’s the australian grand prix and i’ve spent the start of the week exploring this old city. one of my stops was the historic old melbourne gaol. this now museum was once a prison that housed some of the most feared criminals in australian history. constructed in 1839, the old melbourne gaol saw 133 hanged for their crimes between 1845 and 1924. it was briefly used during world war two but ceased operation as a prison in 1924 and was renovated to be part of the RMIT university and the museum it is today. a definite must if you’re visiting melbourne !!

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user1: my fave part of the race week is y/n’s museum recommendations tbf

user2: i can vision charles being dragged around this place hating his life

charles_leclerc: the things we do for love

yourusername: you said you enjoyed it :(

charles_leclerc: I DID

user2: oops

yourusername: i’ll leave you at the hotel next time

charles_leclerc: it was scary but i enjoyed it because i was with you

yourusername: okay that’s better

danielricciardo: so my farm isn’t good enough for you

yourusername: noooooo danny i thought we were going after the race?

danielricciardo: oof my bad

user3: petition for there to be a teds notebook but it’s y/n giving us a historical guide to the city the race is in

f1: we’re listening @skysportsf1

charles_leclerc

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tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: tough race in melbourne but a beautiful city regardless

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user4: HE served, we don’t talk about the race

yourusername: i don’t mean to say i told you so but i did say our day trip would be the best part

user5: girl you’re gonna get banned from the ferrari garage

yourusername: they deserve far worse than what i’m saying let’s be real

user5: true

user6: i love how charles didn’t reply ferrari has his ass ON LOCK

carlossainz55: we'll come back stronger

danielricciardo: we can all commiserate at my farm bro

charles_leclerc: your farm better be as good as you're saying now

danielricciardo: nervously awaiting the y/n review

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 104,561 others

location: miami 📍

yourusername: though miami may be known for it's partying (it's all about the U), charles and i took our monday to take a stroll around st bernard de clairvaux church, one of miami's hidden gems. the church was originally built in spain all the way back in 1141 to the style of cistercian romanesque architecture for alfonso vii. the monastry's cloister was illegally purchased by american william randolph hearst in 1926 and in order for the church to be transported it was dismantled to 11,000 pieces and sent to the us where it was rebuilt and still stands to this day.

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user7: i'm never gonna be able to afford to go to miami so why did i read this whole thing like i'll visit some day?

yourusername: history is important and interesting, always good to read even if you never visit !!

user8: she's like the older sister i never had

user9: did charles enjoy this one more?

yourusername: "at least i'll get a tan here"

charles_leclerc: i feel like anyone who reads about me in your comments will think i'm an asshole, i have fun every time i just don't understand most of it

yourusername: i know you have fun baby (and i love you for driving us to all of these places)

user10: have you considered our super historic frat house this saturday night?

user11: imagine thinking you have a chance when her literal boyf is CHARLES LECLERC

user10: every goal has a goalkeeper doesn't mean you can't score

charles_leclerc: i will run you over

user12: omg ferrari's pr is quaking

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lancestroll and 112,677 others

yourusername: it is my biggest honour to announce my position as a history lecturer here at oxford!! i always dreamed of studying here and to get to pass on my knowledge to those looking to follow in my footsteps is a huge pleasure and responsibility.

p.s. no worries, it is not full time so race week explorations will continue.

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user13: so it was true :(((((( wait i just read the whole post my bad

user14: so i guess i now need to turn my Cs into As if i wanna attend a y/n lecture

charles_leclerc: unbelievably proud of you my love - don't miss me too much

yourusername: you sure i can't persuade you to move to england with me :(

charles_leclerc: i'll be there as much as i can be but monaco is still our home

yourusername: always

landonorris: proud of you smarty pants

yourusername: thank you landito

landonorris: so you'll now root for the brits?

charles_leclerc: over my dead body

yourusername: what charlie said

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc: super happy for another win for the season but we keep pushing for the real prize at the end of the season - thank you for your continued support tifosi and my love y/n who stayed up all the way in oxford ❤️

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user20: i don't wanna jinx it but like the season is going well

user21: too well....

yourusername: winning looks good on you

charles_leclerc: you look better on me

pierregasly: oh god you've been apart for a triple header and now you're being horny on main

yourusername: says mr. doggy emoji

pierregasly: touche

user22: so charles can mathematically win in either austin or brazil FUCK THEM KIDS I NEED Y/N AT THESE RACES

user23: if she's not there for charles wdc i am personally going to have a sleepover on the train tracks

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and 503,786 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: the autodromo jose carlos pace is the crown jewel of the interlagos neighbourhood. the circuit opened 83 years ago and has hosted the f1 since 1972. the circuit was originally meant to be a housing area but due to the 1929 stock market crash the owners decided to construct a racing track instead. interlagos is often a season decider with fernando alonso winning both his 2005 and 2006 titles here, kimi raikkonen winning the 2007 championship here, lewis hamilton won the 2008 championship here, jenson button clinched the 2009 title here and CHARLES LECLERC WON HIS FIRST TITLE HERE IN INTERLAGOS FOR THE 2023 SEASON

on a real note i am so proud of you charles, i have seen the sacrifices you have made and the unbelievable amount of effort you pour into every facet of your racing NO ONE deserves this more than you. i am so grateful to have shared this moment with you, here's to many more xxx

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user26: i am unwell this is so fucking cute

user27: bro this is so fucking crazy

charles_leclerc: couldn't have done it without you, so glad you could be there for me xx

yourusername: always charlie xx

yourstudent: miss y/n you can cancel all of our lectures if charles wins the championship again FORZA FERRARI

charles_leclerc: the people have spoken

user28: insane butterfly effect of the wall street crash to charles leclerc 2023 wdc

user29: they make me believe in love

note: this was super random but popped into my head while at work and i knew i had to write it !! hope you enjoyed xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc instagram edit #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc x you

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naffeclipse · 2 months ago

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Charm Brought It Back

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

I am so excited to present this Hocus Pocus inspired AU requested by the lovely @jackofallrabbits! The boys star as the witchy brothers who return once a fated reader lights the starry candle. They simply must show their gratitude! And what better day to post such a spooky and fun fic than on Friday the 13th?!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

You turn the key and cut the engine of your car. With a flick, you turn off the headlights. The beginning of a sunset swoops down onto your ill-adjusted vision. The horizon is drenched in purples and oranges as shadows begin to crawl off of trees and their yellowed leaves. It will take a minute or two for your sight to adapt, but you have tilted and revolved the structure waiting just at the edge of the forest within your mind’s eyes for days now. It’s beyond the dirt road you’ve pulled onto the shoulder of.

Blinking slowly, you find the house’s dark silhouette through the boughs of clustered trees, and you sigh at the beauty of its preserved history.

The building is an artifact dating back roughly to the 1630s. A post-medieval English-style home, it contains two stories with an overhanging jetty and stunning clapboard siding that has survived a little under four centuries of existence. Your eyes catch on the windows and your heart sings at the sight. Diamond-paned casement. And there, decorative pendants of celestial bodies, including iron-casted suns, moons, and overlapping symbols of the two. The steeply pitched roof is common for the era and is more renowned in its descendant the saltbox form, but this style boosts its spooky aura.

The Puritan colonists were the ones responsible for importing the style to America as they landed here on the eastern coast.

It’s no stretch of the imagination to think of witches and execution trials while gazing over the beautiful home. You’re particularly intrigued by the history of the Salem witch trials, and as a historian, you couldn’t deny yourself the chance to enter the building and feed the gnawing need to stand within a piece of history.

Stepping out of your car, a gust of wind carrying the bitter edge of autumn cuts through your brown sweater. You shiver and shut the door as quietly as you can manage. This is hallowed ground. This will supply your ever inquisitive mind which is always looking to the past with a curiosity most insatiable.

You face the home. A footpath lightly serpentines between the trees. Hooligans with destructive tendencies and teenagers on dares will venture here for a spooky, fun time, but are usually caught by the police because the building sits on private property. You asked for permission from the owner of the hundreds of acres of forest land that includes the so-called “Witch House” if you might enter the premises. Given your credentials, you were certain the owner would trust you with exploring the home.

Much to your relief, the owner agreed.

You look up, arms clutching your knitted sleeves to fight the chill of an October breeze, in awe and reverence.

From your pocket, you slip out a wrought-iron key with the symbol of the moon overlapping the sun to form a black eclipse and marvel again at the intricacy of ancient beauty. Your fingertips grow chilled in the late hour. The sun shifts from orange to dark, bleeding red like blood from a heart spilled across the horizon. You walk towards the home.

Perhaps you should have arrived sooner. You were caught in another historical journal depicting the specific timeframe of when this home would have been occupied by its original inhabitants.

The rumors even now speak of curses and cursed artifacts within the building. Some of it is true—you have confirmed with your own scholarly sources. The original owners were a trio of brothers. They were accused of witchcraft and hanged for the crimes. That much is historically documented and verified.

What is fantasy is the tale of the brothers casting a curse with their dying breaths, declaring they would one day return if a virgin lit a starry candle on the anniversary of their executions.

Superstition. Most likely, the fear of the townspeople transcended to their children, and their children, down and down until it became a tale to spin on Halloween night around these parts.

The door is black as you approach it. A stray branch catches on your sweater, pulling on a thread, and you yank yourself free and silently mourn the roughen fabric before returning your attention to what really matters. You must be careful. This entire place is iconic and in need of preservation.

You slip the key into the lock hole and turn it with a thick, heavy click before the black wood door groans and slides inwards as if inviting you into its sphere. You take a breath. Your boots cross the threshold and you enter the home.

As is typical of some homes built in the early seventeenth century, an open hall greets you. In the far back is the fireplace with a cauldron still sitting upon an ashy bed. An original wood-carve table and chairs are set to one side as a staircase climbs up into the darkness of the second level. What little red light leaks inside is narrowed and cut up into diamonds by the panes. To one wall, shelves contain dusty and forgotten cooking utensils, once glimmery copper pots, and dinner dishes with designs considered much too gawky in the Puritan era but it causes you to softly gasp.

Your hand covers your mouth as you gaze around you, overwhelmed with the beautiful intricacies of metallic chandeliers holding half-burned tallow candles, and to the other wall lies a bookshelf covered in cobwebs as if the spiders refuse to let anyone examine such precious reads. Your fingers already itch to gently pry out one manuscript and gaze at the original script of whoever wrote it.

But the light��it’s far too dark now. The red has given way to blue and pale indigo. You squint. You reach into your other pocket for a lighter and flick it on. The tiny flame spouts a delicate light. Never would you dare admit this out loud to a living soul, but you so desperately wish to see the home in its authentic state, lit only by the technology the brothers had at the time: fire.

There are thick, yellowed candles lying on the table and clustered together on the narrow window sills. You have no hope of reaching the metal chandeliers but you do spy a candelabra positioned near the bookshelf on a small end table. You light it first with a careful touch of your lighter flame. The wick catches, even after all of these years. You smile softly, your heart warm within your chest as you bask in the essence of this beautiful place.

A few more candles should suffice.

You slip to the table to light the thick and tall candles. The flames bloom and warm the space in rich light, casting thick shadows from support beams. You almost set your lighter away when you spy one last candle set upon a golden candle holder. The fashioned metal twists and twines with elaborate engravings of shooting stars and slices of sun rays were placed in the corner of the room almost out of sight. The curiosity within you urges you to take a step, then another, and another. You stand in front of the almost forgotten candle.

The tallow is black as midnight. Strange. How did they color this? Embedded within the darkness are speckles of white, splattering the candle like an array of stars. Your eyes stray in search of constellations before shaking your head.

It’s true. There is a starry candle. Perhaps the brothers did dabble in the occult, playing with cards and fortune telling, and being punished with death for their interest in unholy magic.

The wick is dark and untouched as if it were never lit before. You bring the lighter flame closer. Superstition might worry another, but you concern yourself with logic and reason—explanations of humanity rather than inexplicable forces beyond comprehension.

Something stirs from a nearby corner shelf. Two long ears twitch. You catch a glimpse of a rabbit with creamy white fur just before it leaps off of the shelf and directly onto your arm. You yelp. Nearly dropping the lighter, you scramble back as the rabbit hits the floor, collects itself, and sits on its haunches.

Green eyes glare up at you. The rabbit, small and bunny-like, stays firmly between you and the starry candle.

You stand with your chest heaving and your lungs scraping out air, almost burning your thumb on the lighter flame before turning around yourself. Where did the woodland creature come from? Did it crawl its way inside like a rat and become trapped within the colonial home? The shot of adrenaline still flowing through your veins leaves your hands shaking.

The rabbit is still watching you with uncanny eyes. Prey animals so rarely stare back at bigger, larger threats. Perhaps it’s a pet. A runaway pet that somehow ended up here, of all places.

You slowly offer out your hand, keeping the lighter away in your other, as you take a step towards it.

It thumps a foot once, as if in warning, then bounds away. You watch it disappear into the house, still reeling from the fright it gave you.

If Michael was here, he would have laughed and told you to leave with him, now. He never wanted you to go here, especially alone, but you shake such ominous warnings away. He said curiosity killed the cat. You disagreed. This house is a part of history, not a curse. Witches are mere stories, conjured out of historical unrest and the longing to blame bad luck and tragedies upon an individual or three.

There’s always an explanation for fear superstition or mistrust. It’s far more sad than it is spooky.

You shake your head, smooth out the creases in your sweater, and face the starry candle again. The lighter flame flickers softly as you draw near it.

It is the anniversary of the brothers’ executions. You remember now as the shadows from other candles drape over you like a veil. You are also a virgin.

You laugh to yourself, covering your mouth as you do so. Look at you! You’re getting so worked up because a rabbit jumped at you.

It’s only hocus-pocus.

You tilt the lighter until it engulfs the wick. The flame catches, and you at last snap the lighter shut and return it to your pocket. Your eyes squint slightly at the candle. The wick snaps and bursts into sparks. The flame is not yellow or orange or even blue—it’s pure white like a comet streaking across the sky.

A crack of thunder splits the night sky with a bellow so monstrous, you feel like a child again, fearing a storm. You drop low to the ground, shielding your head as if the very world was going to fall upon you. A spark cracks in the fireplace, conjured out of ash underneath the cauldron before it burns hot and bright. The cauldron immediately begins roiling and bubbling with water. Laughter, great and terrible, and filled with the most jester-like joy sweeps over the room.

The pulse in your ears drowns at any sense but the need to hide. You scramble into the corner, tucking yourself behind the stand of the starry candle and hunker down. Holding your breath, you grab a fistful of your sweater while clutching your chest, and watch the door to the almost 400-year-old house fly open.

Three figures stride inside, looking about the place with wide eyes and disk-like heads framed in jutting adornments not unlike sun rays or shrouded in a heavy, dark blue hood.

“Brothers! We’re home!” The first one, tall and dark with deep red hues to his form, accent in sharp orange sun rays and an eclipse upon his face, turns to face his brother with bright, cat-like yellow eyes. “Isn’t it glorious?”

Another figure steps forward, yellow and off-white. Pale eyes beam. His head is crowned in bright sun rays as well. His spindly fingers twindle together in exuberant energy while he glances about the room eagerly. “Oh, yes, yes! More than anything! It’s as if we weren’t gone for more than a day—though the dust and cobwebs beg to differ.”

He draws a claw—you suck in a sharp breath—along the table’s edge and rubs his taloned fingertips together in disappointment.

“We must get to cleaning at once.”

“No,” the last figure fixes his hood with silvery digits. Golden jewels hang down the back of his unusual skull, the last and most prominent adornment a thick, golden star pendant. His eyes cast around the room, scarlet, and searching. “We must thank the little mouse who lit the candle.”

He flashes sharp teeth within his wide mouth, shaping it into a hungry grin. You gulp.

“Where are our manners?” The red and dark one twists back to the room with a flourish of his arms. His yellow gaze sweeps over the shelves and floors with a blade-like glint. “Of course, we must thank one so lovely.”

A dark cape drapes about his person. Underneath, a white flowing shirt hangs loosely to his lithe and slender figure, causing you to balk upon staring at such an exposed chest. The other two are no different, wearing similar shirts and dark trousers, but the hooded one bears a thick, longer cape while the sunny figure shares a cape similar to the first.

The yellow one lifts his wrists and frowns at the red ribbons tied around them. Golden bells jingle softly in an ominous chord.

“How terrible a reminder of our current impermanence,” he growls low in his throat, all cheerfulness lost and causing you to squeeze your ribs in fear.

“Patience, Sun,” the red one speaks, though he too casts a narrowed glance to the black ribbons and golden bells adorning his wrists. “We will affix ourselves back to this world in due time.”

“Eclipse, what a delicious creature I smell.” The hooded figure steps deeper into the home. Blue claws scratch at equally blue ribbons knotted to his hand bones but his attention is terrifyingly fixed on the candle stand just above your hiding spot.

You shrink further into the corner.

“Yes, Moon? And how lovely?” Eclipse, you assume, asks. His yellow eyes flash.

“As lovely as the stars,” Moon answers.

You watch claws curl around the wooden side of the candle stand, scratching deeply into the wood before a half-moon face emerges from behind, teeth set like a predator’s upon the sight of a wounded animal. Your heart flutters like a bird with a broken wing.

“Hello, little mouse. Won’t you come and play with us?”

You scream as he leaps behind the candle stand, takes you by the arms, and pulls you to your feet. You struggle to free yourself, crying out as he grabs hold of your wrists and fixes you firmly in place.

“My, how sweet,” he purrs in a dangerously low voice that rolls in the back of his throat. “You are the darling virgin who lit the candle, no?”

“Let me go!” You thrash but Moon grins in delight, as if you’re simply too precious.

“You deserve proper thanks,” He lowers one hand, forcing you to submit with slightly bent knees. “Here is my gratitude, little mouse.”

You freeze as he brings your hand towards his mouth, and a hundred, horrifying visions of him biting your fingers off or sinking his teeth in your palm send your blood into a frozen sludge of fear.

The witch, however, presses a kiss to the center of your palm. The softness catches the gears in your mind and jerks them to a halt.

“Thank you for allowing us to return once more,” he rasps. His scarlet eyes find yours between the space of your thumb and forefinger, and a strange stirring takes hold of your middle.

“This isn’t real,” you breathe. Dizziness begins to take hold.

This must be a dream, a thought gone wild, or inhaled bacteria triggering hallucinations.

Moon’s grin widens. He lowers your hand, loosening his hold for one precious moment. You rip your hands free of his grasp. A low growl escapes him but you’ve already slipped away, your eyes upon the door and spilling with the need to rush out into the night, away from the impossibilities standing before you—

Arms snatch your waist and lift your feet from the ground. You gasp.

Held in the air, you squirm before a hot breath dusts the shoulder of your sweater. You fall still, your throat bobbing as a mouth presses into the corner of your neck and lays a kiss on the sensitive spot. Gooseflesh prickles up and down your body.

“I assure you, I’m very real, little mouse,” Moon purrs. His hands squeeze your hips once. “And as nice as this… attire is, I would dress you in blues and silvers. You would look proper and powerful, like my brothers and I.”

A squeak escapes you. You shrink against him, caught in his embrace.

“Brothers?” The word rattles out of your throat.

“This is our home,” Moon whispers. “And you are our most honored guest.”

You manage to pry off his hands from your waist. With a sinister chuckle, the blue and silver hands release you. Without looking back, you run, ignoring the twinge in your stomach that whispers it was too easy to get away.

You hardly get a few steps before the sunny one—Sun—steps into your path. He catches you in his arms and spins you in a waltz at breakneck speed, your feet never touching the ground, before stopping without warning as he dips you low. He looms above you, his smile filled with sharp teeth.

“Let me get an eyeful. Oh, yes, you look good enough to eat,” he simpers. His hand splays along the small of your back and you gawk up at him, still trying to regain your balance after the sickness-inducing whirl. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”

“I just want to leave,” you whimper. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Sunshine,” he laughs, and it echoes with all of his heart—do once-hanged witches have a heart? There is no historical journey to give context to this very moment, you fear.

He lowers his sultry gaze to you. “I wish to only thank you. And I intend to.”

He pulls you back to your feet. You’re still clasped in his embrace like lovers on a ballroom floor. His hand hooks tight to your hip, and his other catches the side of your face. Heat spreads through the marrow of your bones.

On the tabletop beside you, something white moves across the plane of its surface, hunkering behind the thick stack of candles still burning.

His head lowers to your neck. You stiffen as he tilts your head away, opening you to his parting teeth. A tongue, dark and sinuous, flicks out of his maw. A gasp slips from your lips at the wet lick up the column of your throat. Eyelids fluttering, you start to sag as weakness fills your knees. He drags his tongue higher to taste your jawline and finishes at your cheek with a swipe for good measure.

Your hands find him and clutch tightly to his slender arms. He presses his lips to your ear and with a misty warmth, whispers.

“Thank you for—Gah!”

The white rabbit leaps up from the table, squirming directly between you and his chest, breaking you apart. Instinctively, you jump away just as Sun snarls. The heart-wrenching sound shakes your entire frame as he snatches the rabbit by the scruff before it can scramble back from his wretched claws.

“I’ll boil you alive!” he thunders. He steps towards the cauldron, back where Moon leans against the wall, watching the spectacle with an amusing twitch of his grinning maw. Behind you, Eclipse stands at the door like a sentinel, his eyes still hungry and even furious as he follows his brother’s movement to the cauldron.

Sun dangles the rabbit, now struggling and kicking but unable to find purchase against the witch’s hold, above the boiling water of the caldron.

“No!” you cry.

Sun’s eyes widen. He turns back to you just as you close the distance and scoop the rabbit in your arms. His claws, pale-boned and wickedly curved, clench around emptiness. Without thought, you turn and run again though there is little hope as you come to the door. Your boots stamp against the wooden floorboards.

The rabbit in your embrace turns its face up to you and mutters in a woman’s voice, “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

You gawk, stunned before hands catch you by the shoulders. You’re brought to a dead halt. The rabbit leaps from your arms, drops to the floor, and races away into a shadowy corner of the room with only one glimpse of its fluffy tail before you’re left alone.

You twist and face the eldest witch’s attention. Eclipse. His yellow eyes go up and down your body, and you watch in muted shock as two additional arms emerge from the shadows of his cap. He forces you backward, one step after the other until your back is pinned against a dusty wall.

You stare into his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. Your pulse pounds in your eardrums.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” you utter.

The witch tilts his head with a wicked grin.

“We’ll make you a believer yet.” He promises, and his deep cords vibrate through your form. “My dear, we simply must thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

His claws slip over your collarbones. Your breath quickens, a stirring you cannot name unfolding deep within your middle. His extra set of hands fall to your hips and begin caressing the bones. Daintily, carefully, his warm fingertips slip just underneath the hem of your sweater, touching your bare flesh. A shiver runs down your entire body, leaving you to squirm.

“Be a good little comet,” he says softly, “Let me pour my gratitude all over you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it was true,” you stare into his face, marked with a red crescent over a dark shadow, and his eyes pierce into the very nature of your being. “You’re back.”

“Because of you,” he rumbles softly in his chest. His grin pulls higher at the corners.

His claws slip over the nap of your neck and card gently into the small, sensitive hairs at the bottom of your skull. You breathe in. His eyes brighten in pleasure before he slips his sharp but controlled talons over the shells of your ears and follows the arch of your cheekbone. His gaze drops to your lips. Your heart thumps and thumps against your sternum so powerfully, you fear he may hear it.

His lips pull over his razor-sharp teeth and you stop breathing.

His other set of hands begins working up the sides of your torso. He rubs slowly and gently, but you squirm despite this. He touches you far too intimately when you have never experienced such affections before. A mewl escapes your lips. You wriggle as he refuses to relent.

In answer, his upper hands lower and capture your hands together in one, and pin them above your head to hold you in place. He coos, chastising. A great roil starts in your stomach and expands upwards until your face becomes pink and flushed.

“Hold still, little comet,” he chuckles, and you whimper. “I’m not finished with showering you in all my adoration.”

“Eclipse,” your breath is harsh and hot.

“It is good to hear my name upon such lovely lips,” his voice lowers, husky and scorching. “I knew a virgin would light the candle. I swore it to my brothers as they set us on the gallows and draped nooses around our necks. You are our light, our savior. How could I ever thank you?”

In his words, his burning stare that singes with sincerity, it clicks into place. All at once, you believe what you are seeing with your own two eyes.

It’s true. He’s back. He and his brothers have returned with magic.

“I have questions,” you say hesitantly in your demureness, “I want answers.”

“Of course,” Eclipse agrees easily. “But first…”

A dark claw brushes your hair back from your face. The flutter in your heart can’t seem to hold still. Eclipse’s grin widens and his eyes soften.

“You have freckles like constellations,” he murmurs in the manner of one gazing at the night sky or one studying an ornate painting.

Before you can shape words to reply, to say anything that might free you from his grasp, his mouth is upon yours. A sound softly catches in the back of your throat. You fall still under his caressing hands still moving below your sweater. He traces the row of your ribs. You have just enough mind to wonder if he feels your skin prickle in your sensitivity. His other hand clasps your wrists tighter. You gasp against his teeth.

He pulls gently, hungrily, taking you as if a bite of honeycomb. You become melted honey, easily malleable between his teeth and then molded by his mouth. His tongue invades you. You moan softly at the claim he lays upon you until you become weak in the knees and almost fall. His kiss seals your fate.

He releases you from his maw. You sink slightly, and his arms fall out from under your sweater to properly catch you. He lowers your wrists, returns your hands, and brushes your hair once more from your face.

A chuckle emits from his lips, and you burn.

“You’ll stay with us, won’t you?” he asks, but he waits for no answer as he scoops you into his arms. Feet dangling, you have no choice but to cling to his shoulders and endure his brothers’ attention as he twists around and faces them.

The rabbit’s right. You are in trouble. Michael warned you. He said curiosity killed the cat.

But charm brought it back.

#naff's writing commissions #witches and rabbits and candles oh my #if michael was there he would be so mad at you for lighting the candle smh #hocus pocus au my beloved #witch!eclipse #witch!sun #witch!moon #charm brought it back #naff writing

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spiritsonic · 28 days ago

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Hi Evan! Big fan here, hope I'm not disturbing you at an inconvenient time. I love your work as an artist and writer, but it's not just Sonic that you work on. It would be cool to know more about your work Ensouled. What is it about? Who is the ghost guy and the human girl?

Sure, I’ve been wanting to write some new character bios. Check it all out under the break!

CHARLEY PARKHEARSE

Once, long ago, Charley was the best teamster in Santa Alma county. His stagecoach flew over treacherous mountain roads, One crack of his whip could snuff a candle’s flame from six yards, and any bandit who dared to stop his stage would meet the business end of a rifle. Anyone who cared to comment about his sour temper or murky past knew to keep their voices low… and God help any fool who questioned Charley’s refusal to remove his heavy greatcoat, no matter the weather.

But Charley’s fame was bound to earn him enemies… When the bandit Sugarfoot learned that Charley was in fact born a █████, the secret spread like wildfire through the mountains. Charley was ruined. He thought his life was over, until he was visited by a being dealing in black magic; a devil known in his human guise as Aurelius Flood. This devil promised to erase Charley’s secret from the minds of Santa Alma’s people, restoring Charley’s reputation, in return for his soul. Charley accepted, though he would not learn the depth of his folly until the night he died… and was raised as a ghost by that same devil, now bound to his service. Still, the devil was true to his word. Charley’s secret was safe, even beyond the grave.

At one point in the many decades since his death, Charley thought he could escape Aurelius’ control. But today… he’s given up that hope. He haunts the roads he was once the master of, frightening drivers to meet his quota of Soul and waiting ‘till his memories fade away, taking the pain of his mistakes with them. That is until, in a flash of ill-advised mercy, Charley spares the life of a young woman he scared off the road…

(Charley is LOOSELY based on Charley Darkey Parkhurst, a real historical figure. Look him up! He's a really cool example of a queer, probably trans person ((by today's standards)) in history. The real Charley's dying wish was to be remembered as a man; a wish that has not been respected by history. I want to explore the pros and cons of living closeted or stealth in an ever-changing world, while also honoring his memory and wishes as best I can in a modern context.)

SEQUOIA LOGANBERRY

Sequoia would like you to believe that she is a monster. It’s easier that way. Ever since her father left for a mistress on the east coast in her senior year of high school, Sequoia has been working a dead-end job at the local amusement park and doing her damndest to drink and drive herself into an early grave. And she almost does it… Until a friggin' SKELETON GUY fishes her out of the lake she drove into?! And now she’s getting these insane migraines and seeing spooky shit everywhere????

After a close encounter with death (and Charley), Sequoia develops an unpredictable 6th sense that threatens to finish what she started in her car the other night… Until she’s found by the misanthropic wizard Monty and his much nicer siren husband Luka, who help her get her new powers under control… in trade for her helping them with a few odd jobs. Nothing crazy, just, oh, infiltrating the local magical crime lord’s fey court. Sequoia is just the wild card they need to break a fifty-year standoff between the supernatural powers vying for control over Santa Alma. Sequoia will need to learn fast, about both magic and herself, or else end up a pawn in other people’s plans. Will she be able to make the friends she desperately needs and find direction in her life before she’s swept away?

OTHER CHARACTERS INCLUDE...

MONTY MOUROS, aforementioned misanthropic wizard. Older than he looks. Came to Santa Alma in the 1930’s to earn his fortune, and ended up embroiled in one of Charley’s bids for freedom. It didn’t go well, and he still holds a bitter grudge. He’s guarded the local amusement park, the Boardwalk, from Aurelius Flood for years, but other than that has hidden himself from both the magic and mundane worlds for decades.

LUKA, a siren who lost his singing voice in a trap set by Flood. If not for Monty, it would have taken his life. When they were young the two fell in love, and Luka defied his family’s traditions to be with Monty. They’re still together, and Luka is the only person who can get past Monty’s harsh exterior. Luka now runs a speakeasy for spirits hidden beneath the Boardwalk, where he mixes magical cocktails and turns the rumor mill. He is a kind soul who defines himself through service to others…perhaps to a fault.

AURELIUS FLOOD, The mastermind behind most of Santa Alma’s woes. A cruelly ambitious leprechaun who thrives on greed, he’s been following the money since the time of the Romans. In the 1800’s he came to the new world, where he found fabulous opportunity during the California gold rush. Assuming a human disguise he carved out a business empire in the mundane world, and a criminal one in the magic world. He built Santa Alma himself, engineering the city’s growth. Fattening a pig for the slaughter. Now, the only thing standing between him and his ultimate payday is Monty and the pivotal bit of territory he controls at the Boardwalk. It’s stymied him for years, but he’s got a new plan…

SUGARFOOT, Flood’s left-hand man. As the illegitimate son of a powerful Californio rancher and an Ohlone woman trapped in the California mission system, fate did not deal Sugar a kind hand. After his father’s family lost their rancho, Sugar turned to a life of crime. He got his sarcastic nickname from a festering leg wound he earned in a shootout with Santa Alma’s top teamster, Charley Parkhearse. As his infection grew, so did his hatred… These mountains should belong to him, not some johnny-come-lately from New Hampshire. So he turned to another stranger for help; Aurelius Flood. In trade for his soul, he gained information; a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin Charley forever. Sugar leapt at the deal, and got exactly the revenge he’d wanted… until Charley came for him, blinded by rage and shame, and shot him dead in the street. In death, Sugar and Charley found themselves in the same situation… bound to serve Flood forever. As coworkers. Hell would have been a mercy.

(Sugarfoot is also based on a historical figure of the same name, but almost nothing is known about him other than he was a bandit with a very stinky foot. IRL Charley shot him when he tried to raid his stagecoach.)

ZINNIA LOGANBERRY, Sequoia’s annoyingly precocious little sister. While Sequoia turned to delinquency after their parents’ divorce to avoid her feelings, Zinnia threw herself into her studies for the same reason. She has become the model student and daughter, earning their workaholic mom’s favor… but man, this kid is Burnt. Out. When she finds out about Sequoia’s new adventures with the supernatural, she throws herself into this new world as a release from her demanding daily life only to once again take things too far. And now, the consequences come with fangs, and hair, and claws…

DEBORAH LOGANBERRY, Sequoia and Zinnia’s mother. She knows she could be doing better by her daughters, but ever since her no-good husband left them, she’s been the family’s sole provider. Her job in the city’s planning and zoning department is the only thing keeping them off of the streets, and the price of housing in Santa Alma is only going up. It’s a matter of survival; surely, once they’re more financially stable, she’ll be able to patch things up with Sequoia. And maybe something will come of the new friendship she’s struck up with Mr. Flood. He IS quite the successful developer, after all… perhaps they could be more than friends?

#follow up questions are welcome #Ensouled #Charley Parkhearse #Sequoia Loganberry #Zinnia Loganberry #Monty Mouros #Luka Pharos #Sugarfoot #Aurelius Flood #Deborah Loganberry #don't have any good pictures of zinnie or deborah sorryyyy #also sugar and flood's proper designs are still very much WIPs

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supreme-leader-stoat · 3 months ago

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Where does "turn the other cheek" leave Christians in terms of self-defense?

Alright, so, big asterisk up front: we've been arguing about this among ourselves for about two millennia and it shows no signs of stopping. A Quaker is liable to give you a much different answer than a raised-Baptist.

First, some context. The "turn the other cheek" verse is specifically part of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus takes Old Testament law and raises the ante. The law says not to murder, He tells them not to let their anger overtake and control them to begin with. The law says not to commit adultery, He says not to even look at people with lustful intentions (this is the poke out your eye, cut off your hand passage). The law says that a man divorcing his wife has to give her the legal protections of a certificate of divorce, He says that anything short of cheating isn't valid grounds for divorce to begin with (this has a lot to do with the protections or lack thereof for unmarried women at the time, but that's a whole tangent I won't go into here). The law says to keep your oaths, He says to be such a straightforward and honest person that you don't even need to give your oath to begin with. And so on.

Now, with all that in mind; "turn the other cheek" is Him upping the ante on the segment of Mosaic law that literally gives us the phrase "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." It was half legal prescription on the just punishments for certain crimes, and half laying down the rules and restrictions of what constituted acceptable proportionate retaliation. If someone punches you, you can punch him back. Someone kills your brother, you can execute him. What you can't do is go and slaughter his entire family, because that's how you get blood feuds, and that doesn't end well for anybody.

Looking at it from that angle, "turn the other cheek" is a commandment against retaliation and vengeance, and this is the interpretation I've grown up around most of my life. Someone hits you and you've got the opportunity to walk away, then you take your lumps and go, and you don't stew and think about what you're gonna do to get back at him the next time you see him.

Active and immediate self-preservation is another matter. To the best of my knowledge, there is no clear prohibition in the Bible against such actions; even "he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword" is immediately followed by "Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?" The rebuke isn't for acting in the defense of others, it's for getting trigger-happy when Jesus isn't in any true (immediate) danger and because it's ultimately a pointless fight; Jesus has to go to the cross.

If you'll pardon an older example, let's take a look at Esther Chapter 8. King Ahasuerus gives the Jews leave to form militias to protect themselves and their property against the lynch mobs that would be attacking them as part of Haman's genocide plot, and this is presented to us as an inherently just and sensible course of action.

So, to answer the original question, I don't believe that there's anything wrong with Christians practicing self-defense, "turn the other cheek" notwithstanding.

But.

There's one more thorny patch to consider in this whole argument, and that's the one bit of Matthew 5 that comes after "turn the other cheek": "Love your enemy, and pray for those who persecute you." The safety that Christians enjoy in the modern west is an anomaly both geographically and historically. Christianity is, at its very root, a religion of martyrs. Many and maybe even most of those martyrs have gone to their deaths, if not willingly, then at least peaceably. It's worth noting that we don't tell the story of Stephen, who made a valiant last stand against the mob that tried to stone him. We tell the story of Stephen the martyr. "Lord, do not hold this sin against them."

Honestly, I don't know that I'd have the courage to die like they did. If there's someone who's trying to hurt you, trying to hurt your family, I won't be the one to look you in the eyes and say you have to stand down; I'm already well aware of the decision I'd make in that situation. But from the moment we accept eternal life, our old lives here on Earth are forfeit. Any time that could be taken from us with our death is on loan to begin with. A hypothetical attacker in a self-defense situation isn't guaranteed that same benefit. They might very well have far, far more to lose than we do.

I don't believe Christians are forbidden self-defense, but I think we are expected to weigh the costs.

#Christianity

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 27 of human Bill Cipher trying to trick his captors into liking him, featuring a mall shopping trip that turns into this:

Also, Bill faces the most difficult ethical dilemma of his life: should he act like a big jerk to a 13-year-old.

####

As they left the cheap jewelry kiosk, Bill tapped his new dress shoe against Stan's ankle to catch his attention. "Hey. Your cut." He flipped a ring in the air.

Stan caught it and inspected the symbol on its surface. "Is that the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel?"

"You gave your protégé your fez, I thought you might want a replacement! I know how proud you are of your lodge membership, Fisherman."

Stan admiringly studied the ring and its open-mouthed crescent fish; then the corners of his mouth turned down. "Ahhh, it wasn't my membership." He stuffed the ring in his pocket.

"No? I got one with the Fishmasons symbol if you'd like that better." Bill spun the oversized ring on one finger. It slipped off and he fumbled trying to catch it.

In the smoothest move he'd pulled all summer, Dipper caught the ring before it hit the floor. He ignored Bill's outstretched hand and inspected the complicated tool-lined diamond symbol. "Fishmasons? I thought they were called..."

"Yeah, you would," Bill scoffed. "Do you believe everything you read in The Paranoia Code? You know novels are usually fictional, right?"

"But don't masons work with stone? How does a 'fish mason' make sense?"

"If everyone knew what it meant, it wouldn't be a secret society, would it?"

Dipper gave up on prying anything more than snark out of Bill and turned toward Stan. "The Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel is associated with the Fishmasons, right?"

"Yeah," Stan said, "they're uh, sister organizations or something, I think. It's complicated."

"It's a spin-off organization," Bill said. "All Mackerels are Fishers. Once you've reached the top rank in the Fishers, you're eligible to join the Holy Mackerel."

"Yeah. What he said."

Dipper nodded. "Sooo... is it true that the Fishmasons are secretly... working with the government, or...? I mean, yeah, I read it in a book. But they've had a lot of real historical figures."

Stan snorted dismissively. "If they are, they didn't invite me to those meetings."

"Well sure. The lodge that decides politics is in D.C.," Bill lied. Dipper's head whipped around to stare at him. Ha. When they got home, Bill would have to spend some time deciding which would be the stupidest conspiracy theory rabbit holes to send Dipper down. If he played his cards right, by Thanksgiving he could have the kid spouting rubbish that would alienate half his extended family.

"Would you stop staring at me like that?" He shoved the side of Dipper's face; and, while he was distracted, grabbed back the Fisher ring to inspect its symbol. Kryptos's face. Far better drawn than Bill could do. And the thin little layer of gold atop the ring should be enough to enhance Bill's psychic signal. Maybe that would be enough to get a call through to the Nightmare Realm.

He tucked the ring in his shoe and turned to Stan. "Anyway, if you think that was good, you should see what I can do in a real jewelry store. What do you say?"

"I dunno. Jewelry shops are tricky, they're always on the lookout for shoplifters."

"They never catch teams and we've got two rambunctious kids to split their attention. I'll do the distracting, you do the lifting. When's the last time you had a gold watch that isn't cursed?"

"Nope!" Mabel, who'd been trailing behind the group with her arms crossed, finally shoved her way between Stan and Bill. "That's enough! We came here for a good time, not a crime time!"

"We came here to go shopping," Stan protested. "We're shopping!"

"Yeah, we're just getting the best discount possible."

"It's like advanced couponing."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"No!" Mabel stood in front of them, arms and feet spread wide like a barrier. "Grunkle Stan, you should know better. You're letting—" she dropped her voice to an emphatic whisper, "Bill talk you into doing bad stuff. The whole reason you came along was to make sure he can't do that!"

Stan snapped, "Oh, like you didn't just make us stand around for an hour while you played dress up with him! Why's it okay when you play with the demon, but nobody else can make him useful?"

Mabel winced. "No, that's not... I mean..."

If this conversation went the wrong way, Stan and Mabel might both talk each other out of doing anything interesting with Bill. He'd better defuse this situation quick. "Hey, c'mon, Stanley, that's your niece. Don't be so hard on her."

There was a flicker of irritation on Stan's face directed at Bill, followed by a flicker of guilt toward Mabel, followed by him grunting and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

That was one threat neutralized. Bill turned his grin on Mabel. "Sorry for monopolizing the trip, kid. We'll make it up to you! Fordsy got you that cute crystal bracelet, didn't he—wanna graduate to some real gemstones?"

"Hey, yeah," Stan said, immediately perking up. "You like jewelry! I can get you something with hearts or kittens. Way better than a bunch of boring rocks." Bill mentally patted himself on the back. Oh, he was so good at this. Good old sibling rivalry. Families were so easy to manipulate.

Mabel slapped her hand over the rainbow crystal bracelet mixed amidst her other bracelets. "I don't want you to get me real jewelry!" she shouted; but Stan had already set out on his new mission, with Bill trotting along just behind him. "Not if you have to steal it!"

"Relax!" Bill waved without turning around. "We're a couple of pros, you've got nothing to worry about." He elbowed Stan before he could absorb Mabel's protests. "Don't worry, once she's older she'll appreciate what a financial investment fine jewelry is. Never too early to buy a little gold. Or—well—acquire gold."

"Yeah," Stan said, "who knows when the next apocalypse is gonna be."

"Could be any day now," Bill lied.

"The only bracelet I want is this one!" Mabel waved her arm in the air, pointing at the shooting star friendship bracelet Bill had made. But Stan and Bill were too far away to care about her protests now.

Mabel's shoulders slumped. She glowered at the friendship bracelet. It didn't seem as friendly as it did when Bill gave it to her. "This whole trip was a mistake, wasn't it."

Dipper grimaced. "I didn't say it."

"You don't have to." Mabel sighed heavily. "I don't know what got into me. B—Goldie's been so nice lately, I thought he was making progress! But he's been nothing but a creep today. Guess the niceness was all an act."

"He can act nice for a long time. It took Grunkle Ford almost three years to figure out how evil he is." When Dipper concluded that this hadn't had the comforting effect he'd intended, he asked, "Do you wanna tip off security about the jewelry heist?"

Mabel sighed again. "No, I don't want Grunkle Stan to get in trouble. And if Goldie's arrested he might spill the beans to mall security. Let's just wait outside by the car."

"Yeah, all right," Dipper said. "If they don't come out in twenty minutes, we'll call Ford."

Headed the other way across the mall, Bill said, "So, a watch for you, a necklace or something for the kid, and for me... they probably don't have crowns here, so—"

"Whoa, hey, I don't remember offering to get you anything," Stan said. "I already got you fancy shoes and a bunch of clothes. We're square."

"We're no such thing. Besides, why should I help you if I'm not getting anything?" Bill asked. "Maybe earrings? Gimme a nail when we get home and I can pierce my own ears—"

His arm was wrenched backwards and he fell on his back.

Thirty feet away, Mabel yelped as she was yanked back and landed on her butt.

Bill and Mabel turned around and stared at each other.

Bill said, "Right! Forgot about that. Just—get over here."

"No!" Mabel shouted. "You get over here!"

Bill scowled. "Come on, kid. Your great-uncle and I are trying to do something here. If you don't want to come along, at least let Stanley have the other half of the bracelet—"

"I said NO!" Mabel planted her feet wide apart and tugged her wrist back as far as it could go. "You used me! You were only nice so you could go outside and I fell for it! As soon as you got what you wanted, you started acting like a huge poop face again!"

"Wow, language—"

"I'm not helping you anymore!"

Bill could feel his face heating up. "Kid, don't be ridiculous! You can't stand there forever! You're being..." selfish, irrational, petty—what word would get him what he wanted?

The pedestrian chatter over the inoffensive mall music had fallen silent. The feeling of being watched crawled over his back. (He seemed to discover another unpleasant new human bodily sensation every day.) Oh. Witnesses. There was no way the stranger in a shouting match with a little girl was coming out of this looking cool.

He could still save face if he got her uncle to do Bill's arguing for him. He turned hopefully to his new shoplifting buddy. "C'mon, she's—she's being unreasonable, right? We're talking about one watch, here."

And Bill had lost him. Stan's expression hardened. He crossed his arms and Bill flinched at the movement. "If a stupid watch is gonna upset Mabel that much..."

Families were so difficult to manipulate! Why did they have to gang up on him, it wasn't fair. He shot a furious glower at Mabel.

And then laughed, loudly enough for the rubberneckers to hear. "Okay, okay! You win. Sheesh, you look so serious. Peace talks in front of the Kidz Zone?"

Sternly, Mabel said, "Okay, but you do not get to ride the little coin-operated train."

"I wasn't gonna ask!" Bill paused. "Or the—?"

"Or the helicopter!"

Dipper called, "You haven't earned it, man."

"Fine," Bill snapped, "I didn't want to ride it." Swallow your disappointment, Cipher. Just play it cool.

When they'd rendezvoused, Bill said, "Okay, I might have gone a little overboard. Big deal. But we've been here all afternoon, we haven't eaten, I'm sure that's why everyone's so testy. Let's just swing by the food court and then get out of here."

Mabel frowned. "You're just trying to get us to stay."

"Yes. I am. So that we can eat before we go." If he ended this on a win, even a small win, that would be what everyone took away and he could call this trip progress. "Funny thing about human bodies is they need to be fed a couple times a day. Maybe you've noticed."

Dipper frowned. "Dude, you're only eating twice a day?"

"I don't question your diet, get off my back. What do you think, Stanley, feed the kids before we go?" Bill might've lost Mabel, but he had a shot at securing Stan. He could work on Mabel again once they were home. "You wanna drive home a couple of cranky teens, or a couple of cranky and hungry teens?"

Dipper snapped, "We're only cranky because of—!"

"Nah, he's right," Stan said wearily. "I'm starving. We'll grab something quick to eat."

Bill immediately perked up; but Mabel's frown deepened.

####

"I want chicken strips," Dipper said.

Mabel said, "I'm getting pizza."

Bill said, "I want—"

"I don't care what you want," Stan said. "I'm getting a burger and you're getting the fries."

"Oh, so you want to find out what I'm like when I'm the cranky and hungry one?"

Stan grunted. "Fine. Your budget's five dollars. I really do only have a twenty."

"Fine." Bill drifted over to Mabel, who'd gotten in line in front of the food court's pizza booth. "Hey, Shooting Star—"

"Leave me alone, jerk."

"Whoa, am I not allowed to get a slice of pizza?"

Mabel didn't respond. She was glaring through the glass display window at the available pizza flavors as she waited for her turn to order. Apparently Bill interpreted that as permission to stay and look over the flavors himself.

Standing so close to Bill Cipher when Mabel didn't want him there was like having a monster breathing down her neck. She hadn't realized how hover-y he could get until it stopped being fun. She remembered something like this from Ford's lesson on cults and con artists, how they try to get into your head by talking and talking and not giving you any time and space to breathe.

She could feel Bill's heavy gaze on the side of her face. Dipper and Stan were at the next restaurant over, but Bill stood between her and them. The chain bracelet on her wrist felt like a handcuff. She wanted to rip it off and be free of him. She wanted to go home.

"I've never had American pizza before," Bill said. "What do you think, cheese or Hawaiian?"

Mabel screwed up her face. "Ew, the one with pineapple?"

Bill's grin twitched wider. "Is that a vote for cheese, then?"

Gross, he was trying to get her to talk again. She glared at the pizza more determinedly. "Get what you want, I don't care."

Bill sighed. "Fine. You're no fun." He looked over the pizzas—standing too close—for one brief moment of heavy silence; and then, pointing between the cheese and Hawaiian, murmured to himself, "Eenie, meenie, miney..."

Mabel's whole body went stiff.

####

She felt the oppressive oven-like heat of Bill's dark floating pyramid, a too-euclidean temple built without the comfort of humans in mind, so hot that touching the walls burned your skin; and she felt a sticky sweat running down her back. She felt the constant electrical static of Bill's glowing shadowy grip around her waist. Every time she shifted and struggled, her sweater crackled and stung her. Bill's hand felt like nothing, absolutely nothing, and it was crushing and inescapable.

She could hear his voice, that forced jollity pushing to the verge of exhausted hysteria, saying, "I think I'm gonna kill one of them now just for the heck of it!"

She could see his eye like a blood red spotlight, eye like an incinerating laser, the light swallowing her and Dipper; she heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears; she saw the symbol that represented her flashing in Bill's eye, and even before he stopped she knew it would be her.

"EENIE... MEENIE... MINEY..."

She saw his hand tremble with rage as he prepared to snap her out of existence.

"YOU!"

####

"Hey, you." Bill put a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "What are you getting? Maybe we can split two slic—"

There was a wild look in Mabel's eyes.

The moment she seized his upper arm, he knew he was ending up on the floor and it was going to hurt.

She spun her back to him, jerked him against her, and flipped him over her shoulders. It was bizarrely relaxing, that second spent floating upside-down in the air. Familiar, comforting.

And then he slammed back first on the tile floor. And it hurt.

He stared wheezing at the faraway lights until his internal organs remembered how to lung. The world was too bright; he'd lost his sunglasses. He sat up and gingerly felt the back of his head. It had cracked open, he was leaking internal organs—no. That was his hair. His head was fine.

Dizzily, he asked, "What was that for?" He shook his head to clear it. "Hey. Hey! What the heck was that for!" He grabbed the counter and got to his feet, and almost slipped back down on his first attempt. "I've been a little obnoxious but what'd I do to deserve a surprise attack out of nowhere? What, were you just waiting for a chance to get the jump on me—"

And then he saw the look on Mabel's face—the absolute unadulterated terror—in the split second before she gave a little flinch of realization and the guilt kicked in.

Baffled, he looked past her and the confused nearby mall-goers to Stan and Dipper—who thankfully didn't look angry, but they also didn't look as confused as Bill felt. They had tight-lipped white-faced looks like they understood what they'd just seen perfectly.

"What," Bill said. "What'd I do? Was it something I said?" He racked his brain. He did something that scared the dickens out of them—because all of them were giving him that look—it was three against one, something must have happened that he didn't pick up on. Something that made humans nervous that wasn't important enough for someone like him to recall?

He didn't know what.

That was it. He lost. All his work was undone, they were afraid of him again, they saw him as a threat and they'd lock him back up in the shack. There went any chance of ever seeing the outside world before his execution. There went his hopes of befriending the more pliable humans, or winning Ford back over. There went his conversations with Mabel. And he didn't even know what he did wrong.

If he killed Mabel and cut the bracelet cord, was he fast enough to escape before Stan and Dipper could react? If he lunged over the counter, could he get the pizza cutter and slit Mabel's throat before she flipped him again?

He saw a flickering glimpse of his uncoordinated scramble in the futures where he tried; the scene quickly fizzled out as he concluded it wouldn't work.

"Sorry," Mabel said. "Instinct. You know how martial arts are! You get it trained into your muscle memory, and... and... I... didn't mean to do that, that was my bad."

No less confused, Bill said, "Yeah, no, sure, it's—it's fine." He couldn't afford for it not to be "fine"; he didn't know what the other options were. "I know I cut an intimidating figure." He laughed weakly.

He couldn't apologize even if he wanted to. He didn't know what he was supposed to be apologizing for. He was still watching Mabel's face and Dipper's and Stan's for any context clues to explain what just happened.

And Mabel said, voice small and shaking, "You... don't wanna hurt us again, right?"

Bill blinked slowly at her.

It was the stupidest question he'd ever heard.

She had to know that. Everyone watching had to know that. Bill had been plotting how to hurt them again not fifteen seconds ago. He had every reason to want to hurt them—his very survival depended on finding a way to hurt them—and anyway, regardless of his intentions, obviously if he was asked he'd say "no," wouldn't he! As if he could admit to his captors that he did want to hurt them! It was such a breathtakingly stupid question that he could laugh.

He didn't laugh. He didn't point out how dumb she was for asking, or what a waste of time the question was, or remind her that they both knew there was only one answer. He didn't want to show off how effortlessly he could talk circles around humans; he didn't care about making her feel stupid.

He only wanted Mabel to stop looking at him like he terrified her.

So he said, "No. Of course I don't want to hurt you." He nodded toward Stan and Dipper, "No promises about these guys, they've been making fun of our fashion sense all afternoon, but... not you." He held up one hand, showing Mabel the friendship bracelet she'd given him with the evil eye beads. "You gave me a new job, remember?"

He'd hoped the jokey half-threat might help lighten the mood, maybe get her to smile; but she just nodded. "Okay."

Okay.

Stan shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Welp. I lost my appetite. We're going home."

####

Bill didn't care about Stan and Dipper glaring at his back as they trudged toward the exit, but Mabel walking so quietly beside him was sandpapering at his nerves. If he were back home and she were one of his usual pack of friends, he could just order her to perk up or else get out of his sight until she did—but that wouldn't work here, where he was currently not all powerful, he didn't have supreme control over everybody in the vicinity, and they did have to share a ride home. If he tried to get all imperious on her, she'd never speak to him again and Stan would probably break his skull.

What could he do to make her less nervous?

"Hey." He held out his hand to her. She gave it a quizzical look, then looked up at Bill. He said, "Can't hurt you if I can't use my hand, right? Unless you expect me to start biting."

Mabel said, "This isn't, like... a deal, is it—?"

"No! What? There's no deal, where would there be a deal?" Irritably, Bill said, "I'm just trying to help, if you don't think it's helpful then fine, whatever—"

Mabel took his hand. He shut up.

She flinched in surprise and pulled her hand back, holding the ring with the Fishmasons symbol. "I don't w..."

"I know you don't. Listen—we're all going to jail if we go back to 18th Century to return anything, but... I mean, we pass the ring kiosk on the way out, so..." Was that enough? Would that do anything?

She pushed it back into his hand. "You return it."

Irritation flared up his throat; he swallowed it down. "No problem." She was probably worried he was trying to set her up.

As they walked past the kiosk, he steered around to the side opposite the teen manning it; ran one hand over the rows of rings like he was idly inspecting the designs as he passed; and with a subtle movement, slid the stolen ring back amongst the others without pausing. He showed Mabel his empty hand to prove he'd done the deed.

As they moved passed the kiosk, she took his hand again. He squeezed hers back.

He'd find another way to get a message out to Kryptos. That dumb cheap ring probably wouldn't have worked anyway.

Dipper muttered, "You're still a threat if you have one hand free." He took Bill's other hand. They simultaneously shuddered. Never mind the being-watched feeling Bill had earlier, this was what the phrase "skin crawling" truly meant.

But Mabel immediately perked up. "Thanks, Dipper."

Oh! Sure! Thank him. Bill shot Dipper a dirty look and tightened his grip. (It wasn't even tight enough to hurt.) "I forgot how sweaty your palms are."

"Shut up."

Behind them, Stan grumbled, "I'm just glad you only have two hands."

"Hey!" Bill twisted around to give Stan an exasperated look. "Do you have any idea how much I envy you right now? This is torture. I can feel every fingerprint on these two. How come you're the only one who doesn't have to suffer."

Mabel laughed weakly. "Because Grunkle Stan never tried to end the world."

"Neither did I." He sighed exaggeratedly. "But fine—I'll take my punishment like an adult."

He'd gotten a laugh out of Mabel. That was good enough for now.

####

As soon as the car pulled around to the house side of the shack, before they'd even come to a stop, Bill unfastened his seat belt, shouldered open the door, and tumbled out into the sunlight and dirt. A couple of stolen shirts fluttered free.

"Hey!" Stan rolled down his window. "Get back—! How'd you get that door open?!"

"I never closed it!" Bill was already doing cartwheels across the grass, turned like a sunflower to catch the early evening sunbeams filtering through the trees. "I just pulled it close to the car."

"It was ajar the whole drive?!"

"A jar of what?" Bill's cartwheels were already better than the ones he'd tried earlier that day.

Mabel winced. "Sorry, Grunkle Stan, I should have checked..."

"It's not her fault!" Like heck was Bill letting Mabel get in trouble over one little door. "I'm an out-of-control agent of chaos! I'd ride home sitting on the roof if this body had the friction to stay put."

Stan snapped, "Next time, that's where I'm putting you!"

While Stan parked properly and everyone else got out, Bill got tired of cavorting and trudged up to the shack. He kicked his shiny new shoe against the wall as he waited for the Pines to let him inside.

"Glad that's over," Stan sighed. "I'm never going shopping with you again."

Yeah, sure he wasn't. Bill could work on him. Stan would want a new watch eventually.

"And I'm still starving," Stan said.

"Pizza," Bill said. Dipper and Mabel perked up like a couple of dogs that had just heard their owner say walk.

"Ehh..."

"Hawaiian," Bill added.

Stan looked considering. "I do appreciate pineapple's laid-back, tropical attitude." Dipper and Mabel groaned in disappointment.

Bill proposed, "Two pizzas."

The Pines and Bill went inside, and the door swung shut behind them.

None of the humans noticed the minuscule break Bill had kicked in the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

####

(Thanks for reading, y'all! I've been really looking forward to posting this chapter, so if you've got any comments or thoughts, I'd love to hear them!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my art #fanart #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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goodluckclove · 7 months ago

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You Don't Need an Agent! Publishers That Accept Unsolicited Submissions

I see a few people sayin that you definitely need an agent to get published traditionally. Guess what? That's not remotely true. While an agent can be a very useful tool in finding and negotiating with publishers, going without is not as large of a hurdle as people might make it out to be!

Below is a list of some of the traditional publishers that offer reading periods for agent-less manuscripts. There might be more! Try looking for yourself - I promise it's not that scary!

Albert Whitman & Company: for picture books, middle-grade, and young adult fiction

Hydra (Part of Random House): for mainly LitRPG

Kensington Publishing: for a range of fiction and nonfiction

NCM Publishing: for all genres of fiction (YA included) and nonfiction

Pants of Fire Press: for middle-grade, YA, and adult fiction

Tin House Books: very limited submission period, but a good avenue for fiction, literary fiction, and poetry written by underrepresented communities

Quirk Fiction: offers odd-genre rep for represented and unagented authors. Unsolicited submissions inbox is closed at the moment but this is the page that'll update when it's open, and they produced some pretty big books so I'd keep an eye on this

Persea Books: for lit fiction, creative nonfiction, YA novels, and books focusing on contemporary issues

Baen: considered one of the best known publishers of sci-fi and fantasy. They don't need a history of publication.

Chicago Review Press: only accepting nonfiction at the moment, but maybe someone here writes nonfiction

Acre: for poetry, fiction and nonfiction. Special interest in underrepresented authors. Submission period just passed but for next year!

Coffeehouse Press: for lit fiction, nonfiction, poetry and translation. Reading period closed at time of posting, but keep an eye out

Ig: for queries on literary fiction and political/cultural nonfiction

Schaffner Press: for lit fiction, historical/crime fiction, or short fiction collections (cool)

Feminist Press: for international lit, hybrid memoirs, sci-fi and fantasy fiction especially from BIPOC, queer and trans voices

Evernight Publishing: for erotica. Royalties seem good and their response time is solid

Felony & Mayhem: for literary mystery fiction. Not currently looking for new work, but check back later

This is all what I could find in an hour. And it's not even everything, because I sifted out the expired links, the repeat genres (there are a lot of options for YA and children's authors), and I didn't even include a majority of smaller indie pubs where you can really do that weird shit.

A lot of them want you to query, but that's easy stuff once you figure it out. Lots of guides, and some even say how they want you to do it for them.

Not submitting to a Big 5 Trad Pub House does not make you any less of a writer. If you choose to work with any publishing house it can take a fair bit of weight off your shoulders in terms of design and distribution. You don't have to do it - I'm not - but if that's the way you want to go it's very, very, very possible.

Have a weirder manuscript that you don't think fits? Here's a list of 50 Indie Publishers looking for more experimental works to showcase and sell!

If Random House won't take your work - guess what? Maybe you're too cool for Random House.

#writing community #writeblr #on writing #writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr #queer writers #poc writer #trans writers #ya author #writing tips #writing resources #writing inspiration #writers supporting writers

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perseidlion · 4 months ago

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Fandom needs to have a serious conversation about the difference between a sexual character and a predatory one.

A character who is comfortable in their sexuality, is a flirt, and attempts to charm other characters isn't a predator by default. Predatory behaviour ignores signs that the attention is unwanted. Predatory behaviour means ignoring consent and pursuing someone when they're clearly not interested and blatantly ignoring their wishes.

Conflating the two downplays ACTUAL predatory behaviour and makes it harder to spot both in fiction and in real life. It's also different in the context of a story than it would be IRL. It's important to keep in mind that the purpose of fiction is to have narrative tension, conflict, and character development. The purpose of fiction unless it is religious or for children, is not to model ideal behaviour. A story for mature adults trusts that its audience knows the difference between permissible behaviour in real life and permissible behaviour in fiction.

Still, someone flirting with someone when they aren't immediately into it isn't some transgression. Neither is continuing to pursue someone or show attraction when they aren't given a hard no or directly blown off. ESPECIALLY in fiction where one party playing hard to get is a common story element.

The difference between a predator and a sexual person is emotional intelligence and an ability to both read and respect body language and signs. An emotionally intelligent flirt will back off when they know their attentions are unwanted. But shooting their shot to see how the person responds isn't evil behaviour, nor is trying to convince the person of their merits.

If this were true, a lot of people would never get together both in fiction and in real life. You can never 100 per cent know how a person is going to respond when you flirt with them. That's why flirting exists, to test the waters. Not every relationship starts with friendship, either. A lot of people jump right to romance. Also, sometimes people aren't into it immediately because they haven't thought about it. So the response can be ambiguous. There's been a worrying trend of people vilifying and painting characters as criminal/problematic/evil for simply being sexual and making their desires known. This is a prudish attitude that is very damaging - especially when levied on queer people who have historically been vilified, criminalized and experienced violence for expressing their sexuality.

It may be uncomfortable if someone expresses sexual attraction to you when you don't want it and don't reciprocate it, but if it's done respectfully, it isn't a crime. The crime comes if they ignore your wishes and pursue you anyway, or objectify you. **Addendum to note that I am talking about flirting that approaches a person like a real human being and not an object. This doesn't apply to say, dudes trying to talk to women on public transit with headphones in, or street harassment of any kind. I'm talking about flirting that comes from a place of respect and genuine interest at an appropriate time and place. Edited to add proof that the Cat King is definitely reading emotional signals from Edwin that encourage him to keep flirting:

#dead boy detectives #yes this is about the discourse surrounding the cat king but also it's come up in other fandoms #fandom #fandom discourse #discourse #purity culture #the cat king #catwin #cat king x edwin #edwin x the cat king

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ryin-silverfish · 7 months ago

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Heart and Mind: An Analysis of Tripitaka

I've been wanting to write this since…since I came across some good ol' Tripitaka discourse in the LMK fandom ages ago. Couldn't remember the specifics, but as y'all probably know, it falls under the "Is him an abusive master" and people's strongly worded retort to that question.

On one hand, I dislike the "abusive" take because so often, it is an excuse to reduce a character to an 2D caricature for cheap angst purposes, and both JTTW and its historical context deserve more nuances than that.

On the other hand, I don't agree with some of the defenses either——that Tripitaka is Kind and Wise and The Virtuous Monk, Actually, and people who said otherwise just had their views colored by adaptations, or were ignorant westerners misreading the book.

Because trust me, Chinese readers absolutely have gripes with Tripitaka too, and sass him mercilessly.

We may have a better idea of the historical context, namely, the common usage and acceptance of corporal punishments, but quite a few of us don't think he's a good Buddhist either.

Instead, I'd like to focus on his allegorical role, and how it ultimately forms the basis for my interpretation of his character.

It is commonly acknowledged that each pilgrim represent an aspect of the enlightenment seeker: Monkey is the Mind, Dragon Horse the Will, Pigsy the Desire, Sandy the Determination/Ideation.

Tripitaka is either the enlightenment seeker as a human, or the Heart, the Compassion.

But how can someone represent Compassion when his behaviors don't look all that compassionate, when he seems to care more about what a good Buddhist looks like on paper than in spirit?

How can a compassionate man punish his disciple with a migraine spell and disown him twice, be okay with some violence but not others?

Well, to answer that question, I feel like you have to look at Tripitaka in conjunction with SWK, and what the monkey represents. He is literally the Mind Monkey, the boundless potential of human intellect, and that, by itself, is neutral.

In the word of one of the best poems in JTTW:

"He could be good; he could be bad; present good and evil he could do at will. He'd be an immortal, a Buddha, if he's good; wickedness would cloak him with hair and horn."

To put it simply, SWK is one's wits, one's problem-solving skills, the ability to discern good and evil on a cognitive level.

Whenever Tripitaka, the Compassion, is deceived, it falls to the Mind to see the opponents as they are, and take action to protect the human from harm.

But just as blind compassion without judgement can be exploited by evil, the reverse is true for a mind without compassion, driven solely by their own ambition and whims and practical knowledge.

The Mind knows that robbery is a crime, so these robbers deserve death, but has no idea how disturbing it is for a regular guy to witness six people being brutally murdered in front of him.

The Mind knows that abandoning your wife and family to become a bandit is shameful and unfilial, but cannot comprehend why the bandit's father may not want his son killed for these offenses.

The Mind knows right and wrong, but has trouble seeing the human behind those acts, and why one should care in the first place.

And to see what the Mind looks like without any of Compassion's restraint, one needs to look no further than SWK's "Second Mind", the Six-eared Macaque.

Just like how "Heart" sounds like a lame power for a character, Compassion isn't flashy, nor as useful in a strictly ultilitarian sense. In fact, having compassion makes you vulnerable. It hurts. And unscrupulous people will absolutely use it against you.

So why hold onto your weakness and wallow in it? The world doesn't need another sanctimonious wuss, it needs strong, clever people making hard sacrifices, ruthless, logical decisions! Tough up! Stop caring, and you'll never be hurt again!

Much like a certain crowd who think basic human decency is somehow political propaganda, perhaps, when SEM struck Tripitaka, he was trying to do the same thing.

Kill the embodiment of compassion, the sniveling, useless, fragile human that keeps holding SWK back. Replace him as the true Mind, the one strong enough to break all bonds and seize glory with his own two hands.

But without compassion, without humanity, one is no longer a whole person, and cannot reach enlightenment. In fact, just like how Buddha would only give the True Scripture to Tripitaka, if you are not brave enough to make yourself vulnerable, to suffer and feel other's suffering, you will never transcend it.

At best, you can have some pale imitations of the parts you have willingly shut out from yourself.

And that's what SEM does. He thought he could do it on his own, singlehandedly replace SWK and reap the benefits of enlightenment, but he is no Monkey Awakened to Emptiness.

He is just empty; cut off desires because it is base, cut off determined ideation because it is foolish, cut off compassion because it is weak, cut off the altruism and curiosity and creativity from the mind, and you are left with a grand total of NOTHING.

A shadow of a self, desperately clinging onto external validation and stolen stories, reading the pilgrim's travel paperwork out loud as if that would actually make the journey his.

Tripitaka needs to trust SWK and learn from him, because compassion, much like good intention, doesn't solve problems on its own, and mercy is not the same as enabling harm.

SWK needs his master's guidance, because even at his most selfish and impulsive, he cares, and only by extending that care to others and accepting the vulnerability that comes with it can he truly mature and become awakened to the ultimate truth.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

One last bit of ramble: I feel like there is something to be said about Tripitaka's tendency to trust Pigsy, and how the pursuit of enlightenment is often derailed by worldly desires.

Unlike the demons they encountered, however, Pigsy is not the personification of mental obstacles that must be destroyed, because you cannot destroy bodily needs, nor the very human tendencies to slack off and avoid trouble.

You should stop listening to its advice, sure. Poke fun at it, absolutely. But what Pigsy represents is part of the human condition, just like every other pilgrim, and also something one must make peace with.

#journey to the west #xiyouji #jttw #tripitaka #tang sanzang #sun wukong #six eared macaque #pigsy #zhu bajie #character analysis #lego monkie kid

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veespee · 5 months ago

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okay i have no idea how i haven't done this yet, but here are my HABIT headcanons:3 enjoy!

HABIT headcanons

-He would blast romantic old jazz music while killing his victims. Which I know technically ISN'T his music taste (except for the fact that he likes Frank Sinatra) but i just have a vision of him cutting a person up while singing ‘Coney Island Baby’ very casually. (hence why i put the song hehe)

-Eats like a rabid dog. Straight up, his head moving back and forth as he tears his food up with his teeth. Only with meat though, with every other food he eats like a person, which would be pretty jarring.

-Really enjoys watching horror films (big surprise wow) but mostly snuff films. He's a little freak so of course in his twisted mind the fake gore horror movies use is boring, so he watches snuff films. Also i think he'd enjoy historical documentaries, mostly about dictators (i wonder which one) or in general just,,, bad events in history. Also true crime documentaries, especially if it's people he has possessed before just for the thrill.

-Also, I think he'd be one of those killers that taunt the police. Like the Zodiac Killer, he will leave creepy notes or clues around the police stations. Of course, they can't find an actual person named ‘HABIT’ existing, but HABIT would keep the facade that he was just a regular human serial killer taunting them. Thus, in literally every place he would start a spree, there would speculation. “Maybe ‘HABIT’ is multiple people? I mean, it can't be one person, how can they move around so quickly? Or maybe it's a satanist cult, sacrificing people. No, no, maybe it's a mafia taking people out.” And of course, he'd eat the hysteria and confusion up.

-Names all of his weapons. Of course we have Rex the Chainsaw, but I think he'd also name every single weapon. And it'd be some silly shit like his hunting knife would be called Betty.

-He talks to Vinnie about historical figures like he knew them personally. Like randomly, he'll just be on the couch, then start reminiscing about John F. Kennedy. "Poor Johnny didn't deserve that bullet through his head, shame." Also I think he would just,,, randomly lie about shit. Like "yeah i used to drink beer with Rob Zombie, he's a chill guy." and Vinnie just knows he's lying but doesn't dare question it.

#Spotify #slenderverse #habit emh #habit #habit everymanhybrid #everymanhybrid #emh #vinnie emh #slenderverse headcanons #headcanons #hcs #analysis #vinnie everyman #spotify

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fxtalitygod · 8 days ago

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EPILOGUE. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy mentions, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 1-2x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), implied incest mentions

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Today marks the day I finish this series. Guys, I cannot believe it took me two years to finish this damned series. Do not get me wrong, I loved writing it, but boy, it was a major pain in my ass. As corny as it sounds, thank you all for sticking with me throughout this series. When I originally posted the first chapter, I did not expect ANY attention whatsoever; it was just a self-indulgent thing I wanted to write because I wanted a better representation of (Y/n) where, yeah, she may not be the strongest. However, she still knows how to make do with what she has and make that her strength. I also wanted to give a more realistic relationship with the pairing. As much as I love Sukuna's character, I did not believe him to be a character capable of "true love" but a character that values others but not in the way you might think. I'm talking literal value, currency value, and benefit value. I wanted a more realistic take on the story because I did not know how many more historical "Kuna," "Suku," or "Kunie" stories I could take. No hate for those who write it or those who enjoy it; it just isn't my personal cup of tea. I like true crime and dark stories (I have this serial killer project that I'm stoked about because I know I will get my group an A+), so I tend to enjoy those darker sides, which I believe is why I like Sukuna's character so much, he just feeds into that side of me. There are some of the fantasies I enjoy where Sukuna is non-canon, such as AUs and all that, but when it comes to JJK's storyline or his historical AUs, I tend to fall short of enjoyment of that type of fantasy.

Anywho, thank you all for sticking around and enjoy the epilogue. I hope it was worth the wait. I may or may not have written three times because my perfectionism kicked in every time I proofread it, and I found something I did not like and scraped half the chapter. I bet I'll find a little thing here and there when I post this. Still, it won't be anything noticeable, something along the lines of my tags and probably my TW, though Im usually very on point with those kinds of things. Still, it always seems that AFTER I make the post, I really start to notice things even after proofreading it 50x.

P.S. I plan to do a behind-the-scenes post on all my original ideas. I have worked on this little project for two years, so you bet I had alternatives. Feel free to send me asks or messages asking me about things you are curious about, and I will gladly answer.

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

The market was bustling at this time of day. Workers were heading home from a hard day of work, rushing through the roads as they grabbed ingredients and materials for their households to prepare their meals and homes; everything was so normal...and if she were being honest, it felt strange. The confined life of the temple had practically become a comfort, so when presented with a slice of normalcy, it was foreign and, if she were being honest, alarming as well.

Having so much freedom was intimidating and overwhelming– the fear of having something good and it being taken away was a looming thought that brought many anxieties.

Years have passed since that fated day, Sukuna Ryomen's downfall. Since the fire and the slaughter that had immersed, Sukuna's actions had remained silent. There were whispers of sightings and rumors that the curse user had met his demise, but she knew better. Sukuna Ryomen was unkillable, and if anybody had truly caught a glance of him, they would be dead before they could live and tell the tale.

"Mama."

The world seemed to stop as the word processed through her head. Blood ran cold, and breaths of air seemed to come in at a faster rate. The woman turned to the little girl holding her hand, causing her heart to shatter.

"Darling, I told you not to refer to me as your mother, remember?"

The question remained as a statement rather than an inquiry as if refamiliarizing the child with a rule she had been reacquainted with on multiple occasions.

"I-I know that, but why can I not? You care for me like a mother, so why can I not call you my mother?'

"We have discussed this before, child," the woman sighed, "I believe it unfair to be taking the title of your actual mother."

"Well, if my real mother had not given me away, it would not be like this..."

Pausing mid-step, the caretaker held her breath, controlling the emotions and memories that flashed through her mind. The girl's sentence rang through her head, eliciting a feeling she was not commonly met with... aggravation. With no hesitance, the woman's minimal steps turned into longer strides, her grip even firmer on the young girl's hand. Getting to their place of lodging was more vital than anything, as she wanted to avoid discussing such sensitive matters in a public setting. Prying ears were close enough in such a crowded setting.

Upon reaching the home, the stand-in mother pulled the child inside before shutting the door. She swiftly bent down to the young one's level and took the child's shoulders into her hands. The little girl was shocked by the woman's reaction, staying silent and still as if afraid of what was to come next.

"Child, I will not hear you speak such false claims of your mother. You do not know the sacrifices she made to get you here."

The girl's expression of fear shifted from dread to shame. Her face was red from embarrassment after she was caught for her prior statement. However, as children do, she made it her goal to justify herself.

"What is the point of her sacrifice if she left me. Did she not want to be around me?"

"She did not leave you; if she were still in this world, trust me, she would be right here with you!"

The caregiver's words came out with little thought; all she knew was that she would not tolerate the little girl's false assumptions. However, now that the words spilled out of her mouth, she began to regret them. Seeing the tears well up in the girl's eyes made her wish she had phrased it differently.

"What do you mean?"

The caretaker cursed under her breath before inhaling through her nose, exhaling softly before speaking.

"You deserve the truth, my dear, and the truth is that your mother sacrificed her life to ensure you had a good one. She loved you so much that she valued your life more than hers. You might not understand this now, but that is a mother's love." The woman's breath stuttered, "She loved you more than you could ever know. I will not claim the title as your mother for that reason."

The girl was overwhelmed with emotion, only knowing how to express it through tears. The woman could not bear it and brought the girl close to her chest, embracing her to give any form of comfort that might help– it broke her heart to hear the child's quiet sobs.

After calming down, the kid spoke, though with some light chokes.

"W-what s-should I call you then?"

The warden took a sigh as she thought over her charges question. In all honesty, she had no idea what to say. What answer could she even give her? She could not allow her real name to float between the child's tongue as it would expose her identity. What name could she let the child speak?

"Hmm," the woman loosened her embrace, looking the little girl in the eye with a soft smile, "What do you think you should call me?"

The girl tilted her head, wanting more elaboration.

The lady chuckled softly, "What do you think my name should be, child?"

The caregiver had expected the girl to take some time to come up with an answer; however, the kid took no hesitation when she blurted out...

"Makato-san!"

Silenced engulfed the home as her caregiver failed to respond.

"Makato-san, I'm going to the market. Do you need anything?"

Another prolonged stillness as the young lady waited for a response.

The girl scrunched her brows in concern, extending her neck to look further into the room as if the individual she was looking for would appear. With the growing silence, the young adult searched the home for her guardian.

"Makato-san?"

She searched and examined the silent home with slight panic before finally stumbling upon the older woman, staring blankly at the floor she was kneeling on– unresponsive as she continued to stare.

With caution, Y/n's daughter reached her hand out to her caregiver's, placing it on the woman's shoulder. The response she got was one she had not expected.

The Makato turned suddenly, grabbing onto the young woman's wrist with an ungodly strength that even the girl was unaware of. This caused the girl to wince in pain as she tried to pull her arm away. Her arm was turning a light purple from the lack of circulation, proving the grip's vice.

Despite her fear, the charge could only feel concerned as her caregiver made eye contact, tears welling up in her eyes. It stayed like that for a couple more seconds before she snapped back into reality, gasping as she was presented with the image of her actions, quickly letting go of the young lady's arm.

"I'm so sorry, my Dear. I did not mean to...I was just..." The woman paused, swallowing her following words; however, her stutter did not disappear: "D-D-Did you need something, m-my, Dear?"

"I was preparing to leave and was going to ask if you needed anything from that market," the girl paused, choosing her next words carefully. Makato-san, you've been acting strange as of late. Is everything alright?"

The young woman was old enough to recognize the hesitance in her caretaker's features and the short lack of response.

"Whatever do you mean, Darling?"

"Please do not take me a fool," the youthful female voiced before sighing and looking at Makato in pity, "I'm worried for you, Makato-san. Ever since the refugees from the other village came, you have been behaving irregularly."

The refugees.

To say that their arrival was a shock was an understatement. At first, Makato thought nothing of it until the newcomers began to tell their stories. Their village was burned in a monstrous fire by a "crazed" sorcerer, and their home was now unsustainable to live in as it was left entirely in shambles. Despite this information, Makato thought little of it as there had been few stories of criminal sorcerers destroying homes, most being "inspired" by Sukuna's actions after his sudden hiatus. It was not until an elderly woman, who she happened to hear at random, described the appearance of the sorcerer.

"He was monstrous, the vile thing; he had four arms and two faces if you do not count that horrid mouth on his stomach. I watched both of them grin as it chewed on the remains of my eldest son." the elder choked and sobbed as the memory came back to taunt her.

Makato's heart dropped to her stomach. Rushing home in search of her charge, she found the girl working on her studies. Seeing the child she worked so hard to raise brought relief, but it was not long before the memories and visions began to haunt her. Sometimes, she would see you standing there, looking down at her, motionless and silent, with a pained, pitful look.

She hated it.

When you looked at her that way, she felt weak and vulnerable—as if she were failing. She was not as cool and calculating as you were, nor as confident or intimidating. Had you been here, you would have more than likely been able to disappear from society and find a nice, quiet life for yourself and your daughter. But you were not here; that was the problem– you were just a figment of her imagination.

Even then, she wanted you to stop looking at her that way.

Sometimes, she was left in her privacy and saw your vision appear to accompany her. It would drive her mad as she tried to convince you, even herself, that she was doing enough. She would speak into the silence of the room and get no response.

"What else could you want with me? I am doing everything I can!"

Silence.

"I am happy. She is happy. We are happy. Is that not enough for you?"

Silence.

"He thinks she is dead– he thinks I am dead! There is no possible way that..."

Silence.

"Please, stop looking at me that way. I am capable of doing this...please have faith in me."

"Makato-san?"

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Makato tracked what the girl had said earlier, not wanting to worry about her charge further.

"I apologize for my irregular behavior, my Dear. I can assure you that I am alright. I have had a lot of stress these days regarding the refugees. I want to do my part to assist them, but I have been running myself ragged and am just...tired."

The girl hesitated, not wanting to accept her caretaker's excuse, but she knew pushing the subject would not do her any good, so she nodded in understanding. The worst part is that Makato knew your daughter was aware of her white lie, but she would not admit it for some slim hope that the girl honestly did not know. Sometimes, she wished your daughter had not inherited your intelligence and perception.

"Do you need anything from the market, Makato-san? I plan on leaving soon to aid the refugees."

"No, I believe we have enough supplied for quite a while. All that I ask of you is to be safe, Darling."

Your daughter agreed, letting a soft smile slip onto her face before hugging Makato. The woman accepted the embrace before experiencing a wave of realization. Intelligence and perception were not the only things she inherited from you; she happened to be a real beauty as well.

"My Dear, if you plan on seeing that boy of yours, speak your peace now and know that I only want you to be safe and happy."

The girl struggled to find words before lowering her head in embarrassment, her face bright red with fluster.

"You are of age now, and I want you to know the responsibilities that rest on your shoulders."

"Makato-san, I never meant to keep it a secret. I just...I was afraid of your disapproval."

The more experienced woman could understand where she was coming from. Long ago, she was in the girl's position. However, she was never allowed to pursue her love due to the circumstances of her arrangement, but that does not mean she did not try. Despite her efforts to keep her relationship together, it was all for not in the end. She was given away as a sacrificial lamb to a monster.

Your daughter had a chance of love, and the caregiver would not squander it for her. She wanted your daughter to have a chance at a relationship she never had. Maybe it was questionable on her part due to the circumstances of her mission, but she did not entirely care. She just wanted your daughter to have a normal life.

She knew that was what you had wanted for your child.

"I do not disapprove, Darling. I just want you to be happy and to be careful."

"I promise that I will Makato-san."

There was a pause of awkward silence before the young woman embraced Makato once more.

"Thank you, I'll be back soon."

Makato smiled as she watched her ward leave the home. She had no problem admitting she was happy for the girl, but something deep within her told her it was a bad idea. It was hard for her to come to terms with, but she had an itching feeling that did not settle with her.

The world was perfect at the moment. Your daughter had put smiles on faces from her charity and was now being rewarded with a proposal for her marriage. She hugged her lover, showing her love and adoration in any way appropriate for their stage in relationship. If you were here, you would be beaming with joy, giving consent to the marriage with no hesitation because this is all you could ever want for your girl, and it would have been all you wanted for your twins.

You never had a chance of love and a happy life; seeing your children be able to pursue their lives to the fullest, especially in romantics, would have been considered a blessing to you.

"This is the happiest day of my life, honestly, but have you received my guardian's blessing?"

The young man chuckled, caressing her cheek reassuringly, "I plan on coming over for dinner tonight to ask for your hand properly if you will have me."

The girl could only agree eagerly through her expressions, unable to speak in fear of shouting instead of politely inviting him. Hugging him one last time before parting to rush home and prepare their meal; however, a chill went up her spine the moment she left; everything felt cold, and she could not explain why. Maybe it was the lack of his embrace, but she had never felt that way. There was only one good reason she could name.

Her nerves were getting the best of her...

"What if Makato-san declines."

The young woman's moods changed throughout the day as she prepared for the most significant evening of her life. One moment, she had the goofiest, filled with overwhelming joy, but there were other times when she would find herself chewing her nails from anxiety, and right now, she was having one of those times.

"Dear, stop that. This behavior is far from healthy. What has you behaving this way?"

"Nothing, everything is fine. I suppose I'm just hoping dinner will turn out acceptable tonight."

"Dear, please do not insult my intelligence with these excuses. What is going on that you are not telling me?"

"Well, I—" there was a pause. How was the ward supposed to say anything without giving anything away?

"You what? Spit it out, child, you are worrying me."

"I cannot say. I am sorry. But do not worry, please; something good is about to happen. Please trust me on this."

Makato chewed the inside of her cheek. She did trust her ward, but she had this gut feeling, this sickening feeling that she could not name. Maybe it was just her nerves getting the best of her, so she pushed it aside. She trusted your daughter, the only trustworthy person that Makato knew.

"Alright... is there anything you need help with?

The younger one smiled sweetly, taking her caretaker's hands in her own.

"No, I have it handled. You have been so stressed the past few days that you should just relax. Tonight, all your worries will be washed away." With that, she parted to continue her work for the big news. She was all but too excited.

She was also naive.

She was a sweet little girl, but she was naive. To think all of Makato's worries and problems would go away by simply relaxing, through sweet and simple gestures, was an innocent way to think. It was how Makato raised that girl because she wanted that sweet little girl to have that luxury. There were times she wondered if she had made the right choice, but then she would remember what pain looked like and what too much experience could do to a person.

No, she made the right decision. This is what you would have wanted.

Right?

Yes.

Makato went, and she sat as the young woman finished her final preparations for the meal. The girl looked more stressed than ever, rushing at the final threshold, but it seemed that preparations were finished and she was filling time. She found little things to do that held no significance. She was in her head, making Makato question if everything was truly fine.

Then, the footsteps could be heard. He was here, and everything was going to change. Life was going to change, and it was between her and that door. The biggest day of her life was only a dinner conversation away. So she opened the door and was presented with an image she thought she would never see or experience.

"We must leave. The village is under attack, and we do not have much time."

The smell of smoke was strong, and embers could be seen from a not-to0-far distance. The world came crashing down, and she could not say a thing. She could only stand there with an oblivious smile.

"What?"

Fear, confusion, anger, any negative emotion she could feel, she was feeling. This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to get a blessing and marry the man of her dreams. Why now? Why this? This could not be real, there was no way.

If the world had crashed down for your daughter, the heavens collided into the earth, dissipating everything in its path in Makato's eyes. The older woman stood, no thoughts running in her head as she strided to the boy, grabbing him by his garments

"You tell me now, and you tell me true, boy! What did you see?!"

Her sudden actions left him too stunned to speak, but after some shaking and calling for his attention, he found himself capable of a response.

"Makato-san, what is happening?" It was like everything hit her at once, but she was still trying to understand why it was happening today– why it was happening now at the most crucial moment of her life.

"I do not know what it was, but it was a man of stature. He was disfigured; he had two faces and four arms. He came without warning, started flames, and began a massacre. His face was cold, as if he felt absolutely nothing."

There was no doubt in her mind that it was him, no doubt her former husband as reigning terror; however, based on the emotionless state of his ambush, bloodshed was beginning to lose its flavor. It was comical, but as much as it had some humor, this was no joke. This was all too real.

Makato grabbed your daughter's shoulder, pulling her out of her shock. Tears were in her eyes, looking at her caretaker pitifully.

"Makato-san, what is happening?"

She was naive, and being naive was safe, but being naive was also unrealistic. Makato gave the girl a sheltered life, eliminating the possibility of danger to the girl. That was no way to live.

"Your father, that is what is happening."

"What?"

And the shock returned. Makato made an effort to avoid mentioning Sukuna in conversation, only mentioning you in light memory. As far as your daughter was concerned, her father did not exist...until now.

"That so-called man is your father, Ryomen Sukuna. That is the man who drove your mother to eventually kill herself," A pause, licking her lip as she readied herself to elaborate, "Your mother sacrificed herself to protect you from him. He drained the life from her and left her no choice but to die, but she gave it purpose. She died to give you a life, a life away from him."

"I-" Your daughter was at a loss for words. Everything was hitting her too fast.

"I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it from you. I wanted you to have an everyday life, but I should have noticed sooner or later that the truth would reveal itself and that he would present himself one day."

There was nothing to say, only to exchange expressions of fear and dismay.

"W-Well, what do we do now?"

"We run."

Taking the two charges, Makato grabbed whatever necessities they needed to start a new life. She had been planning this since the day she ran from the temple. She would admit that now, with a third party, it would be more complicated than she had intended, but they would make do.

They exited the home frantic. The smell of smoke became more potent, and the embers were closer than before. The flames became more evident as they spread. Any entrance to the main road would have been a route to death, but Makato had never planned to use that path. There was a back trail through the woods, one she had discovered when your little girl was merely five years of age.

They ran towards the thicket, avoiding as many obstacles as possible. Things were looking smooth, with hardly any disruptions. It was almost serene, but that was the issue. To have such tranquility was a nauseating notion for mayhem being at their backs.

It was too quiet to be safe.

And that is when she knew to push the girl and her lover aside, veiling their presence with her technique before everything went black.

Ringing...

And more ringing...

The lights were brighter, and the smoke and ash came straight from the source. She woke up coughing and gasping for air. For a moment, she thought she had been dreaming, immersed in a life that was not hers. Maybe she was waking up, back to her village, back to her parents, back to the life before she got caught in that awful nightmare.

"I am surprised that it was you, of all the women she let live." Sukuna started, looking down at what he believed to be the scum of the earth.

No, it was all too real. His voice registered through her head instantly despite not hearing it in years– at least in person. She had repeated memories, but sometimes she wondered if she had deformed his voice from years of not hearing him speak down on her. Turns out she remembered it accurately. It still managed to send chills down her spine and make her wish to be six feet under the ground.

"I was probably too forgettable for her to ever really care about whether I lived or died." Makato spat.

"That is reasonable enough, but that would not serve her memory well and rather insult her intelligence. I will say that, if anything, my Little Flower was too clever to let such technicality slip from her. She probably pitied you and your fruitless womb, so she gifted you with a child for you to care for in her absence. And knowing your broken state, she probably knew you would be eager at the opportunity."

Makato scowled, turning her gaze to the ground. How dare he speak of you in such a way. He said that as if you were on his level, as devious and conniving as he was, and claimed your actions were selfish when they were the opposite. You did this for her daughter, not for yourself. If you had it your way, you would be there.

"How old is she now?"

She refused to answer, turning her gaze back to the dirt. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of belittling her more than he already had. It was humiliating, but she still had some dignity and a promise she wished to uphold.

"What does it matter? She is dead. (Y/n) told you herself that she was gone."

A sharp pain was felt at the back of her head as he pulled her hair to force the woman to look up at him.

"Do not picture me a fool! For a woman whose last words claimed her daughter was gone, she left me the most humorous smile. I know that age of the girl, but I would rather hear from you, bitch, how long you have been holding her captive."

No response.

"Answer me!" Sukuna snarled, pulling at her scalp once more.

"Nineteen years of age," Makato smiled. Why? Do you wish to act as a father now? Well, you are too LATE! While you were out throwing tantrums, I raised her child, which you would not know how to do without being given exact handwritten instructions."

"On the contrary, you let her potential slip, and now she is nothing but another womb to breed. Unfortunate, due to the heritage of her mother and myself. However, a womb is still useful regardless."

Out of anything Sukuna had done, out of anything he had said to threaten her, that was the most horrifying.

"You are a disgusting bastard."

"Do not speak as if you can fill her shoes as if you have her confidence. You would not be in this position if you were half the woman she was."

"You are right; if I were half the woman she was, I could have easily manipulated you and have you play the role of the arrogant man with an ego so big, he does not notice the knife pointing at his back," A pause as she licked her lips, swallowing to try and quench her dry throat, "Everything that woman did was out of fear, much like everyone else; however, she knew how to tick your interest and she used that to her advantage. Honestly, I am ashamed. I only noticed it when she told me about her plan."

A twitch in his eye, he was irritated. It was known through body language and the knowledge of his nature that he wanted to tear Makato apart, limb from limb, until her body was unrecognizable.

"What? Afraid to face the truth of her decision. She could have run away with ease; she could have killed you, but both of those options would have been considered a mercy for you. She took away the one thing that you valued: herself. That must eat at you a lot."

With a swift motion, he scooped the former wife from her neck, squeezing her throat as he raised her to face him eye-to-eye.

"You are a worthless bitch who cannot even reproduce, summing you up to nothing. What is your worth?"

Nothing but the struggling breaths of the woman attempting to pry herself from this monster's grip.

"Exactly, you are worth nothing."

Darkness, wherever they were, was dark. The girl and her lover were still in the woods, alive as well as they could manage. She could only remember running into this place before being shoved into the dark area. She felt the ground around her and reached her arms out into the pitch black as she tried to navigate this strange place. It scared her.

"Makato-san? Where are you?"

No response, only silence.

It was dark and frightening, and she did not know what to do. What could she do? She could cry, so she did; she cried as she tried to find her way back. This had to be some kind of night terror. She would wake up, and she would be at that doorway, welcoming her lover into their home, eating their meal, and then sharing the news. Her lover would get her caretaker's blessing, get married, and live happily ever after, right?

Dreadfully wrong.

Instead, a hand reached out and pulled her out of the darkness. The world was still unlit, but moonlight and the flames dancing in the distance could be seen nearby; however, she was not a part of the conflict.

She was about to scream, cry for help, anything to get attention drawn to her location, but was stopped by a large palm to the mouth.

"Shhh, my love. It is only me. It will be alright."

For the first time that night, she felt genuine relief. Turning her head to see her man, she looked down at her disheveled features. She weakly smiled, moving herself to embrace him. It all lasted for a few seconds until she realized the missing member of their little group.

"Where is Makato-san?" she whispered.

The man looked down, not daring to respond. She attempted to make eye contact, but he would only look away.

"Where is she?" she insistently asked, but louder.

" I do not know; a couple curse users emerged from the woods. Makato shoved us into the ditch, and when I came out, she was gone."

"Well...Well, we must go look for her."

A grasp to the wrist effectively stopped the girl.

"No, I cannot risk losing you, and I know Makato-san would agree. She would not want you going out to risk your life to save her."

How could he say that? How dare he say that! What right did he have in this decision?

"Then you do not know her." she scowled, trying to withdraw from his hold, but his hand did not budge.

"Then why would she tell you everything had she not already predicted the possibility that she might die."

"Because... because...she needed me to know because if we were going to run away, I would need to put in my own weight by knowing our threat...yes, that was it! Now let me go!" She tried to reason, but not to him—herself.

Denial.

"It was a confession! As if she were lying on her deathbed, she confessed everything to you. She wants you to move on, knowing there are dangers like your father. She wants you to kno-"

"Well, she may not be dead yet, so we have to try!"

With whatever strength she had deep down, she broke free from his grasp, sprinting towards the village and the flame. She could hear him following her, but in her mind, she wanted to believe he was doing it because he could see her reason. He would help; she was sure of it.

She was almost there, and she swore she could see the silhouette of her caretaker, but then she found herself on the ground. It was only for a second before being lifted into the air, a hand covering her mouth as she got further from her destination.

Kicking, muffled screams, and the distant cackling of flames could be heard. She bit her partner’s hand in an attempt that he would let her go from the sudden pain, but he was resistant. He merely grunted and winced while continuing his journey back. But then there was a halt.

There she was, Makato, thrown onto the ground. She could see her in the distance. The woman looked weak but very much alive, and she was right there. The daughter kicked, shoved, jabbed, and bit even more, trying to get loose. However, her lover would not budge because although he could see Makato, he could also see the shadow hovering over the woman, the shadow your daughter was refusing to look at.

Then the shadow disappeared, and the dreadful monster emerged, Sukuna Ryomen, hovering over Makato with disdain. Watching as she tried to crawl away but failed miserably. She was fighting, doing her best, but her fate was inevitable.

Death was the only option, and death is what she got.

Ryomen Sukuna caved into his impulses, ripping her limb from limb until she was unrecognizable. The daughter watched, horrified, as the woman who raised her was mutilated to nothing but a pulp. What sort of sick joke was this? She remained silent as she tried to think of who would pull such a childish trick, watching as the image got smaller until nothing was left. Eventually, it was just a tiny yellow dot in the distance and nothing more; all she could do was look at it.

"Promise me you will live."

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe out

Breath in

Breathe o-

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

The scream echoed through the dark room, and you tried to comprehend where you were. The walls were closing in, and the air was too thick to breathe. It felt like like suffocation.

What was this?

Why now?

Where is this?

Why is this?

How is-

"Y/n!"

You snapped back into reality, frantically looking at your surroundings to notice you were in your bedroom.

"Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?"

The silence was tense as you sat there, trying to remember your nightmare. You thought long and hard, but in the end, you had nothing.

"I...I don't know."

You heard a sigh, a hand rubbing your back, and another reaching for your cheek, wiping the stray tears you were unaware of.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight, again?"

Some of you wanted to say no, but the opposing side longed for it. You stared at the clock on the wall before you, reading the time. It was a little past midnight, and you had hardly gotten any rest. You had a big day tomorrow, and rest was crucial to get through your day. God knows the things you would do if you did not properly sleep.

Turning to your twin brother, you weakly nodded, "Okay."

He did not hesitate to tuck you under his arm as if in an attempt to protect you from any harm to come your way, to shield you from the nightmares. However, despite his presence, it was like a part of the dream appeared that you remembered but didn't at the same time.

"Do you think I'll be a good mother?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Please just answer me...for my sanity."

Your brother sighed, resting his cheek on your head as he rubbed your shoulder to comfort you.

"Y/n, I have no doubt you will make a great mother. Come on, let's go back to sleep. I'll stay here, and everything will be better in the morning."

"Promise me it will be better in the morning."

"What?"

"You don't have to hold up to it. I just...I just want to hear you say it."

"I promise it will be better in the morning."

"Okay..."

New series?? Sequel???Maybe, but first, a little break ☆~ (˃̵ڡ‘˶ )

Taglist (Thank you all so much for being a part of this series):

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident

@fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx @chariotwaves

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olympeline · 1 month ago

Text

Gonna post my thoughts on the Hetalia Nations Revealed AU. Always a fun one to chat about. (￣▽￣)

We call it an AU but it’s actually pretty accurate. The part about nation-people not being a secret, I mean. I recently reread the webcomic and canon leans into NPs being public knowledge. Obviously their bosses are aware of them, but there’s lots of strips where NPs interact with members of the public as well. There are strips starring humans who don’t recognize their NP (that one soldier in France, Lisa, Davie, etc.) but they’re fewer in number. We all know Heta-canon is flexible so, for this post, I’m coming down on the side of “people know.” Here’s how I headcanon it all working:

Nation-people are common knowledge to the extent it would be really weird if you met someone who wasn’t aware of them. It would be like talking to a guy and he says he’s never heard of religion. Like, any religion. In the whole world. Not even the concept of it. You’d be all: “Whaaa?? Man, how?? Did you grow up under a rock?” It’s like that for NPs.

NPs are more than human and so aren’t too bothered by us. In a nice way. They still love their citizens but it’s not a relationship between equals. More benevolent demi-deities existing alongside the mundane. This is where I differ from some interpretations of this AU, I think. I can’t see the NPs as being weak and helpless around their people. They’re partially representations of the Earth itself and nature is much stronger than humanity. Like that panel where Francis was getting harassed by historians? Only happened because he allowed it. NPs let humans get close to them when they choose, but they can lose them if they wish. That’s what France did when he’d had enough. The historians blinked and he was just gone. Slipped away like a breath of wind. Leaving two very disappointed academics to continue their argument, lol. The only exceptions are their bosses. NPs have to obey any direct order given by them.

Have to, have to. Compelled in the old fae-like way. NPs are completely under the control of whoever’s running their country. The one who has the final say is the head of state, but they can and do delegate if someone else holds the true power. Kiku directly obeys his emperor, for example, but the emperor obeys Japan’s Diet. So the Prime Minister gives Kiku his orders through their symbolic ruler. If a country’s government is overthrown then that control passes to the new ones in charge. NPs don’t get any choice in the matter, sadly for them. When an NP starts obeying the “other side” then the writing’s on the wall that the regime change has succeeded.

They aren’t considered fully human and so don’t have the same rights and privileges we do. I’d imagine there’s been many high profile court cases about stuff like this in the modern era. Just what an NP can be ordered to do by their bosses before it becomes abusive, how culpable they are for crimes committed by their nations, etc. “The Nation of [x] vs. Nation-Person [y] in the case of Historical Crime(s) [z].” I don’t think much would have been accomplished over the years, lol. No country is going to let their NP go to a foreign prison. Plus the NPs always have the “magically compelled” defense to fall back on. So no progress, just lots of debate. NPs are considered somewhere between guardian deities, ordinary people, and “things” in the broader public consciousness.

Yes, they have social media. No, it has not always gone well. I bet after a few instant-major-historical-event cases of careless and/or hot-tempered NPs calling their bosses assholes on twitter, NP accounts were mass nuked. They were reinstated only after their bosses gave them loooong lists of subjects they weren’t allowed to talk about. Afterwards their posts were all fluff about hobbies and personal interests. Doesn’t stop foreign governments, economists, gossip channels, NP enthusiasts, and curious people combing through every tweet, post, and video to try and guess what the NPs are “really” talking about. So many conspiracy theorist channels, oh god. Even thinking about it is making me tired. 😂

NPs have two homes: a work address and a personal one. The former is usually located in their capital and is either where their boss lives or close by. So Alfred has a home at the White House, Arthur has one on Downing Street, etc. However most NPs don’t consider these their real homes and only spend time there while doing government work. Ordinary, if nice, houses and apartments out among their people is where they like to live. These can decorate them to match their personalities the way they can’t official residences. They use their power over the land to make sure no humans can find these sanctuaries unless the NP wants them to. Stops NPs being swarmed by paparazzi, tourists, and fans 24/7.

De-anoning to say it was me that sent @forsoobado137 the money ask. So just repeating what I said there. All countries put their NP’s face on their money. Along with the state’s name, the NP’s human name, and a picture of the actual land they represent. The money can have other famous people on it too, just on the other side. Governments have been doing this since money was invented and some of the only surviving visual records of ancient NPs are pictures on coins.

Any human being knows an NP and the country they represent just by sight. Unless it’s somewhere they’ve never heard of. Then all they know is that they’re looking at a nation-person. I imagine it would be considered a huge faux-pas to let it slip you don’t know an NP’s country name. Like telling a Holywood A-lister you don’t know who they are at a red carpet event. 😭

NPs have many default jobs, mostly related to their governments. One of them is being in their nation’s armed forces. They’ve always done this ever since the first age of empires. They even led armies and were seen as good luck charms in the past. Soldiers tend to make up the bulk of the humans the NPs remember most fondly. The relationship between Francis and Joan of Arc is one of the best known historical examples. Whether an NP actually enjoys their time in the military depends on their personality. Which is in turn influenced by how warlike the actual country is and has been. If your NP falls in battle, it’s one of the worst war omens possible.

Speaking of death, I headcanon that NPs can die from illness or injury. Or at least their human bodies can. They’re tougher than we are, but not unkillable. They’ll come back so long as the nation itself survives. True death for an NP is reserved for when the civilisation they represent stops existing. If an NP dies in a foreign country, they’ll crumble to dust and regenerate somewhere deep in their heartlands. The place they were originally “born” from the earth. Only a select few very high up in government know the location of their NP’s birth/rebirth place. This also happens if they die on home soil and their body is destroyed. If they die at home and their body is okay, they’ll heal and wake up after a few hours. If the country isn’t doing well it takes longer for its NP to come back.

Speaking of countries not doing well: NPs get sick either when their economies go bad, or when there’s an epidemic among their citizens. A lot of European NPs can chalk some of their early deaths up to the Black Death. When an NP get “depressed” it’s code for a financial fever. Nothing can be done but keep them comfortable until the economy picks up.

Hetalia is so fun to post about, my god. Such a prime series for theories and headcanons. You feel me, gamers?

#hetalia #nations revealed au #hws france #hws japan #hws america #hws england #aph france #aph japan #aph america #aph england #my posts

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