#personally I cannot WAIT to be spiteful about this

[theundeadgospel]

my mostly homophobic mom’s side asking me when im going to get a bf, bf this, man this, man that

ma’am if a straight man touched me I think I would literally curl in my own skin out of disgust but if a woman locked eyes with me I’d feel like the spirits just blessed my entire existence in that very moment

[neige-leblanche]

i honestly think the stress of my job is bad for my health tbh

[edwardseymour]

new jane seymour fanfic just dropped!

where are the history books that call her a ‘sweet, docile angel’? name them.

[thecrowroad]

An assortment of Crow and Spite headcanons:

Zevran’s working over of House Arainai triggered the succession crisis that claimed Lucanis and Illario’s families. The deaths of six 8th Talons in short order caused a lot of instability within Crow society. That instability opened up a lot of opportunity for advancement for both the smaller Crow Houses and the Talon houses. Which lead to a lot of murder.

As heir of House Dellamorte and the presumptive next First Talon, Lucanis did the full syllabus of Crow training, in exhaustive detail. Including the seduction training. While it’s not his forte, he can turn it on for contracts - but he absolutely shuts down when he uses those techniques on someone he actually cares for. It wasn’t (just) Spite that made him need to clear his head after the almost-kiss, it was nearly using moves he associates with targets on Rook.

The things Lucanis finds normal are a source of perpetual morbid fascination for everyone else who didn’t grow up at the sharp end of a crime syndicate. He was first recorded as assisting on a contract at 5 years old - no one looks twice at a tired parent dealing with a fractious kid, or expects the kid to be tasked with dripping the poison in the right glass. The Crows have never shied away from using children.

Post-game, the first thing Lucanis does, once he’s back in Treviso and the dust has settled is to sit down with Viago and Teia and work out how they’re going to manage one of them taking over as First Talon without Caterina having them all assassinated with extreme prejudice. Because while the Seat of First Talon has been Delamorte for generations and almost his entire family died to make sure it stayed in the family… It’s not important to Lucanis. He can do the job and do it well (Caterina is a lot of things, but a woman who didn’t bend to the death of all her children is not a misty-eyed sentimentalist). He just doesn’t want it, and after what he’s been through, he just wants to retire quietly to a cafe somewhere sunny and take the occasional contract his negotiator has convinced to pay his god-killer rates.

As part of the negotiations, Lucanis and Teia make Viago swear an oath to not freelance his way back into the succession. It’s just not worth it, and Teia has better things to do with her life than queening.

I’m not convinced Spite is actually a demon. He’s a bitchy spirit of Determination. Firstly - he doesn’t actually do anything spiteful. Fucking up Zara’s plans for Lucanis isn’t spiteful, nor is losing his rag at Illario for kill-stealing - that’s determination to survive, and determination thwarted. Secondly - just about everyone who addresses Spite personally calls him a spirit of determination. If a demon is a corrupted spirit, it seems that Spite is as most a little twisted.

On the positive effects of spirit possession, Anders says “I cannot tell you how good it feels for a spirit to fulfill its function. The waiting is over. I am finally seeking justice. And he is exultant. There is no ecstasy humankind can feel to match." And Wynne describes her possession by a spirit of faith as comforting "It is like being held close, cradled...". At the most minor level, possession by a contented Spite when he’s crossing stuff off his personal to-do list has to be a glorious cascade of dopamine rushes. Just imagine what achieving the big goals feels like.

[timid-owl]

Don't get me wrong I absolutely adore the jane eyre cherik aus where Erik is Rochester and Charles’s the governess but -

I also love the concept of Mr Xavier, master of the house, some Earl of Viscount or whatnot, hireing a tutor for his wards and getting this angry mean strange gorgeous man without a penny to his name, a raging socialist who like reads Marx and goes to protests and helps assemble explosives for the suffragettes or something, and also has some beef with his lordship Sebastian Shaw, member of the parlament... 

and Charles - who's like the most enviable bachelor to ever bachelor, and a promising young scientist who studded at Oxford and had himself some fancy life going on there, and just got back and for some reason found himself with the house and the land and all these kids to take care of, and is just sweet and constantly overwhelmed - well he sees Erik and goes yep that's my man, come here let me teach you some kindness, and bribe your fine arse out of some shady business, and well i dispise violence but your ratio of nitroglycerin to gunpowder is not ideal, and Engels is much deeper won't you say, and do you maybe want to play some chess. And of course please by all means take all my money to go on your personal vendetta that I will absolutely help accomplish

Including: 

- traditionally, somebody swimming in a lake in a plain shirt, not realising they are being watched

- erik fixing mechanisms - clocks, bells, carriages, music boxes, whatever goes - in the house out of spiteful gratefulness

- erik and the children having to adapt to eachother but getting along brilliantly in the long run. Eric is methodical in his explanations but the children still need some help from charles to show them different facettes of thoughts ans concepts and help them reveal their full potential

- raven going to a sufragette protest with erik and getting slightely hurt, charles getting absolutely mental over it; some discussion about how change is always violent no it isn’t you just have to wait for people to accept it 

- erik getting jealous and possessive during a ball but also generally very sarcastic with the guests 

- charles reading stories in the evenings with voices and all, and maybe even some poetry and is he looking at Erik when he says "What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal"? and Erik's heart just melts 

- erik probably revealing that Shaw has ruined his family or something, and possibly has some evil plan to - whatever, pass a misanthropic bill,  overthrow the government, something something 

- is there a ghost in the house? I mean it might be a symbolical thing in Erik's head or it actually might be charles finding an absolute worst solution to help a mentally unstable (pyromaniac?) girl named jean for instance? Who knows

- some tension in the library? Yes definitely that

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Worm irreparably destroys your ability to engage with superhero fiction the same way ever again, as evidenced by the fact that it destroyed the author's own ability to engage with his own superhero fiction ever again. And everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric (part of why I started WEON4 as a project was motivated by spite, to try and make my own stories about non-American superheroes even if just as practice). It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

[delta-chan]

Thoughts about Dawntrail map six

Needless to say, very heavy spoilers beneath the read more!

I was initially a bit wary of Living Memory's telegraphed "reverse Ultima Thule" structure until I got the prompt that the scenery would be irreversibly altered at the first terminal. I panicked because like a lot of people I thought "oh nice, I'll come back here later for some nice gpose shots". That this beautiful place would have to be taken away for you to progress was almost incomprehensible to me and in that moment the genius of it clicked. It wasn't just a reverse spin on Ultima Thule's structure--it was a reverse spin that was going to back it up to an extreme.

The ephemerality of life is something FFXIV has touched on many times before, including as one of the chief themes of Endwalker. But while in Endwalker this was on a grand scale as a part of radical acceptance as a whole, Dawntrail's second half explores this idea in a more focused, intimate fashion. While the WoL has no one they are close to that they can engage with in an experience with like Erenville, Krile, and Wuk Lamat--they have the environment. And being that you're the person behind the WoL with an investment in that environment on some level the finality of moving forward hits you like a sack of bricks.

I spent a lot of time being kind of awed by this--it's a very, very solid gimmick. I sort of paused at the first prompt going "haha there's no way, right…?" before going "wait" and immediately setting out to take a bunch of quick shots. That place wasn't going to exist anymore, and I wanted a memory of it. That beautiful place--a painstakingly detailed and gorgeous bit of gpose bait if I've ever seen it--wasn't going to exist if I wanted to move on. It was… weird. I took so many nearly identical shots trying to get perfect ones because there was only ever going to be that moment. In the future there'll be new game plus. You might have alts. But in that moment, experiencing it for the first time... it's… really effective. Startlingly effective.

The fact that when I was watching the map introduction and thought about how Living Memory was an almost tailor-made gposing space (and let's face it probably is for exactly this reason) that I would have a lot of fun taking screenshots at later made me think about how many other people thought, are thinking, and will think the same thing not knowing that they're taking it for granted. Who would...? It's absurd. Why would the map be altered to such a degree that it'd be rendered gone all but in name...? It hasn't happened before. So why would it happen now? Why would it even come to mind?

And the thing is--even if someone warns you, even if you're spoiled, even if you have someone fly you from place to place--the terminals are still going to have to be shut down eventually if you want to move forward. You cannot keep it. Living memory is made to be seen once then destroyed by your own hand.

I mean--at the end of the MSQ I thought, perhaps naively, that Living Memory was going to be restored because the threat was resolved. I mean--everyone's gone. There's no need for the environment to stay gone as well, right...? I mean, they put so much loving detail into it!

Wrong.

In the immediacy of when I first finished Endwalker during its early access I wrote that I never wanted to return to Ultima Thule because it creeped me out. The map was emotionally fraught, and my first experience with it was being released into an incredibly dark map with a discordant soundtrack, jumping out of my seat at another player passing by. But returning to it for hunts and the Omicron quests I saw it for the vibrant, beautiful place that it was. It changed for the better and stayed that way.

In spite of how much I've talked up Living Memory's beauty and how much it inspires the drive to capture the moment before it leaves you, it's also far more disconcerting than Ultima Thule from the very beginning in an altogether different manner. Living Memory is something that you want to be that shouldn't be. Both in the context of the MSQ and as a map in general--you want to take screenshots, you want to linger, but the unchanging weather effect and languidly pleasant music begin to push against you if you stay too long.

When everything's said and done Living Memory becomes a featureless husk that now has natural changing weather. At night there are motes of light, golden remains of the once oppressive reminiscence. And in the background as if being piped from distant speakers, the languidly pleasant and slightly warped BGM echoing through the nothingness like an amusement park's PA system playing music for no one after closing for the last time.

It's something you didn't want that needs to be.

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

I think the other thing to note about Jamil and Azul in general is their leadership styles.

Both are prone to micromanagement. We know Azul takes into account every detail in his lounge. And Jamil also must know everything that is going on at a given party at any moment.

But Azul can delegate. He's in fact fairly good at it. That's why his main payment to a contract is extra labor because he knows how to manage extra labor. Jamil has sooooooo much trouble letting other people help him. If something must be done, only he can do it. Extra labor is just extra trouble bc now more people can make mistakes.

This is also reflective of their childhoods. Kalim is a hopeless, helpless dear and only succeeds through sheer, willful luck that cannot be replicated by anyone else. He can help but you have to trust in his lack of a process. Jamil has like negative trust. He wants a goddamn process please!

Whereas, Jade and to an extent Floyd are pretty dependable. Moooooostly because they find Azul hilarious and decide helping him is more fun than not. And for the most part, they have capabilities. They can wait tables. They can shake people down for money. They can do things that can be replicated by other people. (Maybe not to the same level - but workable at least). Azul can trust them because they do have a stable contract of mutual benefits.

Also, I do believe Jamil prefers to coast. It's part of how he acts outside of Kalim who is basically his personal pressure cooker. If he can get away with things using only his natural talent and minimal effort, fucking go for it. One of the reasons he resents Kalim so much is that if Jamil had a choice, he wouldn't work a day in his life. He would travel around the world, free as a bird.

Azul would die if he isn't managing fifty projects at once. He likes work. He likes effort. Given the option between a vacation and a business conference, Azul already has a badge and three meetings with shareholders. Azul is the hustle culture.

Of course, Jamil will work given the necessity (again Kalim). Or if his own natural talents aren't enough, he's spiteful enough to put his back into something and really go for gold because silver is for quitters. But... He's gonna bitch about it the whole way.

[imperial-daffodil]

Below is me rambling about the Emperor because I love him. And I have gotten a bit carried away x)

_ __ _ __ _ __ _ __ _

The Emperor is a Victim as much as Shadowheart or Astarion. He has been stolen from his old life forced to embrace a new way of being and even more violently so that he had to shed his old self - is whole body.

And yet. After years of absolute complete entrhallment once he broke free from it for a moment - he learnt to accept to love himself.

To love himself in spite of having been turned forcefully - another face - another species - another shape. He learnt to carry the WEIGHT of his traumatic experiences and grow stronger out of it.

He learnt to love himself and that despite the excruiatingly achingly painful adversity he faced - the worst kind that one can face: his one true companion, the love of his life, his Guardian, Ansur, not only forcing upon him the idea that he needed to 'be cured' but then, wanting him to die because he could not go back to how he had been before the trauma.

The Emperor is a victim.

The Emperor is a survivor.

And he is the strongest of the whole game.

Because he survived his trauma alone. He had no one to turn to for so long. His self love, his unbreakable will to survive and be FREE to LIVE as HE IS, he had to build it up all alone.

In a world in which anyone who would see him truly, would kill him on sight.

He had to hide it, who he was, who he IS, who he has learnt to love BEING.

Despite all the pain he has endured, the pain that was forcefully inflicted on him.

Despite the hatred he faced, the hatred from the sole person he believed and genuinely thoughts and felt he could put his trust in.

The Emperor is a victim, and a survivor, who had to learn to make the weight of his traumas his own. Own his past, his pain.

Own what was inflicted to him, forced on him, until he loved himself again.

Wishing for nothing more than to live, for who he is. Fully. his past, and present all part of that beautiful whole that is him.

The Emperor is not a clumsy kid waiting to be taken by the hand and told what to do by Tav.

The Emperor is a man who has seen hell, been to hell, been inflicted hell, and is back and still loving who he's become.

And he deserves nothing more than to live freely as himself, and to have a true companion, an equal, who will accept him WHOLE. past, present, future, name, species, and shape.

Mind, body, heart, and soul.

It must be so hard to grasp those nuances for some. To understand that one loves themselves as their are, embracing the trauma that shaped them, made them stronger, more beautiful, more whole.

To understand, and accept that one's darkest hours, and part of them, but it never, ever make them lesser. On the contrary.

And to accept, that some, would not exchange a grain of sand of their life story. because that is what defines who they truly are in the present.

To have such a strong sense of identity and having learnt to love oneself despite having always faced only pain and hatred and yearning.

To be a person who won't be told what to do and who to be - because trust me, when you've seen hell, been there, and lived it, you know, exactly, what is best for you, and who you truly are.

And there is beauty in blooming anew after everything has crumbled - down to yourself - born anew, like a phoenix too magnificent to even be looked at without teasing the fires of jealousy, misunderstanding and hatred of those who cannot even fathom the beauty of it all.

_ __ _ __ _ __ _

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #20

Best of Luck

With a title like "Best of Luck," this sounds exactly like an Anti-Fairy episode. I'm intrigued.

I love how Cosmo and Wanda's house can be wherever it needs to be, including inside Hazel's desk.

I wish we would've had that lore in the OG series, because it makes a lot of sense (and makes the concept of riding around with your godkids and sitting in elementary school all day less boring). I think I'm yoinking this for 'fics.

I like how they still have old-fashioned desks in the future. I've never had these desks.

Peri and Dev are together again... Peri's trying his best <3 I like how Dev is a grump. That feels right.

"Peace is boring and lacking in swag." - Dev Dimmadome, 2024

I love him.

I enjoy how that random horse has been here for tons of episodes. It's just silly.

I really like Winn. They have so many happy things to say about life and their friends:

"Pulling out paper, even though you'd used it to defeat your previous 3 opponents?? /smiles and clutches hands to chest while shaking head. "Inspired."

They deserve to be the cool kid everyone likes and wants to befriend. I support it. I hope they have a really nice life and many joys.

Hey, wait a minute! I WAS right about Winn only having freckles on one cheek. I think it just flips sides when they turn.

Peri in his debut: I'm gonna take you from Dev to Dev-ine!! Dev now, on the heels of a massive meltdown: What happened to you 'taking me from Dev to Dev-ine?' I don't FEEL very Dev-ine >:( Peri: :')

I enjoy the detail of Dev pushing his shades back on his nose after throwing his head back and then snapping it forward. They didn't even fall down or reveal his eyes, but it was the correct move for him to do.

I like how every time Dev moves his head, his shades catch the ceiling lights.

Ohhh, when snooty Peri comes out, you've gone too far!

... I was wrong!! Dev just raised his voice and Peri crumpled. I love him.

That music sting, tho...

For some reason, that last one gives me bigger "Oh, that's totally Poof" energy than any other screenshot I've taken? idk why; I don't remember Poof getting angry often.

Hang on- I watch Season 9 a lot. Let me check my usual highlights...

... ah. I don't like what this says about me.

-> omg, his staff is based on his rattle! I didn't even notice that until now!! That's so clever!

There's something really funny about posting this picture right before jumping back into my liveblog.

Anyway, Peri is trying SO hard to explain the rules... He looked like he was about to cry and then he snapped; let's see where this is going.

OHHHH, he's quitting! I knew it~! He can't handle the pressure. He's too baby!!

I cannot believe this man lasted 4.5 months on the job. Every time he showed up, he was upset.

Peri: You know what, Dev? I'm DONE. Dev: Well, I'm done-ER! Peri: I'm the done-EST! Dev: Stick a fork in BOTH OF US, THEN!!!

Neither of them is okay.

And he's got tears down his cheeks... Freakin' GEEZ, Dev! You snapped him like a twig.

I'm glad he's having a hard time adjusting to being a nice person. lol. It really underscores why he's so mean at the start of the series.

The fact that he had no issue taking off his shades after befriending Hazel in "A New Dev-elopment" (even willing to go to school with them off and talk nicely to his teacher that Monday, regardless of the fact that this was his first time in the series doing that and people might've talked about it) gives me the inkling that he probably HAS tried being nice in the past, and he doesn't MIND being nice... until he's hurting, and then his self-defense mechanism is to shut down and wall everyone out.

He WANTS to be "a happy kid." He just keeps getting bit every time he places his trust in someone. Including Hazel (in his POV) since he couldn't move past his "Wait a minute... Did you WISH for us to be friends??" meltdown in spite of the good times that came from that wish.

He tried so hard to see the good in his dad in "Lost and Founder's Day." Even when his dad snapped at him for asking if he could help and told him to go "Eat a lizard."

Even when his dad blatantly used electricity to shock people's brains and Dev very clearly had issues with it. He tried SO HARD to turn it around to "Oh, so you can help kids!!"

He even tried to see the good in Vicky [before she entered the house] when Hazel tried cheering him up with the thought of, "Well yeah, maybe you didn't want a princess cosplayer at your birthday, but she might be a really COOL party princess!"

He just keeps trying and has such high hopes and patience despite getting nipped every time he speaks up and reaches out. That's why he stayed un-miserable for so long before tipping over and getting Peri assigned to him. Tell him how high to jump and he'll do his best without even asking "How high?"

So he took that leap with Hazel. And the floor went out from under him.

I read once that if your natural response is to close off when you're struggling and/or just handle everything yourself even if it's a lot, it indicates your past experiences of reaching out yielded no help, so it's hard to see the point in asking others for help in the future.

I don't have the place I read this on hand and I didn't dive for the sources back then, so take it with a grain of salt, but it's all I've been thinking about while watching Dev in this show.

btw, I had to rewatch part of "Lost and Founder's Day" to grab that screenshot, and it's hilarious to me that even when he's talking to his own son, Dale still introduces himself as "Dale Dimmadome, owner of Dimmadome Global." He's just like his dad.

Okay... Blue smoke? Anti-Fairy time??

OHHHH, it's the man of the hour!! Welcome back, loser!

I love the little shift of him flexing his wing. I like how similar the wing is to the old show (Black with blue markings).

Eric Bauza, is that you?? Score!

Okay, I looked it up to see if that was true and first of all, yes it is, and second, he's also credited as Peri's VA, so I love that! I hadn't bothered to check who Peri's VA was, but that literally makes so much sense; their parents have always shared, so of COURSE they'd share too. That's so smart...

Hm... Can't say I'm the biggest fan of Foop's name changing to Irep and I'm not sure I like his design, but maybe it'll grow on me.

That said, the name change is a really clever way to get Irep to explain the lore of how he's the opposite of Peri without being info-dumpy.

I'm glad he kept his facial hair. And he's got big boy fangs! I miss his F-shaped hair curls, though, or maybe I need a better angle.

Hey, he has a dark jacket like the lab coat I gave him in my high school design. I wasn't far off!

No freckles, but in OG canon, they only really showed up when he flushed, so no surprise. I don't expect to see them, but it would be funny if he did flush and they were still there.

Also, I really like the ultraviolet glow of his crown. That makes so much sense.

Insert joke about how Anti-Fairies used to be invisible to the naked eye until Season 5

... He is actually REALLY cute. He looks a lot like his old self.

Are other Anti-Fairies also going to have square heads? I don't mind Foop having a square one if all his species does, but I'll be a bit surprised if he's the only creature with a cube head.

I think it's funny that they took away Peri's eyelashes when he grew up, but left Irep with one. That feels incredibly right.

I love his unique scruffy eyebrows. That's cute.

Irep, who previously had such a traumatizing experience as a godparent that he spent that episode screaming and crying, his magic souring in a range of colors all the way down to green in one of the only appearances of green magic in the series, and literally almost gave up on life before he gained the courage to lash out at Vicky despite knowing full-well his magic would immediately backlash and torture him for it: "I am once again ready to take responsibility for a mean human."

This only exacerbates my analysis of Peri not being ready for godkids and that's flippin' hilarious.

The nerd finally put on shoes!!

Dev wished for it to be tomorrow, so now it's tomorrow (waning crescent, of course).

No Dev-Irep sleepover? Robbed >:(

??? Obsessed with Hazel walking into school chatting about what she spent her night doing. I love how this means Irep just... yoinked Dev forward in time.

/horse in the hospital voice: I didn't know he could do that.

This episode's set-up & plot is just great in general.

Everyone else has gone to bed and Dev's had no sleep or breakfast. He needs a snack.

Ooh, wait- what? Mace wand!! ... I don't think I'll keep that in my canon, but that's a clever way to parallel Poof's staff. It's funny to me that the posh British boy did not get a staff. He WOULD like bashing people with the mace, huh?

It delights me to see Irep left-handed. He's been a leftie since the day he was born, all through to Season 10 :')

I like how Irep started crying when Dev told him he was "better than Peri." I mean... He's not wrong- that IS literally all Foop-Irep has wanted to hear since the minute he was born.

He is literally the same person he's always been. lol.

"Best of Luck" & "Two and a Half Babies"

I wonder if he's still claustrophobic, because that was, like... his big thing after escaping Abracatraz. I doubt it will come up (and he's much older now), but since he's an antagonist, I assume he has a weakness, and that would be an interesting one to bring back.

-> Actually if I'm remembering right, it was his alternate personality's phobia (Foop vehemently denying it while his alter literally screamed at the top of his lungs and doubled down), which is definitely implyin' somethin' about which of them remembers Abracatraz better. Hmm...

FINALLY! I don't think we ever got to see umbrellas open indoors as a form of bad luck in the OG series. It's one of those tiny questions always floating in the back of my mind, sdklfj.

I like how Dev still went to class. He has rule-breaking magic at his fingertips and this is where he's spending his time.

I guess it's not like he can leave the school; his whole goal is to get in that schoolwide Rock, Paper, Scissors competition.

I like Hazel eating from her popcorn bucket of 4-leaf clovers.

is Irep going to try to poke her and then, like... break out in hives or something? lol.

[hunny-beann]

Hi! I love love love your first fic and your portrayal of dream!

Could I request two prompts from your hurt/comfort prompts? Specifically number 11 and number 52?

No Greater Patience

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! tysm for the request, I hope you enjoy the fic!

synopsis:

Prior to his century long captivity, Morpheus and his wife have an argument so disastrous that even after regaining his freedom over one hundred years later, he still questions whether or not he has the right to seek her out.

And yet, the yearning of an Endless is not so easily ignored by the mind, and he soon finds that regardless of his conscious thoughts, all roads lead back to her.

To you.

Prompts:

(hurt/comfort list here)

#11: Please don’t go. #52: I kept this for you while you were away // It’s been two years // I know

Warnings: A once unhappy marriage(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he still should be.

Word Count: 4,014

Having the opportunity to visit with Death again had been nice.

Far nicer in fact, than the Lord of Dreams would ever willingly admit aloud.

She had always understood him in a way that none of his other siblings ever seemed to manage, and she was far too aware of his flaws and his past to allow him to continue his typical path of avoidance without a bit of a challenge.

Of course, there had been many a time where that had been less than ideal, particularly when Dream had little interest in dealing with those things, big and large, that always seemed to haunt him so.

Still, it was nice to be reminded of the topics and people that he had neglected to consider throughout his time held captive, like Hob Gadling for example, who Dream was now almost eagerly planning to visit at his earliest convenience.

And perhaps he would have headed off sooner, had it not been for Death's one lingering question regarding her brother's personal relationships...

"Dream?"

She had asked just after he had stepped away upon making his intentions of setting off to visit Hob clear.

Slowly, hesitantly, the individual in question turned to face his sister in response, one brow cocked in question to make up for his persistent silence.

Death sighed a bit, almost looking a little unsure before she finally continued upon realizing how little time she truly had for this particular conversation.

She had a rather important deadline to make, after all.

"Have you seen her?"

She asked gently, a sort of pity in her gaze that immediately made the being standing in front of her bristle in response, forcing down the slowly increasing feeling of anger within him as he closed his eyes and took a single deep breath before opening them once more to find her still standing there, waiting.

He shook his head.

"No. Our last conversation was... less than amicable, and was several weeks prior to my disappearance."

Death took a few steps closer, and placed a hand upon Dream's shoulder, watching him fight off the urge to step away, clearly trying his best not to end their interaction on a negative note.

"Then maybe you should consider seeing her as well. Last we spoke she wanted to ask about you, I could feel it, I just didn't want to push-"

"Sister."

Dream interrupted her, his voice not unkind, but still rather stern, at least as much so as politeness would allow.

"She made it quite clear during our last conversation how little interest she had in seeing me again. I would not think it appropriate for me to seek her out in spite of that."

Death sighed, but removed her hand from her brother's shoulder, watching as he nodded toward her in farewell before beginning to move away once more.

Still, no matter how gently she had attempted to address the tense topic, Death was still an older sister, and how could she possibly call herself by such a title if she didn't do some teasing from time to time?

"You cannot avoid the wife forever, dear brother! Do not forget, you are bound to her until I come to collect!"

Dream rolled his eyes, and though Death could not see that particular movement, she could see the way that his shoulders shifted slightly as he chuckled to himself, his head shaking from side to side as he walked off to attend to his own personal duties.

Except several hours and a visit with Hob later, he found that he could do no such thing, as his mind was far too wrapped up with thoughts of his wife.

Thoughts of you.

He had always loved you after all, hadn't he?

You, a deity worshiped into existence by humans, meant to embody nourishment and nurturing, as that found in the relationship between a mother and child, or an owner and their pet.

You were unending and fierce loyalty, the fire in the pit of the stomach, and the gentle hand clutching that of a child during an afternoon walk in the woods, setting them on the right path while never disallowing an opportunity for adventure.

You were beautiful.

And so very deserving of a type of love that Dream had simply been unable to give you.

Sure, he had always been polite, and at times even kind, but considerate was not an adjective that any would have used to describe him, nor his relationship that he shared with you.

Still, you had found it within yourself to love him anyway.

He was cold, calculating, blunt, quiet, and scrutinizing. Dream saw all, every flaw and every weakness, and though it was a rarity that he would point them out aloud without prompting, it was difficult to know just how much he truly saw whenever he looked at you.

That said, none of that had ever seemed to bother you beyond what you could manage.

You enjoyed his company, particularly back when the Dreaming had been slightly less complex, and he had been able to provide you with conversations and time, both things that he would eventually cease to have very much of as the waking world began to shift and change, thus requiring the evolution of the Dreaming as well.

More people meant more dreaming, and more dreaming meant more of the Dream Lord's attention.

And what he had neglected to realize at the time, was that you were the very first thing to lose his affections, his thoughts, and his actions.

It was as if you had always been expendable without ever truly knowing it until he was long gone, a slight indent in the bed that was only ever filled after you went to sleep and before you woke up, leaving you the possessor of both of your rings as day after day he forgot his on the bedside table until it was nothing more than a habit long forgotten.

Where you had once been the love of The Dream Lord, it now appeared that you were his wife in name and nothing more, and though it stung, you had stuck to your duties for far longer than Dream ever would have allowed you to now.

You had always deserved better, even before the being had shifted his attention's elsewhere, and even if he had not known that then, he could so clearly understand it now.

You had never given up on him, not even when nearly all of your interactions seemed to end in dismissals on his part, or arguments due to his seemingly constant exasperation in general. You wanted your husband back, but he wanted to be the Dream Lord far more than he ever wanted to be a husband at that time.

And maybe he had felt that way, sure, but he never should have said it, at least not in the way that he did.

Because he had seen the way that your face fell and your eyes grew teary. Of course he had, he saw all.

But in spite of that fact, he did not go after you when you rushed off to be alone for the one thousandth time.

And the next time that he saw you, you had approached him at his throne in the evening, and quietly, meekly, in a voice he had never heard you use before, asked for a divorce.

You had looked defeated in a way that Dream had found himself surprised by, eyes shadowed, gaze cast downward, and skin slightly paler than usual in spite of how impossible it would be for you to have taken ill due to your godly status.

And any husband, or at least any good one, would have asked you what was wrong, or what had driven you to wanting to leave so suddenly.

But Dream had not been a good husband, so he had simply grown frustrated with you.

He had accused you of being attention seeking for your "childish behaviors", called your attempts at appealing to his emotions laughable, and had all but sneered in the face of your desires.

You were, after all, the Lady of Dreams, everyone knew you as such, and the idea that you could abandon such a title? It was nearly as unthinkable as him leaving his.

His creations, nightmares and dreams alike, adored you, his siblings, (or rather those of whom that cared), seemed to enjoy or at least tolerate your presence when necessary, and most importantly of all, the Dream Lord could not imagine a world within which you were no longer his wife.

It had been centuries since your marriage, and over a thousand years of knowing you prior to that, after all.

It was almost as if he thought of you as his after all of the time of you living within his shadow as nothing more than a figurehead, the wife of a powerful being who was seldom paid any attention to by the very "man" that she had married.

But to Dream's surprise, if your actions had been for attention, you were all too keen on taking things even further, because when he made these accusations in his usual uncaring and borderline insulting tone, you had shouted at him for the very first time that he could recollect.

"It hurts!"

You had cried, eyes brimming with unexpected tears of both anger and sadness,

"It hurts to know that you see me each day without ever truly seeing me, that you call me your wife while scarcely knowing who I am anymore. If me donning the title of Lady of Dreams is so important to you Lord Morpheus, then fine, call me what you will, but know that I do not consider myself your spouse anymore, and have no intentions of staying here in this suffocating realm with you any longer."

And with that, you had gone, and The Lord of Dreams had not seen you since.

Though he had thought about you plenty, as unwilling as he was to admit it.

Your words had gotten to him, though most primarily when he had been trapped for so very long, forced to consider his past actions and mull over all that he had endured throughout the passage of time in spite of how little it was meant to impact him.

You were his wife still, sure, but now only in name, and over a century had passed since he had last heard your voice or seen your face.

Were you still worshiped as you had once been? Did his nightmares and his dreams know where you were? Had you thought of him or thought to visit the Dreaming in his absence? Had you even known that he had vanished in the manner that he did?

All of these questions coursed through his mind, and thoughtlessly, without even realizing it, he brought himself back to where he subconsciously knew that you would be.

Your home.

Nestled deep within the woods of the waking world, in a rural town within a country rather sparsely inhabited, you still resided, unsurprisingly, to this day, and as Dream approached your door for the first time in centuries, he stopped himself before he could raise a fist to knock on the sturdy old wood.

What was he doing here, bothering you after so very long of giving you the space that you so desired?

Had he not made a promise to himself that he would leave you be now that he understood all that he had done to you? All that he had deprived you of by trapping a being such as yourself in a marriage as loveless as yours had been?

At that line of internal questioning, Dream sighed, and turned to leave, only to hear the door swing open behind him just as he did so, a gasp filling the air behind his back before he quickly spun to face the source of the sound.

There you were, a giggling and bouncing baby at your hip, with a bottle in your hand, staring at the personification of dreams with eyes that were beginning to brim ever so slightly with tears.

"Please, don't go."

You whispered, causing the Dream Lord's eyes to widen ever so slightly,

"I need to talk to you."

And much to his surprise, Dream was quick to oblige, stepping into your abode in only a few simple strides, taking in the familiar yet so very changed space and atmosphere found within the walls of your home.

This was where he had met you well over a thousand years ago by happenstance, though he knew all too well deep down that all things happened for a reason, and that his meeting with you had been preordained by his eldest sibling and the stars long before the humans that had created you had even existed.

It was peaceful here, in the deeper woods with you, in your fire-heated home so hidden from view.

Or maybe, it was you who brought on that familiar peace, you who made his physical form relax in spite of how tireless it was meant to be.

He did not linger on such a thought for very long, for fear of what he might come to realize.

"You look well."

He said almost timidly, eyes cast downward and body language tense as he tried not to consider how similarly you looked even still to the last time that he'd seen you.

Beautiful, as always.

You sighed in response, wrestling a lightly chiming metal pendant out of the hand of the child in your grasp before tucking it into your shirt and away from view.

"With all due respect, my lord, I have absolutely no interest in small talk."

You said quietly, watching as Dream raised his gaze to look at you once more, eyes following intently as you shifted the child at your hip slightly, eyes still not entirely rid of the tears that had so clearly threatened to fall upon the sight of him.

"You disappeared."

You stated in a whisper, sounding almost defeated even as Dream nodded in reply,

"I did."

He said.

You sighed again, and looked down at the child, gaze softening slightly as you raised the prepared bottle to it's lips, watching as it started to suckle with delight, chubby limbs wiggling within your grasp, though you notably did not falter.

You never did, you were far too good with children, a fact that Dream had always felt unsettled by.

He was discernibly not a family man, particularly back when he had married you, and the idea that you were meant for something outside of what he could comfortably provide you with...

"And now you're back."

You said matter of factly, using that same tone as before as the being in front of you was snapped out of his reverie at the familiar sound of your voice, his reaction instantaneous.

"I am."

He said simply, watching as you looked up at him once more, tears spilling slightly in a way that for a moment, caused him to freeze up entirely.

You had never been one for crying, not even throughout the many years where he had harmed you through his lack of attention and desire. What could it have been, here and now that would bring you to such tears upon his simple words?

He moved after a moment, almost instinctively, to stand before you, some longing once believed to be long lost within him bubbling to the surface as he raised both hands to your face, cupping your cheeks in order to wipe your tears away with almost trembling thumbs that had nearly forgotten the once worshiped feeling of your skin beneath their pads.

You sighed shakily, looking him in the eyes for one of the very first times that day as you shook your head slightly,

"How could you do such a thing to me, Dream? How could you vanish so entirely without a word to me or anyone that you knew would be worried for you? How could you turn up here so casually and think to turn away and leave without letting me see the realness of you for myself?"

The Lord of Dreams looked down at you with sadness in his eyes, and moved to shake his own head in response, his hands still soft and warm against your skin.

Alive.

"I did not choose to leave, my dear."

He all but murmured, the familiar nickname he had once used for you finding his lips as naturally as water did a spring,

"And I did not think you desired to see me again after our last interaction. Coming here, it was not something I thought to do. I simply did."

You gazed up at him incredulously still stuck on that first part of his statement,

"What do you mean you did not choose to leave, Morpheus?"

You whispered, horror seeping into your tone as the being in front of you faltered, before finally speaking, shame present in every word that he spoke.

"I was captured by a human, and held against my will for over a century. My freedom, as it stands currently, is new. I did not choose to leave and stay away from my duties, I assure you."

You let out a choked and humorless sounding laugh, shaking your head even further,

"And what you consider upon your exit from such a hell is not of who you want to see, but who may wish to see you? Where has my selfish King of Dream's gone?"

You asked, voice slight and smile lopsided as Morpheus sighed and thoughtlessly traced the curves of your lips with his thumb, finding much to his surprise that the shape remained familiar even to this day.

"I was not fair to you, dear wife, not for a very long time. If nothing else, I wanted to know that I had at least respected your wishes for space, though even that may have been self serving."

You adjusted the child on your hip, before you raised your hand up to your husband's, ignoring the slight way that he shivered beneath your touch.

"Whatever do you mean, King of Dreams?"

You whispered, watching as Morpheus gave a humorless sounding chuckle of his own.

"I mean that even today, I could not bear to call you anything besides my wife. I mean that by avoiding you entirely, and calling that your wish, I am able to ignore the fact that I am still not strong enough to give you the end to our union that you so justly requested. I do not wish to lose you in that way, even if I have lost you in all others."

You hummed softly in response, smile growing gently as you removed his hand from your face, giving him a glance that had him dropping the other to his side before you guided him to your sofa, where you sat the two of you down, you with a child upon your lap, and him with nothing but his most bare self, vulnerable in a way he had not felt since he had been so plainly naked behind glass for what had felt like all of man to see.

Seeking out a distraction, Dream looked down toward the child sitting upon your lap, before moving his gaze back up to yours again.

"The child..."

He began, and immediately, you shook your head,

"He is not mine. I found him roaming the woods a few days back, and have yet to find his mother, even after stopping by the nearest town. I'm hoping to hear word of someone searching for him soon."

You said casually, watching with gleaming eyes as the child took your finger and clasped it within his chubby little fist, his grin revealing his few teeth, just barely poking out from beneath his gums.

Dream could not help but smile softly along with him, though his was merely a shadow compared to that of the child sitting atop your legs.

"I see..."

He replied, and you gazed toward him with noted amusement,

"Were you worried that I had stepped outside of our marriage, Lord Morpheus?"

You teased, watching as the man in front of you rolled his eyes before responding.

"No, I was more hoping than anything else. If you had moved on, then I might find it easier now to do the same."

You looked up at him upon hearing those words, before reaching down to place the small child on the floor in front of you with a sigh, thus allowing you to better face the being sitting at your side.

"And why is it that you are so eager to move past me, dear husband?"

You watched as Dream cast his gaze downward, eyes trained on the child playing nearby in spite of the fact that you could tell his mind was far away indeed, off somewhere that you could not follow, deeply considering every event he'd ever endured in search of an answer to your question.

How nice it must have been, to be so knowledgeable.

"If I were to move past you, wife, then I might finally be able to let you go, and if I managed to do such a thing, it would be far more feasible that you could truly hope to be rid of me someday."

You sighed, and reached for the hands of the individual that you had once known so well, and perhaps even did still, causing him to look up at you in surprise at the sudden contact.

"And if I do not want to be rid of you, dear Morpheus? If I said that after a century I have found it within myself to forgive you for the husband you once were in favor of learning what husband you could be now?"

You watched as the being sitting in front of you stared for a moment, as if in complete and utter disbelief, before he slowly began shaking his head, the corner of his lips raising ever so slightly as he leaned in to press his forehead against your own,

"Then I would say that I have known no greater patience than that of my dear wife."

He murmured, causing you to laugh quietly with a subtle roll of your eyes before you reached upward, pulling a pendant on a chain out from where it had been hidden beneath the collar of your shirt.

Dream watched curiously, not entirely sure of what you were doing, until suddenly you yanked at the chain with such force that it snapped in the back, causing either end of it to come tumbling forward into your palm.

Dream raised a brow in response to your actions, but remained silent, seeing in your eyes that you were all too eager to explain, the glint there unsubtle in a way that he was immensely familiar with.

"I kept this for you while you were away"

You stated casually as you pulled one of two clinking pieces of metal off of the chain, revealing to Dream a sight he had never anticipated having the privilege of viewing again.

There, between two of your fingertips and presented to him with such normalcy, was his wedding ring, and he could see from the subtle glint still remaining in your palm that the other metal piece on the chain had been yours.

He stared in shock, reaching for the familiar symbol of his union to you in utter disbelief, even as the coolness of it's structure wrapped itself around his ring finger as he took it and slid it on to its rightful place upon his hand.

"It’s been more than a century..."

He murmured, his tone betraying his surprise in spite of how little emotion he typically showed, even in vulnerable moments like this one.

You smiled at him, shrugging slightly as you slid your own ring onto your finger again, sighing as if having arrived home after a long day of work,

"I know."

[loudmound]

hi. welcome to my mary shepherd-sunderland post.

what will follow is who i think she is as a character, what she means to the narrative of sh2, and why people should think and talk about her more bcs me and the 4 other mary fans are dying out here.

DISCLAIMER BEFORE WE BEGIN: a lot of this post will be enmeshed with interpretation and headcanon that draws from me analyzing the text of sh2. this is My Post about mary. stormy mary post. please understand this.

the foundation of mary's character is an exceptionally strong one, and for someone like me, i enjoy making inferences about her person before the illness, during the illness, and near the end. the personality she has in sh2 is flexible enough to allow what i imagine her to have been like in my mind's eye.

i do not want this post to be read as the Definitive Canonical Interpretation of mary. i am just doing my best to inform my analysis of mary with the text as well as building from that set foundation given to us as the audience.

with that out of the way, please enjoy.

PART ONE: MARY AS A CONCEPT

what exists of mary is filtered through the lens of memory before the cumulative letter in the respective endings we receive it. throughout sh2, her status and state of being is re-contextualized as her husband moves closer and closer to the truth of the matter. she is an individual wrapped in idealistic fantasy that is slowly and surely stripped away the longer the game goes along, and the more we actualize her as the person she once was.

this element of conceptualization and fantasy is a through-line in sh2's narrative. mary is everywhere james looks in his version of the town. she's in the rot and rust on the walls, she's in the monsters he fights and runs from, she's in the places he goes, her face and voice is maria's, and she even has some of her memories and personality traits. it is truly understated how much mary just... IS in sh2, in spite of her not being physically present.

there's also this dichotomy i've been thinking about in the inability for mary and james to exist outside of one another, thematically speaking. for fundamentally being two different people, they are inextricably tied to one another in a really unfortunate and tragic way. james grafts himself to mary's memory before her sickness and slowly begins to resent the woman she's become out of anything but her own volition, and mary grafts herself to james because... she has to.

she's sick, she's dying, she's largely bedridden and in constant pain. she cannot rely on herself anymore; she has to rely on the people around her to take care of her, and when she inevitably goes home to live out whatever time she has left... it's james she has to rely on. and while i think james finds immense comfort and pleasure in living in the past they had while refuting the present, mary is thoroughly imbedded in the present and resents the past by means of something that she can no longer have. neither of them can, but i've always interpreted mary to be a very pragmatic and proactive individual.

she discusses in her letter how pathetic and ugly she feels, how she waits in her cocoon of pain and loneliness that's been grafted onto her unwillingly while she waits for james to visit her, and it's clear to me that she is the kind of individual that puts so much emphasis on being a useful and beautiful woman. that is what gives her worth as a human being within the society in which she lives (late 80s usa in my opinion). canonically, she is a housewife, and while that certainly coheres, i'm of the belief that she was a woman who worked outside the home as well, but also someone who did not do enough unpacking to really get away from gendered roles expected of her.

i really do believe that she feels she failed james spectacularly as a partner, but also as a wife; therein, as a person in his life. both of them dealt with their own baggage regarding gendered expectations, but mary in particular's is incredibly potent and crushing if you actualize her as someone who, in turn, wanted to be the perfect wife to james. kind, patient, nurturing, submissive, etc.

of course, as we all know, the perfect wife/woman/whatever you want it to be, is an unattainable concept, because how can anybody human like mary exist within such ridiculous, reductive parameters?

PART TWO: MARY AS A PERSON

so, in that case, who was mary, then? who was she, if not this idealized vision of a wife long lost?

as i've alluded to before, i envision her as a very pragmatic and proactive person; in the video tape of her, she seems very playful and outgoing, but also contemplative, appreciative, and straightforward. i've always seen her as a very different person from james in regards to how she navigates through life.

she's comparatively much more outward and readily emotional, but seems to retain a level of quiet interiority that meshes very well with james' very inward attitude. a very typical "bubbly wife and stoic husband" sort of situation on the surface, but i've always thought that mary greatly appreciated having james as an emotional anchor of sorts; somebody who can soothe the more keyed-up aspects of her personality, given how quiet and easygoing he is.

given how she mentions how angry she was all the time at the advent of learning of her incumbent death, i view her as somebody who really does not like being out of control of her own life. she has an idea of how she wants things to be and she wants them done the way she has already since chosen. (do not interrupt her routines. she will get very irritated.) she's very particular, and i think she's had to learn how not to just take the reigns from somebody else if she perceives them to be going about something "incorrectly" because this particular flaw has led to some arguments/falling-outs with loved ones in the past.

in that particular vein, holy fuck is this woman a fixer. she needs to fix everything she possibly can. the sink's busted? don't worry, she's had a lifetime of fixing shitty plumbing in her childhood home because nobody else bothered. need a couple more bucks for gas? don't worry, she always keeps a few extra dollars on her because she knows what it's like to be a few short and not have anyone else to turn to that you can trust.

you've been deeply traumatized and scarred by your adverse childhood experiences and it's left you with maladaptive and dysfunctional coping mechanisms? don't worry, she'll be there for you, in sickness and in health.

to me, mary's the kind of person that likes seeing the fruits of her labor, too. she takes great pride in being as self-sufficient at she has been, and does very much enjoy sharing that with others as much as she can. genuinely, i think she's very giving and compassionate, but jesus, when it came to james when he was struggling (before she got sick), it certainly got a bit dire. using your wife for free emotional labor is one thing, but when that wife welcomes it for a while because she has a pervasive desire to fix everything, including you? yeah.

also, of course, mary felt a pertinent obligation to doing such, being The Wife and all, but she's also a human person and got exhausted dealing with the amount of baggage her husband had, and their relationship got pretty rocky because of james' unwillingness to seek professional help (stemming from trauma with the laughable us-healthcare system) and mary's unwillingness to recant over and over again what she has in her toolbox.

which is where silent hill comes in. a belated honeymoon of sorts, mary and james take a trip to take their mind off the doom-inspiring monotony that is domestic life, and it's great!

until it isn't.

PART THREE: TERMINAL ILLNESS

so, the nature of mary's illness has never been clearly stated canonically, but we know that it gave her a persistent cough, rendered her bedbound, made her hair fall out, and made lumps grow all over her skin. i'm of the belief that she had hansen's disease, but cancer is also incredibly plausible too.

hansen's disease is one of those things that can lie dormant for years, and it can sometimes take a decade for symptoms to surface, so i don't think it was really a matter of mary catching anything from silent hill, per se. (i do think toluca lake has just the most godawful brain-eating bacteria in it but that's aside the point.) it's definitely a curable disease, but perhaps the strain mary had was a particularly severe variant. point being, however, is that this thing ruined her inside and out.

in the beginning stages, (year 1 or so) i do think she was pretty touchy, emotionally speaking. she tries to keep up appearances as much as she can and is able to, but it's clear that something has shifted for the worst. she's much more somber in the moments of quiet. her contemplative nature turns to brooding. she smiles, still, but her smiles are undoubtedly laced with a wry, bitter sadness.

she's now toiling with thoughts of dying as a way out, too. it'd be easier if they'd just kill me, she laments at one point. simultaneously at the crux of wanting freedom from one's pain in death but terrified of said death as being eternal, too.

it's something you can't ever undo.

now... i'd say a pretty controversial aspect of mary's character during this period of time is whether or not she was abusive towards james during her illness. cases have been made, it's a fairly ambiguous situation as presented in-game, but i think mary's anger that she expressed was quiet, overall. she tried to keep it quiet, at least, and when she did lash out, it was almost always in part due to her newfound level of self-loathing. when she's yelling at james in that hallway, she's yelling at herself more than she is at him.

she's no longer a person, to herself and to others around her that treat her like a dying animal than the woman that she is; the woman that she used to be. i'd be livid if i were her, too!

she also mentions in her letter that she "struck out at everyone she loved most." i have very strong reason to believe that she loved laura, and that unfortunately, she too was caught in the crossfire of mary's mood swings/outbursts. i also think that the guilt mary expresses when we're listening to the hallway conversation is genuine; i don't think her outburst and subsequent apology was a manipulation tactic to make james feel bad.

i think she's genuinely suffering. she doesn't know what to do with these compounding negative feelings. she has nowhere to put them. james comes in at a bad time and becomes the target. after the damage has been done, she realizes this and crumbles immediately. she's hurt james. she needs to do damage control however she can.

of course, none of this is to say that women can't ever be abusive/abusers and we can have conversations about the nuances of that all day, but... it's disquieting to me to see a consistent reading of a terminally ill female character's torment and anger be read as "abusive" to further exonerate the male character's deed of murdering her. like, i think we should consider that for a bit. i think we can hold that mary's behavior was not the best, but james' wasn't, either.

mary waited for him, but he never comes. he stays away, festering in his own grief, mourning her before she's even passed. i see james' aversion to seeing her in large part as a trauma response due to past abuse while growing up; when she shouts at him like that, it drags all of those ugly feelings and memories up.

it's a relationship i see as something that was mutually declining. it was something that was left to die. much like mary was, in a lot of ways.

mary was terrified that james hated her. that she disgusted him with her appearance, that he pitied her for being ill and effectively useless to him. that was something plaintively out of her control, being in the hospital. james could've ripped the bandage off and braved seeing her. he could've talked to her. he could've rekindled what was deteriorating. but he didn't.

again, mary's proactive nature of yearning for james, wanting to see him, wanting to talk to him and talk about them and what to do when the time comes. she wants to figure this out as best she can.

but james doesn't, and he still never comes.

mary poured everything left in her that she could muster in that letter. she profusely apologized for everything, for things that weren't even her fault to begin with. she told james that she loved him in that letter, because she couldn't say it to him to his face any longer. she didn't know if she would have any time left to do such.

but she does. and however long later, he kills her.

mary isn't a perfect victim, nobody that's a victim in sh2 is supposed to be. but she is still an individual that deserves compassion nonetheless, and i think the game does its due diligence in getting that across.

PART FOUR: MARIA

i think have to at least touch upon maria a bit if you're writing a post about mary. i think that's just the way it is.

maria, as we know, is a manifestation created by silent hill as a means to confront/interrogate/"punish" james by emulating mary but with very... choice character design changes.

she's clad in leopard print and a cropped red blouse. she's a dancer at heaven's night. she has bleach blonde hair with the roots peeking in. her face is all done up. she still extroverted, but far more provocative and alluring. she's a fantasy; something unattainable.

but she could be yours in whatever way you want her to be!

maria is utterly fascinating as an interrogation of james' character, but also as a reflection of mary, too. in born from a wish, she expresses her fear of pain and death, of being alone in town with no one else around, while also toiling with suicidal ideation. (sound familiar?) she seeks out companionship in whatever form it takes, and jumps on it when she does find it in ernest.

how much of mary is maria has always been up for debate and forever will be, but i think a lot of mary lives within her. the obvious, being the memories that she has of laura and the video tape left in the lakeview hotel, her hot and cold behavior with james, but also in the existential misery she feels in born from a wish. that desire to die to escape the pain of feeling alone, but also wanting to be with somebody else more than anything, and how death would undoubtedly take that away.

i also think her dyed hair isn't even hers; mary had that haircut and dye job when she first met james at that house party all those years ago.

i think maria's standing as a sentient individual is true, but in the sense that she is the combination of both mary and james' baggage made sentient. she never truly existed for herself, as her own person. she'll always have a little bit of someone else in her, someone she doesn't even really know, and that's... utterly tragic.

i think she realized this too when she points that gun to her head. but she chose james anyways out of that same desire for companionship. maybe she could be his new mary. maybe she could be better than mary. it's truly all so fuck.

PART FIVE: CONCLUSION

mary is the reason why sh2 happens for james. full stop. you cannot have sh2 without mary. there is a foundation laid for you to examine and explore. she is as infinitely fascinating as james is, if not more so. join me.

this post is sprawling and probably a bit confused at times because i wrote it on a whim, but i HOPE that i was able to get across the larger ideas of why i love mary as a character and who she could've been before her illness and death. i didn't touch upon everything i possibly could (mary and laura's relationship deserves its own post, i think), but this post is already long enough. i'll edit it in the future, undoubtedly.

thank you so much for reading all the way. listen to her final letter and cry with me.

[fangbangerghoul]

Rook As Companion Template

(Template stolen from @bearlytolerant here)

The Basics

Name: Ghoul Gender: Nonbinary (she/they) Faction: Shadow Dragons Lineage: Elf Class: Rogue Personality: Laissez Faire Firecracker Preferred Weapon: Jagged Daggers Preferred Trinket: 2 small smooth rocks to roll between their fingers Preferred Style of Clothing: Loose, skin breathing causal Rivian style Hero Special Ability: The Dastardly Bastard (Headbutt that stuns an enemy completely and vertebrates through the surrounding 4, weakening them) or Death’s Songbird (Draws all enemies, once surrounded cuts through them) Favorite Gift: Handmade plushies Pet: Calico Cat- Dahlia Acquaintance Bond Level Status: Tolerable Fiend Friend Bond Level Status: The Cleaners Good Friend Bond Level Status: Righthand Dagger Hero Bond Level Status: Shadowed Accomplice/The Grim Reaper Romance Bond Level Status: Ghastly Lover

Lighthouse Living

Room Type: Attic Room Decor: cluttered collected knives/randomly acquired items (rocks, pockets of dirt/leaves) Favorite Food: Rabbit stew Favorite Drink: Mead Favorite Hobby: drawing/reading Favorite Hangout Spot: Highest point of the lighthouse leaning over the balcony Interactions with Pet: Lounging on couch, reading Interactions with Assan: races in a circle Interactions with Manfred: pretends to find gold coins behind his ear

Relationships

Greetings: - Acquaintance: “what are you looking at?” - Good Friend: “trying to escape everyone?” - HOV: “With the both of us, victory is always certain.” - Romance: “Welcome, lovely” Thoughts on Companions: Neve: Secretly wants to be a princess, prefers to have her as a companion in a fight Bellara: Too cheerful but appreciates her lack of filter Harding: Stubborn and her cooking scares Ghoul Emmrich: Enjoys admiring bone structure and hearing his interesting lectures Davrin: Too noble but a good time Lucanis: Silent but intriguing, a bit of a comedian Taash: Her favorite arm-wrestling opponent and favorite spar partner, Ghoul also has gained an interest in Dragons Comments About Biggest Rival/s: If related to companion quest: - “I don’t care if we share blood, I won’t concede to his whims.” - “Sometimes I wonder what things would look like if our lives played out differently, but then I realize I don’t actually give a fuck and cannot wait to stab the bastard.” If in battle: - “C’mon motherfucker!” - “A shame you met me today.” - “I can afford another concussion just to knock you out.”

Banter Subject with Neve: If a Shadow Dragon should sleep with a Threads/Is a case ever really solved Banter Subject with Lace: How do plants stay alive/Archery tips Banter Subject with Bellara: Exchange of smutty romance recs/Dalish History Banter Subject with Davrin: Creatures and pet-ability/drinking stories Banter Subject with Taash: How to look like a Dragon/Exercise routines Banter Subject with Emmrich: Philosophy of serving Death/Can I have a skull for my room Banter Subject with Lucanis: Who has been awake the longest/Best kill moves Bonus Spite: ‘Yes and’ games/sharing vengeance stories

Unlock Personal Quest:

under construction and tied to Elgara Vallas

Romance

Flirt/s: "You wear things well.", "I admire how you hold your stance in battle.", "Think you can cut out someone's heart? .... Would you like to try mine sometime?" Date Location: Top of an abandoned tower in Mirathous Date Activity: Watching the sun set and the stars come out or being chased by Venatori Term of Endearment: Lovely, Beloved, My Heart Show of Affection: Hidden notes in their items, random sketches left in their room when not around, more physical proximity

[sorrelchestnut]

Birds on a Wire, Lucanis/f!Rook, 2/?

Part One.

The next morning she is awake before him, as has become usual the last few months.  Lucanis sleeps well these days, now that he no longer fears what his body will do once unattended.  Her troubles with the dreaming world have no such simple solutions.  Lucanis makes a mental note to confer with Emmrich the next time they meet, and goes looking for his wayward lover.

He finds her in the courtyard, debriefing with the Caretaker.  "-need tending," she's saying.  "They all think they're real now and start wilting if they don't get watered.  And Bellara will be back from Arlathan in a couple days, can you make sure she eats and sleeps at regular intervals?  She's pretty good about it if you remind her."

"Of course, Dweller.  I will see to it."

"Thanks, mate.  I know things have been quiet but if you have any problems in the Crossroads send a message through the Treviso eluvian.  We'll be back in a flash to see it handled."

"Of course, Dweller.  Safe travels."

"We'll certainly do our best.  Hullo, pet," she says, turning with a smile as he approaches on her right.  "You all packed?"

"The essentials, at least," he confirms, hefting his duffel.  "What about you, is that all you're taking with you?"

Rook shoulders her own much smaller rucksack and grins at him.  "Not much to take, you know me.  Couple spare daggers and a change of clothes and I'm all set."

Clothes that are just as stained and tattered as the set she's currently wearing, unfortunately.  The past months have not been kind to anyone's belongings but…  Lucanis pictures his grandmother's face and winces. "We could both use a refresh of our wardrobe," he says diplomatically.  "We'll have to visit my old tailor, if he's still in business."

She only shrugs.  Someone told Lucanis once that Rivainis like to wear their wealth; clearly no one saw fit to inform Rook.  "Your coin, dove.  You ready to go?"

"At your lead, signora."

If someone told him six months ago that he would grow accustomed to traveling halfway across the continent in the blink of an eye, Lucanis would have laughed in their face.  But he thought the same thing when he first took a life, and with enough repetition that grew to hold all the intrigue of yesterday's lunch.  Today he steps through the eluvian at Rook's heels and into the cool, damp air of an Antivan winter, and thinks only with irritation that it looks as if it's going to rain.

Rook's clearly thinking the same.  "Oh, look at that sky.  Might have a storm on our hands."

Ugh.  "You're not wrong," he's forced to agree, eyeing the sky with disfavor.  "If we don't hurry we're going to get caught in it."

"Oh, you think?"

He turns the skeptical look on her.  She's practically bouncing on her heels, giddy as a child.  "You cannot be serious."

"Do you know how long it's been since I've even seen a storm?  In Minrathous it's a light drizzle four hours a day like clockwork, and the Crossroads are mildly sunny night and fuckin' day."

Yes, and Lucanis loves it.  He'd go back right now if he could.  "Have you ever tried to run rooftops in a downpour?"

"I've boarded ships in a hurricane, love, still think they're cracker."  She laughs at the expression on his face.  "Can't help it, I just love loud weather."

"Thunderbolts and lighting!" Spite agrees.

It's Spite's nature to be argumentative, and if he can suck up to Rook in doing so then all the better.  But Lucanis thought better of her.  "You are a very strange person.  There is nothing enjoyable about wet clothing."

She laughs again and slings an arm around his shoulders.  "Aww, poor grumpy Lucanis.  C'mon, Spite, let's go before his highness gets his feet wet."

There is a fledgling waiting for them at the canal docks, though Lucanis did not take the time to send his grandmother a reply.  She must have set the boy to wait as soon as she sent the letter, as if to remind Lucanis that it is beneath the First Talon to procure his own gondola.  He tucks his sigh behind his teeth.

"Your name?"

"Marco, monsignor."

Lucanis doesn't recognize him, but then, he doesn't know most of the fledglings in Treviso these days.  Caterina kept herself busy during the occupation, pulling in all manner of disaffected youths with dreams of being freedom fighters.  He wonders wearily how many of them will survive the brutal reality of a Crow's apprenticeship without the numbing salve of patriotic fervor to fuel their ambitions.  There will be a great many failures over the next few years, is his estimate, and as always, those few who succeed will be forced to cut their matriculation from the throats of their less fortunate brethren.  And Lucanis will have to be the one to order it done.

(didn't want this. never wanted THIS)

"Good to meet you.  Are you to take us to the villa?"

"Yes, monsignor."  His gaze roams unsubtly around the empty dock.  "And will, ah, your luggage be traveling separately?"

"Most people just call me Rook, lad."

Under other circumstances Lucanis might enjoy the fledgling's wide-eyed look of panic.  "Signora- Monsignora, I did not mean-"

"Ignore her, Marco," Lucanis instructs with a sigh.  "We're ready to depart when you are."

Rook gives the white-faced boy a clap on the shoulder and jumps into the waiting gondola, sure-footed as a cat.  Lucanis follows her more circumspectly, dropping his duffel at her feet.  "Play nice with the children, cara."

"I'm always nice."

"I know of several who would disagree."

"Yeah, but how many of them are still alive to say so?"

"Ah, the 'leave no witnesses' approach.  Very Antivan."

"Learned from the best."

Lucanis soon falls silent as the gondola progresses through the canals, his capacity for banter exhausted by the presence of their witness, but Rook nobly takes up the banner of conversation with some convoluted story of a failed treasure hunt involving three pirate ships and a dragon.  Lucanis listens and makes noises at all the right intervals, but his attention is fixed on their surroundings as they pass.

(enemy territory)

It's not like this for normal people, Lucanis thinks.  Neve is justifiably cautious taking a stroll around Docktown's meaner streets, but she watches the crowds, looking for a common thug or paid mercenary to try their luck.  Harding keeps an eye on her purse and Taash shoulders through crowds like a ship cuts the water, but neither of them move through the world as if death could come at any minute.  Even Rook, who handles her blade with a particular familiar flourish that Lucanis has very carefully not questioned how she might have been taught, doesn't share his reflexive, ceaseless paranoia any time they go somewhere he hasn't personally vetted.  He wouldn't wish that fear on his worst enemy - but neither would he want her denied of any tool that might keep her safe.

(WE will keep her safe!)

That's what Lucanis's mother thought, and his father, and all his aunts and uncles.  Thirty years ago, House Dellamorte numbered in the dozens: five children, four spouses, eight grandchildren, countless body servants and retainers.  Of those, only Lucanis remains.  And he dares to imagine Rook beside him in this pit of vipers?

(blood and brine.  storm and steel!)

True.  Rook has survived worse things than any the Antivan Crows can offer, that's to be sure.  Even now, her laugh comes easy, her haphazard tale flowing like good wine - but her gaze is watchful, flitting from the rooftops behind Lucanis to the streets ahead and back again.  And underneath the fold of her tattered traveling cloak, her hand rests casually near the hilt of her sword.  Perhaps it will be enough.

Part Three

[starrose17]

Sparring Match - Lucanis x Rook (male elf mage Crow)

My personal fix-it fic for the lack of first kiss between Rook and Lucanis.

This is my Rook:

Also available on AO3.

“It would be interesting to see you fight without using your magic, Rook.”

Rook glanced over at Lucanis from where they sat together at the dining room table. Lucanis was enjoying his favourite coffee roast, Rook his cioccolata calda, both in a relaxing moment of peace as they discussed the days events together.

“My magic is a part of my fighting style, just like how Spite is now a part of yours.” Rook replied with a soft smile.

“True, but you had already heard of my reputation before Spite.”

“Indeed I had, the demon of Vyrantium. But I still wish I could have seen you at your best without his help.”

“And I would like to see how capable you are only with knives, trained by Crows, and not along with your little magic ball of light.” Lucanis waggled his fingers in the air, then paused for a moment as he took a sip of his coffee, before his eyes narrowed and his lips curled with an idea, “Hmm…how about a sparring session? You, no magic, and me…I will attempt to ask Spite to stay out of it.”

“A sparring match?” an equally excited smile graced Rook’s lips, his eyes lighting up at the idea, “Sounds good. But will he listen?”

“He is Spite, more than likely if I tell him not to do something, he will do it, however…” Lucanis inclined his head to Spite, who was currently standing right beside the oblivious Rook, staring down at him with a deep, hungry expression.

“Will you behave?” Lucanis asked his demon, “Let me prove Rook wrong that I am just as good without you?”

Spite leant in close to Rook, who continued to stare back at Lucanis, unaware of the demon breathing in his ear. Spite sniffed him deeply, his nose right in his hair, then grinned.

"Confidence. Excitement!! Yes. Yeeeesss…” he hissed, before looking back at Lucanis also, “but I not promise.”

“He says he will try.” Lucanis informed Rook casually, swirling his coffee.

But then he paused again at the eager look in Rook’s eyes. They stared at each other from across the table, and in that one small moment of green eyes to dark ones, their drinks were immediately put down.

“Help me move the table.” Rook said quickly, and with considerable difficulty they managed to push the huge table back towards the fireplace to give them extra room, moving chairs to one side and creating an open space large enough to move around in.

“So, how’re we doing this?” Rook asked, shaking his hands where two daggers seemed to appear out of nowhere, grasping them firmly as he stepped to the side and stood with his feet apart, a ready stance, “No holding back, right?”

“We aim to hurt?” Lucanis asked, cautiously, just to clarify.

Rook’s lips curled again, “Well if you’re that worried I’ll hurt you you’ll just have to dodge won’t you?”

“Oh I am not worried.” Lucanis said confidently, a true smile on his lips, “Besides, your magic can heal any injuries afterwards, can it not?”

“Minor ones sure. Oh and hurt, not kill. I’m talking to you Spite.”

Spite hissed at him where still stood next to Rook, “He cannot order what to do!”

Lucanis shook his head with a wearily affectionate smile, “If you goad him Rook you know he will come out just to spite you.”

“Sorry Spite.” Rook grinned at a random space beside him, 3 feet from where Spite actually was.

Spite humfed, then turned to Lucanis, "Take Rook down! Prove best! Like him, but we best!"

Making no indication he'd heard him, Lucanis steadied his gaze upon his opponent, "So, ready?” he asked, sliding his rapier from its sheath.

Rook raised his daggers, an excitable aura just radiating off him, and smiled darkly, “Oh I’m ready.”

They then began to move slowly, circling each other like vultures, Rook’s eyes boring into Lucanis’ waiting for that one moment, that one spark, to set off their fight. They both moved with careful steps, Lucanis adjusting the hold on his rapier to match the attacks he knew Rook favoured, Rook moving one dagger higher ready for the defence. The fade around them seemed to sense the changing atmosphere, the air becoming thick with poised tension.

A wisp suddenly floated in through the main door and out again, and then they were on each other.

Blades clashed with parries and defences, Rook flying around Lucanis as blades swished in the air. Rook’s slender elven physic gave him a fast advantage, but Lucanis knew him well by now, and was excellent at blocking his moves. Various grunts and breaths soon filled the air, Rook bringing a blade up so close to Lucanis' face that Lucanis only just parried it with his own dagger in time.

Spinning around he thrust his rapier up just as Rook ducked sideways, Lucanis parrying the dagger aimed for his thigh, Rook sprinting up behind him, Lucanis flipping the dagger in his hand and stabbing it backwards, Rook dodging and coming up beside him to smash his elbow into his face.

It made contact, and Lucanis staggered backwards, hand to his nose which blood had now spurted out of.

 “Mierda! You really went for me!”

Rook spread his arms out wide beside him, dagger still in each hand, and grinned through his panting breaths, “I did tell you to dodge.”

“I see how it is.” Lucanis smirked back, twirling his own dagger in his hand and tapping his rapier against his leg before raising it again, “No holding back.”

They began to circle each other again, letting themselves regain breaths, letting their assassin minds focus on the body moving in front of them.

“It is no wonder you are hard to hit, there is nothing of you.” Lucanis commented, inclining his head towards Rook’s body.

“Advantage me, then.”

“And you know that, which makes it easy for me to anticipate that you will use the sneakiest of moves.”

Rook smiled eagerly, “And what does that mean exactly?”

Lucanis’ foot stepped on something broken which crunched beneath his foot, and in that split second Rook was on him. Lucanis saw him coming however and thrusted forward with his rapier, Rook dropping to his knees and sliding between Lucanis’ legs. But that was exactly what Lucanius had meant, and he turned in time to grab Rook by the scruff of his neck and turned again to throw him forward hard.

Rook landed with oofff bent over the table, but that didn’t stop him. Grabbing Lucanis’ half full coffee cup he threw it backward blindly. It caught Lucanis on the shoulder which threw him off balance, enough for Rook to dive towards him and slash across his chest, which Lucanis dodged just in time only catching the smallest bit of fabric.

The battle begun anew, as they fought so fast it would be almost impossible for an outsider to watch them and keep pace.

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Rook panted hard as he moved quickly to dodge Lucanis’ strike from the left, “How’d you even move around in those boots anyway?”

“They are not as cumbersome as they appear,” Lucanis panted back, jumping backwards away from Rook’s double stab forward, and countering it with his rapier nearly sending the daggers flying, but Rook followed through and spun away from Lucanis’ next attack and skidded backwards, “they are made from the finest Antivan leather after all. They are very flexible.”

Lucanis swung his rapier again and Rook bent backwards almost in half, bending at the knees and then nimbly darting out the way.

“You too are flexible!” Lucanis commented, enthusiastically impressed.

“Oh Lucanis, you have no idea how flexible I can be.” Rook said, gasping for air, twirling his daggers as he grinned right back at him, before lunging forward once more.

Outside the dining hall, having followed the energetic wisp back to the dining rooms door where it wavered eagerly, stood Neve, who had since now been joined by Emmrich and Taash. Neve had been listening at the door for a while now, and had now told the new audience that it seemed Rook and Lucanis were sparring inside.

This caused Emmrich to smile pleasantly pleased as he clapped his hands together, “Oh, it is always good to practise ones skills with an equal opponent.”

“Sure, so long as that’s all they do.” Neve said.

“I don’t follow, dear girl?” Emmrich blinked at her.

Neve gave a smirking look towards Taash, who rolled their eyes.

“Come on,” they said, grabbing onto Emmrich’s arm, “I don’t think you wanna be here when they start fucking.”

"Fu--OH! Oh you really think they’d...?"

"Anyone with eyes can see it.” said Neve, turning back at the sound of a loud crash of something breakable inside, “Well, apart from Lucanis."

"Oh dear..." Emmrich said forlornly, “yes I…even I had noticed our Rook doesn’t appear to get the affection he so evidently wants from Lucanis.”

“Maybe this’ll change things,” said Taash, “getting all hot and sweaty with someone, best way to get naked. You know, I mean if you’re not already hot and sweaty from being naked. Because you’ve been…you know…doin’ it.”

Emmrich stared at them.

Inside, the sparring was getting heated.

“You never saw me at the bar in Minrathous before this all started.” Rook panted hard, as Lucanis threw his arm out and grabbed him around the neck, Rook pulling close to distract him and twisting his arm to let go, “This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a fight without magic.”

“Why didn’t you use it before?”

“I was there to get information, didn’t want to entirely scare the bartender. Althoug-“ he was cut short as Lucanis swiped low and caught Rook’s legs, the rapier slicing through fabric and skin and sending Rook flailing out to the ground, droplets of blood hitting the floor.

Lucanis knew it was only a shallow wound though, and he raised his rapier to strike down, but Rook rolled sideward across the floor just in time, sparks flying where the sword tip hit the stone. Rook then flipped himself up and backwards, pushing hard against the wall and twirling his daggers towards Lucanis in a leap.

Lucanis stepped side-on to make himself a smaller target and ended up half catching Rook in his arms, his rapier dropping from his hand. The momentum of the leap had Rook’s face barely an inch from his own, and in that moment with a smirk on Rook’s lips, and a wide-eyed look from Lucanis at their sudden closeness, Rook head butted Lucanis on the forehead.

“Although,” Rook continued, chest heaving and standing back watching as Lucanis hit the table as he stumbled back, “I did headbutt her when she tried a sneak attack.”

Lucanis slowly raised himself up from the table, breathing just as hard, blood on his face, and smiling like he was having the best time of his life, “I believe that was you with the sneak attack.” He said, picking up his rapier.

“Not my fault you’re distracted by me.”

“Me distracted?” Lucanis exclaimed, as they began circling each other again. “Oh no my friend, I do not get…distracted.”

The dark smirk that came with that word made Rook pause in his circling for just a moment, his heart skipping a beat, and it was moment enough for Lucanis to strike.

Rapier out, he only just missed as Rook got his act together quickly and turned, sliding back-to-back past Lucanis, Lucanis spinning around and swatting at his legs again.  This time Rook was ready for him, and jumped backwards onto the table, turning his daggers in his hands to strike at Lucanis coming up for him. As he did though, Spite’s great purple wings flew outwards and Lucanis backflipped up off the table out of Rook's reach, up so high he landed on the balcony floor above them.

 “Hey that’s cheating!” Rook called out to him.

“Spite did say he didn’t promise!” Lucanis reminded him, before suddenly those wings spread wide again, and Lucanis was swooping down at Rook so fast Rook could do nothing but widen his eyes as Lucanis crashed into him.

Rook was forced backwards onto the table top, skidding several feet, plates smashing to the floor. He ended up with one arm pinned above him, the other pinned at his side, both daggers tumbling out of his hands. They stared at each other, chests heaving with exhaustion, Lucanis kneeling over him with one knee up high inbetween Rook’s open legs.

"Looks like I have you now, Rook." Lucanis stated, in a very superior tone.

But Rook just stared up at him, watching him, breaths panting, both shining with sweat.

"Do you?" Rook asked, suddenly very seriously and quietly, "Do you have me, Lucanis?"

The change of tension was palpable, and the pleased look in Lucanis' eyes melted away into something else, something...softer…and sadder. Their faces were inches from each other, Rook's arms still pinned, Lucanis' eyes seeming to gaze all over Rook's face.

"I...." Lucanis begun, his voice equally as soft and sad, before Rook suddenly hooked his knee up against Lucanis' leg and twisted.

The weak grip Lucanis had on Rook's wrists in that one soft moment now made it easy for Rook to flip their positions. Blinking rather stupidly, Lucanis now found himself on his back, with Rook straddling his waist, and the sharp sting of a dagger being pressed up against his throat.

"Because I'm pretty sure I have you." Rook said, with an insufferable smugness.

Lucanis let out a deep hum that vibrated his throat, and a proud smile grew on his lips. He slowly raised his hands up off the table in a sign of surrender.

“At least…” Rook continued, the smugness now gone out of voice, “maybe one day.”

Lucanis’ own expression fell into a stillness, and he blinked several times as he gazed up at his victor. Rook slowly removed the dagger and let it fall to the table, leaving him simply straddling Lucanis on the table.

Neither of them moved.

“Rook…” Lucanis said softly, a look in his eyes of caution and want all at the same time.

Slowly, Lucanis shuffled his arms backwards underneath him so he could lean upwards on his elbows, Rook having gone very still. But Lucanis didn’t say anything else.  They just looked at each other.  Rook then moved forward and down slightly, just cautiously, his long hair falling past his ear and shielding his face from view at one side. Lucanis didn’t move. Rook leant down further, Lucanis still just staring up at him. But then eyes were closing, and lips were touching, soft and warm, and thoughts of so this is what it would have felt like if Lucanis had plucked up the courage to go through with their near kiss those few months ago.

Rook’s fingers curled against the fabric on Lucanis’ chest where they rested. He let out a small moan, Lucanis not pulling away when Rook licked his tongue gently against Lucanis’ bottom lip, encouraged and trying to hold back the immediate carnal thoughts of just pinning Lucanis down right now. Both their hearts were still pounding from their exertions, Rook could feel Lucanis’ underneath his hand, and he was sure that it somehow beat even faster.

Lucanis wasn’t exactly kissing back…maybe a little bit, but it was enough. All these weeks, the flirts, the near kiss, Rook understood he did he really did but…

“Did that taste like honey then?” Rook asked in a whisper as he pulled back, his lips barely leaving Lucanis’ to ask the question.

Lucanis didn’t say anything for a moment, but he remained leaning up on his elbows, eyes soft as they gazed into Rook’s.

“And lavender cream.”

Rook all but beamed at him, a smile that showed white teeth and crinkled his nose. He then raised his hand and gently placed it to Lucanis’ forehead where he’d headbutt him, and his damaged nose. A warm heat began, and Lucanis closed his eyes at the feel, the wounds healing beneath hands trained to kill. As he finished, Rook gently stroked the backs of his fingers down Lucanis’ cheek, Lucanis' dark eyes not looking away once from Rook's, as that hand came to rest back on his chest again.

“I know you’re not ready Lucanis. But just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lucanis finally smiled, a soft, easy smile, “You know, you make it very hard to try to resist you.”

“Then stop trying.” Rook whispered, his voice rough, his eyes darkening quickly as Lucanis moved to lie back down so he could reach out with one hand, placing it cautiously on Rook’s thigh.

“It’s gone quiet…” Taash said, their ear to the door.

“Maybe they’ve stopped.”

“Maybe they’re doin’ it. We should ask the caretaker to make them a fucking room.”

“My! My dear them please enough with the vulgarity!”

“What? You want them doin’ it on the table where we eat??”

Lucanis’ hand felt warm and so, so tempting on Rook’s thigh. Rook closed his eyes and let out a small sigh.

“Lucanis, you say you find it hard to resist me but…you have no idea what you…Lucanis, just…tell me. What’s happening here? Are we…are we starting something? Are we going any further tonight or…?”

Lucanis’ other hand came to rest upon Rook’s other thigh too, and Rook would have been ashamed of the ease in which he felt a trembling shiver pass through him, if not for the fact he was very rapidly getting turned on and still wasn’t sure exactly what Lucanis wanted.

That was a first kiss, and Lucanis…he’d been tortured, imprisoned, had a demon possessing him, had the mess with the Illario and the Crows still to sort out, there was so much to this man but all Rook wanted to do was…

“You really want to be involved in my mess?” Lucanis asked softly, but seriously.

“I do, I really, really want to be involved in your mess.”

Lucanis let out a small chuckle at the desperate enthusiasm in Rook’s voice, and Rook grinned rather sheepishly.

A silence passed between them, and Rook could see the decisions and thoughts passing over Lucanis’ eyes. Eventually, Lucanis raised one of his hands, and cupped Rook’s jaw.

“Come here then.” he whispered deeply, relenting, and Rook all but melted on top of him.

Their lips met again, Rook’s body lying on him now, kissing him with all that desperate enthusiasm that Lucanis was now allowing him to have.

“Wait, wait,” Lucanis chuckled into their kiss again, Rook pulling back with a what now look on his face, “Slower Rook, slowly.”

Rook pulled himself together. He didn’t want to turn Lucanis off with his over enthusiasm, so this time, he closed his eyes gently as he kissed him, slowly, purposefully, the feel of Lucanis’ arms coming up around him making his heart race again. He wanted this man more than he could put into words. The taste of coffee on his lips, the muscles beneath the clothing, the sweetness of his words and his voice, oh, his accent.

Lucanis was very much kissing him back now, the feel of his tongue sliding against Rook’s, the heat radiating off him, the little moan caught in his throat when Rook nipped at his bottom lip.

“You have people. Outside door. They listen!”

“What?!”

Lucanis broke the kiss so fast to look up he banged his head against Rook’s. Spite was standing right next to them, grinning and alternating between looking at them and the door.

“What??” Spite said to the disgusted look Lucanis was giving him, “I not desire demon! I not care!! But people here! It funny!”

“Excuse me a moment.” Lucanis said, and Rook, looking at him oddly, let him stand up and watched as Lucanis walked to the door and swung both doors open wide.

The audience outside, now all the companions they had, all turned on the spot and walked away, suddenly springing into forced conversations pretending they had not all been pressing their ears against the door.

Spite stood next to him, still grinning, “See? Funny!”

“Okay,” Lucanis sighed, turning to look at him, “We need to sort out what we are doing, if Rook and I are…”

“I already say! I not care!”

“Well I do!”

“Well I can’t leave!”

“Then we need to find some kind of arrangement.”

“Why? I not care!”

Rook watched this one sided conversation with fascination, “Spite causing problems?” he asked, as he walked over to stand with Lucanis, watching the other companions disappear quickly.

Though he did notice Taash looking back over their shoulder at him, and winked.

“I hate to say this Rook, but…I think I need to figure what to do with Spite before we…become closer.” Lucanis said, choosing his words. Rook raised an eyebrow at him, but Lucanis just shrugged, “You said you wanted to be part of my mess.”

Rook’s eyebrow remained raised, before he sighed, smiling and accepting the fact this was not going to happen anytime soon.

“That I did. Okay. Just…tell me I can come and kiss you whenever I want?” he asked hopefully, his hands coming up to softly clutch at Lucanis’ biceps.

Lucanis gave him a crooked smile, “That, I can do.”

Grabbing Rook gently by his slender waist, Lucanis pulled him in close, capturing his lips in a confident kiss, that once again had Rook melting against him.

“Eheh heh.”

Lucanis opened one eye through the kiss to see Spite standing right beside them, watching. He broke the kiss to turn his head and glare at him.  Rook, who had very much been into that kiss, turned to the empty space beside him, then looked at Lucanis with an amused smile.

“Mess?”

“Mess.” Lucanis growled.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Can I ask if this hasn’t already been asked how Lestat and Daniel get on in the books? Daniel is Louis friend and Lestat knows that but do their personalities challenge each other and do they bicker or are they friends? How do you think it’ll go in the show? I don’t believe Lestat will hate Daniel in the show or anything extreme he might be frustrated at times but I don’t think Daniel would care much about that to be frank haha and would even feel bad at times because possibly Lestat gets triggered remembering his past or sad about Claudia in a different way than Louis gets sad about Claudia (more emotional, possibly lashes out or ruins their interview schedule because of how sad he is deep down, shows up late, etc.). Overall I think they’ll manage okay and by the end have some shared understanding of each other and possibly respect from both sides. I’m expecting comedic moments of Lestat refusing to give a straight answer and Daniel challenging him and Lestat challenging Daniel for doing that but in a funny way. And when Daniel asks about Louis and their time together from lestat’s POV im curious how Lestat remembers that time and how Louis will be seen from his eyes and how Daniel interprets that vs how he interpreted Lestat from Louis and Armand’s POV

Hey!

So as a note: Louis and Daniel aren't friends in the books. That's a show thing. A good thing! But it's not from the books, not really.

Lestat and Daniel... Lestat and Daniel like each other:

"Khayman sat in the downstairs study talking with Daniel now, Daniel who liked to let the hunger build, Daniel who wanted to know all about what it had been like in ancient Miletus, and Athens, and Troy. Oh, don't forget Troy. I myself was vaguely intrigued by the idea of Troy. I liked Daniel. Daniel who might go with me later if I asked him; if I could bring myself to leave this island, which I have done only once since I arrived. Daniel who still laughed at the path the moon made over the water, or the warm spray in his face. For Daniel, all of it-her death even-had been spectacle. But he cannot be blamed for that."

I think Lestat and Daniel might, especially if Daniel is already a vampire for the documentary, a vampire turned (supposedly) "out of spite" by Armand. Daniel, who freed Louis.

I think Lestat and Daniel will get along like a house on fire, actually. Oh, with sparring matches, and challenges, and biting comebacks. But Lestat likes that - and Daniel does, too. I think the more emotional breakdowns (that we saw (maybe exaggerated) hints of) might come through the story itself... and if it is true what Sam hinted at? Then maybe Claudia, there, haunting Lestat.

Because she does, in the books. She haunts Rue Royale, she haunts Lestat, she haunts Louis. She haunts the narrative.

I cannot wait to see what Daniel will drag out of him, actually. I hope it will be a bit sharper and edgier than Daniel in season 2... I had actually expected more of him there, tbh.

But I think Daniel and Lestat will be their own dynamic. Because Daniel likes Lestat, canonically. And I think in the show, he does, too, because he saw beyond the tale that was spun. He called the bullshit. And he knows he has to get to the source.

We know Daniel was already at the concert, so here's a snippet of Daniel at the concert from the books :)

And Lestat was Christ on the cathedral cross. How describe his overwhelming and irrational authority? His face would have been cruel if it hadn't been for the childlike rapture and exuberance. Pumping his fist into the air, he bawled, pleaded, roared at the powers that be as he sang of his downfall-Lelio, the boulevard actor turned into a creature of night against his will! His soaring tenor seemed to leave his body utterly as he recounted his defeats, his resurrections, the thirst inside him which no measure of blood could ever quench. "Am I not the devil in you all!" he cried, not to the moonflower monsters in the crowd but to the mortals who adored him. And even Daniel was screaming, bellowing, leaping off his feet as he cried in agreement, though the words meant nothing finally; it was merely the raw force of Lestat's defiance. Lestat cursed heaven on behalf of all who had ever been outcasts, all who had ever known violation, and then turned, in guilt and malice, on their own kind. It seemed to Daniel at the highest moments as though it were an omen that he should find immortality on the eve of this great Mass. The Vampire Lestal was God; or the nearest thing he had ever known to it. The giant on the video screen gave his benediction to all that Daniel had ever desired.

... I think theirs will be a very fun, and very interesting dynamic^^ Because Daniel has something Lestat wants, to make him open up (namely knowledge about Louis)... and then... 😈