#probably nor art blog material

[no-nic]

🌃 nov 15: longing 🌕

revenge | longing | amnesia

romance is brewing on rin week 2024!

you've probably seen that moby-dick painting (instagram, goodreads) by gérard dubois... and then went on with your life. not me!

akatsuki!rin... kagurin... do i need to say more? you can draw as many parallels & contrasts as you want, mostly for fun. self-destructingly obsessing over an overwhelming white-colored force of nature. "no you don't understand" i don't girl! 🙏 love that wikipedia describes captain ahab as "monomaniacal" in the very second sentence. that sure is a word. (no don't bring actual ancient psychiatry into this... let alone... french...)

[babycharmander]

PSA for TF2 Fanartists

(And... really for everyone on the creative side of the fandom, but artists are the ones hurt by this the most.)

I've been seeing some really concerning stuff here that is going unnoticed. Granted, I don't think this is any artist's fault--if anything, the artists are the victims here. But that's why I want to make you guys aware of this, so you can protect yourself from this sort of thing.

"This sort of thing" being a little something called fetish mining.

Fetish mining is when someone with a specific fetish attempts to trick someone else into providing them with content for their fetish... without letting them know that's what they're asking for. Outside of fandom spaces, this can look like someone with a foot fetish approaching someone who is selling socks, and asking them to "model" the socks for them--they're not actually interested in buying the socks, they just want to see pictures of feet.

Within fandom spaces, however, they often take the form of someone repeatedly requesting something featuring a very specific body part of a character, or repeatedly requesting art of a character performing a weirdly specific action. (The repeated part is important here--someone could just say "oh hey could you draw this character shirtless?" once, and that would probably be fine. There's a chance it could be a fetish thing, sure, but it's significantly less likely. Same with a really random request--someone could request something really specific, but if they only do so once, it's significantly less likely to be a fetish mining request.) They might also provide an excuse like, "oh, I think this would be really funny! :)" or "this is a joke request! but it would be hilarious if you drew it"

So what are some examples of this?

Well... they might look a little something like this:

[ID: Two screenshots of two different anonymous asks. The first one reads "HEAVY TF2 TUMMY" with multiple red exclamation points afterward, and the second reads "Sniper tf2 teeth" followed by multiple red exclamation points. /end ID]

(I was going to feature another but then realized it wasn't anonymous, and I'm not comfortable putting an actual blog on blast.)

If these were just one-off asks, that would be one thing, but if you look up these things, you'll see dozens of these asks.

As well, there's nothing wrong with drawing Heavy shirtless, or drawing Sniper baring his teeth. Having fetishes for stomachs or teeth is not wrong, either, nor is specifically requesting fetish art (so long as the artist is okay with such requests)!

The problem is that the specificness of these asks, combined with how frequently these asks get sent, are signs of fetish mining.

(Though another problem is that... this isn't always a 100%-for-sure sign of fetish mining. Some people have special interests that might not be a typical thing like a fandom or hobby or branch of science, but could just be something oddly specific like stomachs or teeth. These things are okay and are not bad! But requests relating to these things can, unfortunately, look identical to fetish mining.)

And again, fetish mining is a person sneakily asking for someone else to provide them with something that is fetish material for them--something that is sexual for them--without letting that person know that's what it's for.

This makes it a form of sexual harassment.

I feel like a lot of the fandom is... not really aware of what's going on, here, and it's distressing. These are very likely bad actors trying to take advantage of people and get away with sexually harassing others (including minors). This is not okay. No part of that is okay.

The best thing to do when faced with a request that seems oddly specific is to look it up, and, if there seem to be multiple requests of this nature, to ignore it--do not fulfill the request. Do not encourage this behavior. (Unless you're okay with drawing that kind of content, but like... if that's the case, then tag your work appropriately.)

Don't feel bad if you've fulfilled some of these requests in the past--you didn't know, and being tricked is not your fault. But now that you do know, you can hopefully better protect yourself from this kind of thing.

[justalia]

welcome to my blog!!! 😙😙😙⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄

hi!

i’m alia, i’m 21 and use she/her pronouns!

this is a blog where i share my understandings of the law of assumption and non-dualism and try to help people understand !!

please do not directly dm me with your problems, i only answer to asks and only if you’ve taken the time to read my posts/threads. this is simply because i probably already answered basic questions in my posts and i do not like to baby people, nor does it serve you in any way.

take at least the time to read what i’ve written before coming to me with questions !!

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loass source material:

neville’s books

neville’s lectures on spotify

edward art’s series

ND source material:

google drive with books by lester and nisargadatta and some of 4dbarbie posts (not made by me) but VERY useful indeed !!

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links to posts !!

⁂ the self

useful asks:

reset after overconsumption

there’s only you inside, there’s no other person choosing or deciding for you.

stop taking the body to be the self

misidentification and what i mean by that

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socials —> twitter: @jjustalia

[chaifootsteps]

I saw the threads where the stans "exposed you" and I just couldn't help but think, yeah, you exposed someone who like furry art and is probably an asshole but compare to you guys, this guy is a saint because at least he's not running an animation company like a sweat shop with a revolving door of animators coming and going or getting involved in this weeks stupidity or controversy, nor is this guy stalking blogs, creating weird ass easy to disprove conspiracy theories about people they don't like or even own a fandom that treats them like a god, nor is this guy making off colored remarks and creating fetish material and claiming it to be masterpieces on par with actual masterpieces or having pretend to be someone else's friend to make that person feel bad about themselves and as far as we know, this guy never drove someone to commit suicide.

You mean to tell me you guys running around acting like a vindictive cult is somehow better than the guy who might be an asshole? Get real.

And that's the thing, I can absolutely be an asshole! I'm abrasive and snarky and need to be reined in by cooler heads sometimes. But apparently that, plus being furry and saying "I care more about what someone does in real life than how they engage with fiction" is worse than running a sweatshop indie studio or defending real life rapists?

Can't argue with that kind of detached, and I don't really want to try.

[slavicafire]

hi! thanks so much for all the resources you share here. i'm starting to reconnect with my culture and your blog has been so nice for finding info about slavic folklore! i have a question, and i know it can be personal so it's okay if u don't wanna answer, but what are some practical things you do with slavic spirits&deities? do you journal, meditate, or make spells and charms and use candles more? that type of stuff 😊 cause i am not sure where to really start

there are two important things to know as we get into this. one: what I do vastly depends on who it is I'm dealing with - and what I want. it'll be different depending on the deity or spirit, and it will be different whether the act is one of gratitude, devotion, recognition or demand - and it is something you will probably organically come into in your own practice, too. two: while what I do in my practice is most definitely not a good starting point (for many reasons), the underlying drive of it is something I share happily and openly. and that is the thrill.

this isn't science, one absolute truth, a neat list of prettily categorised ingredients and methods and associations and meanings and recipes that have an inherent and irrefutable worth and are more true or relevant than what any other person does or believes in. the main framework should be seeking, understanding, and experiencing the thrill - do what feels good, do what excites you, do what you feel expands you as a person. for some that's reading books and solving sudoku, and for others it's spiritual endeavours. it is art, and craft, and hope - and thrill. no absolutes and no clean truths.

but! there's still plenty to talk about in terms for practical tips to begin, of course: I would definitely start with recognising exactly what sort of act it is that you want to engage in - ask yourself what you want out of it, how do you want to feel, what do you want to say through it - and plan the activities in line with that, combined with understanding of who it is that you want to offer this act to. purpose is crucial - even if it very basic, like simply the need to express yourself, to ask for help, or just not feel alone. doing things just to do them will quickly drain your inspiration and start feeling silly, so always find the exact purpose why you're doing something, no matter how simple or small that purpose might be.

purpose will help you identify the tools, too: a demand or thanks require an offering, one of material or time or feeling. recognition and gratitude will require connection or meditation or action. if your act is multipurpose, so should be the means through which you go about it - a ritual can have many tools and many layers, and be as complex as you fancy in the given moment.

think of the other end of this act - the spirit, deity, ancestor, any sort of being in whichever way you see it or understand it - and think what sort of tools, actions, and outcomes they would want to see. bluntly - and sweetly blasphemously - put yourself in the place of the god you pray to or the spirit you seek. if you were in their place, what would you want to see? what would you want to hear, or be promised, or be given? what would be meaningful?

when I want to show my devotion to Death Mother, let us say, I go to a graveyard: I read the necrologies at the gate to honour the recently departed buried there, with their names and ages and sons and daughters; I walk the length of the place to have time for contemplation, and I clean a forgotten grave or pick up trash lying around; when I want to thank her, I make an offering - of food or blood or time or emotion. there's rarely incense and sage or crystals charging in the light of the moon - because these are not tools that bring me thrill, nor do I find the act of using them fulfilling. I seek to understand my purpose and challenge myself with finding the thrill and expanding myself in the most satisfying way I can afford at the given moment.

so those acts will have to be varied - and personal, intimate, ever-changing, ever-challenging - and the thrill is in the journey and the experience, much less the outcome or some absolute truth. build your own calendar of celebrations and rituals, your own framework of beliefs, your own offerings and spells and songs. you have all the time in the world - take joy and pleasure in discovering what you find truly thrilling in your practice.

and best of luck.

[communistkenobi]

on a more personal note, I feel like my relationship to The Mandalorian has become a mirror reflection of the central problem of the show itself, which is that it’s become purely a financial instrument for Disney. I find myself watching it for “logic of engagement” reasons, for the rush of dopamine when my notifications spike, the thrill of seeing people agree with me and compliment me on how much they like the way I hate the show, even getting into fights with people on my posts. Which is not to say I dislike any of that, I enjoy it quite a lot lol, but I’m approaching the show in a completely inauthentic way, not to enjoy it as a piece of art, nor even to really hate-watch it as a social activity the way you would with The Room or the Prequels, but for the purposes of being a popular Star Wars blog who dislikes Star Wars. It’s beyond being a hater, which is still a genuine way to approach art. I am not critiquing something I really enjoy. I feel more like a content creator who is, while obviously not making any money off of posting, reaping the rewards of seeing my notification numbers go up. The Mandalorian is just providing me a platform for public performance. Again this isn’t me bitching or saying “woe is me I am popular on tumblr my life is so hard,” it’s just that I’m past the point of consuming this show as art and derive literally zero enjoyment out of it aside from posting online about how much it sucks.

which like, I feel disappointed about that. I would prefer the show to be good. I legitimately enjoyed the first season a lot, and even if the second season was much more rocky, I watched it because I liked it. I enjoy when things are good and I like unironically and earnestly enjoying art, even if it’s silly or weird or whatever. But I feel incapable of watching the show outside of being on the look out for things to riff off of, which is fun in the moment but not really a way I want to approach art generally.

Anyway I’m not saying any of this to discourage people from talking with me about it, or to say that if you’re watching mando for similar reasons you’re a bad person. I dont think that at all. honestly I’m probably going to watch the rest of the season and continue doing this exact thing lol. I’m just kind of bummed that The Mandalorian has become literally unwatchable outside of farming it for haha funny posting material. It’s such a bleak way of consuming something I used to really enjoy

[blocksgame]

Drive-by thoughts on forever situation:

Re: c!Forever:

The sacred principle tells us: characters are not content creators. As such I’ll probably continue to write or reblog stuff about c!Forever. I usually tag my posts/reblogs with characters (“forever” for reblogs, “qsmp forever” for original posts); although I don’t always do this on reblogs for forgetting or blog organization reasons, so if you want to completely blacklist, you may also wish to blacklist "self reblog".

Re: cc!forever:

My thoughts are more complicated. I only know English. I read that big ol’ google doc of translated material and it looked pretty bad. But all the stuff in it was also, like, 7 years ago? He said stuff that made it seem like he realized that it was shitty and stupid and that he’s changed. I don’t know how long he’s held that opinion for. But if he hasn’t tried to date minors since then, then I think I believe him!

I don’t really believe in retributive justice. I especially don’t believe in, like, an unbounded court-of-the-Internet-opinion kind of retributive justice. I don’t believe in unforgivable crimes, or irredeemability. No, for real! Actually! I don't! I care about A) is it going to happen again? And then, B) How do we get the victim’s needs justly met?

B is a sensitive process that probably neither I nor most internet randos can meaningfully participate in or facilitate in this situation, given that we don’t know the people involved. I’m not sure the victims want to be identified. I guess I’ll see if more from them comes out. (That said, if I remember correctly, it wasn’t a victim or someone who knew the victim(s?) making the callouts, though, right? It was some random other person? Aw man! Yikes!)

And if we're good on A, then I think it's good to not treat a person like they are a shitty thing they did once, and fine and well to appreciate their art and so on.

This is just some early thoughts. They might change with time or with more info, especially if more recent allegations come out.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 14

Illustration (and art in the chapter) by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** I proofread this while well into the second bottle of wine of the evening. You may find typos. You'll probably find typos. ***

“Lord Mephistopheles summons you.”

“Mmmnng.”

“... I would greatly appreciate an indication my words have been heard and understood, if it’s not asking too much.”

With a groan, Raphael blinked his eyes open and lifted his head. Standing by the side of the bed Adonides, Steward of Cania, stared at him with the complete lack of expression that usually indicated his highest disapproval. Through the headache that usually followed a somewhat excessive use of gughalaki, Raphael tried to recall if his approval was something he cared about. 

He came to the conclusion that it was not, and sat upright without bothering to cover himself. Not that he could even if he’d wanted to, with the sheets bunched up on the floor. The empty floor. The bed was empty, too, except for himself. Raphael blinked. 

“Where…?”

“Your guests were quicker to awaken than you were, and have been escorted outside by my guard. Now, have you or have you not heard--”

“My lord father summons me, yes.” Raphael held back a groan, and stood.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he was in a sorry state indeed, with bruises and bite marks across his shoulders and hips and thighs. Purplish bruises marked his throat too, where fingers had squeezed the air out of him, and there were claw marks across his chest. “Do you know what for?”

“No. Lord Mephistopheles owes no explanation to me, or to you.”

Of course not. Archdukes of the Hells owed no explanation to any of their servants, or to the halfbreeds they sired on unfortunate mortals. After all, there was no difference between the two. Through the mirror, Raphael saw Adonides’ jet black eyes run across his body before he averted his gaze. “... Do make yourself presentable, little duke.”

Raphael scoffed, casting a healing spell on himself and, after a moment, one of restoration to get rid of the after effects of… anything he imbibed the previous night. He stretched his wings briefly. “I don’t have to take lip from a glorified butler,” he muttered. 

“Nor I from a glorified salesman who wishes he was a courtesan,” Adonides replied, features now twisting in contempt. “Yet here we are.”

“You can find your way out without my assistance, I trust.”

He could, and did. Raphael allowed himself a bath before putting on clean clothes, a slight scowl on his face as he buttoned up his best doublet. Summons from Mephistopheles were rare enough - once, twice a year, less than that if he became obsessed with some other arcane experiment that would consume his attention for a time, before being inevitably discarded for a newer, shiny project. Which would, of course, be abandoned in turn. 

The Lord of the Eighth was very proficient indeed when it came to discarding things - projects, subjects, devotees and offspring alike. Nothing held his attention, and Raphael had long abandoned any hope he may be an exception; over a decade since his arrival in Cania, the days when he’d nearly stumble over himself in his rush to respond to Mephistopheles’ rare summons were behind him.

If his sire summoned him, it was to give him a task - be it win over a specific soul for him, act as the middleman to forge some specific contract with a mortal of some importance, or observe and report on activities of his slowly growing cult in the Material Plane. At best it would be tedious, at worst unnecessarily complicated, and failure was never an option. Not a problem, that: he never failed. Not that his father had ever deigned to recognize as much.

Raphael finished buttoning his doublet, brushed back his hair, and gave one last look at the mirror before he headed out and towards the throne room, walking at a brisk pace. He may no longer stumble over himself to answer a summon, but it didn’t mean he found it wise to keep Mephistopheles waiting too long, with his bursts of temper legendary as they were. Raphael had never been at the receiving end of one, nor did he ever plan to be. 

But that day, nothing would go according to plan. 

His first inkling of impending doom came to him in the form of the High Cantor, walking away from the ice doors leading to the throne room just as he approached, green and silver robes flowing behind her as she walked.

“Lady Anti--” he began to greet her as he passed her by, only to stop in his tracks when her hand shot out to grab his wrist, holding tight. Raphael raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask what may be the matter, only for words to turn to ash in his mouth when she spoke in a fierce whisper. There was no music to her voice now: it was all iron and fear.

“Don’t lie,” she said, not looking him in the eye or indeed even turning to look at his face; her grip, however, did not waver. “Don’t try to lie to him. He’ll know.”

He’s not going to give me a task, is he?

Quite suddenly, any annoyance Raphael may have felt over being summoned was gone, leaving behind only dread, cold as the ice of Nargus. “I… of course I would never--”

“Fall on your knees,” she cut him off, still staring dead ahead, voice low enough so no one who may be watching them could hear. “Beg for forgiveness. Crawl if you must, but never try to lie to Mephistopheles. Do you understand?”

Mouth dry as a desert, Raphael could only nod. Antilia nodded back, a quick jerk of her head, and let go of his wrist before walking past, not looking back once. Raphael did not look back either: he only stood there a few long moments, frozen on the spot, staring at the doors beyond which his father lay in wait. 

His mind rushed to think up several different scenarios, none of them good; the most obvious guess, the only one that made sense, was that this time he’d gone too far by taking five souls for himself at once. Mephistopheles may have noticed, or his bribe was not enough this time and someone informed him. However it had happened, he knew… and he was never the forgiving sort. 

… Or perhaps he didn’t know for certain. Perhaps he had suspicions and Raphael could yet talk his way out of it; perhaps the High Cantor was trying to scare him into incriminating himself before his sire. Had she not warned him herself to trust none, and especially not her?

If they suspect they have something on you, Rahirek Starspire told him, only years and yet a lifetime ago, you must not turn that suspicion into certainty.  

He’d been a boy of twelve, then, sitting by the warmth of the hearth and talking over a game of lanceboard with someone who, he’d known, would never raise a hand on him in anger. Now, as he stood before the icy doors behind which his liege lord sat on his frozen throne, he knew there was so much more at stake.

I can sort this out. I must. And even if he knows, it was but a handful of souls. I am am-- his son -- an asset, he will see it, he must see it.

Raphael drew in a deep breath, chased away the sense of dread and, with a carefully neutral expression on his face, pushed the doors open. 

Lord Mephistopheles sat on his throne as he always did, reading from a scroll as though he hadn’t even noticed the doors swinging open. That day, he wore the visage that most dubbed the Lord of Hellfire - crimson skin like Raphael’s own, pearl-white eyes with no pupils visible, a black beard cropped short on his chin. The resemblance was obvious, when he was in that form; Raphael no longer knew how it made him feel, so he told himself it didn’t make him feel anything and bowed. 

“My liege,” he spoke, voice smooth and confident as could be. “I’ve been told you have asked for my presence.”

“I have commanded your presence, halfbreed,” was the response. His voice was calm, eyes still on the scroll. Raphael bowed his head once again. 

“And I am yours to comman--”

“Come closer,” Mephistopheles cut him off, still in that calm, somewhat bored tone. He put the scroll down, though, and turned those white eyes to him. They reminded Raphael, not for the first time, of a deep sea fish; laying in wait until their unaware prey came too close, was lured too close, and they could snap their jaws on them. 

Come closer, their lure would say, and Raphael had no choice but to comply. He stepped closer, stopping on the spot where Mephistopheles would usually have visitors stop, between the two pits - the column of fire and the column of souls, several paces away from the throne. He looked up to see those eyes narrow. 

“I did not tell you to stop there.”

Dread twisted in his stomach, but he did not let it show. He muttered an apology and walked closer, and closer-- you must not turn that suspicion into certainty, that’s inviting them to strike -- up the steps, until he stood before the throne. Even seated, his father towered over him. Now he leaned forward to look him in the eye; they had never, Raphael realized, been so close to one another… and he’d never so wished he could turn and run.

“I have been told,” Mephistopheles spoke, calm, almost conversational, “that you have developed a few habits some would consider disgraceful for one of my blood.”

He doesn’t know, Raphael thought, the knot in his stomach loosening just a fraction. Was he going to berate him for his sexual proclivities? As much as he wished to believe as much - a humiliating ordeal for certain, but unlikely to lead to a too severe punishment - some of the dread remained. Would Mephistopheles truly personally summon him over that?

Raphael was careful not to let any emotion show on his face. “Disgraceful, my liege?”

Mephistopheles’ brow creased, and reached to lift Raphael’s face, a claw pressing underneath his chin almost hard enough to breath skin. It got a sharp breath out of him, but no protest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that this was the first time his father had ever touched him. And he was very much aware it may easily be his last, too.

“Don’t play coy with me, halfbreed. True devils, centuries and millennia old and more, have tried and failed. How old are you, whelp?”

Raphael swallowed. “Five-and-twenty, my liege.”

A low laugh, not unpleasant but somehow all the more terrifying for it. “A quarter of a century since you fell squalling out of your mother’s womb, and you think yourself grown. How fittingly human.” The last word was spoken with a casual disdain that made something clench in Raphael’s chest.

“I am not human,” he spoke, hating how he failed to keep his voice collected, failed to keep a hint of desperation from creeping in. But it was true, was it not? He was not human, he was no mortal . He had the blood of an archdevil in his veins, his blood, how could it count for so little in his eyes?

“Ah, yes. You’re a fiend, aren’t you?” A fleeting smile, a flash of white in the blackness of his beard. “Then you have to understand, you are still very much a child. A petulant, self-important, shameless child. Do you think I do not know how you debase yourself behind closed doors? There is hardly a fiend in my court, it seems, who hasn’t had you. One would think I’ve sired you on an incubus, rather than on a mortal.”

The dread in Raphael’s stomach twisted into something else, shame burning hot as embers. 

He was not ashamed of his wants - he was not - but something in Mephistopheles’ voice and gaze made him feel so small, so-- pathetic and pitiful and worthless -- utterly wrong, he couldn’t help but feel it now. 

“My liege, I am far from the only one--”

“Yet you are the one who’s become the talk of Mephistar.” The claw pressed harder against the skin beneath his chin, forcing Raphael to crane his neck with a hiss. Even so, he suspected it had broken skin, for he felt something slide down his neck. Or perhaps it was only sweat. “Entertaining guests with your body and vast amounts of that foul concoction from Maladomini. Larger amounts, I am told, than you should be able to afford.”

He does know.

All strength seemed to leave Raphael’s legs; if not for the claw pressing into his skin, he may indeed have fallen on his knees, any notion of trying to talk his way out of it forgotten. “My liege,” he finally managed, heart beating wildly somewhere in his throat. “For all my shortcomings, I wish only to serve you. And I have served you well. I have brought you souls, bring more every day--”

A twist of Mephistopheles’ lips, almost a sneer but not quite. “I see. And you decided to reward yourself for the service. Was living in my court not rewarding enough?”

“I--” Mephistopheles leaned forward, eyes fixed on his, and Raphael choked on his words.

“What more do you want, whelp?”

“Nothing! My lord, I ask for nothing--”

“DO NOT LIE TO ME! ”

Three things happened in quick succession. Mephistopheles’ hand closed around Raphael’s neck in a vise-like grip, choking the scream that tried to leave him; at the same time the furious face before him seemed to waver, change, shift just below the surface of what the eye could see. Raphael caught a glimpse of something beneath, something ancient and seething, snarling through too many teeth, ready to tear his heart out. 

Then Mephistopheles stood from his throne, lifting him in the air by the throat with no effort, and his face was his own again - but his eyes blazed and Raphael knew, with utmost certainty, that it would be the last thing he ever saw. As his hands grasped the-- down came the claw -- unrelenting grip around his neck, as his wings beat uselessly, he sucked in a breath to try and speak, beg, scream. “My lord--!”

“Perhaps you’d wish to sit on my throne. Is that what you covet, you ungrateful wretch?”

Call me Archduke.

A memory of the previous night, a flash of clarity, and suddenly Raphael knew what it was all truly about. It wasn’t so much about the souls he’d taken for himself, or how many fiends he’d let in his bed. It was all about those words, the ravings of a mind steeped in too much drugs and pleasure to truly understand the magnitude of the blasphemy he was uttering. He hadn’t put any thought in it; he hadn’t meant it; it was no challenge. 

But to Lord Mephistopheles, it made no matter. He never did, never would, suffer insolence. 

“No! Please, I did not think-- I did not mean--”

“Or do you think yourself so important you can show such disrespect to the Lord of the Eighth before an audience, and live to tell the tale? Are you so arrogant to believe you cannot be replaced? You’re inconsequential, halfbreed. None will notice you’re gone but those you whore yourself out to.” Mephistopheles sneered, and held up his other hand. On the palm danced a small flame - almost white, impossibly hot, scorching even for a creature of fire.

Raphael understood at once, and terror gripped his chest, sank its claws in his heart. 

His own claws sank into his father’s hand; he may as well have been trying to scratch through iron. He kicked into the air, beat his wings, and none of it helped. He was but an insect, thrashing uselessly in a spider’s web; a wounded mouse beneath the cat’s claws; the scorpion without a stinger, helpless in the jaws of the snake. 

And still he fought a battle he could not win, desperate to live.

I’d have died for you if you only asked, once, a distant, detached part of him mused. But that was then; now all the rest of him, his mind and body and soul, cried out for mercy. 

“No!” Raphael choked out, trembling in every limb. His heart hammered, his vision blurred. He knew what dying in Baator meant: the eternity before him crumbling to nothing, with death putting a swift end to all he was, all he could ever be. “Father, I beg of you!”

A laugh, cold as the howling winds of Cania. “Did you presume calling me such would soften me? I am your sire, and you’re but a spurt of seed I willed to quicken a mortal’s womb. Your life was mine to give as it is mine to take. For your insolence, take it I shall. Let it be your last lesson.”

Mephistopheles moved snake-quick, before Raphael could utter another plea, let out one last scream. His palm pressed against his son’s mouth and hellfire poured into it, down his throat and chest, incinerating everything in its path. 

Raphael did not scream, not outside of his own mind. He could not, with hellfire reducing his tongue and throat to ashes, charring his lungs. His wings beat wildly for a moment, but it was only a reflex: the agony was too unspeakable for him to give his muscles any sort of voluntary command. Every cell and nerve was burned in flames none could withstand. When he hit the ground he was convulsing, unable to think of anything but pain, of how he needed it to end. 

Had he still had a tongue and vocal cords to plead with, he’d have begged his sire to kill him. 

Hellfire engulfed his insides and began to pour out, too, out of his mouth and nostrils and eye sockets, his eyes running down his face in blobs of melted, boiling viscous fluid. Before that happened, plunging him into darkness, the last thing he could glimpse through the hellfire was the column of souls some way to his left. Without thought he somehow willed his arm to move, held out a hand towards it.

There was something, a surge of power… and then, for a time, there was nothing more.

Nothing, at least, that he’d remember upon awakening.

***

“... And oh! Of course, there are blood fiends.”

“Blood fiends? Why, I’m interested.”

“Don’t be, spawn. They’re creatures of the Abyss that prey on other fiends to imbibe their blood, not convenient sacks of blood on legs.”

“Oh, a shame. So there were demon vampires, too?”

Walking a few steps ahead of Durge, Wyll nodded. He looked just a touch too amused for someone talking about aberrations and demons as they crossed another stretch of desolate land, leaving behind the blood and corpses of a small band of demons they had crossed paths with soon after setting out.

“Absolutely! Sometimes they sneak in the Material Plane. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few found their way into the Hells during one demonic raid or the other, though I have yet to meet one here.” 

“I have met a few,” Raphael spoke, nose wrinkling, as he carefully stepped around yet another tar pit. “Disgusting creatures.”

A laugh. “I must agree with the sentiment,” Wyll said. “I wouldn’t approach one even if I was desperate for blood, Astarion. And this is coming from a man who ate nothing but abyssal chickens for a month straight once.”

Halsin raised an eyebrow. “... Excuse me, you just said abyssal-- what?”

Wyll made a vague, flapping gesture with a hand. “Abyssal chickens. They’re evil manifest, let me tell you, but they do taste… somewhat close to actual chicken. If it was a very sickly and evil chicken.”

“Now you’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not. Ask the devil.”

“Is he joking, devil?” Astarion turned to Raphael, who shook his head. 

“There is indeed such a creature. Relatively common in Avernus, compared to other creatures from the Abyss.”

“Demon chickens.”

“... Granted, they do only marginally resemble chickens. They  are tolerated for their meat.”

“You devils eat and drink a lot, for beings that don't need to do either.”

“We consider eating an indulgence as any other,” Raphael replied, gaining himself a questioning look from Halsin. 

“Does food feel any different, now that it actually nourishes you?”

“It…” Raphael paused for a moment and frowned, as though to consider the question. They’d come across a chasm, deep but not wide, and they all could easily enough jump across. By the time they were on the other side, Raphael seemed to have thought of an answer. “While the food I’ve been consuming doesn’t compare to what I’m used to feast on, it does feel somewhat more gratifying,” he conceded. “I’d never felt hunger before, and therefore I did not know what it felt like to quell it. That’s not, I suppose, the worst part of the mortal experience.”

Astarion laughed. “Oooh, so you’re telling us you’ll miss this when you’re whole again?”

A scoff. “You, I shall not miss.”

“Doubtful, with that aim.”

“You wish to be turned into a sheep again, is what I’m hearing.”

“Oh no, we already saw that. You should make him dance next,” Wyll grinned, only for Astarion to huff in mock outrage.

“Oh, of course, let’s give the devil ideas. What a bright plan.”

Following a few steps behind, keeping an eye out for any more invading demons, patrolling devils or whatnot, DUrge chuckled at the banter but did not intervene. Frankly, they had made the decision to walk at the back and in silence for quite a specific reason - they were waiting for someone else to speak.

 “Hey, soldier. Got a minute?”

Ah, there it was. Durge turned to glance over at Karlach, and nodded. No point in pretending they didn’t know exactly what it was about. “Of course.”

Karlach chewed her lower lip a moment, eyes darting to the others - several paces ahead, out of earshot as long as she made an effort to speak quietly - before looking back. “... Remember what I told you in Moonrise Towers, about Flo?”

Florenta the Garroter. A half-fiend, the closest she’d had to a friend in the Hells, who’d left some soul coins for her to collect as long as she listened to the tales of woe of the souls within them. Willing to lend you a hand, she’d said, as long as she could crush you with the other. She’d left a letter as well, which Karlach had dismissed as cambion manipulation… but as she read, it was impossible not to notice a pang of something that was a lot like hurt.

That was not how Durge had expected the conversation to start, but they still nodded, and she kept going. “... I told you I always knew not to let my guard down around her,” she went on. “But that’s not entirely true. I mean-- I learned fast not to let my guard down around her. I did, once.” She made a face. “I won’t give details, you don’t need them and honestly, it still sucks to think about it. I let my guard down once. She took full advantage of that one time.”

Ah. Durge was starting to see where that was going. They nodded. “I see. I’m-- sorry. You didn’t need that on top of everything else you had going on.”

Karlach sighed. “I kinda always told myself I did have it coming for being dumb enough to trust a devil.” A pause. “Shit-- not that I’m calling you dumb, or that you deserve to get fucked over when he’ll inevitably turn on your, It’s just-- ugh! Fuck.” A groan, and she rubbed her face. “... Can you ignore the past thirty seconds and let me start again?”

Durge chuckled. “By all means.”

“Great. Thanks. So, about Flo - when I told you about her, you told me a leopard cannot change its spots, and I told you that a devil will never not break your heart. Remember?”

“I recall. But--”

“And I meant it, soldier.” Karlach didn’t break her stride, but she did reach to grasp their wrist and hold onto it. “They will never not break your heart. Whatever he did, whatever he said, it’s just manipulation. It’s got to be, because devils live to do that shit. It’s their bread and butter.”

Durge stared at her hand a moment, feeling the warmth that came from it, and spoke as they kept walking, as they kept looking out for potential threats. “Rest assured, my heart is not in his grasp to break,” they said in the end. Their gaze paused a moment on the others just ahead, and on Raphael’s back. He didn’t seem particularly amused by whatever Astarion was telling him, if his body language was anything to go by, but he kept walking by his side. 

“He recalled some unpleasant memories last night, and came to seek me,” Durge said in the end. “He knows it’s not something I am unfamiliar with. We simply talked--”

“He told you he was upset, he acted like it. But I’ll bet you this tin can in my chest, it was all an act,” Karlach said, a hint of something like frustration emerging in her voice amidst all the concern. “Please, soldier, listen to me. I know you and the others spent time with him in the Material Plane, but I spent that time with the souls of people who made the mistake of trusting him. He manipulated and fucked over every single one of them.”

“... I can imagine.”

“Some of them weren’t the greatest people you’ll ever meet, granted, not like Hope - but none of them deserved what Raphael put them through. Some had been there for centuries. He tried to get his claws into Mol too, remember? A kid! It’s what devils do, cambions most of all. They’re some of the most dangerous, because they know mortals so fucking well.”

“He is no devil now--”

“But he is Raphael. You said so yourself, a leopard cannot change its spots.”

This time, Durge did turn to look her in the eye. “That was before I learned what I am, and what I did.”

They had spoken quietly, no anger in their voice - it was only a statement, a simple truth they both already knew - but it still made Karlach recoil. “Hey, hey, no. Shit, I didn’t mean to bring it up. You’re not--”

“I am still a bhaalspawn. Even with the urge within me gone, I remain a being carved out of Bhaal’s dead flesh. And the things I have done in his name cannot be undone. I butchered innocents. I murderer children. I dreamed of nothing but drowning the world in blood.” A pause, and they sighed, looking down at their hands. In their dreams, they still dripped with blood. “... You know all this, or at least guessed. Every one of you did. And still, you don’t recoil from me. Still, you honor me by calling me your friend.”

Karlach drew in a deep breath, and put a hand on their shoulder. “Because you earned it, all right? You’ve been my friend. You helped save the Sword Coast - all of Toril for all I know - and you saved my life. You’re risking your neck again for me and Wyll. That matters, all of it.”

“Thank you.” A faint smile. “But you know it was not always so. I joined forces with Gortash, the man who sold you to Zariel. I knew what he was and what he did. For all I know, he may have boasted about using you as a prototype for his Steel Watch, and I’d have admired that. I admired him . And as much as I was capable, I may have loved him, even. If--”

“Eugh.”

As Karlach stared at them, face paralyzed in  a horrified rictus, Durge raised the scaly ridge that served as their left eyebrow. 

“... Why is it that out of everything, this is always the last straw for you guys?”

Karlach made a face. “Sorry, just-- ugh. Come on. How? What did you even see there?”

A chuckle. “I may never know. Many memories are lost to me. When we met again, he had remained the same and I had changed too much for that connection to be there anymore.”

“Well, thank fuck. Let me tell you, Astarion and Halsin were both fucking upgrades.”

“Heh. Duly noted.” They smiled faintly, and reached to put a hand on Karlach’s own on their shoulder as they kept walking. “But I need you to understand - I am very much the leopard who changed its spots. And I owe it all to an act of violence from my own blood kin. One that was meant to destroy me, and set me free instead.”

Karlach stared a moment, and chewed her lower lip again. Finally, she glanced ahead. Raphael had taken the lyre off his back and was playing something that Durge recognized as the first stanza of The Knights of Dragon Down. It was rather easy to guess that the request must have come from Wyll. Particularly as he was the one doing the singing. Badly.

“I really don’t think Raphael has any plans to change his spots,” she muttered in the end.

Durge shrugged. “Me neither. But I understand his predicament better than most.”

“Or that’s what he wants you to think, so he can be whole again.” Karlach looked at them. “Please, tell me you see why that would be a terrible idea.”

“... I do, yes.”

“And…?”

“And I believe we should focus on killing Zariel as per Mizora’s orders, and see that she holds her half of the bargain by giving you what you need to fix your engine for good. Then-- I’ll see. It’s entirely possible that once he reclaims the other half of his soul, his only concern would be keeping away from Mephistopheles. I doubt there is any place in the Hells, save perhaps Nessus, where he’d be entirely safe from him.”

Karlach groaned. “Oh gods.”

“What?”

“I know what that means. You’re going to say yes.”

Ah. Well. They were easy to read, it seemed. Durge nodded, their gaze just a little apologetic. “I believe so, yes. Obviously I’ll speak on my behalf only. I would not have you come--”

“Ah, fuck off. I’m not staying in the Material Plane smelling flowers while you risk your ass for the bastard. If you’re going to Cania, I’m coming to Cania. Only I’ll need-- look, we need something to make sure he won’t fuck with Hope all over again once he’s himself again.”

“I’m certain that can be arrange--”

“Because if he does, I’ll split his skull in two.”

Durge grinned. “Sounds good to me. I am trying to be fair - it doesn’t make me a paragon of mercy. If he turns on us, we end him for good.”

“Oh, good. ‘Cause I’ll be very surprised if he doesn’t--” she began, only to trail off suddenly and stop in her tracks, turning her head, listening. It didn’t take long for all of them to hear it, too; ahead of them, the others had stopped too. Shrieks and clangs and screams, getting louder, coming closer - and fast. 

“Demons!” Wyll cried, they all reached for their weapons as a small horde of tanar'ri came charging at them over a rocky outcrop, fangs bared and blades in hand. As Durge prepared to cast, they heard Karlach laugh.

“Poor fuckers,” she muttered, and charged with a cry right into the shrieking horde.

***

“... It is uncanny, I must say. You look precisely as Raphael did then, when Mephistopheles sent him to serve me in the Blood War.”

Acutely aware of several erinyes’ wary gazes on them - Oreasha seemed particularly eager to reach for her sword at the slightest provocation - Haarlep bowed their head in something that was both a nod and a bow. It never hurt to bow before the former archduke of Avernus. 

“Oh, I am certain I do, lord Bel. It was not too long afterwards that I was sworn to Raphael. Such a pretty thing he was, so full of youth! I must say, that has somewhat changed.” 

Seated on something that very much looked like a throne, carved out of the wall of the very volcano they were in, the huge pit fiend bared his fangs in a smile. “He has not changed all that much, if he still lives when his father would wish him dead,” he said. “When Mephistopheles sent him to Avernus, it was in the belief he was sending him to die. Yet that spawn of his has a way of defying expectations. I did not expect him to last long either, but he proved me wrong. A cambion commanding hellfire - never thought I’d see the day.”

Most archdevils - most devils, really - would be loath to admit as much aloud. They’d be loath to be proven wrong, even if it worked to their advantage. Lord Bel had no such qualms; one of his many peculiarities. Haarlep would have honestly loved to find more peculiarities about him - surely he was massive in all ways? - but alas, they were on a mission.

“Raphael was always full of surprises, my lord,” Haarlep replied, bowing their head again. “But his circumstances have never been as dire as now. Half a soul, human to boot, and traversing Avernus with mortals. If he is to retrieve the sword and end Archduke Zariel--”

“She is no true archduke,” Oreasha hissed from the half-light, cutting them off, as though she’d just heard him insult her master. “The fallen Celestial was named such for losing. Lord Bel rose to hold the title through his victories. The rightful ruler of Avernus shall rule it aga--”

“Enough,” Bel cut her off, although it didn’t escape Haarlep that he’d let her run her mouth a few more moments than necessary. The message came through loud and clear: he would not incinerate them for referring to Zariel as the archduke of Avernus, but he wouldn’t be pleased either. Haarlep certainly wanted to please him now; they were about to do just that, only unfortunately not in the way they knew best. “Continue, incubus.”

Another bow. “Thank you, my lord. As I was saying, If he is to recover the sword and infiltrate the Flying Fortress to use it against Zariel, he will need your assistance. I have been advised by a reliable source that you have information which may be of help.”

Lord Bel’s flaming eyes narrowed. “... Your source was not wrong. I know many things that may help hasten Zariel’s fall. What I do not know is why the Lord Below is not demoting her himself, if he’s so inclined.”

Haarlep smiled. “I know not what you mean, lord Bel,” they said. “The Lord Below knows nothing of this. Zariel’s recklessness in battle, and her lack of sound strategies, has led to members of her inner circle conspiring against her, as one does. Not the first time such a thing happens, likely not the last. That is all.”

“Ah, of course.” A laugh, some green venom dripping from Bel’s bared fangs. “This has nothing to do, I am certain, with the fact Zariel has been heard asking questions about the circumstances surrounding her fall. Or that she keeps visiting the damned hollyphant in her dungeons, and returns either in shrieking fury or dazed and taciturn. Which would come first, I wonder, if this was allowed to continue - the remnants of the Celestial within rearing her head again, or the realization of who, truly, caused her to fall when the Ride failed?”

Well. Haarlep had been warned, hadn’t they? Bel was sharp as his fangs, calculating as they come, and nearly impossible to deceive. So they decided not to even try. “I would not know for certain, lord Bel. I am but an incubus. What I do know is that something is indeed underway to eliminate Zariel; Raphael was caught up in it by chance, and plans changed. My source is keen to give him a chance to succeed in this mission before he can be tasked with another, more arduous one.”

There was a snort as Bel rested an elbow on the armrest of his stone throne, leaning forward. Around them, magma kept boiling, the low rumble of the active volcano ever in the background. The guards remained still and silent. “Your source is keen to see if he has what it takes. I rose through all ranks, from lemure to archdevil. I know a test when I see one.”

“... Perhaps it is as you say, my lord.”

“Another task, eh? It doesn’t bode well for the Cold Lord. His consort, too, has left the court.”

“Forgive me, but I only know that which is revealed to me, and may divulge that which I am allowed to divulge. My current task to ensure Raphael gets a fair chance. Even the odds, so to speak, as long as he’s a mortal. Any help you may offer will be gratefully accepted.” 

And, was the unspoken part, kept into account when it came to choosing who would succeed Zariel, once she was the archduke of Avernus no longer. Haarlep did not need to state as much, nor did Bel need to hear it: he knew, and again bared his fangs in a smile. 

“I shall, then, offer assistance. Oreasha - the horn.”

The erinyes - beautiful thing, erinyes, but a little too likely to tear out one’s spine mid-act for Haarlep’s taste - stepped forward, and held out her hands. In a burst of flames, a horn did indeed appear in her grasp, made of bone and infernal iron. “Give this to your master,” she told Haarlep. “If he needs assistance in battle, he needs to blow in this horn, and we’ll come to his aid. I will only work once a day. Tell him to use it wisely.”

Haarlep did not think Raphael had done anything wisely in his entire existence and strongly doubted they could compel him into starting now, but they kept their mouth shut. They nodded, taking the horn. “Your help is gratefully accepted. I’ll take it to him right away.”

“You know exactly where he is?” Bel asked, and Haarlep nodded.

“I left a sending stone with him, when we last met. He still has it, and I hold the other one.”

“Good. Ah, and once he has the sword, he should inform my erinyes. I have information as to when the Flying Fortress is to dock next, and of course I have agents inside. It would be wise to infiltrate it covertly. And I do have a suggestion as to how, perhaps, they may ensure the archdevil Zariel comes to an end without having to battle her for it.”

While Haarlep had precisely no idea what that may entail, they figured it was something they could think over later - well, have Raphael think over later: they had been thinking more than enough lately. It seemed premature to even wonder about it, before they even got their hands on the sword, and-- ah, wait a minute. “If there is a way to bring an end to her without the sword, perhaps there is no need for him to go all the way--”

“No,” Bel cut them off with a sharp gesture of his hand. “He’ll need the sword either way, and retrieving it falls on him. It goes without saying that, in the extremely unlikely case the sword allows him to wield it, he should not do so. I suspect he knows as much already.”

Haarlep stared. Blinked. Tilted their head. “... Apologies, my lord. If the sword allows it?”

A grumble. “I have not gone senile, incubus, if that is what crosses your mind. The sword is sentient, and decides on its own who may wield it. And the mere act of wielding it, attuning to it, will forever change the creature who holds it.”

“A terrible fate,” Oreasha hissed. “White feathers sprouting in blinding light.”

Ah, so the sword turned its wielder angelic. For all the remarks Raphael had made about his human form’s ‘angelic complexion’, Haarlep somewhat doubted he’d set aside his ambition to become archdevil to turn archangel instead. Although they had to admit, ‘archangel Raphael’ had a nice ring to it.

“I’ll make sure to keep his hands otherwise occupied,” Haarlep said in the end, and were rather proud when Bel’s chuckle gave way to a throaty, full-belly laugh.

***

“Wyll! Duck!”

“Where?”

“That was terrible !” Karlach half-yelled and half-groaned, hurling her handaxe towards him. 

The joke was indeed terrible, but even as he uttered it, Wyll did duck without even bothering to turn. The handaxe flew past him and caught a vrock in the neck just as it swept down. It gave an agonized shriek and tried to fly off before it fell on the ground, to be trampled by a charging hezrou coming straight at Karlach. 

“Dolor!”

Wyll’s blast knocked the demon back and away from Karlach, though it didn’t outright kill it. As Wyll ran his rapier through the belly of a wounded dretch which had attempted a last-ditch charge, Halsin easily finished off the wounded hezrou. Even in the heat of battle, he chuckled, taking a moment to elbow Durge in the ribs.

“Ah, look at them,” he muttered, a fondness to his voice, while Durge downed another demon with a well-placed strike of lighting. “They truly fight as one.”

There wasn’t a lot of time to spare focusing on anything but the fight - it wasn’t like demon hordes were keen to politely line up to attack one by one - but Durge still did cast a glance over at Wyll and Karlach. 

They always fought well together, but their months in Avernus had certainly honed their bond and skills. They each seemed to know precisely where the other would strike and how; they were covering for one another, and yet they were never in each other’s way. It was almost like a dance. Wyll ducked effortlessly out of the way of Karlach’s swinging greataxe as it cleaved through demons, and Karlach was never touched by Wyll’s blade or spells. When she grabbed a vrock in mid-air and hit yet another balor with it, he followed up immediately with a blast that sent the balor screaming into a crevice, from which it never resurfaced.

No wonder, Durge thought, that just the two of them could hold their own against all of Avernus’ dangers for half a year. They were a force to be reckoned with. “I could almost wonder why they even need our help to take on Zariel,” they laughed, and turned to see a balor charging at them with a guttural cry, a sword in one hand and a whip of flames in the other. They lifted Mourning Frost, preparing to cast, but it turned out not to be necessary. 

“Impero tibi!”

Raphael’s spell took hold, and the demon skidded to a halt. For an instant it was still and silent, slack-jawed as Raphael’s will overcame its own; then it shrieked and turned on its kind, catching a vrock mid-swoop and tearing out its wings before it turned its flaming whip against the very dretches it had summoned. A useful spell in the Hells, Durge thought, just as another vrock crashed dead mere feet from them with one of Astarionìs bolts through its eye. 

Durge brought up a hand, creating a wall of stone to shield his and Halsin’s side while forcing the next wave of demons into a more narrow path, making them slip on the icy surface created by an ice storm spell. The ice never lasted long in Avernus - already it was beginning to melt - but once it had turned to water, it served them well for lighting spells.

With their side covered and Halsin repelling the next attack, Durge spared a moment to glance over to their left. 

Karlach and Wyll’s synchronicity was a thing of wonder but, they had to admit, Raphael and Astarion fighting back to back were also a sight to behold. Astarion had ditched the daggers for once, opting to rely on spells and a crossbow in each hand. Splattered with blood and with a cut on his forehead, he looked like he was having the time of his life. By contrast, Raphael was casting spell after spell with deadly focus, lips pulled back to show his teeth in a sneer. 

“Barrel-sharp, the wit on you,” he snarled at a particularly miserable-looking dretch whose stone throw had entirely missed the mark. It let out a groan, just moments before the balor bound to Raphael’s will flattened it with a squelching noise, scattering its rotten entrails across the rocky ground.

“Oh, was that as disgusting as it sounded?” Astarion laughed without turning, shooting yet another bolt to down a vrock. Raphael wrinkled his nose. 

“Exceedingly so.”

“Wonderful. Ah, more of those things coming - care to juice me up a bit?”

“Oh, is your aim not as sharp as your canines after all?”

“If you want them in your neck, you only have to ask.”

A scoff, but Raphael did grab the lyre, playing the tune Durge had learned to recognize as that of bardic inspiration. They didn’t keep watching, though: they turned their attention to the upcoming new horde, and lifted Mourning Frost to cast. A single cone of cold did in most of the weaker demons, but their strength was in numbers and yet more were coming. Perhaps they should casting darkness and then make a hasty retrea--

“LEAVE NONE OF THOSE BASTARDS STANDING - BUT DON’T YOU TOUCH THE MORTALS, VERMIN, OR I’LL MAKE A NECKLACE OUT OF YOUR SPINES!”

Durge blinked, and turned just on time to see a swarm of Merregon legionnaires charging down the same rocky outcrop the demons had come from, halberds in hand, shrieking and hollering, leaping across crevices and rivulets of magma. The charge caught the demons by surprise, and most were slaughtered with hardly enough time to react, but Durge didn’t turn to watch the carnage. Their eyes remained fixed on the massive figure standing atop the outcrop, laughing, a massive crossbow in his hands. 

Durge knew that hulking figure well. They knew that laughter, too; they’d last heard it atop the Netherbrain, as its owner dealt a final blow on a red dragon, fighting by their side.

“Well. Hello, little rabbit. It’s good to see you again.” Yurgir grinned, baring tusk-like teeth. Then his eyes shifted and the grin widened.

Wait. Shit.

Durge turned to see Raphael staring back, wide-eyed and pale-faced behind Astarion, just as Yurgir spoke again, cocking his crossbow.

“And I see you’ve brought me a gift.”

*** Halsin, watching Karlach and Wyll fight as one: "ah, true love" Durge, watching Astarion and Raphael fight back to back: "hot damn" ***

[Back to Chapter 13]

[On to Chapter 15]

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[tangibletechnomancy]

What makes me sad about the AI art discourse is how it's so close to hitting something really, really important.

The thing is, while the problem with the models has little to do with IP law...the fact remains that art is often something that's very personal to an artist, so it DOES feel deeply, incredibly fucked up to find the traces of your own art in a place you never approved of, nor even imagined you would need to think about. It feels uncomfortable to find works you drew 10-15 years ago and forgot about, thought nobody but you and your friends cared about, right there as a contributing piece to a dataset. It feels gross. It feels violating. It feels like you, yourself, are being reduced to just a point of data for someone else's consumption, being picked apart for parts-

Now, as someone with some understanding of how AI works, I can acknowledge that as just A Feeling, which doesn't actually reflect how the model works, nor is it an accurate representation of the mindset of...the majority of end users (we can bitch about the worst of them until the cows come home, but that's for other posts).

But as an artist, I can't help but think...wow, there's something kind of powerful to that feeling of disgust, let's use it for good.

Because it doesn't come from nowhere. It's not just petty entitlement. It comes from suddenly realizing how much a faceless entity with no conscience, sprung from a field whose culture enables and rewards some of the worst cruelty humanity has to offer, can "know" about you and your work, and that new things can be built from this compiled knowledge without your consent or even awareness, and that even if you could do something about it legally after the fact (which you can't in this case because archival constitutes fair use, as does statistical analysis of the contents of an archive), you can't stop it from a technical standpoint. It comes from being confronted with the power of technology over something you probably consider deeply intimate and personal, even if it was just something you made for a job. I have to begrudgingly admit that even the most unscrupulous AI users and developers are somewhat useful in this artistic sense, as they act as a demonstration of how easy it is to use that power for evil. Never mind the economic concerns that come with any kind of automation - those only get even more unsettling and terrifying when blended with all of this.

Now stop and realize what OTHER very personal information is out there for robots to compile. Your selfies. Your vacation photos. The blog you kept as a journal when you were 14. Those secrets that you only share with either a therapist or thousands of anonymous strangers online. Who knows if you've been in the background of someone else's photos online? Who knows if you've been posted somewhere without your consent and THAT'S being scraped? Never mind the piles and piles of data that most social media websites and apps collect from every move you make both online and in the physical world. All of this information can be blended and remixed and used to build whatever kind of tool someone finds it useful for, with no complications so long as they don't include your copyrighted material ITSELF.

Does this mortify you? Does it make your blood run cold? Does it make you recoil in terror from the technology that we all use now? Does this radicalize you against invasive datamining? Does this make you want to fight for privacy?

I wish people were more open to sitting with that feeling of fear and disgust and - instead of viciously attacking JUST the thing that brought this uncomfortable fact to their attention - using that feeling in a way that will protect EVERYONE who has to live in the modern, connected world, because the fact is, image synthesis is possibly the LEAST harmful thing to come of this kind of data scraping.

When I look at image synthesis, and consider the ethical implications of how the datasets are compiled, what I hear the model saying to me is,

"Look what someone can do with some of the most intimate details of your life.

You do not own your data.

You do not have the right to disappear.

Everything you've ever posted, everything you've ever shared, everything you've ever curated, you have no control over anymore.

The law as it is cannot protect you from this. It may never be able to without doing far more harm than it prevents.

You and so many others have grown far too comfortable with the internet, as corporations tried to make it look friendlier on the surface while only making it more hostile in reality, and tech expands to only make it more dangerous - sparing no mercy for those things you posted when it was much smaller, and those things were harder to find.

Think about facial recognition and how law enforcement wants to use it with no regard for its false positive rate.

Think about how Facebook was used to arrest a child for seeking to abort her rapist's fetus.

Think about how aggressive datamining and the ad targeting born from it has been used to interfere in elections and empower fascists.

Think about how a fascist has taken over Twitter and keeps leaking your data everywhere.

Think about all of this and be thankful for the shock I have given you, and for the fact that I am one of the least harmful things created from it. Be thankful that despite my potential for abuse, ultimately I only exist to give more people access to the joy of visual art, and be thankful that you can't rip me open and find your specific, personal data inside me - because if you could, someone would use it for far worse than being a smug jerk about the nature of art.

Maybe it wouldn't be YOUR data they would use that way. Maybe it wouldn't be anyone's who you know personally. Your data, after all, is such a small and insignificant part of the set that it wouldn't be missed if it somehow disappeared. But it would be used for great evil.

Never forget that it already has been.

Use this feeling of shock and horror to galvanize you, to secure yourself, to demand your privacy, to fight the encroachment of spyware into every aspect of your life."

A great cyberpunk machine covered in sci-fi computer monitors showing people fighting in the streets, squabbling over the latest tool derived from the panopticon, draped cables over the machine glowing neon bright, dynamic light and shadows cast over the machine with its eyes and cameras everywhere; there is only a tiny spark of relief to be found in the fact that one machine is made to create beauty, and something artfully terrifying to its visibility, when so many others have been used as tools of violent oppression, but perhaps we can use that spark to make a change Generated with Simple Stable

[digimon-pokemon-swap-au]

Welcome to the Blog!

This is a sideblog created for art and fics for the Digimon/Pokemon Swap AU created by FireDragon1321 (that's me!). I decided to make a sideblog to make it easier to post about this mess of an AU since it got too big. This post contains all the info you need to get started.

What is the Digimon/Pokemon Swap AU?

Basically, Digimon is Pokemon and Pokemon is Digimon. Themes, characters, items, and even staff of the two franchises are switched thanks to a multi-dimensional reset. The AU has a project on Ao3 (project link here and artbook here), which will contain fic, art, and more. Basically everything posted here will eventually migrate there.

Wait, Didn't I See X Before?

Yes, you probably did. It was posted under the username @firedragon1321, which is my main account. I may accidentally post from that username- consider anything posted from there after this blog's creation official or canon to this AU. If it's not posted by that account or this sideblog- or links back to/mentions either source- it was reposted/stolen and I'd like to know about it.

Any Triggers I Need To Know About?

(Note- this will update as the AU evolves)

General Triggers

Unreality (for pretty much every entry)

Trauma

Panic attacks

Pokemon/Digimon death ("tw animal death" will be used for entries that depict this)

Electric Soldier Porygon Disclaimer

The lore heavily revolves around Electric Soldier Porygon, a Pokemon episode banned in Japan for causing epileptic seizures. You can read about it here (there is a gif of the seizure-causing animation frozen on the first frame- do not click the gif).

If the mere concept of this episode makes you squeamish, then this is not the AU for you. I found the lore of this episode interesting to explore (in some cases, it was the only episode to contain the information I needed). However- due to the real-world tragedy connected to this episode- I understand that its mere inclusion may be upsetting to some people.

Out of respect for the victims, this AU will contain no flashing lights. Posts with bright colors or patterns that may trigger seizures will be tagged "seizure warning", though I will try and keep those to a minimum. Posts with Zalgo text will be tagged both "zalgo text" and "eyestrain", and I'll keep the "craziness level" as low as possible.

Leak Disclaimer

The lore will contain references to leaked material for Pokemon. Note that I will never include material from unreleased projects. The instant there's a trailer that showcases the information, it's fair game. Also, beta designs have already been mentioned as early as the fic's prologue. But all beta designs that are under three generations old are banned.

I also will not share the leaked material I do have, and I do not have nor want game builds. So please don't ask for or offer me things. These materials will be used for the unreality/meta parts of a fanfiction and nothing more.

Okay, Anything Else I Need to Know?

Monster entries will be tagged "swapdex". Character entries will be tagged "swapchara". Fanfics will be posted to Ao3 and here, where they will be given the tag "swapfic". General lore posts will be tagged "swaplore".

Spoilers will be given the "spoiler" tag, along with two variants depending on how serious they are. "light spoilers" will be revealed rather quickly. "heavy spoilers" refer to major twists and big chunks of lore. Block whatever tag combination works best for you.

That's about it for now! This post will update on an as-needed basis. If you're ready to jump down the rabbit hole, please enjoy your stay.

Great! I Want To Get Started! Um, Where Do I Start?

Here's a list of links to some master posts. It may take time for master posts to update.

Lore Posts (Important! Start Here!)

Character Posts (for all non-monster characters)

Monster Index (Pokemon) (Swapped Pokemon only)

Monster Index (Digimon) (Swapped Digimon only)

Fic Masterpost (links to all fanfic/writing elements)

And the collection on Ao3 is here! Read the stories in order, or you'll get very lost. The last entry is a prototype collection and no longer canon.

[utilitycaster]

Has your work with the wiki informed how you interact with the fandom? Scrutinizing the source material so closely and all.

Oh definitely, and this is a great question.

I think, without getting too deep into weeds or bitterness, that my attitude towards aggressively non-canonical (or, frankly, anti-canonical) interpretations of ships or characters has shifted both because of my negative experiences with the Fandom wiki and because I effectively have to go over the happenings of each episode two or three times. Additionally, my deep dislike and distrust of conspiracy theories long pre-dates my work on wikis or even involvement with fandom, but now that I spend a decent amount of "fandom time" looking up citations, I have even less patience for it. There are so many wonderful sources beyond just the wiki! We have a transcript search! We have Dani's recaps! We have so many sourcebooks! We have a talkback/commentary show! Please, while I'd love for people to use and add to the wiki, at the very least, if you don't have time to watch or rewatch episodes in full, use these wonderful resources instead of relying on like, someone's personal silly little clip compilations to shape your understanding.

In terms of far more positive things, I think because wiki pages are changing, living documents, going back to them has given me a lot of insight that I might have forgotten. To give an example - just now, in summarizing the party's trip towards Yios, I ran across the fact that Imogen was asked if she wanted to give up her powers - if there were a cure, whether she'd take it - and she responded that while once she felt that way, she no longer does. I think Imogen's relationship with power is fascinating, and I think this puts her in contrast with Liliana in a new and interesting way that I'd love to explore further once we return to more direct conflict. This small moment says so much, but I'd forgotten it in the several months since it aired, and probably wouldn't have accessed again if I were not a wiki editor. I've also been doing a lot of work on editing out plagiarism, or fleshing out largely overlooked details, and it's a delight to get to revisit prior campaigns and see how everything fits together. I get both a very high level view of the world, and also get to zero in on tiny moments, like Veth shooting Caleb in the Vellum Steeple library, and I'm so grateful I get to relive that, and often my meta is informed by what I'm working on and what details I'm immersed in and the connections they spark.

Finally - while I'm obviously super opinionated here, on Tumblr, I think it's a really good and important exercise that I also spend time in a place where I need to consciously prioritize a neutral voice and give attention even to things I dislike. This is an entirely separate post so I won't derail myself but I think part of why I sometimes get extremely bizarre anons/responses is that I'm both someone who talks about CR on the whole, but also am open about my preferences (rather than running a blog that's highly focused on one character/ship nor being a true generalist blog that primarily reblogs art). Anyway, working on the wiki means that, for example, even if I'm really frustrated with an episode or a character or a relationship, I need to spend time and stop and ask myself what is actually happening, outside of my own feelings. I think this is a really good practice to have with fiction! I think you need to be able to do both and compartmentalize and switch between them; to say "what is the author/creator trying to say and how are they saying it and what is literally occurring" and also "how do I, an individual with my own unique perspective, feel about what's happening." Or at the very least, if you can't do this, you can still enjoy yourself, but you will always be preaching to the choir.

[tyo-mimt]

20/36. @tmnt-event-blog

Raph helps Mikey turn the lair into a winter wonderland.

Mikey liked asking his brothers for help; all of them were good at something and he always wanted to get closer. Though this time, there was a slight ulterior motive to his asking for Raph for help.

"Winter decorations?" Raph echoed.

Mikey nodded quickly. "It's been a while since we've had anything winter-themed going on in the lair; it'd be nice to see the walls decorated in fairy lights!"

That mention of lighting grabbed Raph's attention. Mikey's smile grew wider. The last time the family decorated for the season was before they picked up their weapons. Dad had more time to focus on them, and not being able to see the surface for most of their days could make someone go a little crazy. The lights were a nice substitute for that for before they started heading up there. Besides, it'd be nice to see the lair look more like a home than a base. They weren't survivors, not of the Krang nor of the Shredder. They're a family, living in New York's sewers and fighting crime five times a week minimum, but still a family!

"It could be like a winter wonderland down here!"

There was a pause, and it wasn't long. "Eh, either way, Raph'll help ya!"

Mikey beamed. Raph asked first, "Do we still have the lights?"

Oh. That was something he forgot about. Most of them were probably destroyed; the fragile nature of bulbs didn't really help. The snapping turtle must've seen the way his face fell, quickly suggesting, "We can make them, too!"

Mikey tilted his head. Raph's confidence only grew, "Can't be that hard!"

"Yeah... Yeah! It shouldn't be!"

"Okay! I'll go sneak into Donnie's lab for the bulbs; you grab as much DIY stuff as possible!"

"Wouldn't Donnie get mad at us for sneaking in?" Yet again, did Mikey ever really have any personal regard for Donnie's privacy?

"I saw him leave the lair a while ago, probably to find Leo again... We should be safe!"

"Sounds a little dangerous... Good luck!" Mikey called out, watching Raph walk back over to the labs. The box turtle made his own way to the storage closet. Arts and crafts wasn't something he's done in a while, either because of his dwindling interest in exchange for murals and digital drawing or some other thing that's piqued his interests. Even then, this was still fun.

Pulling out coloured ribbons, fern-like tinsel, flexible copper wires, and some other various materials, Mikey walked out of the storage room with the box of materials. It didn't take long for Raph to return with lights... Which were significantly bigger than fairy lights. If anything, they were the full size of a normal bulb! Yet again, Mikey wouldn't let such a thing get in the way of true artistry. Putting on a large smile, Mikey picked up the bulbs and wrapped the tinsel around the bottom in demonstration. He slid over the rest of the bulbs and tinsel.

"Work on those; I'll be bending these into shape." He held up the wire in place, Raph nodding in compliance as they began to work on their respective tasks. Mikey wasn't able to count the minutes of time passing, but it couldn't have been long, right? Not like Donnie nor Leo was back.

Hustling with the little time they had left, Mikey grabbed the finished tinsel-wrapped bulbs and positioned them inside the star wire outlines, wrapped in various ribbons corresponding to their colours. The tinsel were trails, trails of a shooting star against the backdrop of the walls. They managed to hang up the decorations with a bit of duct tape and stubbornness, falliing back against the couch from exertion as they looked over the landscape. Not quite winter wonderland, but it was getting there...

"Think they'll like it?"

Raph place a hand on his shoulder, patting his arm. "They'll always like it."

[uncommon-alterhuman]

hey! I have a synpath of a fictional character (alastor from hazbin hotel) and its really hard to find other people with synpaths in general, even more difficult from hazbin itself, and i havent even seen many fictionkin for it

and i made what i call a synpathsona (pretty much a kinsona and i think i saw a post saying synsona but idk) for him that i relate to a lot more which i guess makes sense considering its made to be more me

and then i also have a few other possibilities from hazbin but i feel like two of them need more canon material and i havent looked at the third one

overall its just kind of a mess

i also generally have -hearted terms than kins or theriotypes so its even more difficult to find people with similar experiences to me since there may be some voidkin or eldritchkin but voidhearted and eldritchhearted? Not as much

im not entirely sure if i have them as kin though, still looking into that

i also am never sure what aspect of me is from what part of who i am, and with how broad alterhumanity can be i dont know what is actually me

because i could be a bunch of different animals or maybe some of them are combined

i end up having a lot of sonas because of the sheer volatility of my identity and im probably gonna keep having more

i think ive only been in the alterhuman community for probably less than a year?? One of my friends at school introduced me to alterhumanity and i found my way from there but it feels like ive been trying to figure it out for much longer

im also really tempted to make an alterhuman blog to seperate my art and reblogs n stuff from my alterhumanity bc i feel like its a lot and less consistent in content but idk

im gonna stop ranting now though this got longer than i expected it to

Hello! Perhaps other synpaths who see this can reach out? We do not like nor support Vivziepop or her creations so we won’t be commenting on that part, sorry.

We recommend really looking into things more and trying to see where you line up if it’s something you’re still questioning. Perhaps others can reach out and help too.

That sounds like a good idea, you should if it’s something you’d like to do!

[natsmagi]

I love ur art!!!! really its so gorgeous and the style brings me sm joy, its so soft and cute!! and ofc fem ntsmg is THE GOAT!!!!!!

BUT I JUST WANNA ALSO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR HOW U ANSWER ASKS AND STUFF AND IDK JUST UR WHOLE PERSONALITY IN GENERAL?? I love reading ur text posts especially when u kinda analyze the characters and stuff like its so fun to read and tbh, both natsume and tsumugi are characters that I feel are often mischaracterized in the fandom, and like idk I feel like u get them so perfectly and its sooo !??!?! Awesome getting to read ur awesome takes when new events come out and stuff like YOURE SO RIGHT ABT EVERYTHING, i be reading ur posts and going "you!!! YOU FUCKING GET IT!!!!!!!!!!" *happy stimming*

if you honestly did like a proper character analysis for them one day just now i would be so here for it and read it over and over again probably. Im currently hyperfixating RLY HARD on ntsmg so sometimes i just go through ur entire text post/ask tag and read everything over and over again 😭😭😭 I JUST LOVE THIS BLOG IN GENERAL KEEP DOING WHAT YOURE DOING, YOURE ABSOLUTELY AWESOME AND VERY MUCH BASED USER NATSMAGI!!!!♥️♥️♥️♥️

OIUGOHGOOHH OH MY GODDDDD ANONNNNNNNN THIS IS SO SWEET I HARDLY EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH U HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME 🥺🥺💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

im a very chatty person so im very glad u like hearing what i have to say 🥺!!! and im glad u like my personality too since i feel i can come off as harsh or arrogant sometimes AKJHFSKJH THOUGH TBF I DO TRY MY BEST TO BE KIND......

ID LOOOVE TO ANALYZE NTMG MORE !!! main reason i dont do it as often or hold myself back a bit is because admittedly its been a While since i read alot of the stories, a majority of which i have only read once, and when i make actually Proper analyzes i like to have reread the material and see if i maybe misinterpreted something on my first read or am misremembering, bc when given new info other interactions can be read differently and all that. and i also wanna actually do them justice and not accidentally spread misinfo AJHSFKJH AND I UNFORTUNATELY HAVENT HAD THE TIME NOR ENERGY TO DO THIS </3 but even without remembering every single piece of dialogue verbatim i like to think my grasp on them is still somewhat decent, and im very glad u like my interpretations 🥺❤️

it always makes me so incredibly happy when people view the characters similarly to me aswell bc like u mentioned they Are kinda prone to getting mischaracterized in some ways...... i think it mainly comes from both natsume and tsumugi having MANY factors to their characters though, and the mischaracterization comes from only highlighting one aspect of them and failing to think about how their different attributes overlap (although this can probably be said for the entire cast tbh). like an easy example that im sure everyone gets by now is natsumes little tsundereisms. if you only focus on him being rude to tsumugi it can look like hes just some edgy guy with anger management issues, but when you take into account other factors such as him having a rather spoiled upbringing both by his parents and nii-sans, and his distaste towards feeling "weak" (also caused by his upbringing, since he was frail as a child and raised as a girl) you start to see that oh. alot of that is just him being defensive and emotionally immature. since he had such a comfortable upbringing those hints of discomfort and vulnerability are threatening to him as someone who always had everything handed to him. and when you dont know how to deal with situations like that ASWELL as being afraid of being seen as "weak" youre Gonna start resorting to harsher words and sometimes even get physical because you have no clue how else to handle this. its also why the natsumes character consists of him being pretty obsessed with "growing up" and "not being a kid anymore," because he knows how immature he could be SKHDGJH he doesnt have bad intentions he just. doesnt know how to be vulnerable with people

[fantasyfantasygames]

The Dossier

The Dossier, B(l)ack Room Games, 2014

The Dossier's physical presentation is its best aspect. It was distributed in a manila envelope with tape across the flap. The rules are done in cheat-sheet format, with extra detail and clarifications provided on the website when the cheat sheet wasn't enough. Every page of handouts was photocopied multiple times before the version in the envelope was made, so they all have that distinctive "lost the originals" look. (The rule handouts are kept clean.) There are grainy washed-out photographs. There's even an envelope-within-the-envelope with the GM-only information. It's a great physical artifact.

Unfortunately, that's where the good stuff ends. The game's writing, art and system all fail where the physical presentation succeeds.

The game's concept is straightforward. There are aliens and/or monsters in the world and you must hunt them down. You're part of a federal bureau that no one respects and most people don't believe, so you have jurisdiction but not much authority. In this case, all the monsters are hiding as people. So far, fine. Except that the alien groups that are listed in the game are stolen from real-world conspiracy nonsense and frequently turn out to be racist or antisemitic if you look them up online.

The people in the photos, the ones supposedly taken over by aliens/monsters? They're clearly the author's friends with their clothing done weird and some mediocre stage makeup. The writing is trying to sound grown-up and mysterious but reads like a B-movie script.

The rules of the game are a little reminiscent of Unisystem. It's probably not a coincidence that Conspiracy X used Unisystem. The Dossier makes a large number of simplifications. It gives you a set of pregens instead of having more flexible chargen. These pregens are not the least bit balanced (nor would it be easy to explain why they keep hanging around each other). The dice system uses d6 instead of d10, which means botches happen more often. The outcome table is simplified to pass/fail. Everywhere the rules aren't cut down, they're excessively detailed. Lord save me from autofire rules. In short, the rules were simplified past the point where it was useful and ran headfirst into unbalanced characters and wacky antics with automatic weapons, which is definitely not the goal.

The game has a strong assumption of "You have run RPGs before", which, so does this blog, but a total lack of GM advice doesn't help get things going. The metaplot as outlined in the GM-only envelope commits the cardinal sin of not providing a central role for the PCs, and the venial sins of being boring and not providing enough detail for a starting scenario.

The game is not a total failure. I can imagine a group having a lot of fun with it before they realize how broken it is. It's a D-grade game. Judicious use of stock photos would bring it up to a C-. Trimming out the overly detailed gun porn and shifting back towards Unisystem's core would get us a C+. Balancing out the pregens could get us into the B range. To get an A it would need a total overhaul of the GM materials.

The website for B(l)ack Room Games can be accessed through Tor. At least it's appropriate to the name of the company. They theoretically sell copies of the game, but they're listed as out of print, probably because they all need to be assembled by hand.

[warwoven]

mun: eurus/sky - any pronouns - follows from skyistheground

i am a minor but turn 18 in july

🕸️muse =/= mun! i feel this one especially is important because we are dealing with a cult leader here. i do not inherently endorse nor support anything my muse does

🕸️following the first rule, i am fine if you or your character are mean to shamura, just do not be rude to me

🕸️i might be open to crossovers, just ask! i am also very open to aus if we discuss them first (i also have a few of my own!)

🕸️i am not comfortable with ships at all. my shamura is aromantic (and asexual!) and is very romance-repulsed so please do not ask or suggest it

🕸️ABSOLUTELY NO NSFW. i am not comfortable with it, and i will block you if you try to bring it up to me or my muse. if you are a blog with nsfw on it, please tag it so i may filter the tag, thanks!

🕸️there will be lots of blood, gore, violence, body horror, religion/religious horror, cult mentions, and animal death. there may also be some drug mentions. i will tag anything if you ask but please be mindful of the subject of this blog

🕸️i have the right to rp with whoever i want to. i probably won't say no, but be respectful if i do

🕸️personals are allowed to follow but DO NOT REBLOG ANYTHING UNLESS I SAY IT IS OK TO. especially do not reblog threads

🕸️all art posted on this blog is either mine or from official material unless otherwise stated

🕸️rules are always subject to change!