#the fact that power and long life was much more naturally given or earned by her rather than seized is also i think part of it

[utilitycaster]

I think the two most obvious foils for Ludinus Da'leth across all of Critical Role are Essek and Keyleth, which is both fascinating given how different those two characters are from each other (Essek being a foil in terms of isolation, single-mindedness, harm in the name of ambition, knowledge, and other such wizard themes; Keyleth being a foil in terms of people who have lost something at a young age to the gods and bear resentment for it, political leadership, belief that the world belongs to mortalkind, and longevity) but also it's extremely funny that they both are the partners of Liam's character.

[huntunderironskies]

A Call to Action

Hi all.

I wish I had better news to give. I thought long and hard about whether or not I should share this because I will be functionally doxxing myself when I do. But I've had several days to sleep on it and think about what to do. I've come to the conclusion that this is more important than me. This will be a long post but I urge you to read all of it. I'm afraid I have to be thorough here given the situation.

I think everyone who has been following me for more than a week knows how much I love religious studies as a field. It is my single greatest passion in life.

Unfortunately my school, UNC Greensboro, is trying to eliminate our department under claims of it being "not financially justifiable," among others (including anthropology and all Korean language classes.) These claims are highly spurious. Debunking this in full will take some time but I'll try to cover as much ground as I can in the relatively short space I am given and provide some sources. If anyone needs further elaboration, I'll report to the best of my abilities.

This is all to lead into the fact that I would like to provide some opportunities for people to help us out over here, which I will cover at the end. The shortest possible version is: please signal boost this. I do urge you to read it in full, though.

With the first introduction out of the way...

A Second But Very Brief Introduction to Religious Studies and a Justification of Its Presence in Academia (Given the Natural Bent of this Site is Sometimes Towards Antitheism)

Feel free to skip this if you have any familiarity with religious studies as a discipline, I'm putting it here because I find that it's often confounded with theology and every time I talk about it someone asks me if I'm going to be a priest (no.)

To be clear, religious studies is not theology. It does not purport the existence of any higher spiritual powers or presences. It is strictly the study of religion and spirituality as a force in human culture. This falls under both negative and positive effects, and covers everything from historical impact to individual psychology to macrosociological effects of religion to the simple understanding and study of mythology and folklore.

While internalized cultural norms are of course an issue that must be overcome by any scholar, for a religious studies scholar the Catholic Worker, the Sikh ragi, and the long-dead Sumerian ašipu should all have their beliefs and inner lives treated with the exact same sort of gravity and understanding, no matter how far their own beliefs might be from our own. It is, in my subjective opinion, the most humanizing of all the humanities because we are forced to operate on a deeply personal, vulnerable level.

I wish I didn't have to explain why these sorts of skills are important, especially given the current climate of intolerance that has been growing across the world and the growth of anti-intellectualism. I recognize that I might have to but I don't want to linger on that given everything else I have to cover in this post. Go ahead and ask as I do love talking about my field but I might take some time to answer.

A Brief Summary of Events Beforehand

My school has hired a firm known as rpk Group (lack of capitalization true to actual title) to restructure school funding financially with a focus on eliminating programs deemed to not earn enough for the school. Here is a brief explanation from the source itself. I apologize if the school website's CSS is still broken and it's difficult to read due to the social media icons being about thirty times the size they should be. Apparently they couldn't find the funding to pay a web designer instead of an expensive financing firm.

Those of you who have kept up with news in American academia may recognize this as the same group that forced cuts at West Virginia University. Please keep that in mind as we go forward.

Here are the high points:

Religious studies attained a passing grade under the rubric set out by the school. There have been active attempts to hide the scoring system from anyone but faculty. The spreadsheet in which the data was published has been password protected (source, which also contains several other refutations to the chancellor's talking points.)

For those who wish to keep score, anthropology did as well and our anthropology program is known for being quite good. This is without going into the other benefits the anthropology program provides the school with, which include such things as a community garden.

There were lower scoring programs that were kept. In other words, the decision-making process has been entirely inscrutable.

This is supported by the fact that the administration has been giving out incorrect numbers regarding program attendance to both news outlets and students, with some programs proposed to be cut having their student enrollment off by several factors.

Religious studies had over five times as many students as was originally reported. The Chinese language minor was reported to have zero students when there were thirty-six. To operate with this level of error from alleged professionals beggars belief and undermines any faith I would've had in this process.

The administration has claimed that they used the correct numbers in their rubrics. As they will not publish further data to myself nor the public, I have no evidence this is actually true.

They were going to cut Korean language as a minor. We don't have a Korean language minor. We do have a track of Korean language and I am given to understand as of this semester, culture courses. Which are operated solely by one professor and are consistently full or close to capacity due to popularity. There is no evidence they are losing the school money and I have several testimonials that the Korean culture-related programs have drawn students to UNCG as it is a unique niche the school gives not just over other UNC schools but over other colleges and universities.

Faculty and students were given information about what programs would be cut at precisely the same time, through an email sent schoolwide. Many students and faculty were in class at the time this was sent and had to proceed as if they weren't about to have their programs eliminated.

The administration alleges that current students will be able to finish their degrees. I have little faith this is the case for reasons that will take a while to get into but, to summarize as briefly as possible, completion of a degree here requires certain high-level classes that may be difficult to obtain with faculty cuts.

The chancellor alleges that Jewish Studies and Islamic Studies will not be affected by the elimination of religious studies, despite the fact that they are hosted under the department and Islamic Studies uses the same funding. As such, I believe that the highly technical and academic category used to refer to this sort of thing is "a blatant lie."

The administration has tried to quietly edit out any errors in original reporting. I am pleased to report that, as many of us intensely online people know, the Wayback Machine exists. Here is the original statistically incorrect press release that was given, which they have tried to bury.

While they have held forums, these have largely been ceremonial gestures rather than serious attempts at communication. At the one I went to, all non-administration speakers were given only two minutes to speak while the chancellor and dean were given as much time as possible to respond. Their responses to concerns were often dismissive and rarely addressed the necessary issues. I believe any person present will back me up on this, though I am not currently in possession of a voice recording.

I must operate within the evidence I am given. The best-faith interpretation of their actions is that the metrics they were using to determine what cuts should be made are incorrect and must be re-done before going through with any sort of program cuts, and that the administration's collaboration process with the group they employed is poor to nonexistent given the scattershot information provided. There is very, very clearly a communications breakdown somewhere along the line that raises this entire procedure into question.

I think it goes without saying it's all downhill from there. The level of arbitrariness with regards to cuts, lack of professionalism, and total lack of transparency would lead a reasonable person to believe there are heavy political motivations involved here and not simple brute facts. You are welcome to draw your own conclusions anywhere along this spectrum, of course. I encourage you to be skeptical.

Lastly, if I can't convince you that it's worth stopping this process to save religious studies, think about the anthropology department. Think about the languages that are getting cut. Think about physics or mathematics. A large-scale public university without a physics program is quite frankly unreal and the fact it's primarily humanities being targeted runs parallel with some sinister trends within American education. This process should, at the very least, be halted for time being.

What You (the Reader) Can Do

Firstly, be aware that we have until February 1st before decisions are finalized. I apologize for the short time limit. Myself and other members of the community were taken completely by surprise as well, and once again as I mentioned above it has caused some level of cynicism around the motivations of the administration.

With that out of the way...make noise about this. The school administration is making all efforts to keep this quiet. I can say the good news is that according to other people on the ground, they are beginning to lose control of their narrative that they are making difficult financial decisions to keep the school financially solvent.

Believe it or not, the farther removed you are, the better. If this hits a national scale then the school may be finally forced to acknowledge they are rapidly causing the otherwise prestigious UNC system, typically considered to be one of the best public university systems in the US, to be a national laughingstock and that they will lose money as their reputation declines in a way that they would not have if they'd simply carried out this process in a more reasonable way.

You can sign our petitions here and here. Easy enough, takes about three minutes, self-explanatory.

Finally, reach out to an academic or any passionate learner in a specialized field today. A lot of us feel understandably threatened and demoralized. Again, this is not just about me or even about my school. This is about trends within the American education system. Explaining the hows and whys in full detail is not within the scope of this post, but I think a reasonable person can conclude after looking at the current evidence that there is a dismantling of American schools in favor of a corporatized existence. For those of us who love knowledge and learning, this is incredibly sinister. Knowledge should not have a price tag put on it.

A Final Word

I and several other people have Chancellor Gilliam on record saying that he has dedicated his life to working at the collegiate level and towards students. While he and the administration have tried to ensure that their statements outside of highly controlled environments are not easily accessible, I should be able to provide a clip if needed given that this statement was livestreamed and North Carolina is a one-party-consent state in regards to recordings.

They have consistently characterized this process as having to make hard decisions to keep the university afloat. The chancellor is currently the highest-paid employee within UNCG itself and the fourth highest-paid member of administration within the UNC system as a whole (source.) Please be aware this does not include other benefits, which in 2022 put his salary above $500,000 (source.) As others have, I must ask why these "difficult decisions" within the school have not included a salary cut for himself if he is so dedicated to improving the lives of students.

Thank you for your time and consideration. If you've gotten this far, you've already listened more than anyone outside of the academic departments have and that means a lot to me in and of itself.

[butterfrogmantis]

ARRRRRR YA READY KIDS?

Well, it happened. I got attached to the pirate crew and then other people got attached to the pirate crew and now we have a small crew! (with more potentials from other people I just had to put a cap on it yesterday)

Captain Bluebeard (Born: Blueblood Smurf) was the son of wealthy noblesmurfs who were murdered by pirates. As an adolescent he joins a sailing crew which is then plundered by pirates, and he’s given the option to die or join their side. He switches for fear of his life and spends years at sea as a pirate, until his ship is captured by Navy Smurfs. Blueblood narrowly escapes his execution and goes on to continue a life of piracy, having gotten a taste for it. He serves as the first mate aboard the ship that murdered his parents until overthrowing the captain, which is where he earns his title (and by now in his 400’s, his impressive beard, which becomes his new name and symbol).

Bluebeard starts a new crew under the name of “The Devil’s Sarsaparilla”

Bluebeard is … powerful man. Ruthless and merciless to his enemies and fiercely protective of his crew, essentially. He’s no stranger to high sea battles or negotiations or the ‘persuasion’ of Navy secrets via unscrupulous methods but he’s also a surprisingly fair boss and the crew, in return, are loyal to him which is how he maintains such a strong position.

Cutthroat was a pirate aboard the first ship Bluebeard was part of, but he’d traded ships before it was captured. Bluebeard knows him to be a cunning Smurf and good fighter and invited him on, and Cutthroat is honoured at the chance to be his first mate and lord his positon of authority over the rest of the crew (something Cutthroat loves to gloat about). An arguably even more bloodthirsty man than even the captain, Cutthroat has no patience for the shenanigans of the crewmen and delights in reporting Scallywag’s antics to Bluebeard so he may ‘deliver suitable punishment’.

Another weird thing to note about Cutthroat is that his stance on relationships often times comes across as extremely ‘holier than thou’ and very much into ‘marriage before anything’ and can be borderline homophobic, despite the fact he’s so clearly in love with Bluebeard in some other sense of the word. (This is the character that’s lowkey just a mockery of a certain someone’s stuff to make Cutthroat seem nonsensical to the other character’s and even more ruthless and also his descendant Brainy is gay so ya boo sucks to him). Note this ONLY applies to Cutthroat, Bluebeard himself doesn’t really care what his crew are into as long as they’re good pirates and whilst I can’t speak for other people’s ocs Swashbuckler is … well idk but he’s straightn’t so he takes extra delight in helping Scallywag hide a lobster in Cutthroat’s pillow.

Cookie … really should not be on a pirate ship? Note it’s possible she has a nature name but the crew call her Cookie after her speciality biscuits. She’s a sweetheart and despite the plundering’s of her crewmate remains as such. There’s rumours she’s the aunt of one of the men who was just like ‘yeah ik we’re pirates but she’ll turn the nasty slop we’ve been eating into a 5 star meal’ so Bluebeard was just like ‘eh’ and Cookie became the ship’s mom. That’s not to say she doesn’t have her own secrets …

@chaoticsimp15's bean Herbalist! A transmasc pioneer of natural medicines and a worthy adversary to the ship where cuts and stab wounds are plentiful. Herbalist lost an arm to amputation following a poisoning and despite run ins with other dangerous plants like the kind that almost took his eye, has developed an interest in them and his knowledge of healing herbs makes him a well-respected member aboard the ship, who even Cutthroat has to give some level of respect after having his life saved a couple times.

@coconuttyglittersmurf 's bean Anne! (Queen Anne's Lace) Dreamt of a life of piracy and ran away to join a crew. Bluebeard may have been dubious about her apparent naivety at first but Anne shows good prowess with a sword, dedication and loyalty, all things Bluebeard needs and he’s an equal opportunity employer (diversity win, the murderous pirate is a feminist) and I think perhaps Cookie would become fond of her :)

@schtroumpfalunettes’s bean Rosemary! Became friends with Anne (Anne Bonny and Mary Read parallel) and joins as another buccaneer. Highly enthusiastic, cuts down enemies with glee. I see a scene of Bluebeard standing there in the back watching her go ham on a rival pirate boat and being like ‘dang glad she be me crew’

@a-doodling-tanuki 's bean! Scallywag :) As described by them, Scally was picked up from a pirate wreckage where they thought he was a smurfling and would make a good cabin boy, only to realise he was in fact an adult of diminutive stature, so Scally became a steward instead (general cleaning and maintenance of the ship, often works under Cookie as a sous chef) Best friend and fellow fun-haver with Swashbuckler, often scolded and told off by Cutthroat and Bluebeard and forced to mop the decks as punishment.

The man of the hour; Swashbuckler (cheering noises). Swashbuckler had been a cabin boy and sailor on merchant ships as a child, but after the death of his father he turned to piracy in order to steal medications for his younger sister who suffered with a weakened immune system. Swashbuckler loved the freedom and loot piracy brought and less so the plunder and murder – he was a good hearted Smurf and a lover of jokes, but he was also an excellent swordsman and a fierce opponent in a duel. It was perhaps his youthful ego and lack of experience that ultimately cost him.

Skelly’s sister! I’ve decided not to name her since that’s kind of a key part of the lore of Skelly not remembering, F. But since Skelly remembers seeing her in his dreams & she’s Tuffy’s direct ancestor, I can * certainly * design her >:)

+ Uncensored death art

Bluebeard, Cutthroat, Cookie, Swashbuckler and his sister are mine

Other oc's are tagged above!

Franchise and descendants (c) The Smurfs

[bronzegods]

Djehuty, the god of scribes, knowledge, wisdom, and the moon

A well-known and ancient deity from the Kemet pantheon, Djehuty manages to seamlessly combine being an academic elitist and being a coward gentle soul that really just dreams of someday living in a perfect world where his fellow deities use their brains, you know, for a change. Such is the challenge of being a god of knowledge and wisdom in a world full of divinized natural forces who tend to act on impulse.

Djehuty is constantly faced with the struggle of knowing better than his more powerful (and violent) peers who apparently cannot fathom the usefulness of a knowledge and wisdom deity. As a result, he tends to slip into a judgmental, short-tempered, and rather condescending attitude when irritated, which is frequently (especially given that Sutekh adores him, about as much as he adores annoying the shit out of him). Djehuty just does not handle frustration all that well, unfortunately. Nor does it help that he is a traditionalist who hates change. Djehuty has to be practically forced into acquiescing to any kind of cultural change and has a loooooong adjustment period.

As one of the oldest gods of the Kemet pantheon, he’s seen a lot of shit, some of it genuinely traumatizing, and he’s well aware of the power difference between himself and more… er, physically powerful deities. But he’s managed to stay alive this long, which is more than he can say for other deities that operate in the cerebral realm, so he must be doing something right. Being under Sutekh’s protection helps a lot, though, and makes foreign envoy trips less stressful for him.

Highlights in his life include:

designing, with the artistic assistance of his close friend Ptah, the hieroglyphic and hieratic writing system (Djehuty can’t draw, unfortunately)

avoiding getting killed during all the major regime changes that have rocked the Kemet pantheon’s stability and its lands

cultivating a dramatic rivalry with his counterpart in Mesopotamia, Nabu, who is apparently incapable of not brutally criticizing everything he publishes (while being overly excited to read it too)

orchestrating an embezzling scheme in Ptah’s temple, though he did get caught by Sokar so he had to stop

trying desperately to befriend Nisaba, the Mesopotamian goddess of scribes, despite the fact that she clearly thinks his vibes are unpleasant

setting into motion the biggest conflict the Kemet pantheon has ever experienced - Djehuty was the catalyst behind Usire’s death, though very few gods know he was the culprit and not Sutekh

writing bad romance stories under a pseudonym, which Sutekh distributes to literate deities in foreign pantheons, thus earning himself royalties that preclude ever having to get wrapped up in an embezzling scheme again (probably)

Commissioned work, lines by ArgenemArtwork

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Can we get headcannons of the NWTB egos with a reader who’s the embodiment of a child’s fear pretty pretty please 🥺

Oh, fine. But only because you added two "pretties" to your request, lol.

(Side note: I really only write for Phantom, Bones, and Natemare on occasion, so these will just be headcanons for them. I know Nate has more egos than these three, but these are the ones I have an actual attachment to.)

Since fear is such a complex thing, and since there are literally hundreds of phobias out there, we'll just assume that the reader is the embodiment of fear in general, just. . .specifically for kids, I guess.

___

Phantom

If you've read my stories about Phantom, then you know that I personally see him as an eldritch abomination. He wears a glamour to blend in with humans most of the time, but underneath said glamour, he's got all the qualifications. Body horror cranked up to eleven, mind-melting vibes, the whole shebang.

That being said, to compare an embodiment of fear to a creature like him is. . .interesting. Very, very interesting. On the one hand, you're partially the reason Phantom has his status as such a horrific monstrosity. Without fear, he might not have the amount of respect and power he's earned throughout the years.

On the other hand. . .well, he's the kind of thing that adults (humans and lesser-monsters alike) learn to fear one way or another. Although children are always more intelligent and observant than they're given credit for, they just can't exactly process things like Phantom. They can process fear itself, as well as nightmares/terrors, but they can't really grasp something so raw. Interacting with an eldritch creature means having to accept the unacceptable, to confront the fact that the universe is much more fluid and indifferent and wrong than it was already thought to be. And, thankfully, young minds that are so busy developing themselves can't face that stuff for a matter of time.

Anyway, on top of all the outer monstrosity stuff, Phantom is nothing if not a smug bastard. So, he'd definitely use the supernatural/cosmic hierarchy to poke some fun at you. Remember, a lot of his work focuses on stuff like greed or desperation and the like. Oftentimes, a lack of fear is what leads his clients to sign his contracts.

Even so, he'd still hold respect for you. Fear is a completely natural thing for humans; in fact, it's necessary for survival (see the previous passage). Children can use their fears to grow, to discover things about themselves. They can work hard to overcome their fears, and then feel proud and strong once they reach that goal. Even if they don't overcome their fears, they can still find ways to coexist with them. They can learn all sorts of things from their fears. They might draw inspiration from their fears to create art, or use their fears to try and protect others. The possibilities are endless.

___

Bones

As a revenant, Bones is all-too familiar with fear. It was one of the things to overwhelm him as he died, as well as when he entered the process of becoming undead. So, he'd admittedly act hostile toward you at first. (Not like that's too different from how he acts with pretty much everyone.) He may be supernaturally strong and technically immortal, but he's not invulnerable. Nowadays, fear is like a syringe to his pain. It makes his spasms worse, makes his heart and lungs burn, makes his brain swim.

Though he can't remember the majority of his past life, he can remember feeling fear in his childhood. And the lack of memories makes those feelings even worse, because he doesn't know what they were about, or what caused them, or, or, or. . .

Still, in a strange way, a child's fear can hold some portion of a child's innocence. (Keep in mind, this very much depends on circumstance.) And innocence is something Bones hasn't seen or felt for a very, very long time. Interacting with children's fears personified just might provide a brief window to it. That wouldn't really alleviate any of his pain, but it might make him feel calm for a few minutes.

If he were to form a legitimate friendship with you, he could potentially see you as a way to keep kids away from him. Which, in turn, would ensure that no children experience the pain he emits as a revenant. Yeah, Bones is spiteful and negative (and definitely sadistic in certain scenarios), but he's not enough of a monster to want to harm kids.

___

Natemare

If we're keeping the FNAF lore in mind, Natemare is something of a guardian to children, thanks to his ties with the Marionette. Due to that, he'd probably be wary of you at first. The ghostly kids he's cared for in the past were all most certainly scared in the last moments of their lives, and even more so during their afterlives.

Then again, part of Mare's care and guidance for those ghost-children was helping them terrify any living adults who could've been connected to their deaths. And since that's somewhat justified. . .well, it's complicated, but he can still sort of understand your role in the grand scheme of things.

Plus, like I said before with Phantom: fear has a positive side. It's the thing that can prepare kids for the world, help them grow, push them to be careful with the decisions they make. So, with that in mind, Mare would have some genuine respect for you. Perhaps there could be some kind of weird yin-yang scenario between the two of you.

___

(I'm so sorry for all the waxing eloquent here 😅)

@that-bat @th3w00ds @nwtbobsessedemo

[the-orion-scribe]

Pacifica and hugs

Reddit version

I decided to share this essay on Pacifica and hugs, which has occured at least twice with Dipper in the canon. The first time in Northwest Mansion Mystery, and the second in the Lost Legends comic Face It. In a fic I've written recently, I've explored the theme of hugs and its importance to Pacifica (and by extension her bond with Dipper), and plenty of commenters have provided deeper insights beyond the romantic undertones.

As it had been implied in The Golf War, beneath the mask of her icy, aloof and arrogant attitude, was how cold, stilted and messed up Pacifica's upbringing must be. How, even as a child, she must prove her worth to her parents as another Northwest protegé. She could only earn their affection through the demands they set for her. She might indeed be born with a silver spoon in her mouth, pampered and everything. But her parents failed to meet her emotional needs, thinking showering her with material goods were enough, which I see in plenty of cases for real life rich families.

Hugging Dipper, heck his very presence especially in Lost Legends, was clearly a source of emotional support grounding her. It's hardly conscious, and it's not a thing she's ready to accept, appreciate, or understand right there and then. She enjoys it, enjoys "that warm feeling", but she's still mired in the crushing expectations her family has ingrained in her.

The first hug is something that comes from within, from a desire she doesn't even know the name of. Pacifica can't even understand why she wants that so much. Perhaps it might be the ardenaline, the fulfilment of a job well done, that she hugs Dipper, expressing all that emotions that she has been bottling up. But then she breaks it off and, in the manner that exhibits, very clearly, all the things her family has taught her regarding their values, she tries to solve her confusion (and maintain the values her family has enforced) with what her parents have designated as the source of their power and, in fact, their own value: money.

To them, her value isn't intrinsic; it's something she was given, by her birth, by their name, by their fortune, and it's something she can lose, by failing to live up to their expectations. Pacifica was so emotionally neglected that it became her deep-rooted insecurity. She fails to appreciate her own inherent value, and so she can't understand having a want like this; having a desire that feels right but which goes so strongly against what she's been taught to value. Instead, Pacifica tries to rationalise her own actions of hugging Dipper as just her needing an outlet for her emotions and that she can't let it happen again.

The case of the 2nd hug is rather similar, as in this context, Pacifica is trying to uphold her parents' expectations for her to be perfect. Even a tiny blemish like a wrinkle is unacceptable, and in her desperation made a series of decisions that led her and Dipper in the burlap sack. She's been brought as low as possible (at least, according to the values her parents have taught – sold like a slave and covered in garbage). It’s really not surprising that her emotions are unstable, and she feels so horrible.

But Dipper is by her side and allows her to properly express her emotions and insecurities, and console her, to remind her of her value, her real value, a value that can't be affected by her appearance or her mannerisms but which is an essential part of her, amplified by her heart and the caring, kind nature that's sat dormant within her for so long, only coming out in small bursts in times of great turmoil.

It is also here that she gives him some consolation, as best she can; kindness is a muscle she hasn't had much experience exercising, but she tries, as she says his head isn't that big (following the snarky comment she made earlier). Now, more cognizant of her worth, she allows herself to enjoy the hug, to let herself linger in that warmth for a time, in the arms of someone who cares about her and who has taught her, just a little, how to care about herself and be whoever she wants.

So in conclusion, given how emotionally starved Pacifica is from her twisted upbringing, those hugs are significant markers in her character. I might say, Dipper is probably the first person whom she really opens up to, showing him her more vulnerable side. And in turn, despite their rough history, Dipper is compassionate and understanding. He has become her emotional support, who assures her of her self-worth and that she doesn't need to earn anyone else's affection. This, I think, highlights a much deeper emtional bond between Dipper and Pacifica.

This is my personal assessment behind these hugs, and perhaps I might be reading too deep. Still, I think we can agree Pacifica's upbringing have been rather cold, and perhaps she didn't receive much affection and love in her early life. Hence, she does require emotional support, and Dipper (and perhaps Mabel) is able to provide that.

What are your further thoughts on each hug? If you have a different intepretation, feel free to share!

[philipcharmont]

𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭    —   INTRODUCTION

inspired  by :  prince philip (  sleeping beauty  ) / added inspo! , westley  (  the princess pride  )  ,  prince derek  (  the swan princess  )  , mirio togata (  my hero academia  ) , lysander (  a midsummer night’s dream  ) , jack dawson (  titanic  ), christian ( moulin rouge )

full name. philip nicholas charlemagne alexander charmont. faceclaim: d.avid c.orenswet (  future : j.ames m.arsden ) dob. august 2 zodiac. leo occupation. personal trainer at achilles gym. birthplace. ulstead, france. orientation. bisexual/biromantic song. beautiful city - hunter parrish. film. robin hood men in tights education. graduated walt university with a degree in history.  temperament. sanguine ( curious, impulsive, optimistic ) mbti. enfj ( warm, outgoing, sensitive ) alignment. chaotic good abilities. skilled in combat and with a sword hogwarts house. gryffindor emoji.  ( 🗡️ )

present 

philip was sent to elias with his brothers by their father for their safety. they had come in disguise, trying to live out as normal people and told to lay low by his father but the charmonts are on the side of more notable royals given florian and philip’s time in the media.

he reunited with aurora, the girl he had met in the forest when he was eighteen and fell in love with. in a twist of fate it turns out that aurora and he were betrothed. they wasted no time marrying in a private ceremony after reuniting

a normal life is all philip has ever wanted and now he has been granted that with aurora. they live in a little bubble of bliss and while it might look selfish to others for philip to drop his duties as a prince to play house.

deep down he’s searching for purpose. outside of a prince, philip doesn’t really know who he is. from birth, there were expectations placed upon him. he feels as though he has not met any of them. mostly due to choice. he’s always wanted more in life. he wanted to be more, do more. who is he beyond the crown ? who is philip charmont actually to his core ?

he keeps the facade up that all is fine. philip is someone who would rather present that he’s happy to keep everyone from worrying about him even when he’s actually not okay. he does this because he’s been the mediator for his brothers for so long. in his mind, philip’s problems always felt miniscule compared to kit and florian’s. philip is in fact worried about what is to come.  he’s never doubted his skills until now. maleficent is powerful. philip fears he may not be strong enough this time.

he now has a job as a personal trainer at the achilles gym. it’s another piece of normality he’s collected. it’s also allowed him to begin being independant - earning his own way through the world and helping people in some way.

update 06/01/23: almost a year ago philip was cursed by maleficent with a sleeping spell. he was in a sleep coma for six months. it’s been a few months since he’s woken up. that doesn’t mean he’s processed the trauma of it. because of the institution he was raised that allowing space for emotions, philip has shoved down any feelings he has about the situation. he’s grinning and bearing it. faking it until he makes it because that’s what he was taught to do: smile and wave. of course ! this isn’t going to end well ! but alas !

past 

tw: philip’s past mentions parental death.

the youngest of the charmont sons, he was expected to be just as perfect as his older brothers. however, philip was always wild. not in the same sense as florian was, but in the sense that he could never sit still. if you were ever looking for philip you would never find him where he needed to be. he was always out in nature, the stables or in town.

he doesn’t remember much of his mother her last few months. philip doesn’t know if that’s because his brother didn’t allow him to be around their mom when she was ill or because philip didn’t want to remember her like that. he only remembers the good.

he was close to his mother but not as close as florian. philip loves and respects his father but he knows that the king puts a bit more focus on kit given he’s the next in line for the throne. if he had to pick a parental figure he was closest to it would be kit. at times philip feels his older brother raised him more than their own father.

philip played middle man between his brother’s feud. he saw both sides and did what he could to ease tension in the castle.

philip was expected to be king of some kingdom. hubert was determined to marry off his sons. he had been betrothed to a princess in ylisse when he was young but after her disappearance it was broken off. leaving king hubert to find someone else for his son. philip would always turn away the girls his father had in mind for him. he wanted to marry for love not for status.

he never cared much for his royal status. philip was always gallivanting off to anything but his duties. he dreamed of a normal life. one where so much wasn’t expected of him. he wanted to go places without people knowing who he was or having these ideas about who he was as a person. he just wanted to be philip a regular guy. not philip charmont prince of ulstead.

their alliance with ylisse is what caused maleficent to threaten the kingdom of ulstead. philip fought his father on leaving. he begged the kingdom not to send them away. philip believed he could stay and fight. his father was weak, someone had to protect him and their people. it was kit who knocked sense into him and urged philip to listen to their father. he was sending them to elias for their protection. so he agreed to leave if only to ease the king’s mind but he wouldn’t leave without putting up a fight.

future

with being married to aurora, philip will have to learn to be king. something he never expected but something that was expected from him. it’s a new learning curve. in a way i hope it’ll bring him and kit closer since he’ll see what his brother had dealt with all along.

i want philip to realize that his purpose was right in front of him all along. he doesn’t need to go on grand adventures to make a name for himself to help and save people. although he shunned the idea of royalty for so long his status is what will help him be the hero he always wanted to be. using it for good and helping his people is how he will bring change. it will also i feel bring him peace to finally stop fighting with that part of himself.

lots of maturing for this guy. he lives in a fantasy and i love that about my sweet himbo but he still has a lot of growing up to do. it’s always been so easy for him to brush off his problems or not speak about them but i want philip to actually deal with his emotions, acknowledge them and stop putting others before himself. he deserves the happiness he fights for everyone else to have.

DEALING WITH HIS TRAUMA OF BEING RAISED IN THE INSTITUTION 📢📢📢📢

in the future he shares three kids with aurora: william, seviathan & rosalie. 

taken connections

hubert charmont & adele charmont  ( née friedrich ) / parents .

kit & florian charmont / siblings .

aurora capulet / wife .

maleficent faery / enemy .

serena fain / friend .

eric seara & flynn rider / friends, prince squad .

nala omita & raphael hamato / co-workers .

wanted connections

friends : my son is in some need of friends. looking for a best bro or just any sort of friends in general [ open ]

work out partner : he likes to be fit ! he wouldn’t mind someone to work out with [ open ]

clients : he is a trainer ! if you wanna be a hero kid .. let philip whip you into shape ( and make a man outta youuuuu ) [ open ]

mutual dislike : idk maybe someone dissed samson once :/// [ open ]

( pinterest board & playlist )

[worrywrite]

History of a Heartstring (Part 1)

There are fewer celestials than there are fiends. There is no question about this.

Fiends, as a general method of operation, corrupt mortals into lesser fiends. Devils steal away the hearts and souls of all manner of creatures, twisting them into abominations of hellfire and corrupted flesh.

This is not the manner in which celestials are made. Though, as a matter of fact, celestials do not make a habit of broadcasting their origins. Records show that most are made as they are, as though they are the children of the deific makers themselves. Others are promoted from mortal beings, such as great heroes and saints of their patrons. Celestials, much like fiends, have stations in life that go hand in hand with their abilities. And, much like fiends, celestials can be promoted to higher stations and greater power.

Unlike fiends, however, a celestial can be demoted. And this is part of the reason why there are so few celestials.

Demotions are not, strictly speaking, as natural as promotions are. Really, it is a matter of choice—a choice as to whether or not they will follow the rules they have been given and a choice as to whether or not they will allow themselves to be distracted and fall; fall and become the thing they revile most.

This had never once happened to the ranks of the Merciful Twilight—the clade of a lesser god long since replaced by another lesser god. The Merciful Twilight is not a warring faction of celestial warriors, nor is it an influential faction of holy power and faith. There is no organized religion, no mortal following, and no worshippers. Their ranks are slim, efficient, and designed for a single purpose: to deliver the souls of dying mortals to their destinations across the outer resting planes.

One empyrean, five solars, ten planetars, and forty deva. Fifty-six celestial emissaries, each with unflinching loyalty to their god and an unwavering dedication to their duties, expect no praise, and few ever hear a remark of gratitude. Such is the station of a psychopomp.

Mortals might see this as unusual. Among the higher powers that employ psychopomps to deliver and ferry the souls of the dead, there is some fierce competition. But this competition happens in the ethereal space surrounding great battlefields, sick houses, dens of thieves and betrayers, and brothels— places where one is likely to meet an untimely end, a legendary death, or even a little death. But there is rarely competition for those who die quietly in the night, in the comfort of their own beds, after old age or a long illness has taken its toll.

The Merciful Twilight, in this sense, is relatively non-conflicting. Someone must come for these wayward souls, though they profit their guides very little, lest their souls linger and corrupt the world around them. It is constant work across large geographical and interplanar areas, and there is little room for promotion.

None of the Merciful Twilight cared much about promotion. All but three had been created to serve in the stations that they occupied. And all but four were content to remain in the positions that they held.

It was the empyrean, Mogon, who most wanted to be allowed to progress from his station. As an administrator, he did little besides direct and plan for the celestials of lower station that worked beneath him. And unlike a fiend of comperable station, Mogon was content to wait and earn his place among the lesser godly beings he so craved to join. His ambition was bridled with a sense of nobility and fairness.

Two of the deva, Caspian and Hesenine, both longed for promotion so that they could expand the range of their duties. The ambition of both existed in a somewhat competitive but respectful dance. Caspian wished to transport more souls per celestial cycle than Hesenine. And Hesinine enjoyed Caspian's attempts to best her. Their jobs were carried out with kindness, respect, and much note-taking. This is generally the behavior of young celestials still coming to grips with the nature and personality of mortal beings.

It is the case of Peresine, one of the five solars of the Merciful Twilight, that most concerned her superiors. She was one of the three that had not been created by their god; the others being Mogon and a rather unassuming planetar named Seronun, who had been promoted from the rank of deva while in the service of another god for no other reason than that he had been perfectly consistent in his duties for 500 years. Seronun was so bland and unassuming that Mogon assumed he had been a modron hero that had been awakened into a deva as a reward for particularly consistent mathematics. Peresine, on the other hand... Mogon had little idea of how any celestial could be promoted to the rank of solar with so little to show for it.

Few mortals know this, but celestials take on varied appearances in accordance with both their rank and achievements. Mogon, through his centuries of dutiful service as both a psychopomp and a celestial emissary for various gods, appeared to mortals (and their immortal portions that were carried on to their next existence) as a nine-foot-tall humanoid man with fair jade skin. He wore a crown of interwoven silver gilt serpents, was always seen carrying about his book of records, and was always adorned in the robes of his station. His body and vestments were practically one, and each element of his appearance spoke of greatness. The jade glow of his skin was a blessing from a nature god, for whom he had guided the spirits of forest creatures to their next existence. The silver crown was a boon from a god of healing, for whom he had carried a life-saving cure to a mortal king to waylay the prospects of war and the collapse of a nation. His book, which he used the endless pages of to carry out all of his duties, had been awarded to Mogon by a greater deity for identifying a loophole in one of their divine edicts. The vestments, an intricate white silken fiber patterned with the pale yellow bones of a figure of gentle death, were granted by his current godly patron and displayed for all to see that he was mere centuries from earning his master's position.

Peresine held no such adornments, boons, or blessings.

She appeared to mortals as nothing more than a young elven girl: trustworthy in appearance, wise beyond her years in visage, and with a kindness that shown from the dimples in her cheeks. But her vestments were plain and white, her grain-brown colored hair had no crown to hold or ornaments to display. She had even taken to walking barefoot as she carried out her duties, much to the disgust of Mogon (though it did not and, in fact, could not hamper her duties). Among the ranks of celestials of all clades and duties, Peresine was and would be considered plain, even more plain than Seronun, who at least had a staff of divine copper that he had earned from his previous master for his outstanding strictness to the rules he had been told to operate within.

But the rules which the Merciful Twilight operated within held no clauses regarding acclaim or adornments or boons or blessings or appearance. The rules were, actually, quite simple and forgiving. Those in the lesser god's clade needed only to ferry the souls of the dead to their destinations and ward off those that would assail and extort those souls. And while other, more particular, bylines had been written in by Mogon, there was nothing wrong with being plain and barefooted and blissfully in tune with the people one shepherded. And Peresine was just that.

She smiled kindly, even to the crotchety old geezers that asked her if she was qualified to help them. She would smite and repel with quick and severe action those who sought to capture her protected. And she, perhaps secretly, loved the souls she guided. She loved the worlds she passed through; she loved the breeze on her ethereal wings as she passed through the outer realms; and she loved the beings she worked with. The two planetars under her command and the four deva below them were all treated well and spared a great deal of work by her intervention. Despite her promotion to a mostly administrative rank, Peresine could not bear to give up her prior duties as a psychopomp and often took on additional work for her own enjoyment.

It was such an overtime assignment that led her to the metaphorical doorstep of a lifelong prince of a peaceful kingdom in elven lands.

A prince by the name of Velen who had, for the span of three hundred years, remained third in line for the throne of the kingdom and then died of old age. Despite his constant distance from the throne, Velen had been instrumental in maintaining peace in the land and transitioning the rule of the kingdom from his older brother to his young—some one hundred and twenty years old—niece as his brother passed away. And it was in his three hundred and fifty-third year that Velen passed away in his sleep of old age, having the love of his whole kingdom and many more to wish him farewell.

As Velen, or the immortal soul that remained after Velen's death, sat up from his deathbed, he was kindly welcomed by a young girl with long and wavy golden-brown hair that reminded him of the farmland that lined the outskirts of his kingdom and otherwise unremarkable features. She said nothing, but held her hand out for him to follow her. And they went.

Their journey would be long, as Velen had earned a seat at the Eternal Autumn Court of Bright Stars, which resided in a small plane of a lesser god on the outer ring of planes that composed the known planarverse. And the court had requested that his passage be aided by the Merciful Twilight, which was not uncommon for well-known mortals of grand and peaceful reputation.

However, this one soul—this one peaceful soul—had competition waiting.

[galesdevoteewife]

Ahhhhhh, YES!!!

There has been an essay lying in my draft for so long, yet this one here is perfectly written. I think the draft drawer can be the tomb for my wordy scribble now, just let me carve its gravestone.

| Rambling thoughts on Gale's relationship with Mystra

If there's anything I would like to add on top of the already elaborated and well-illustrated picture: aside from all the chosen's boons, Mystra's love must have given an intoxicating vanity boost for the 'proud as a peacock' wizard. Imagine how he humbled all his rivals and made them envious, with the goddess's hands on his shoulder... That certainly felt GOOD. I personally have never thought of Gale as a 100% innocent victim. Nor do I see Mystra as too much of a person; while her capacity for sentimentality is unknown, she is a blend of the natural spirit of the universe, an once-human thousand-year-old deity (who shed tears and could be emotional at times), and another once-kindhearted-human, young goddess. I see it more as Gale was dating a sentient sun, or talking wind, or conscious dark matter, just in a dress, with long hair and boobs. To think Mystra's command was never about Gale's life. What she wanted has always been the destruction of the Absolute and Karsus's Crown. After all, how much could a perished mortal means to the universe? In Gale's introduction, he uses 'miscalculation' to describe his folly, and the way he talks about Mystra in the cursed land... I believe Gale knows his goddess and probably (at least to some extent) wasn't unaware of the risks he was taking by 'seeking to cross her boundary.' He was playing with the fire of a goddess, and he KNEW. What he didn't know is the truth about the orb and therefore he lost. Everything.

A conversation between player and Gale. I do suspect Gale is designed as an Icarus-coded Karsus's successor. I ponder how his attempt for the orb went unnoticed by Mystra, when reading Karsus's book is a firework to Elysium. Did she allow his folly to happen? Or perhaps something the orb did?

Mystra even let her little butterfly (I am in love with the metaphor. That's how Mystra sees him, isn't it?) bargained and offering the cure if he manages to serve her well. She was willing to let all the bad blood be bygone after all had happened...Gale DID think about killing her, or at least challenging her when he learned about the crown. I would say she does adore him and was in a forgiving mood.

In BG3, I think Larian originally wanted to portray Mystra as a 'reward,' a hard-earned one. I didn't feel she was a fickle, cold-blooded goddess in my gameplay; in fact, I found her quite tolerating, despite I was only ever romancing Gale or playing as Gale. I was surprised when I finished my uninfluenced, vanilla runs, went online, and figured out how much hatred there is towards her. Maybe it's because the ex-lover part triggers a lot of feelings and expectations?

Sidenote: This just gets me thinking, how many have struggled in this fantasy world, and their prayers have never been answered. To hear Wyll saying "Mystra wants to meet Gale? Impressive. The only thing a god has ever offered me is a cold shoulder." To hear Asarion saying he tried every divine, and "None of them answered"—for two. hundred. years... Wyll wouldn't even look at whatever good deal Mizora pulled out from under her dress; if Tyr ever made an offer. What wouldn't Helsin do if Silvanus offered to cure the cursed land? Shadowheart was promised by her goddess with the 'blessing' of amnesia and pain...(and a spear and some powerful abilities of course)

Yet Gale is the one who gets to bargain, pout and plead while he knows the goddess, the universe herself, is listening because he is literally seeing her and having a conversation. I do think he is the beloved one by fate. His fall hurts so tragically because he was once standing so high, close enough to reach the stars. But most have never dared to imagine even the possibility of attaining the height, because they are too occupied struggling in the puddle...

Note[1]: A very interesting post pointing out how Gale could be Icarus-coded. His last name Dekarios even sounds like the combination of Daedalus (Icarus's father) and Icarus. Sus. ↀ ↀ

Note[2]: A beautiful post/idea about what if Gale and Mystra was attracted to each other because he could make her human, once again like in the old time...offff thinking of it gives me feelings...

Note[3]: With all being said, it doesn't mean I love the wizard any bit less. Quite the contrary, I am so amazed and in love with the depth of his backstory! All the multifaceted layers only ever made him my favorite character in the game, really.

What a successful character to trigger so much thoughts and feelings. Good job to Larian!

Thoughts on the thunder wizard again.

Genuinely, I find Gale's relationship with Mystra to be fascinating when you consider all its facets. Unhealthy, imbalanced, definitely poisonous, but also very, very intricate with a lot of blurred edges to it. One of those things where you're both like "wow, what the hell, that's horrible" but also "that makes perfect sense for their characters, and while I would NEVER, I know why they would, and why it happened."

You've got a wizard who doesn't know what real love is, who thinks he's finally being shown it by the person he adores most. His greatest fantasy, his most potent joy, his most heartfelt aspirations, and they were all offered to him.

And he wants to see what all she's hiding from him, because of course he does. She's the keeper of all things forbidden to him. The empire of Netheril reached magical heights that will never be touched again, and all that knowledge is beyond her curtain. She loves him, right? Surely, if he proves himself enough, she'll let him grasp that power he so desperately wants.

And not even in the power-hungry sense! All that magic Mystra's locked up was accessible during Mystryl's reign. Think of all the answers to theories about the universe that are back there. Every question of "can this be done, and what would it do" would be answered, if he could just bargain hard enough.

She loves him, right?

Surely, if he proves himself enough...

And then, on the other hand, Mystra. Once Midnight, her human personality has been subsumed by the goddess of magic and her duty to the Weave. She has a responsibility to magic, she IS magic.

Then along comes this mortal boy who knows how to handle her Weave. Who doesn't try to wrestle with and dominate, who sings to it. He handles it with such ease and grace—it's not just that he could be Chosen, but he deserves it. To put her Weave in the hands of someone so intrinsically in tune with it, who understands its potential with a wonder like no other. Few enough can handle the raw power that comes with being Chosen, but this one? This one is perfect.

And he adores you. And you adore him, like one would a beautiful butterfly that's landed on their finger. And he's willing to be devoted to you in all things, not out of transaction like most of your worshipers are, but out of love for you, your craft, your magic. You're so deeply and utterly charmed by him.

And it's not like Mystra hasn't walked this path before.

She gives him what he desires, because what he desires is her. And, in a different way, she desires him. She wants him to be her representation in the world. She indulges his adoration with her own presence, and takes indulgence herself in mortal comforts. He's never satisfied with her answers, but who could blame him? She keeps a whole world away from mortals, because she knows what such unfettered power might bring about (again).

And the wizarding prodigy's ambition is lit (again).

And the height of power is reached for (again).

And she stops him (again, again, again).

She does care for him. She doesn't want to see her little butterfly burn himself, and she doesn't want to be the one to ruin those wings.

But then he's not a butterfly. He's a mortal, wielding a weapon of murder, of her murder, and he's brought it to her doorstep because she told him "no." And he's cut himself on it, he doesn't know what it is, but it's hurt him—and it's only a fraction of the hurt it could do to her. How dare he want her help after threatening her?

(He didn't mean to.)

(He only wanted to help.)

(He only wanted. How human.)

She doesn't help him. If he wants to pursue Karsus' weaponry, it's his responsibility, his hubris, that led him to injuring himself on it. She's furious. She's hurt. She's cold.

(What fools these mortals be.)

But then, there's a greater threat to her. Something that could drown the Material in Karsus' failings. And that little boy, who nicked himself on the sword he lifted, still wants her help.

It's a fair trade, isn't it? She'll forgive him, let him into her domain again, if he accepts his punishment and goes into battle for her. He picked up a sword, it's appropriate that he learns to use it in her name, right?

If he was telling the truth, he wouldn't hesitate. If he really wanted to serve her with the Netherese Orb, he would jump at the opportunity to do so. He would have to give up a few petty things in the process, ("petty," she calls mortality, as if family and home mean nothing, as if friends and love are finite. Because to her, they do mean nothing. Because to her, they are finite.) but it isn’t atonement without sacrifice, is it?

It's the tactical move. She's not above hurting one man to save a nation. It's not even the first time she's done it.

(Dornal Silverhand sends his regards.)

If he loves her, he'd die for her, because she'd let him into her paradise. If he doesn't love her, he won't, and she was justified in removing him from her grace.

He doesn't love her. Not anymore.

Does he hate her enough to try to take his dues?

Ambition has always been man's greatest folly.

[northlight14]

Leucis

Basic Information

Pronouns: he/they (slight he preference)

Alias’: “Trouble” (Greyson Honfoli)

Relatives: unnamed parents (now deceased)

Affiliation: unknown

Occupation: shop owner, thief, assassin 

Personal Information

Eye Colour: pure white

Hair Colour: black

Height: 5,8

Gender Identity: non-binary

Sexuality: gay

Species: tiefling

Marital Status: single

Status

Age: 20

Star Sign: scorpio 

Date Of Birth: 6th November

Place Of Birth: Ashborn

Status: alive

Background Story

Leucis was born in a very impoverished part of Ashborn, where crime was around every corner. Even so, his parents were very good people and did what they could for him to make sure they had a good life. Leucis was always an intelligent and ambitious child, however, aiming to escape their current life. Seeing this, their parents worked as hard as they could to raise money and earn Leucis a formal education. 

That hard work would eventually pay off and Leucis would be sent away to a boarding school for a formal education. It wasn’t like Leucis expected, however. Due to the fact Leucis had not been to school before and his parents had never received a formal education meaning there was a cap on how much they could teach Leucis, he struggled greatly despite his intelligence, barely knowing how to read or write. This, along with Leucis’ poor background made him a prime target for bullying by his peers. And being pretty rough around the edges, Leucis would always fight back which landed him in trouble with faculty often. 

Things went from bad to worse when Leucis was 14 and he was told that his parents had passed away. Ashborn is a place with a long history of being at war and his parents, along with their house, ended up being another casualty of it. And since Leucis no longer had any money coming in via his parents, he was forced to drop out of his schooling. From there, Leucis began doing what they needed to survive, this first being selling practically all their belongings and then taking whatever job they were able to get as a 14 year old. This typically resulted in Leucis working for a lot of people who were less than decent bosses, being more than happy to exploit a young and desperate homeless teenager. Still, Leucis persevered on the street, determined to escape his situation once again. 

Living on the street, Leucis naturally saw a lot of horrific things and had no shortage of horrific experiences while working till his hands bled. This created an ideology of misanthropy in Leucis. He began believing that his parents were the last of genuinely good people and that everyone else in the world was simply evil and that most simply cover it up behind a mask of good deeds. At 17 years old, this then turned into a new idea: if human beings are all evil and are willing to do anything to hide that fact, why not capitalise on it?

And so Leucis took to the black market with his new assasin business, putting to work his skills of stealth and fighting he’d learned from the street to good use. At first, Leucis was completely horrified and disturbed when he killed someone, needing time to process and feeling sick. But over time, he began to be desensitised to it and a morbid part of him enjoyed it, essentially gaining a release out of it after experiencing so much trauma. 

That said, Leucis was not an expert and he ended up getting caught at some point. To his surprise, and utter delight, however, they were given a bargain that they would ensure he wouldn’t be punished for his crimes if he did some work for him. And so, Leucis began doing several assassin jobs for people in positions of power and they did their job of covering it up and making sure no one arrested Leucis.

These jobs were enough for Leucis to buy his own place, finally getting off the street. He had his apartment on the top floor and made the bottom floor his own general goods shop which in actuality was a shop filled with things Leucis stole off of people in the street. And that shop continues to work as his meeting place to discuss assassination jobs.

Personality

Leucis is just filled to the brim with confidence, which can come off as him being cocky but in actuality he's very self aware both with his strengths and weaknesses. Their mannerisms are very camp and effeminate as well, Leucis being very comfortable with that side of himself. 

He hates hypocrisy more than anything, disliking people who claim to strictly be good or state they’re better or more moral than him. He especially hates when his clients say this, as from his perspective if they're hiring him then they’re no better. That said, Leucis is very open about his actions being evil and doesn’t pretend to be otherwise. Essentially, Leucis’ attitude is “Yes I’m messed up but so are all of you. Don’t give me hate just because I found my way to make this messed up system work for me.” Due to having to work his whole life as well just to survive, Leucis is definitely also a massive workaholic. 

Even though Leucis is far from a good person by his own admission, he is not without good completely. He has a soft spot for the lower class as he understands their experiences first hand and operates his shop accordingly. He never steals from the less fortunate and has a strict bargaining system. Essentially, everything in his shop has a base price but he will always let people who can’t afford it bargain to have it lower. He also has a habit of charging the higher classes more for the items than the base price since he knows they can afford to spend more. Leucis also has a genuine respect for people who genuinely do try to be good and do the right thing without any ulterior motives involved. 

Leucis also definitely has a flirty side to him, enjoying going to taverns to meet guys for the night when he isn’t working. Leucis in particular has an interest in Greyson Honfoli, a town guard who despite the restrictions on Leucis, does his best to prevent the assassinations. Leucis loves teasing and flirting with Greyson at every opportunity, though he’d deny having any real feelings for him. 

Appearance

Leucis is a red tiefling with a lot of scars on his body due to how he grew up. Their hair is black and wavy and their eyes are pure white. Leucis is very slim in terms of body type but naturally is somewhat toned due to his occupation requiring him to be physically fit and a somewhat decent fighter. Being a tiefling, he has horns that protrude out of his forehead, starting red at the base but fading into black. His ears are pointed and both are pierced. His tail is mostly red like his skin but is then black and pointed at the end. Leucis also has a black snake tattoo running all down his left arm. 

Leucis dresses in a gothic style which mainly consists of black button up shirts (rarely buttoned up all the way), leather black pants, heeled boots, and chain necklaces and black rings. While on assassination missions, he wears a black jacket with a hood and a mask covering his face below his eyes. He’ll also wear flat shoes, forgo the jewellery and more flexible pants, for obvious reasons. 

Trivia

Leucis is insecure about his scars. 

Leucis overcompensates for his lack of formal education and poor background by speaking in a more formal and sophisticated way. However, when they’re more comfortable with someone, angry, or flustered, they’ll speak more casually and swear more. 

Leucis is mostly self taught when it comes to reading, writing and math's and has very bad spelling and handwriting as a result. They will also get defensive if anyone corrects them, even if done sincerely. 

Leucis was born with the surname Gabbard but no longer goes by that, instead only being referred to by his first name. This is because it makes him more anonymous and also he doesn’t want his family to be associated with the work he does, even after death.

While Leucis is a very good assassin and trained in stealth, they are lacking in more physical strength. While strong, it isn’t their greatest skill so prefer to rely on sneak attacks. 

Leucis always starts a kill by cutting the victims throat so they can’t scream for help and then either killing the person quickly or torturing them before death depending on how bad Leucis feels the person was.  

The first person Leucis was hired to kill was one of his old bosses

Leucis’ drink of choice is red wine. 

He has a comfort item which is a stuffed rabbit that's very ragged. It’s the last of his belongings from before he became homeless and the only thing he didn’t sell. It’s the one thing he has left of his parents. 

MBTI is ENTP

[demonicangelics-world]

Redamancy - Zestial x Angel!OC

Chapter Twelve: Monsters

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter Twelve: Monsters Chapter Thirteen: Claw Finger

Word Count: 4,864

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

Today has been an absolute whirlwind. 

The cafe was busier than ever, even with the windows gone and missing chairs and tables from last night's chaos, it felt like we were working in the middle of a disaster zone. Customers kept coming in, oblivious to the fact that we were running around like headless chickens trying to keep up with orders. The espresso machine sputtered and hissed as if it, too, was exhausted, while the line of impatient demons and sinners seemed never-ending.

Vinny, of course, was no help at all. He stayed holed up in his office, only emerging to bark orders or complain about the state of the place. The air was thick with the smell of burnt coffee and frustration. Every time a customer complained about the noise or the lack of seating, I had to plaster on a fake smile and apologize, all while silently cursing Vinny for his incompetence.

Thankfully, Vinny decided to let us off a bit early, though not out of any kindness. It was more a necessity due to the repairs. Not that I was complaining.

Earlier in the morning, before I came to work, I found myself wandering through what seemed like an open street market. It was a chaotic mess, typical of Hell, with demons and sinners everywhere, selling everything from the mundane to the bizarre. Stall after stall lined the street, a mixture of shouts and haggling filling the air. The smells were a blend of sulfur, sweat, and something vaguely metallic—like blood.

And I was on a mission: I needed clothes. 

The clothes that I had on, that Charlotte had given me, were practically in tatters. The hem of my pants was frayed, my shirt had a tear across a sleeve, and there were more stains than I cared to count. Each rip and stain told the story of my time here, but I needed something that didn't scream "I barely survived an apocalypse."

The thought of Charlotte made me nostalgic, and I realized how much I missed her and Aramel already. She had given me these clothes, out of free will, worried about my well-being more than her own. I could still hear her melodious voice, complimenting me. Aramel, with his unwavering support, had been my rock. His confidant and charming nature had gotten us through more than one scrape. Thinking of them made my chest ache with a longing that was almost painful.

With the meager tips I had earned, I managed to buy a few pieces of clothing. As I inspected a particularly worn jacket, I asked the seller where he got it from. His answer sent a shiver down my spine.

 “Got it from my neighbors that were exterminated.” 

I quickly put the jacket down, realizing that most of the market’s wares were from the dead. I decided I had enough clothes for now and moved on.

On the bus ride to work, I couldn’t shake the seller’s words. My head spun with the implications. Whatever war or exterminations Hell was conducting, it was none of my concern. My primary objective was the redemption hotel and overlords. As the bus rattled along the crumbling streets, I began to piece together a plan to find the hotel and watch it from a distance after work.

I needed to gather information discreetly and I would start by asking around. In the distance I saw the giant clock tower that loomed over the ruins, a constant reminder of unnatural time ticking in Hell. I made a mental note to avoid drawing too much attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to attract the notice of the wrong kind of demon—or worse, another overlord.

Zestial was an unexpected variable. My mind drifted back to the strange dream I had of him. In the dream, I had been enveloped in a terrifying blend of darkness and cold. As the golden light of a heavenly ballroom faded into eerie shadows, I found myself in Zestial’s cold embrace, my heart pounding with fear.

I shivered at the thought of Zestial's cold touch and the fact that he had claimed me in that dream. The fear was irrational, a manifestation of my subconscious warning me of the danger he represented. Despite his courteous demeanor during our encounter last night, he was still an overlord, unpredictable and dangerous. The hint that he intended to see me again made my stomach turn.

I forced myself to swallow my fear and focus on the mission at hand: to gather intelligence from overlords. The fact that I had managed to capture Zestial's attention was a step forward, not backward, a significant piece of progress. But I have to be careful. I couldn’t let my fear or the unsettling dream distraught me from my objective. 

When I finally arrived at the cafe, I was greeted by the sight of Vinny berating my co-workers. “The damages will come out of your paychecks!” he barked, earning groans from them. 

He glared at each of them in turn, his eyes narrowing.  "And don't think I've forgotten about you running off and abandoning your shifts yesterday. You're all lucky you still have jobs. Now get to cleaning up this mess before we open.”

Then he spotted me and sneered, “Thought the boogeyman took you away for good. Didn’t expect to see you back.”

I shot him a wry smile. “Thanks for introducing me to Zestial, Vinny. Really appreciate you looking out for my social life.” 

Vinny rolled his eyes and lit a cigar, clearly not amused by my sarcasm and stomped away upstairs, leaving us to clean up the mess from yesterday. I headed to the small, cluttered locker room to stash my shopping bag when the petite pink-haired demoness from yesterday approached me.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she gave me her hand. “Well, well, if it ain't the new face from yesterday. I’m Ashley, by the way.”

“Celeste,” I replied, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you properly.”

She smiles. “From the looks of it, you must be fresh off the mortal coil, sugar.”

I noted her accent and I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How’d you guess?”

Ashley leaned in closer, her southern drawl making the words sound almost melodious. “Oh, honey, it ain’t rocket science. When you see someone in rags like those”—she pointed to my tattered clothes—“you can tell they’re new. You got a look, like a sheep lost in a lion’s den.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m planning to change before work. Can’t say I’m keen on wearing clothes from the dead though.”

Ashley’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You don’t say! The thought alone makes me shiver. But tell me, how’d ya find Zestial? Terrifying, right?”

I chuckled. “Word travels fast, huh? Honestly, he was creepy. But he actually was pretty nice.”

Ashley’s eyes grew even wider, her mouth forming an exaggerated “O” of disbelief. “Nice? Zestial? Honey, if you’ve heard the tales, you’d know he’s terrifying for a reason. Trust me, there’s a reason his reputation precedes him. I reckon you must’ve caught him on a good day then.

I shrugged, trying to seem unfazed. “Maybe I did.”

Ashley burst into laughter. “Well, ain't you a breath of fresh air. I reckon you’re the first person I’ve met who survived a chat with him and lived to tell the tale with a smile.”

I grinned, “Let’s hope it stays that way. I’d rather not test my luck with his ‘bad days.’”

Ashley’s laughter trailed off as she gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You keep that spirit, sugar. It’ll serve ya well around here. And if you ever need tips on surviving this place, just holler. I got plenty to share.”

This is my chance. I can ask Ashley about the hotel. As I stood there, Ashley's eyes sparkled with admiration. I took the opportunity to delve deeper into her background first.

“So, Ashley,” I said with a curious tone, “Where are you from?”

Her grin widened. “Well now, ain't that a question. I’m from the Wrath Ring, sugar.”

I blinked in surprise. “The Wrath Ring?”

Ashley chuckled, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, you know, just where folks like me hang out. Imps, they call us. Red skin, long horns, tail, all that jazz as you can see” as she twirls to show off her horns and tail. 

I raised an eyebrow. “An imp? I thought everyone here was a sinner.”

Ashley’s laughter was genuine and warm. “Oh, bless your heart. That’s a common misconception. Only in the Pride Ring are sinners allowed to stick around. But with Lucifer opening up all the rings for travel and work in recent years, you got all kinds of demons mingling around.”

I made a mental note of Lucifer’s policy. “Interesting. So, you’re saying it’s like a free-for-all now?”

Ashley’s eyes twinkled. “You could say that. Though it’s more like a regulated chaos. But don’t worry, sugar, your curiosity is cute.”

I felt a little sheepish. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

Ashley waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, not at all. I find your innocence refreshing, really. It’s rare around here.”

I smiled gratefully and got to the root.

I smiled, relieved. “Glad to hear it. Actually, I was hoping you could help me out. Do you know where the redemption hotel is?”

Ashley’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You mean the Hazbin Hotel?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the one,” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Ashley’s laughter rang out again, light and teasing. “So, you're already desperate to get out of Hell, huh?”

I shook my head, grinning. “No, I’m just curious about it.”

Ashley put a hand on her hip, her southern drawl thick with amusement. “Curious, huh? Well, I can definitely help with that. I’ll text you the directions.”

I looked down, a little embarrassed again. “I don’t have a phone.”

Ashley’s eyes widened in faux horror. “Oh, sweetie, you’re new! Silly me, I should’ve remembered. No matter.” She grabbed a napkin and a pen from a nearby table, scribbling furiously. 

She handed me the napkin with a flourish. “Now you’ve got the golden ticket to the Hazbin Hotel.”

I took the napkin, feeling a bit overwhelmed but grateful. “Thanks a lot, Ashley. I really appreciate this.”

She straightened up and gave me a warm smile. “You know, after work, if you’re up for it, we could hang out a bit. Hell’s not all bad if you got good company.”

I hesitated, then gave her a polite smile. “I’d love to, but I’ve got some things to take care of tonight. Let’s definitely make it happen another time.”

Ashley laughed, a sweet, melodic sound. “I’ll hold you to that offer, sugar, and I’ll be here, ready to show you the ropes when you’re free. Don’t be a stranger now.”

With that, she waved and sauntered off, her pink hair bouncing with each step. I looked down at the napkin, a mix of relief and anticipation bubbling up inside me. 

I changed into new clothes in the bathroom and joined my co-workers, who were cleaning up the debris from yesterday's chaos. Broken chairs, shattered glass, and spilled drinks were scattered everywhere. The usual hum of the cafe was replaced by the clinking and clattering of us trying to put things back together.

As I grabbed a broom and started sweeping up glass shards, Vinny appeared and hovered nearby, his scowl ever-present. “Make sure you get every piece of glass. Last thing we need is a customer suing us because they stepped on something.”

“Don’t worry, Vinny,” I replied, my tone as dry as the dust I was sweeping up. “I’m sure we can handle it.”

He grunted and moved on to harass another unfortunate employee. Ashley exchanged a knowing glance with me, and rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Jackass.”

We worked tirelessly, trying to get the cafe back into some semblance of order before the first customers arrived. Despite the broken windows and missing chairs, we managed to clean up most of the mess. The place still looked like it had been through a war zone, but it was the best we could do on short notice.

Just as the cafe was about to open, Vinny came storming out of his office again. “Alright, listen up! We’re gonna close early today for repairs. Once the last customer leaves, you’re all free to go, but don’t expect to get paid for those missing hours. Now, get to work!”

The announcement was met with another chorus of groans, but none of us dared to argue. As the first customers trickled in, we resumed our tasks, putting on our best smiles and pretending everything was perfectly normal.

The rest of the day was a blur of nonstop work. Despite the broken windows and missing furniture, customers kept coming. Vinny, of course, did nothing but occasionally come down from his office to check on us and make sure we were working.

A few hours before closing time, Vinny put up the closing sign, telling incoming customers we had to close early for repairs. Once the last customer left, he announced, “You can leave now. Get the fuck out of here.”

I grabbed my bag and left with the rest, waving goodbye to Ashley and feeling a strange mix of relief and exhaustion. 

And now I've found myself on my mission again. 

Pentagram City bathed in the dim light of early evening, casting long, twisting shadows that danced over the cracked pavement. The air was thick with the mingling smells of sulfur and exhaust, a heady blend that seemed to cling to everything around me.

With Ashley’s directions, I made my way through the bustling streets, where neon signs flickered erratically and the sounds of demonic revelry filled the air. It was a strange, vibrant chaos that somehow felt both alive and decaying at the same time. As I wandered, I heard a sound that made my heart skip a beat—a small, forlorn cry that seemed to pierce through the din of a street.

Following the sound, I turned a corner and was met with a sight that shocked me: a small child, no more than two or three, was sitting on the pavement, clutching his knees and crying softly. The child looked so out of place amid the harsh, chaotic surroundings of Hell that it was almost surreal.

I glanced around and noticed that the demons and sinners passing by were ignoring him entirely. My heart ached at the sight. I approached him gently. “Hey,” I said, kneeling down beside him. “Where are your parents?”

The child sniffled and slowly turned to look at me, his blood colored eyes wide and shimmering with tears. He was holding something in his hands, clutching it close to his chest. As he turned further, he revealed a small grotesque bird, its neck twisted unnaturally. The sight of the lifeless creature in his tiny hands sent a jolt of shock and horror through me.

The child's tears had momentarily stopped, replaced by a strange smile. He held up the bird to me proudly, as if showing off a precious trophy. 

I felt a mix of disgust and sorrow. This small child, with his tear-streaked cheeks and fragile form, seemed so utterly out of place in the midst of Hell. 

Yet as I looked into his wide eyes, I saw more than just a lost child. I saw the deep, unsettling impact of this infernal environment on him. The way he clutched that twisted, dead bird with a strange smile—a smile that should have belonged to a child showing off a beloved toy—revealed a mind already disturbed. The innocence, if he had any, was tainted, overshadowed by the malevolence of his surroundings.

What should I do? The question gnawed at me. I was just one being, alone in this abyss. The demons and sinners around us were indifferent at best, hostile at worst. They wouldn’t help; they didn’t care. But despite the unease I felt, I couldn’t just leave him here. I had to help him.

Not because it was some grand moral imperative as a guardian, but because deep down, I knew that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to reconcile it with my conscience. This was a child, alone and vulnerable, and that simple fact outweighed any fear or hesitation I had.

I began asking every demon and sinner that passed if they knew the child or his parents. Each inquiry was met with blank stares or dismissive grunts and most brushed me off with a sneer or a shrug. Some didn’t even bother to respond, their eyes sliding past us as if we didn’t exist. The indifference stung, but I kept going, refusing to give up.

Time passed, and the child's stomach rumbled loudly. To my horror, he lifted the dead bird to his mouth, his tiny teeth bared in a grotesque parody of hunger. His eyes, still wet with tears, took on a vacant, almost feral look as he prepared to sink his teeth into the mangled flesh. I watched in stunned disbelief as he brought the bird closer, its twisted neck and lifeless eyes a macabre contrast to his innocent face. My heart pounded with a mix of fear and revulsion as I quickly grabbed the bird from his grasp, my hand trembling at the grotesque scene unfolding before me.

 “No, no, let’s get you some real food,”  I said, my voice trembling

His eyes flashed with confusion and a touch of anger. For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might bite my hand instead. But then he seemed to understand, his expression softening as he reluctantly let go of the bird.

I threw away the bird at a bush, and I spotted a nearby food stand and walked over. The smell of the food made my own stomach growl—I hadn’t eaten all day or really since I arrived in Hell. But my pockets were nearly empty, the meager tips I had earned barely enough to buy a small meal. I ordered and paid what I could for the child.

When the food arrived, the child devoured it with a hunger that suggested he hadn’t eaten properly in days. I watched as he ate almost all of his meal, feeling a pang of guilt as my own hunger grew. I had to convince myself that fasting was an option, as long as the child was getting something to eat.

Once the meal was finished and the tab paid, I led the child back to the street where I had first found him. We sat on a nearby bench, and I turned to him with a gentle smile. “What’s your name?”

He stared at me blankly, and I realized he might be too young to know his name. “What happened to your parents?” I asked, trying to piece together the fragments of any information he could give.

My eyes widened at his first word. “Monsters,” he said as his tiny arms flailed as if he were flying. I was puzzled by his demonstration and tried to make sense of it.

Just as I was about to question him further, a shadow fell over us. I looked up, my heart sinking at Zestial’s sudden appearance, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over us. At the sight of Zestial, the child painfully grabbed my arm with natural strength. 

Not this creep again.

I tried to calm my nerves down, as I’m already tense and hungry from the long day. 

Zestial’s eyes locked onto mine, and he asked, “What art thou doing with this demon child, Celeste?” 

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “I found him crying. I’ve been waiting with him to see if his parents would come back, but they haven’t.”

Unexpectedly, Zestial’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at the child. “I see,” he said slowly. “Thou art quite the Samaritan, art thou not?”

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. “I don’t know where else to turn. I’m hoping someone might come by who knows him.”

Zestial studied me for a moment, his gaze shifting back to the child. “Very well. I shall see if I can assist with this matter. Hath the child told thee aught?”

I turned to the child and said, “Can you tell him what you told me?”

The child slowly let go of my arm and looked up at Zestial. “Monsters,” he said again as he demonstrated his flying motion.

Zestial observed the child with a contemplative expression. “I understand now,” he said, “What we have here is an orphan, Celeste.”

“Orphan?” I repeated, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Zestial’s expression grew serious. “Thou can wait all night long with the child, but I guarantee the parents art not returning.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “What do you mean by that?”

Zestial’s gaze hardened slightly. “Given the recent extermination, their chances of survival art slim. 'Tis highly probable they be dead.”

My mind raced at the mention of extermination. Before I could speak, Zestial continued, “There is an orphanage not far from here. 'Tis likely crowded, but it would not hurt to check. Follow me.”

Unsure of what else to do, I took the child’s hand and followed Zestial. As we walked, the streets of Pentagram City cleared before us. Demons and sinners scurried away at the sight of Zestial, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

One demon, eyes bulging, muttered to his companion, “Is that Zestial? What is that woman and child doing with him?”

When we finally neared the orphanage, Zestial stopped and suggested, “Given mine reputation, 'tis best if thou handle this. Thou hast noticed they react not well to mine presence.”

I nodded and approached the orphanage, a grim-looking, old building that seemed to lean inwards with age. I knocked on the door, and after a moment, an overweight, haggard looking demoness answered.

She took one look at the child and immediately complained, “The orphanage is full. I can’t take in any more!”

I tried to persuade her, “Please, he needs help. I know the place is full, but he’s just a child—”

Before I could argue further, she spotted Zestial from a distance, her eyes widening in fear. “Never mind,” she said abruptly. “I think we do have one more spot left.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the child and slammed the door in my face. I stood there for a moment, stunned, then turned and walked back to Zestial.

“Looks like the orphanage did take him,” I said, a mix of relief and frustration in my voice. “Thank you for your help.”

Zestial gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable “Tis fortunate thou found the child. Hell is full of predators.”

I shivered at Zestial’s implication. As a guardian, I knew all too well that children were the most vulnerable, having witnessed countless horrors on Earth. The weight of those experiences had never truly lifted from me which was why I pushed to help the child. 

Seeing the sadness on my face, Zestial offered, “Allow me to walk thee home.”

I hesitated, my polite smile barely concealing my unease. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to trouble you further.”

I was already so faiguted and hungry and I did not want to deal with Zestial.

Zestial’s gaze remained steady. “'Tis already quite late in Hell. 'Twould not be safe for thee to wander about alone.”

The weight of his words settled over me, and I glanced at the darkening sky, realizing how much time I had wasted in helping the child. I inwardly cursed myself for losing track of my mission.

Seeing that I couldn’t go scout the hotel anymore and with Zestial in my radar, I sighed, feeling the pull of practicality outweigh my reservations. “Alright, if you insist. Let’s go.”

As we walked, my thoughts churned with conflicting emotions. Zestial's imposing presence was a reminder of his terrifying reputation, yet his actions contradicted everything I had heard about him. I couldn't help but feel that the deep-seated fear I felt for him was born from stories and preconceptions, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I reminded myself that he had been nothing but cordial and even helpful so far. My irrational fear and biases, fueled by tales and dreams, were unfair. Zestial had shown me aid when I needed it most. Yet this was Hell, a place where true intentions were often masked.

I had a mission to complete, and letting unfounded fears cloud my judgment was not an option. I needed to see him for who he was in the present moment, not as the embodiment of the horror stories I had heard. It was difficult to reconcile his terrifying reputation with the helpful demeanor he had displayed, but I had to try. Prejudging him based on hearsay and nightmares would only hinder my ability to fulfill my duty. With each step, I pushed away my apprehensions and focused on the reality before me.

As we traversed the now desolate streets of Hell towards my residence, a profound sense of isolation enveloped us. The emptiness of the surroundings only deepened the unease I felt from the child's words. Hell was full of monsters. 

Unable to shake the unsettling question, I seized the moment to address Zestial directly. "Earlier, the child said ‘monsters.’ What did he exactly mean by that?" I asked

Zestial's eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and gravity. "The monsters the child saw," he began, "were angels."

I stopped in my tracks, confusion and disbelief flooding my senses. "Angels?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Zestial noted my reaction and continued. ""Each year, on Extermination Day, angels descend from Heaven to exterminate sinners. They are called exorcists."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. That can't be true. Angels are guardians and protectors, not killers.

Zestial carefully watched my shock and disbelief, “I understand that thy former life as a nun led thee to believe that angels are purely good. But they are capable of the same atrocities as demons," he said in a firm tone. 

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. No, it can’t be true. He had to be lying. 

I questioned, my voice faltering. “Why would they do such a thing?"

Zestial's gaze hardened and his voice remained firm. “Because, Celeste, Heaven is not as infallible as thou wast taught to believe. Angels follow orders, and sometimes those orders are harsh and unforgiving."

Zestial’s words were something I wasn’t prepared for and I wanted to get away from him. I looked around at anything but him and spotted a newspaper stand. Without thinking, I ran towards it and snatched a newspaper, provoking the news seller to yell at me.

"Hey, you bitch! You better pay for th—"  

He cut himself off mid-sentence as he said Zestial slowly towered behind me and without another word, he turned and bolted, abandoning his post.

“Annual Extermination Report”

The headline read and beneath it was a picture that sent chills down my spine. 

The figure in the image was undeniably an angel, but its appearance was twisted and terrifying. Exorcists, as they were called, had black halos. Their large wings were without a doubt angelic. But it was their masks that were the most disturbing. Full-head demonic looking masks, each mask sported a pair of black horns with white stripes. 

Staring at the picture, I could see the angel’s mask, its face contorted into a grotesque grin. The image captured the moment of slaughter, a sinner being torn apart beneath those cruel, angelic eyes. 

The revelation struck me like a physical blow, and the foundation of my beliefs seemed to slowly crumble beneath me. It all made sense now—the war-torn buildings of Hell, the streets full of discord, the breaking news, the child’s fear of monsters. It all hit me like a ton of bricks. The reality of what Heaven had become, the truth behind the exterminations, the orphan clutching a dead bird. Everything collided in a horrifying clarity.

At that moment, all the fear and hunger since my arrival in Hell hit me at once. 

The gnawing emptiness in my stomach, a constant reminder of my deprivation, suddenly intensified. Every rumble and ache seemed to echo the torment of this infernal place. The shadows of dread that had been lurking at the edges of my mind surged forward, overwhelming me. The oppressive heat, the unending darkness, and the ceaseless screams that filled the air—all of it converged in a single, crushing wave. My chest tightened, breaths coming in shallow gasps as faintness gripped me. My knees buckled, unable to bear the weight of the cumulative terror and starvation and revelation. 

Before I hit the floor, I caught a brief glimpse of monstrous, elongated claws reaching out. Just before my vision faded to black, I felt those claws catch me, halting my fall. Darkness enveloped me, but the image of that demonic mask remained, seared into my mind.

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

Thanks for reading!

Story is also available on AO3.

Chapter Thirteen: Claw Finger

[burning-fcols]

Even as the son of both a "fallen" angel and one of the oldest, most powerful princes of hell, Gundham had made many, many mistakes over his long life. Which...was really saying something, seeing as he himself was a prince of hell below his father even if his line was "muddied" by his mother's blood, and even if she herself chose to live in hell over heaven by her own volition. He wasn't even supposed to be possible, and yet here he was, by all accounts prince of both heaven and hell, even if his mother had given up her crown as she grew tired of heaven's hypocrisy over the eons. That impure bloodline was why certain things he did were even seen as mistakes, them being the same every other denizen of hell committed, but he was lesser in their eyes. Tarnished, undeserving of even existing, let along holding power over those below him not that he ever truly abused it despite having the ability to. The only reason his father hadn't disowned him was because he saw the halfblood as his way to control both heaven and hell, or at least that had been the plan before the former angel "corrupted" him with her "purity" as if common decency was so vile it deserved to be looked down upon just because it ruined plans born from an unjust and undeserved thirst for power. Now his father just used Gundham to run his numerous sex clubs, the ancient prince seeing himself above such frivolous things, only keeping them up and running as a status symbol, a way to stake his claim and remind the other beings of hell that He was still there. Nevermind the fact that the only reason the clubs were so successful in the first place was because Gundham ran them as an "angel" would, offering newcomers to hell safety, a place to stay, and steady work for pay so long as they played their part. It wasn't even mandatory they do the more "sinful" work if that wasn't what they wanted. The club always needed bartenders, waiters, janitors, DJs, accountants, errand runners, there was always something for someone to do so long as they were willing to earn their keep, there was nothing Gundham hated more than a freeloader that took his generosity for granted and expected the world in return. So very often have newer sinners thought themselves better as they found their footing in this new life, only to come back once they realized that not everyone was as kind and forgiving as Gundham no matter how much he tried to mask it.

It was all a ruse, this niceness, a way to keep a steady employ without the fear of an uprising. It was manipulative, he didn't actually care about any of these former mortals, their souls were his to control and therefore they were safe from any others who may wish to do them harm. That is what he kept telling himself as he approached the sad looking spider he knew to be one of Val's...his property, there was no other word for how he treated those "employed" under him. He had seen this one, watched since the beginning, the pain, the heartbreak, the total collapse of what may have been a half decent soul at the very least to be molded into whatever Val needed him to be. No personality, no defiance, no heart, no soul, none of those were of any use to the moth pimp, as they got in the way of his puppeteering. Gundham had been thinking of ways to get the spider, Angel Dust as he called himself, away from Val by any means he could since he first manifested in hell. A "trade", some sort of bargain or "deal" as their kind was known for making, even flat out stealing him no matter how much Angel would have protested. He may not be able to see it, but it would be for his own good, something Gundham could only hope he would realize in due time. Sure, it would have spelled trouble for Gundham, but he was better, stronger than Val and they both knew it. The only way the wannabe overlord would be able to take the natural born Hellian out, even if he was "weaker" with his "tainted" blood, was by stooping lower then even the most vile of sinners, he would have to kill Gundham, there being no other way the halfblood would ever bow to him. It would mean a war beyond any of the usual turf brawls that endlessly plagued the sinner's ring, one that Val would lose even if he succeeded in killing the prince. His mother would no doubt smite every being in hell should he come to such harm, and even lucifer himself wouldn't dare irk his mother. She was here of her own free will, a former ruler of heaven just as he was, he knew the power she wielded, and that it should not be crossed unless he wished to lose all that he had.

That, and they were rather good friends and had been even before their respective "falls from grace", Gundham having essentially grown beside the heir to hell, Charlie with how often him and his mother would visit their home over the eons. As a matter of fact, his mother was currently having tea with the queen of hell herself, as was their usual weekly custom. All those plans he had mulled through over the years turned out to be rather pointless in the end, Gundham simply stumbling upon the spider in what was either the inevitable crash after a drug induced high, or the devastating aftermath of a broken spirit by one Angel deemed important to him, or perhaps even both knowing how things tended to go in hell... Gundham was running errands procuring appeasement for his latest stolen soul to ensure it's continued loyalty, the halfblood just having stepped out of a portal from earth with a few bags in hand when he spotted the sad shell of the familiar soul looking as if he had seen better days. Hesitating for just a moment, Gundham let out a deep sigh before making his way over to Angel, the halfblood completely forgetting to drop his human disguise as he carefully approached the spider. "Am I correct in the assumption that the pompous fiend that postures with fallacious importance has finally released you from his cage of faux worship, revealing its true form of a self-serving snake oil sale carelessly hidden underneath the hastily painted label of care he parades it to be?" It was more of a hope than a guess, Gundham wishing with every bit of his angelic light that a miracle would find him this day, even if he thought himself undeserving of such pure things... "I offer a boon, if it would please you. The promise of vengeance for all he has wronged, and...one of protection, as I should have offered long before his grasp turned bruisingly cruel..." He was being too open, to forthcoming with his generosity, surely it wouldn't be believed with how scarce it could be found in the festering cesspool of sinners they were all forced to reside in. He would blame that troublesome little bunny for this slip up, Kazuichi having melted quite a bit of the Overlord's ice since his manifestation in hell. That and...he felt guilty for not intervening earlier, simply watching as yet another soul was crushed, used, and tossed to the side once Val was through with them. //scuse me while i make up my own lore for one of angels Good Timelines lmao - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 A slow drag is taken from his cigarette, Angel sucking in as long as his damned lungs will allow. Scarlet smoke swirls within, burning and blazing and BEAUTIFUL as it eases Angel's aching...once its finished clawing him to pieces first. Raking against his insides, feeling as though it leaves bloody trails in its wake ( albeit the spider's blood would blossom a bubblegum pink rather than the rich reds of his chosen chains escape ) he fights back the warning coughs, his body complaining against such a merciless dose of Valentino's potent drug.

As if Angel has ever fucking cared about taking too much of anything.

But once his nerves stop screaming, Angel wondering if he's being incinerated from the inside, the calm comes. A blurring to the pains accosting his body, a sharpness to his surroundings that ironically bring relief rather than repulsion. Sensations are better. Duller ( maybe that's why ) and harder to decipher, but what DOES manage to get through his numbed nerves is... better. He doesn't know how else to put it and can't find the will to try. Ruby billowing from his breath, wispy hearts flutter away to a freedom Angel can only observe in the trails of his master's mercy.

Fuck, he doesn't know what he'd do without decent drugs like this.

And he's terrified to find out.

Knit brows and tapping fingers against his crossed lower arms betray his nervous pondering, Angel vividly aware even in his intoxicated state that if he doesn't pull something BIG soon, he could be cut off. Valentino's cruel grip extends to more than his workers, his personal brand a close-kept secret. If Angel wants the pretty red smoke he's grown to enjoy so much, he'll need to stay in the creator's good graces. It's his own fault really... This mess he's in. He's been distracted lately. Sloppy. Fucking up more shoots than he gets right, talking back when he should keep his mouth shut, DARING to suggest that his latest string of violent customers ( most of which ended up dead at the spider's hand ) are the fault of Valentino.

It was only a matter of time until he spoke one word too many and got a split lip for it. Trembling hand raises his cigarette to bloody lips, Angel wincing as he takes another hit. Glancing at his hand, wrist is mottled with bruises from when Val grabbed him. Dappling his arm and peppering places hidden by the sparkling cocktail dress he'd thrown on in an act of petty defiance ( he might look like Hell, but he'll look like Hell in an expensive fucking dress ) before storming out of his dressing room for the night. Fully intending to be back in the studio by morning. Brushing a hand through his bangs, he blows another cloud with a softly exhaled, ❝ ... Fuck. ❞

Closing his eyes, head lolls back with a heavy exhale. He's in deep shit. If he doesn't give Valentino a reason to forget tonight then— Torn from the dismal abyss of his situation by approaching footsteps, Angel's head snaps in the direction of the stranger. Tense as if expecting to be attacked yet again, fur bristles in an unheeded warning. Not that Angel can blame the other, pathetic as he looks in his human disguise. Angel likely looks far worse, red-rimmed eyes betraying his earlier cries for mercy. Not many demons are permitted to don disguises, so it would be best to tread carefully. Unfortunately for them both, the spider's frayed nerves and fractured spirit isn't in the most self-preserving of moods. Not unless it has to do with keeping his claws BURIED in Valentino's good graces. As good as they can get anyway.

Eyes smoldering with the fire of a cornered animal, stubbornly struggling for survival in a world that isn't worth the effort, they narrow as the stranger starts spewing some flowery speech. With half-a-mind to tune out the aggravating drivel, it's only Angel's surprising ( to some ) ability to decipher the prose that keeps the spider focused. Mainly because it feels like an unintentional insult to his intelligence. Better than the usual slights of others, but still annoying. Suggesting it would take THIS long for Angel to realize Val's true intentions. That he has been blindly believing in the lies prettily spun for him, ensnared in the moth's web without even realizing it. True, he'd been naive at the start... but even that was a lie told to himself.

From the beginning, Angel knew suspected he was making a mistake but did so anyway, if only for a fleeting moment of CONTROL. Choosing to leap into flames with the promise he'd feel warm; disfigured and melted down to his bones but destroyed in a way he set into motion. He hadn't known the full extent of what that roaring fire contained. Hadn't known the personal Hell he was subjecting himself to. But it would still be better than the one he had been thrown into. He had to believe that... To HOPE for that ( for the slim chance that it wasn't a mistake but finally fate giving him a break ) however stupid it made him feel as the terrors began to unfold. A foolish delusion that was steadily shattered by the moth. Film by film, John by John, hit by hit... Night by night. Again and again and again and AGAIN.

❝ I don' need yer ❛ promise ❜ . ❞ Growled through gritted teeth, Angel flicks his still-lit cigarette in the stranger's direction, lips upturned in a snarl he hadn't the courage to show Valentino. ❝ An' I don' need yer PITY. ❞ Eyes glow with a misdirected rage, a faint but tangible desire to cry still shimmering within their pained depths, ❝ An' I DEFINITELY don' need some patronizin' asshole thinkin' he can have fun wit' me 'cause I don' look like I'd fuck him up fer tryin'! ❞ Sharply stepping forward, Angel jabs a finger into he stranger's chest, praying for things to escalate. Not caring whether he wins the fight or not. ❝ I'm not as STUPID as you think I am. I don' go around acceptin' deals from any ol' chump who sings me a sob story 'bout how they wanna help me out. ❞ Waving a hand dismissively as the latter part is spat mockingly, Angel flips his bangs with a scoff, nose scrunched in disgust.

Dark bruise around his eye and cheek on full display.

❝ So take yer ❛ boon ❜ and shove it up yer ass, 'cause I know EXACTLY who th' fuck I belong to an' who th' fuck I am. ❞ A hand presses against his chest, words growing louder... Desperate; as if convincing himself of it just as much as the other. ❝ I'm Angel Fuckin' Dust! Th' biggest fuckin' star Hell has ta offa', th' face in ev'ry fuckin' wet dream, th' bitch who started wit' NOTHIN' and earned ev'rythin'! ❞ His position. His worth. He won't let it slip through his fingers. Won't have this all be for nothing. Voice breaks, Angel cursing the tears stinging his eyes, ❝ I ain't some charity case, so take yer bullshit offa' an' find some other schmuck ta swindle. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

The outburst of frustration and anger is the closest thing to a rejection Prapai has ever given to Sky, it shocks him because Pai has never been angry, reproachful or critical towards him because he’s been bottling it all up in the fear of scaring him away. And so, for the first time, Sky experiences what it feels like to be rejected by the man he genuinely cares about, and even though it lasts only for a minute it hurts him deeply. On the other hand, Prapai has been swallowing constant onslaught of big and small rejections for months now (and not so much rejections of sexual nature but of emotional kind which leave deep scars behind), it’s no wonder all that accumulated pain has boiled over and rightfully so. 

The outburst actually comes from two different places: from the sheer worry for Sky and his safety and from Prapai’s own insecurity that despite all his effort and love he’s given to the younger man, Sky must still think he isn’t important or consequential enough to deserve an explanation. Moreover, it’s intensified by the fact that at this point Pai must be absolutely exhausted from his packed schedule at work, business trips, taking care of Sky and commuting between his office, home and Sky’s apartment. 

This is what hurts him the most - Prapai accepts he is stuck in a one-sided love, he doesn’t mind giving Sky his everything while being satisfied with receiving, seemingly, so very little in return, he gladly becomes his slave or assistant or whatever Sky needs him to be as long as it makes him happy, he respects that Sky doesn’t want to tell him about his traumatic past, but he can’t bear when Sky doesn’t believe in his love and still thinks of him so lowly, as some sex-crazed stalker trying to get laid. It must feel like all that effort has been for naught. It feels like he is asking Sky whether he actually thought about him at least once because he only ever thinks about Sky and how not to make him worried: ‘Have I ever been on your mind? Do you not care even the slightest bit about me still? Is my love for your hopeless after all?’

People often forget how difficult it is to swallow the anger, but Prapai manages it and what’s more, he rolls up his sleeves, ready to complete any work Sky gives him as long it helps him. However, before he does, you can literally watch him to internalise all that hurt inside, resigning himself to the notion that he is the one who should compromise because HE loves Sky, not the other away around, and these little acts of service for Sky might end up being all he ever gets because Sky may never love him back. 

I love how they depict the development of this issue and its resolution - once he sleeps on it and his anger dissipates, he contemplates it, and, in his typical fashion, Pai decides to look at the bright side of things once again as he realises that Sky calling him in the middle of the night actually shows he’s been making progress with him because he keeps reaching out to him on his own. It’s another poignant proof he’s gained and earned Sky’s trust. He goes from the pit of hopelessness to soaring to the sky.

Gradually, Pai has become such a constant in Sky’s life that he began treating him like that as if he was taking him for granted because despite his doubts and insecurities, Sky has already become dependant on Prapai in all sorts of ways, whether it’s for affection, care or help. 

He asks for his help when he has never even asked his closest friends for. In fact, it’s been them who ask for his. When someone so fiercely independent and self-reliant as Sky allows to rely on another person, it speaks of immense trust and powerful emotions.

Still, Prapai’s outburst shocks and scares Sky shitless. Not because he would be afraid of him, but because he fears losing him. He fears he has finally pushed this older and powerful man who can have anyone he desires too far and he may decide he’s had enough and that Sky is just not worth it. For a fleeting moment, Sky once again accepts the worst of him, but Pai yet again surprises him by not abandoning him and by helping him once more. What Sky hasn’t really realised yet is that Prapai can’t deny him anything.

Sky is so frightened by the possibility of losing Pai, of living a life without him in it, that he begins actively trying to stop him from leaving by kisses and touches and flirting and compliments and smiles,... He would do anything to keep Pai by his side and make that sad and angry expression disappear from his face and be replaced by that megawatt smile which always makes his knees weak. He would do anything for Pai to smile at him again. 

And these scenes where he placates him and rewards him reflect his change of heart because contrary to popular believe, Sky isn’t withholding his heart from Wind because his heart has already gone and given himself to him. Sky just hasn’t realise it yet.

[columboscreens]

I know you're a Columbo blog and I'm not trying to stir shit up or to cancel a guy who's been dead for a decade (or cancel anyone else for liking him -- I like Peter Falk, I love Columbo, best TV detective ever), but anyway what do you think about the age gap between him and Shera, meeting her when he was around 45 and she was around 23?

not suggesting he was abusive or anything, and I'm aware she was awful later in his life. but I'm asking what your thoughts are on the age gap

it's a completely understandable question with what i believe to be a rather understandable answer.

i didn't know the guy personally. i respect him greatly as an actor, as an artist, and as an overall kind, intelligent, talented man. nearly everyone who interacted with him liked him on a personal level. i'm genuinely bummed that i'll never get to meet him.

but as columbo teaches us, there's often more than meets the eye, especially when it comes to celebrities. so, too, is the case with peter falk.

the short answer is this: if you want a red-hot acting career, a nightfly lifestyle where you hit the town with the boys all the time, and any semblance of a normal family life...you kind of have to choose only two of those. peter wanted a woman more in line with the choices he made--which is to say, a hot party girl half his age.

in my eyes, the age and power differences between peter and his second wife, shera danese, are worthy of the eyebrow raise you'd get from most people given those gaps. after all, he was 46 and she was 24. but frankly, at 24 your brain is just about fully grown. and though i can't claim to know, my gut doubts he was out to prey on her or exploit a power dynamic so much as he was trying desperately to reclaim his youth and maintain his carousing lifestyle with--you guessed it--a hot party girl half his age. tale as old as time.

if you want the long answer with more background and history, read on:

if you don't know it by now, by every account you can possibly read, and in a stark contrast to columbo's devotion to his wife, peter falk was an utterly incorrigible philanderer. i'm not here to judge, nor am i here to armchair the psychology of a guy who's been dead for over a decade, but he definitely had an intoxicating, interminable fixation on women that strongly impinged upon his family life. one account that i'd read implied that he'd been that way since high school; being as charming and attractive as he was, he certainly never suffered a shortage of women wanting to sleep with him. he was simply a man with a natural propensity towards that particular deadly sin, especially coupled with the strong, sometimes negative influences of friends john cassavetes and ben gazzara.

there's some hearsay about his behavior and various involvements with other women, but the fact of the matter is, peter met shera danese while filming mikey and nicky in philadelphia and kept her as a mistress--while very much still married to his first wife, alyce mayo.

peter met alyce at syracuse, dabbling in theatre while earning his master's and trying to find something to do with his life. a petite, dark-haired thing, alyce's bailiwicks were fashion, art, and music; she mainly worked behind the scenes costuming and would later go on to design high-end fabric patterns and teach piano. in this instance, she happened to be understudying as one of the sprites in a school performance of shakespeare's the tempest.

he was very attracted to her disposition, artistic skill, and free spirit, though he hadn't yet worked up the nerve to ask her out. but don't let me tell you, let peter:

so he was like "Haha Hell Yeah Up Mine" and in love they fell for nearly three decades.

the two were uniquely close in that they connected very well as friends aside from being romantically entwined. they traveled together, supported each other's careers, and he valued her judgement; even after their divorce, he continued to go to her for advice. it's probably part of why they stayed together for so long, trying desperately to make everything work, despite the numerous strains put on their marriage.

but even on their wedding day, alyce had doubts. it'd taken peter nine years of dating to propose to her, and that was due in part to pressure from his parents to grow up and settle down. he'd always enjoyed the company of other women and spending nights carousing with his buddies, and he was never quite as keen as she on the idea of raising a family.

they actually, in a rather impressive feat, seemed to make things work for them through the 50s and 60s as peter kickstarted his acting career. when he hopped around on various location shoots, oftentimes she was able to travel with him. he wasn't massively busy like he became in the late 60s-70s for obvious reasons. they didn't have kids. but even then alyce had made concessions and sacrifices--her career in nyc and his all over the place meant they had to work hard to keep things together.

alyce and peter tried for children, but she struggled greatly. by the early 70s, they'd adopted two girls, jackie and catherine. peter had always loved children, and very clearly loved his daughters, but it was equally clear that his family life suffered as a result of his lifestyle.

he continued traveling for work, though by that point alyce was unable to accompany him as easily because of the children, and as she well knew, he often fell prey to the various temptations that surrounded him. she felt trapped, and with the offer of stability that was columbo, the family settled in LA in a final attempt to spread roots.

unfortunately, the only thing that spread was the cracks in their marital foundation. gazzara and cassavetes, legendary as their friendship was, seemed to play a role in enabling peter's hedonistic behavior, bringing out night after night the boy who only longed to party and philander til dawn.

by 1973, while filming mikey and nicky in philadelphia, peter saw shera walking down the street, and that was that. she followed him to LA and remained his mistress until, despite attempts at reconciliation, alyce had finally had enough and kicked peter out of the house in '76. they divorced the same year, and peter and shera were married the very next.

but it wasn't long before peter's second marriage became even more turbulent than his first. as it turns out, it's awfully hard to teach an old dog new tricks. he'd continued his lifelong pattern of unfaithful behavior during his marriage to shera, except this time he wasn't as beholden to his family. he could never really figure out how to keep his hands to himself, by which she, as his long-term mistress, was somehow blindsided.

there was, too, the unforseen limitation of them not only being from two completely different generations, but also not being able to agree on literally anything. everything was a fight with them. most interviews and media you can find of the two of them poke fun at their constant discord, but it's always palpable.

for emphasis, in the columbo episode murder of a rock star, shera and peter got into one of their trademark massive fights and she stormed off the set, refused to finish her scenes, and left to go clothes shopping. when some of the crew went to retrieve her, she refused to return, so they had to rewrite and film the final scene around her. and if you've watched the episode, you can definitely tell.

when asked what the two had in common, they always said "we both like the color blue" as perhaps some sort of inside joke for not actually having much in common, but they were so well-known for their heated blowouts that they came to be known in hollywood as the "fighting falks". they upheld that namesake well: the two separated several times and attempted to divorce twice. they did, at the very least, remain married until his death.

so there you have it. aside from the fact that this relationship was an egregious display of infidelity, do i think the age gap was particularly healthy? were they well suited where it mattered most? did it fix peter falk's midlife crisis? i'm in no position to judge. draw your own conclusions from the information given.

was their relationship wrong simply by virtue of that gap? i don't think so.

[incredibly-cold]

A little (very long) angbang headcannon

Mairon needs to feel like he has earned affection. He is a Maia, which means it's his purpose to serve the Valar. He's very good at it when they are still working on the forming of the world, as his natural drive to create order and perfection is extremely helpful in the constant struggle against Melkor. He earns the name Admirable because of his deeds in those early days.

After Tulkas chases Melkor away, and the Ainur finished making the world, he feels a severe lack of purpose. This is where his loyalty starts to falter. Aulë loves him, but Mairon does not feel that it is for good reason. He cannot accept being loved simply for existing, and it becomes downright unpleasant and patronizing for him to be coddled when he doesn't feel that he is accomplishing anything.

So he joins Melkor. Pleasing him is an accomplishment greater even than laying the foundations of the world, because he is the only one who has ever succeeded at the task. More than that, Melkor isn't one to flatter him for no reason, and he doesn't hide when he is displeased with him, though that is not often. His opinion becomes more important than anything else, and because of his drive to serve, so does helping him achieve his goals. Melkor doesn't have the patience to be truly effective at world domination, he's far more suited to destruction, but with Mairon he becomes much more precise and formidable. That earns him a fair amount of affection, the most that Melkor gives to anyone, as well as a position of greater power than Maiar are typically given. Eventually he's almost singlehandedly turning Melkor's ideas into strides toward world domination. Not because he wants it, but because he wants Melkor to be happy with him. But for all of his wisdom in strategy, the situation Melkor got them into when he took the Silmarils is not one that he can fix, and Melkor finally falls in the war of wrath.

After Melkor is gone, Mairon begs Eonwë for mercy. It is genuine, because in the shock of it all he has a moment of clarity and realizes the truly insane lengths he went to just to feel like he was worth something. Again, he never truly cared about world domination, but rather earning affection by being the best. It was just happenstance that the way to earn that was through world domination. But realizing that doesn't mean he's willing to face consequences for his actions, so when Eonwë says he will have to go before the Valar, he runs.

He is not a complete fool though, and he has no reason to return to his old ways. He decides he will be satisfied with his accomplishments alone and not seek out the approval of others. He leads a fairly simple life, more out of fear of being found by the Ainur and dragged to the Máhanaxar for judgement than a love of simplicity. Unfortunately, being in command for thousands of years has made him ill-suited for the chaos of every day life. People are inefficient and they make mistakes and there is so much waste in the world, and he knows he could fix it if everyone would just do as he says, but no one cares what he says because he's nobody. He's not been patient or understanding in so long and sometimes it's hard to restrain himself from getting his way through violence, which simply doesn't horrify him the way it does others.

So he turns instead to manipulation and seduction to get his way, and he goes to Eregion. Celebrimbor is brilliant and eager to please. The way that he shuts out all other influence in favor of praise from the only one whose he deems worth striving for reminds Mairon of himself. He's so easy to trick and to use and he can see himself reflected in that. It almost hurts him, but self pity won't do him any good so long after the fact, so instead he takes pride in the fact that he is following in Melkor's footsteps. He does love Celebrimbor, but not enough that having one elf wrapped around his finger will satisfy him after being second in command to Melkor. He takes some comfort in that, as a reassurance that Melkor did love him. He knows that one Maia was not enough for the Valar who by right should have been king of all the world, and he can't really be hurt by that when it was his nature. And Melkor could never be truly destroyed, so maybe if he can actually take over the world, he can bring Melkor back, and he will be pleased with him and have all he ever wanted, and then things will be different.

So he manipulates and betrays Celebrimbor, and it doesn't work out the way he wants it to. He tortures this elf who he loves, even if he did use him, and who loved him back for so long; the first person to really love him since Aulë. And he has another horrible moment of clarity. He realizes that he's making the same mistakes as before, and that this time it's worse because he can't claim cluelessness or naïvety. In Eregion he has had power and control, and people did as he said, or at least as Celebrimbor did, and those were one and the same because Celebrimborwould do anything to please him. The city was glorious and prosperous until he destroyed it, and wasnt glory and prosperity his reason for starting this in the first place? Now he is turning to vicious cruelty just to please someone who is lost to the void, probably forever. He sees that on a deep level, everything that has gone wrong in history is because of his own ambition or his need to be loved by Melkor. He helped Melkor destroy the lamps, and if not for that his master might not have been locked in Mandos at all. More than that, it cause Yavanna to make the two trees, which made Feänor create the Silmarils, which made the War of Wrath happen and Melkor get thrown into the void and now he has ruined this chance at a fresh start and the new dream that he had made in his years on his own

But what's done is done, and all he can do is be aware and upset about it. Ever the utilitarian, he refuses to be so unproductive, so he kills Celebrimbor instead of continuing to hurt him. He is already on a path, and he's been on it since before elves came into the world. He will follow it to its end, whether that means his own destruction, his dominion over Middle Earth, or finally getting Melkor back. And he hopes, foolishly, that he will get him back. Melkor will really love him then, like Aulë and Celebrimbor used to love him, and Mairon will know that he is worthy of that love. And once he feels loved by the only one whose opinion he truly values, maybe he will finally be satisfied.

[genshin-impacted]

deserved // Zhongli x Reader (NSFW)

Word Count: ~2k

Notes: female reader, Zhongli/Reader, established relationship, just two people who love each other exploring what the other enjoys, NSFW (see below)

nsfw mentions: spanking/humiliation, brat!reader, dom!zhongli, dom/sub dynamics, implied afab, penetration, kink exploration!!

Summary: "There are certainly many things I am not knowledgeable on, and this is one of them." Zhongli says (modestly, in your opinion), "But human pleasure and pain have... always been complexly intertwined, and if this is something that will provide you that joy, then I would like to try-- for you."

So you want him to wield a harder hand-- he can do that.

.

.

.

"You would like me to... hit you?" Zhongli asks hesitantly, his furrowed brows and hesitance a clear sign of his confusion.

"Well, yes, but in a very specific way," you explain very clinically. He has always liked that about you, being able to keep a level head and being upfront about topics of importance or about things that would have normally been embarrassing for other people. It makes your points clear, which is ever so helpful with the many human things he has yet to comprehend. "Spanking over the knee as punishment, more specifically."

"Punishment?" Zhongli echoes. He is familiar with the term but he would have never associated its need when it comes to you. "Why would I punish you?"

At this, you give him a playfully withering look. "Zhongli, you can't possibly say I don't mess up sometimes and show up late or forget to do something." You tease, "There's plenty to punish me for."

"But... I do not wish to punish you for those," Zhongli protests, and you feel yourself soften when he holds onto your hand, insistent. "Bound to contracts as I am, I would never cause harm upon you, regardless of mistakes such as those."

"I know," you say softly. "Sorry, I guess that wasn't very clear. But I meant... you would 'punish' me for... 'misbehaving.'" At his increasingly concerned look, you laugh. "I think it makes sense if you view it in a more sexual way, babe." (Zhongli feels himself flush at the way one of the pet names you have given to him rolls off your tongue so naturally.)

"You're not really mad at me," you continue, "but you can act like you are mildly displeased in order to punish me for something I did- or I guess, in this case, for what I didn't do. Like, listen to you, or something."

"I see." Zhongli pauses thoughtfully. "And this would be enjoyable to you? I will not be causing you harm by doing this?"

"Well, if it did, I agreed to try it, and I could always let you know to stop," you say, reminding him. "Our safe word and all." You crack a smile. "And I think the physical harm is part of the pleasure. As well as the emotional. But since I know you aren't really hitting me because you, I don't know, hate me or something, it should be fine."

"I don't hate you," Zhongli replies immediately. "I love you."

You feel your heart clench at the easy admission of his feelings for you and squeeze his hands. "I know. I love you too." You clear your throat. "Which is exactly why I trust you to do this with me and be able to enjoy it."

"We can always try again if it doesn't work out," you say. "But are you okay with doing this?"

"There are certainly many things I am not knowledgeable on, and this is one of them." Zhongli says (modestly, in your opinion), "But human pleasure and pain have... always been complexly intertwined, and if this is something that will provide you that joy, then I would like to try-- for you." You beam at his response and Zhongli feels comforted by the fact that you have always been patient and have proven to be so even now.

"We'll work it out," you tell him. "But you have verbal consent to do it whenever you think is appropriate... though I think I can probably act in a way that'll make it easy for you."

Zhongli blinks. "What do you mean, my dear?"

Your eyes twinkle.

.

.

.

You are a playful person at heart, and Zhongli thinks that has been one of the (many) reasons why he is in love with you the way he is. You bring levity into his life, a sense of appreciation for the world around you that is simple in its beauty, finding joy wherever it can be found. He is not surprised to find himself faced with a very similar attitude in the bedroom where you tease and coax, making him feel the need to hold you down and claim you as his (much to your delight).

("You are a minx," he mutters into the crook of your neck that he had, not a moment ago, ravaged with lovebites. You only laugh, hugging his head and pulling him closer, the marks on your body the spoils of victory.)

Zhongli understands now what you meant how it would be a natural progression to introduce your latest kink when you decide to rock yourself onto him with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Pay attention to me, your hands say, trailing over his shoulders seductively. Notice me.

The book in his hand will always pale in comparison when it comes to you; you need not have tried to demand his attention at all when you could simply ask for it. But as a result, he had requested a few minutes to read, to which you would have normally acquiesced to quite easily. But today, he finds that you are impatient, almost impudent in the way you demand his attention.

A brat.

His heart beats steadily faster than usual (but it always is when it comes to you) when he says your name firmly, a hard tone in his voice that has not been there before. You notice immediately. Zhongli almost wants to look at your reaction if the way you freeze is any indication of how his tone affected you.

So you want him to wield a harder hand-- he can do that.

"Will you not listen to me?" He asks, hand curling around the small of your back. His hands have always been much bigger than yours, but at the moment it seems ever more expansive with the way he commands the room. "Do you need my attention that badly?"

Your retort is quick and sharp in a futile attempt to gain the upper hand, despite the way your cheeks redden. "No," you say immediately, eyes trailing down his unbuttoned shirt collar. "I was... just bored is all."

You gasp when he grabs hold of your wandering hands, his eyes flashing dangerously when he speaks. "How unfortunate. For you to disturb my peace and to lie to me..." Zhongli says calmly, "I believe we need a reminder for you on how to behave properly."

"Get on my lap, since you want to be on it so much, and I'll make sure you remember clearly." You open your mouth to protest and he shoots you a sharp look. "I will not say it a second time."

You glare at him, but that is all you do in protest. Quietly, you swing your leg off of him and delicately place yourself onto his lap, your head hanging down from one end and your legs on the other. Zhongli watches, mesmerized, as you 'reluctantly' submit to his words and display yourself for him with pressed lips, a heated face, and a subtly hidden look of anticipation.

Zhongli takes your consent in mind and does not ask before he sweeps your skirt up to your hip, making you jerk in surprise. He temporarily admires the round of your ass, the fullness of your cheeks, and thinks for the first time that he may enjoy watching how it bounces from the impact of his hand. His rubbing on the curve of your right buttock is the only warning you get before he raises his hand and spanks your ass.

The involuntary sound you make from impact is obscene.

Judging from the way you clamp your mouth with both hands, Zhongli thinks you hadn't anticipated doing such a thing either, and if anything, that makes it all the more attractive for him to have heard it. He looks back at your ass and decides you can take another hit if not a few more. (For both yours and his sake, it is a good thing indeed.)

Zhongli hits the same spot for good measure, and you gasp, back curling slightly as a response. He smacks your other side soundly, earning him another sound; grabbing your ass into his hands before spanking it again consecutively makes you cry out again in a way that makes it evident that it's from pleasure rather than pain.

It goes straight into his cock, and Zhongli has to resist the thought of it hardening for now.

You are covering your mouth from embarrassment, however, and that won't do.

"Put your hands by your sides," Zhongli commands, making you freeze. "This is your punishment; I intend to hear every sound that comes from your mouth."

You place your hands to the side, your fingers digging into his leg to resist the urge to move it back. "Z-Zhongli," you stammer out, wiggling your lower half.

Zhongli takes a gander and slips his hand into your panties and comes out with his fingers wet.

"You're dripping," Zhongli says bluntly. He glances at you as you reflexively hide your face in embarrassment, only to quickly place it down in memory of his command. "How long have you been aroused, dearest? How long did you go wanting me until it was too much to bear?"

You whimper in response, your ass wriggling in his firm hold. "Hold still," he tells you, and when you plant your feet firmly onto the ground stubbornly, he slaps your ass again. A few times, for good measure-- a symphony of gasps falling from your lips, and you stop moving immediately.

The power over you, and the enjoyment you take from being controlled, is intoxicating.

"Good girl," he says instead, trailing a hand down your thigh in praise. Your hand grip into his leg in response, ass rising ever so slightly as though to urge him to continue-- though it has long stopped being a 'punishment' for you anyways.

Zhongli takes care to spank mainly on the convex of your ass, lovingly swatting below and upon your thigh to shock a lovely gasp from your lips. He watches as you rub your legs together in an attempt to abate the sting of the spank and relieve the tension below. When you become muted, he takes a peek at your expression and feels his breath leave him at how your lips are slightly parted, panting, and your eyes glazed over with pleasure.

Utterly submissive, he thinks, watching as you choke out another sound in between a gasp and whine. You may be enjoying yourself thoroughly, but he thinks he enjoys this kink of yours (and his, too now) if you end up looking irresistible like this, in a different way from the way you can dominate him, fucked out and completely pliant for him.

"Did you learn your lesson at all, I wonder," he says, gently tracing his fingers on your tender cheeks. When you nod your head furiously at his question, sniffling, he smiles, rubbing soothing circles onto your back. "You were very good for me, darling, taking all that for me.” He allows you to maneuver yourself until you are delicately straddling him again. He kisses at the plump of your cheeks, holding out his hand so you may sit comfortably on him without rubbing yourself raw with your already sensitive skin. In response, you melt into him, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him, and his heart feels full to bursting with affection for you and the vulnerability you have allowed him to see.

"I'll take care of you, my love," he says. "I have a soothing balm that will surely be of great use; I'll pull up a bath for you and make you comfortable."

Zhongli is surprised when you pull yourself away from him to see your pout, adorably petulant, your hand roaming down to where his cock has been hard for the past session.

"My darling is greedy today, aren't you?" He teases and chuckles when you make a disgruntled noise even as you unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants. "No? You aren't greedy?" He helps you pull his pants down as he lifts himself up, grinding himself onto you. "You can be if you so wish," he says, as you look at him pleadingly.

He could have demanded you to speak to him and tell you what you wanted, but he decides against it. He aids you when you line yourself up for him and carries you down gently when you sink yourself onto him. The look on your face is pure bliss, and you have never looked more like a temptation.

Zhongli bites onto your exposed collarbone and lets you ride out your high for as long as you desire. It is, after all, what you deserve.