#the knowledge of the passage of time is a curse

[ineffag-swag]

Anyone else suffering from chronic not being able to rewatch things syndrome

[nymphilily]

I don't like knowing that in a little over two years IDOLiSH7 will be 10 years old

[chimkin-samich]

Posted it on the clock app right here

Context under the cut

But basically we came up with a new AU that I've been calling "Unphotogenic" for simplistic obvious reasons in which it diverts from our og au and it involves Tari working as a photographer (used more as a backpack carrying assistant) for a studio affiliated with fazcorp and situated in the pizzaplex to take care of every picture to take for birthdays and events, discouraging ppl to use their own cameras, phones, flashes, or hire other groups of photographers unfamiliar with safety rules and obstructing passage to important vacating areas for staff.

In this au the boys didn't get their upgrade either, the best they got is a fix to their face's internal mechanisms to be able to move eyebrows, close eyelids and slightly move the corners of their mouths , but that's about it.

I tried, truly, to go with the full biblically accurate look but I, as a person, am so unserious I had to grant them at least the bare minimum of expression or I was going to giggle my checks off every serious scene.

Also... I want to curse you with the knowledge that the age I went by is approximately canonical to the time they've been built and activated first.

They're OLD OLD lmao

Even if they consider themselves to have "two birthdays each, one is the system date, the other is when they gained full sentience and emotional spectrum.

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Art of LBM

Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?

The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died. 

 Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge. 

No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.

On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.

“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.” 

“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly. 

“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”

Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”

“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”

“Alright, need anything from me?”

“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.

Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”

“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.

“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.

“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.

While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work. 

When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form. 

This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!” 

His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.

The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”

“I — what?”

“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”

“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.

“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”

“Constantine said you were a child”

“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”

“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said. 

“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.

“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.

He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.

“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.

“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”

“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”

“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”

“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”

Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.

“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”

“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before. 

Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?

Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.

“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.

The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.

Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.

If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor. 

“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.

The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.

He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.

Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”

The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.

“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Elements of the 10 Story Genres

by Blake Snyder

The 3 elements of a BUDDY LOVE story

An incomplete hero who is missing something physical, ethical, or spiritual; (s)he needs another to be whole.

A counterpart who makes that completion come about or has qualities the hero needs.

A complication, be it a misunderstanding, personal or ethical viewpoint, epic historical event, or the prudish disapproval of society.

DUDE WITH A PROBLEM

An innocent hero who is dragged into a mess without asking for it—or even aware of how he got involved.

A sudden event that thrusts our innocent(s) into the world of hurt—and it comes without warning.

A life or death battle is at stake—and the continued existence of an individual, family, group, or society is in question.

FOOL TRIUMPHANT

A fool whose innocence is his strength and whose gentle manner makes him likely to be ignored—by all but a jealous “Insider” who knows too well.

An establishment, the people or group a fool comes up against, either within his midst, or after being sent to a new place in which he does not fit—at first.

A transmutation in which the fool becomes someone or something new, often including a “name change” that’s taken on either by accident or as a disguise.

GOLDEN FLEECE

A road spanning oceans, time—or across the street—so long as it demarcates growth. It often includes a “Road Apple” that stops the trip cold.

A team or a buddy the hero needs to be guided along the way. Usually, it’s those who represent the things the hero doesn’t have: skill, experience, or attitude.

A prize that’s sought and is something primal: going home, securing a treasure, or re-gaining a birthright.

INSTITUTIONALIZED

Every story in this category is about a group—a family, an organization, or a business that is unique.

The story is a choice, the ongoing conflict pitting a “Brando” or “Naif” vs. the system’s “Company Man.”

Finally, a sacrifice must be made and you get three endings: join, burn it down… or commit “suicide.”

MONSTER IN THE HOUSE

A monster that is supernatural in its powers—even if its strength derives from insanity—and “evil” at its core.

A house, meaning an enclosed space that can include a family unit, an entire town, or even “the world.”

A sin. Someone is guilty of bringing the monster in the house… a transgression that can include ignorance.

OUT OF THE BOTTLE

A wish asked for by the hero or another, and the clearly seen need to be delivered from the ordinary.

A spell, which we must make logical by upholding “The Rules.”

A lesson: Be careful what you wish for! It’s the running theme in all OOTB’s. Life is good as it is.

RITES OF PASSAGE

A life problem: from puberty to midlife to death—these are the universal passages we all understand.

A wrong way to attack the mysterious problem, usually a diversion from confronting the pain.

A solution that involves acceptance of a hard truth the hero has been fighting, and the knowledge it’s the hero that must change, not the world around him.

SUPERHERO

The hero of your tale must have a special power—even if it’s just a mission to be great or do good.

The hero must be opposed by a nemesis of equal or greater force, who is the “self-made” version of the hero.

There must be a curse for the hero that he either surmounts or succumbs to as the price for who he is.

WHYDUNIT

The detective does not change, we do; yet he can be any kind of gumshoe—from pro to amateur to imaginary.

The secret of the case is so strong it overwhelms the worldly lures of money, sex, power, or fame. We gots to know! And so does the Whydunit hero.

Finally, the dark turn shows that in pursuit of the secret, the detective will break the rules, even his own — often ones he has relied on for years to keep him safe. The pull of the secret is too great.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[edgeray]

hii edge! is it possible if i request an arlecchino/reader with beauty & the beast au :0? thank you so much in advance aaaaaa i love your writing so much it always makes my day^^

To Break a Curse

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! Of course, here's going to be my reminder that if you request from me again as an anon, give yourself a name/emoji :). So I technically have already made a beauty and beast au (here is the link), but I suppose I could just rewrite the concept. The original au did differ a lot from the ‘disney’ version so for this one, so for this one, I will actually try to align this more with the disney version. Slightly dark because I'm not going to have talking kettles and candlesticks in here. Will be assuming gn! reader for this. Also I'm glad that you enjoy my works and bit sorry for the delay ^^ I am so sorry the ending is shitty at the end I am deadass about to fall asleep, I was this close 🤏 to falling asleep. I was typing with my eyes close lol. It's like 3:30AM for me so I'm gonna hit the hay. Maybe I should stop writing these at 12AM lol.  Content warnings / info - mean arle at the start, semi-graphic violence, prolly forgetting something but I'm tired, 2.7k words 

You've heard of the rumored forsaken prince, everyone in your village has. People rarely mention her by name, opting to call the cursed prince ‘the Beast,’ based on her animal-like claws and her temperament–just as vicious as a feral beast. The castle which she alone resides in sits on the outskirts of the forest next to your village. Every villager warns you to never trespass into the Beast's territory, unless you wished to never return. However, you've never believed in the existence of the Beast and her castle--after all, you've gone to the forests numerous times and have never encountered her. Perhaps this was just a way to scare off children from getting lost. 

Today, you learned how wrong you were. Venturing into the forest to forage for your dinner, you had accidentally delved too deep into the forest, now lost. Night approached soon as you searched for an escape or a shelter, but your search was unsuccessful.

Trudging through the forest, you heave for breath, your feet aching from traversing the rough terrain of the forest, not helped by the uncomfortable shoes you chose to wear. You thought that the foraging wouldn't take long but you found a large patch of mushrooms that led you deeper into the forest than you intended. You gaze up at the sky, it being pitch black with only the moonlight and the stars guiding you through. 

The shadows produced by the trees unnerve you, your imagination and paranoia warping them into abstract monsters stalking you. You know that there is nothing in the forest that can hurt you, unless the rare bear, but the knowledge didn't soothe you any more. You feel something hit your forehead–something light and small… and wet. It takes a couple more droplets before you realize it’s now downpouring. You bite your lip out of frustration, wrapping your arms around yourself to store as much body heat to yourself. Your footsteps speed up and you look more frantically, until you see something imposing in the distance. It's hard to make out in the fog, but it seems like the outline of some sort of building. 

You run towards it, only to be faced with a wall. You follow along it until you reach a gate, and behind the gate, you can vaguely make out a structure larger and more obscene than anything you've ever seen before; it looks nothing like the village establishments. If anything, it dwarfs your entire village as a whole, likely massive enough to fit your village inside based on the height alone. At least this would provide you shelter from the rain and cold, is the only consideration you make before pushing open the gates and rushing down the stone path. 

You nearly trip over the stone passage and as you arrive at the entrance, you soon realize it’s a castle. Its uncanny shape now makes some sense, but from then on lack of light through the windows, it seems like no one lives here. You press on, entering the castle. You’re thankful you're no longer being pelted by the rain and then you're immediately struck with awe from the decor and grandiose of the interior. Although the castle is unlit, you're still able to make out some details of the room you enter. Admiring the spiral staircase and the magnificent pillars, a thought strikes you. Why does no one inhabit the castle? 

Abruptly, there is the sound of something shuffling and it makes your marveling halt. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and fear clenches onto you tightly as the incessant terror of not being as alone as you though plagues you. Spinning around, you search for the origins of the sound only to scare yourself when you accidentally kick against a piece of furniture. You yelp out, before silencing yourself when you cognize it was nothing. 

And then a thud. And another, coming from behind you. Paralysis enraptures your body and before you have the time to breathe, a heavy weight crashes into you, making you tumble into the ground. You let out a scream, turning around to view what just struck you, and two glowing red orbs stare back at you. You gasp wildly, trying to scramble away when your throat is suddenly tightened and you're forced against the ground. It feels like claws are just barely brushing against your neck, threatening to puncture into you if you so much as breathe. A whimper escapes you and a whispered plea escapes you as you lock your eyes on the pair of red. 

“P-please…” 

A deep, resounding voice responds to you, causing shivers down your body. “What are you doing in my home?”

Tears well in your eyes and you try your best to speak as clearly as possible. “I-I'm sorry. I didn't k-know! I'll go, p-please let me go!” You beg, your hands raise to pry off the hand over your throat but a feral growl stops you. 

“Do you know whose home you intruded into?” 

You shake your head. The grip around your neck intensifies for a few moments.

“Speak.”

“N-no…” 

“This is my castle, Prince Arlecchino's. Though, the villagers like to call me something else… what was it, ‘the Beast?’”

You suck in an audible breath as your eyes grow wide. This is the Beast? The Beast is real? Then are the rumors of people disappearing in the castle true as well? What will happen to you? Your mind goes into a frenzy, with all the wonderings of what the Beast would do to you.

“P-please don't kill m-me…”

“Kill you? No,” the Beast answers coldly. The hold on your throat slackens and the Beast’s hand slips away. “I won't kill you. But you've trespassed my home. And for that, you will remain here, for the rest of your life.” 

“W-what? B-but,” you breath is caught when you feel a tug on your arm pulling you up to your feet, the same claws that pressed against your neck digs shallowly into your arm, making you wince. 

“This is your punishment,” the Beast says, its red pupils glaring down at you coldly. You gulp, but accept your fate. The Beast could easily kill you with one swipe of her hand. 

“Follow,” it instructs, and you do, trailing behind the Beast as it navigates the dark surroundings effortlessly, a testament to how long it's been here. You trip over another piece of furniture, making you stumble onto the ground. 

“I'm sorry–” you stammer out an apology immediately.

“Be quiet,” gruffed the Beast. You scramble to get up but feel yourself hoisted up, by the Beast presumably. You yelp from the sudden position, now carried in a bridal style–its hold is surprisingly gentle and its claws don't prick you.

“Where are you taking me?” You inquire, clutching onto the Beast’s shoulder–which for some reason shocks you that it’s firm just like any other human, although you know that the Beast is a human–when it goes up the staircase. 

“A guest chamber.”

“A guest chamber?” 

“Would you prefer the dungeon?”

“No… thank you… Prince Arlecchino.”

The Beast pauses its movements, halting in place. 

Your thoughts flood with anxiety, wondering if this would trigger a violent reaction from the Beast. “Did I offend you? I’m sorry, I really am.” 

“No. It's just been a long while since someone referred to me from my title.” The Beast continues walking, unaware of how its–her–words shattered your mindset. 

That's right, how could you forget? ‘The Beast’ is still a human, cursed or not. Perhaps Prince Arlecchino deserved being inflicted by a curse, but you could not imagine yourself with the fate instilled on the forsaken prince, nor being singularly called ‘the Beast’ by every waking person. It's dehumanizing and awfully isolating, and it makes you question how long it has been since she's been called that, how long it has been since she has been seen as a human. 

It makes your heart ache. 

You count the flight of stairs that she goes up, and then for the first time, you see orange light coming from one of the rooms at the end of a corridor–an open fire likely. As the Prince walks closer to the room, you're able to make out more details; it's a bedroom, but more apparently, you can finally see her. You tilt your head up, and you expectedly, yet unexpectedly at once, you view a very princely face: pale, flawless skin framed by snow white hair and ebony strands, and sharp jaw. Prince Arlecchino glances down at you, sharp cross-shaped pupils burrowing into you. Her expression seems curious of yours. 

“You do look like a prince…” you think out loud absentmindedly, your face flushing as you realize your verbalization. 

The Prince says nothing, thankfully, and doesn't note your fluster. You look away from her face and glance at her hands. Like you've heard from the villagers, they are black, as if dipped in ink and her nails are red claws. Though what the villagers have yet to mention was the markings on her forearm, which are, admittedly, entrancing. She finally sets you down once she enters her chamber, which is obviously well-lived in. 

Taking a nearby candle holder and a few logs of wood set nearby the hearth the Prince silently exits her room to go into the room next to hers. You follow her into the room, this one obviously not used but still has a lot of furniture. Using the logs and the candlestick, she ignites the hearth and what you assume is going to be your room fills with heat and light. 

“This is your room from now on. Do not ask for me for the rest of the night,” she gruffs, and closes the door behind her. Her footsteps go away towards the direction of her bedroom. 

You blink, reality setting in. You’re still in your wet clothes, but you can't do much but strip and wrap yourself in dry sheets. You do exactly that, before sinking into the bed. It's like how you imagine sinking into a cloud to be–you fall to slumber in the manner of minutes. 

— 

You do not see her until the next morning, when the sun finally peaks out and you're able to see where you walk. Exiting your room, you note that she's not in her chamber, and you wander the castle. A whiff of something metallic combined with a musk catches your attention and you travel down the stairs until you reach the ground floor. You spot a figure crouched over something, and when you near the sight more, you discover the Prince hunched over a deer carcass. A sickening rip makes you cringe as a limb is torn off from the body. 

“P-prince?” You ask hesitantly. The Prince turns, a calm expression over her face. Only a bit of blood smears her lips. 

“Yes?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Eating. It is also for you.” 

You stew in silence long enough for the Prince to turn back and resume. “Prince Arlecchino, how long have you been surviving like this?” 

“Since I was cursed.” 

Your heart aches again. “It is raw.”

“Indeed.” 

“It cannot be good for you.”

“It is all I have.” 

It is a sad sight. You think that ‘the Beast’ fits her the best here, like a starved animal instead of a human trying to live. 

“Prince Arlecchino, if you allow me, I can improve your eating experience. It would be healthier for you and it would be more appealing to eat.” 

The Prince perks up her head, glancing back at you.

That day, the Prince learns of the wonders of cooked venison. And perhaps, you've never seen a brighter, warmer light than the one that glints in the Prince's at her first taste. 

—

“What is it that you're reading?” 

Arlecchino glances up from her book. “It is a romance novel.”

“I didn't think that you'd be interested in such things, Prince.” 

“You grow curious about things you do not have.” 

You frown and contemplate. It seems like… she's always wanted company. “Prince, may I ask you why you chose to isolate yourself here?”

The Prince remains quiet for several moments before she responds, in a voice uncharacteristically quiet. “The villagers do not accept my appearance.”

“Because of your curse?”

“Yes. They’re afraid of me. Of my eyes, of my hands. Of my strength.” 

“Have you not tried undoing the curse?”

She bitterly laughs. “There is nothing that breaks the curse. It is impossible.”

You narrow your eyes. “There must be something. There's no such thing as an unbreakable curse.”

“You are right. However, the conditions to break this one is… unobtainable.”

“What is it?”

 The Prince's gaze shifts from you to the stack of books that pile by her bedside. You recognize some of the titles from your village library–they were all in the romance category. You never realize until now that the Prince looks at them with a hopeless longing. “To be loved and to love, is what it is in simple terms.”

There is that heartache again. 

You shake your head, trying to any more painful thoughts circling around the Prince. “If you truly gave up on breaking your curse, you would not still be alive, would you?”

“I will not entertain this thought,” is all she says, but you know her answer already. 

You sigh. “Can I at least… read with you?”

The Prince tilts her head and pauses. A clawed hand grasps onto yours, and you're pulled into her lap. The steady heartbeat of Arlecchino's can be felt from the contact. 

— 

It takes several weeks for you to figure that the Prince does not enforce her punishment. You have escaped out of the castle before, if only to find more things to forage. She has seen you exit out of the castle but she does not chase you or force you to return back. Although you’d like to see the village again, you're also not sure if you do want to go back–the castle is quite comfortable and you’ve had enough of petty village squabbles. You wonder why it is that she doesn't stop you, why she was so forceful of it at the beginning. 

You recall the discussion regarding her curse. She had given up on finding a way to break her curse, however, she had always sought out company. Perhaps she had the punishment to force you to stay… to enjoy a company she has been able to for years. Now, Arlecchino has given up on you being a potential cure to her curse. It must be why she's no longer hesitant to let you go.  

But she is wrong. In those weeks you spend with her, you've learned much more about ‘the Beast.’ You've learned that she is kind in a quiet, observant manner. She's hunted for you, lit your fireplace, made your clothes. She cares for nature, appreciates its beauty and intricacy unlike anyone else you know. And she is romantic, some of the village men could not compare to her when she's read so many books. 

One day, a rose is left on your bed, no doubt collected on your bed. 

That night, you approach her room.

“Prince Arlecchino?”

“Yes?”

“The rose… thank you for it.” 

The Prince remains in silence, observing you with adoration in her eyes despite her bone chilling features. “You’re welcome.”

“Roses are often used as a way to confess,” you say. You know that she knows already, given the amount of books she read. “Is this what I think it is?”

Prince Arlecchino nods. Tentatively, she takes your cheek in her hand and cups it, her claws gently brushing over your skin. “Yes. I think I am in love with you.”

A smile forms on your face and you lean in to press your foreheads against one another, creating an intimate air. “I love you too, my dear Prince.” 

The two of you lean against one another, your lips meeting each other and you close your eyes. The Prince places a hand behind your head, pushing you closer. You don't notice that her nails are no longer red, nor are they sharp. She doesn't notice either. 

The ink from her arms wash away, and with that ‘the Beast’ is swept away, stolen away by you. Prince Arlecchino stands in place of the missing ‘Beast.’ 

[callsign-cacti]

Bet on it

Finn x F.Reader 5.3k words

Summary: A missed meeting, a drugstore bag with a fake pregnancy test, a forgetful Kenny Roper, and intimate knowledge about a bet made by the STU baseball team. What could go wrong?

Rating: Mature: drug use, drinking, future chapters will be 18+.

Warnings: Mentions of faking a pregnancy for a prank/ revenge. If this triggers you, please don't read!

Part Two

You had made it a point to never step foot in either of the South Texas University Baseball houses. For any reason, be it for work or, other recreational purposes. However, here you stand, hand seconds away from banging on the front door of the house.

The neighbors probably thought that you were yet another scorned lover, come to beg for yet another piece of the baseball boys. Yet that couldn't be any farther from the truth.

Taking a moment, you recall all the anger from early as you had sat in the library, waiting for Kenny Roper to show up. And he never did.

As the minutes turned into an hour, and your anger continued to grow with the passage of time, you became more and more sure that today was the day. You had been holding onto this little nugget of information for when one of them truly pissed you off, and you knew that the bunch of idiots, would in fact, do something dumb enough to warrant this.

Kenny Roper was just the poor soul that pushed you over the edge.

So you felt no remorse as you banged on the door, not hesitating to throw it open, as you knew the dumbasses never locked it. You bit your lip as some of the boys yelped, all turning to see who was storming in. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you were assaulted with the stench of stale beer, weed, burnt food and B.O.

Wrinkling your nose, you scanned the room, taking in about half the team lounged about the living room. And then you found Roper, tucked behind McReynolds. Looks like he wasn't so dumb after all, if he immediately knew that you were here for him.

Finn recovered first, "Well look who it is, I thought you had taken a solem vow to never step foot in this cursed house!"

"Shut the fuck up Finn!" You snapped, eyes never leaving Roper. "Roper, where the hell have you been?"

As Roper pales, the rest of them start snickering.

"Actually, I don't give a shit where you have been, 'cause I don't want to hear your dumbass excuse! Upstairs, now!" You barked, knowing it would be easier to compose yourself in front of Roper then it would be with half the team watching you. And lord knows you would need some composure for what you were about to pull off.

As Roper silently led you to his bedroom, passing a door with a sign that read, Fornication. Under. Consent. of King, you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Behind you, the boys began to whoop, Plumber was even dumb enough to shout, "Get it Rope!"

At that, you whirled, ripping the sign off the door and chucking it at Plums head, promptly shutting him up.

As Roper closed the door behind him, you heard shuffling coming from downstairs, the boys being as subtle as a pack of elephants in their snooping.

"I cannot believe that you didn't fucking show up Roper!" You yelled at him, beginning to pace back and forth. "I literally rearranged my whole schedule for you, and you don't even have the gall to show up! This class is quite literally the only thing that is keeping your ass off the bench!" You're screeching now, knowing that you need to be loud enough for the entire house to hear.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't show, but practice ran late, and then coach wanted to talk to me after. By the time I finished at the field, I figured that..."

"You figured what?" You bit out. No need to fake your anger for this part. You knew that the baseball boys felt entitled due to the treatment they recieved from students and professors alike, but this was on another level.

"You just figured that since you were a little late it would be okay to make me sit for an hour waiting on you? That since your on the goddamned team I would do the entire thing for you? That I would bend over backwards for you, yet again!"

"Just calm down!" He tries to placate, rising up off of his bed, hands outstreched in front of him as if you're a wounded animal that he's trying not to scare. You can practically hear the collective intake of breath from his teammates.

You're not sure if even Brumley is dumb enough to tell a woman to calm down when she's this mad.

"Calm down, you want me to fucking calm down?" You hiss at him, tone dangerously low. The realization that he is well and truly fucked washes over him, his face going pale, limbs tensing. Now he's the one taking a step back as you advance on him. Eventually, his legs hit the bed, leaving him to fall back onto it.

"How in the ever loving fuck am I supposed to calm down when I am stuck with your dumbass for the considerable future. When you can't even show up for a meeting for a class that would keep you on the team. Now that I know for sure that I can't trust you as far as I can throw you!"

Throughout your little speech, you had been gripping the bag tightly, using it as an extension of your hand as you waved it around. Now, you brought it up to your chest as you lowered your voice, Ropers eyes squinting as he tried to figure out it's contents.

"How am I supposed to calm down, when I just took this!" And with that, you fling the bag towards him. He just barely manages to catch it, holding it slightly away from his body as if it was going to bite him.

Cautiously, he opened it, squinting as he reaches down to pull it out. It's barely out of the bag before it's being dropped on the floor as if it's poisionous.

"What the hell is that" Fear has edged into his voice as he finally looks at you.

"You know exactly what it is!" Crossing your arms, you glare at him, not giving him an inch.

"But it's not mine right?"

"Well do you see anyone else in here with us dipshit?" You spat, pinching the inside of your elbow, desperatly trying to keep the laughter that was clawing it's way up your throat down.

"But, we've never... we didn't... did we?" He's reached back down to tenatively pick up the pregnancy test. He looks at you, then back at the test, then back at you, then shakes his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

"You're shitting me Roper. You mean, you don't even fucking remember sleeping with me?" Your voice is dangerously high at this point, and your hoping that it will pass as you trying not to cry instead of you trying not to laugh. In the other room, something crashed, and you heard the whisper yelling at whoever had knocked it over, but your eyes never left Roper.

“I can’t believe this!” You screeched, throwing your hands up into the air.

“How the hell am I supposed to trust you with a baby if you can’t even remember the simplest fucking thing like a meeting, or the night that you fucking impregnated me!”

And with that, you threw the door open, not at all surprised to see the guys strewn about the hallway, desperately trying to look as if they hadn't been eavesdropping, and failing miserably.

You rushed down the stairs and flew through the back door, barely holding yourself together. It was only once you were outside that you allowed the laughter to escape.

This was the part of the plan that had taken you the longest to decide on. You knew that the money would come out very quickly, but did you want to let Roper stew in what was surely a full on crisis?

As tempting as it was, you also didn't want the rumor that you were pregnant getting around, let alone with Kenny fucking Ropers baby.

So, as soon as you composed yourself, which took a couple minutes, as the look on Kenny Ropers face was not something that you would be forgetting any time soon, you let yourself back into the house, went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and popped the top of.

Unfortunalty, you wouldn't get the full amount today, as only half the team was here, but you had the time to collect, and a pocket full of blackmail material.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled your camera out, and began to head for the stairs.

Once you got within eye sight, you began taking pictures. Finn was collecting the money, McRenyolds was sitting next to Roper on the bed, who was still clutching the pregnancy test in his hand. Plum and Dale were both on the ground laughing, and Coma was pulling out his wallet and counting bills.

As Coma put the bills in Finns hand, Plum collected himself enough to pull himself up off the floor.

"I mean, really dude, how the fuck did you forget sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, especially with that much money on the line." Coma chimed in, reluctantly placing his bills in Finns hand.

"I mean,first of all, she's hot as fuck..."

You raise your camera again as you speak and began to snap away.

"Well thanks Plum!" You say, a grin spread wide across your face. Most of the heads in the room, except for Roper and Plum snap towards you, and you beam as you capture the pure fear and confusion as it flits across their faces.

Plum, bless his heart, just continues on. "I mean, you guys literally told me about this bet on the first day of practice!" And just as the guys begin to violently shush him, he connects the dots on his own, his head whipping towards you.

Once you get a picture of his face, you lower the camera, tucking it into your bag as you take another sip of your beer. They all watch as you walk across the room towards Finn, taking the money from his hand and putting the beer in it's place.

Once you make sure it's all there, you shove it into your bag, and take your beer back from Finn.

Brumley, the dumbass, is the first one to break the silence.

"I don't think your supposed to drink if your pregnant. It's bad for the baby!" He exclaimes, nodding at the beer in your hand.

Rolling your eyes, you look around the room. You can see it in there faces who has figured it out, Finn, Dale and McRenyolds being the only ones who have figured it out. The rest are still looking between you and Roper in confusion.

"I'm not pregnant dickheads!" You hiss. "I mean, you think I'd touch him with a ten foot pole? Not fucking likely!"

When you don't get a response from anyone, you take one last drink from your can before shoving it back into Finns hand.

"Well, this has been fun, Roper, I'll see you Friday for our presentation!" And with that, you head for the stairs, pausing to look back over your shoulder. "And I expect to see you with the rest of my money. I know the whole team was in on it!"

And you left as pandemonium broke out upstairs.

-

They found you the next day in the dining hall at lunch. Heather, your roommate, had literally just walked out for her class, and you remained behind, having a few more minutes before you needed to leave for class.

Opening your book, you pulled out your pens as you lifted a fry off your plate, only to have your fry snatched from your hand as you watched someone else slide your book out from in front of you.

You looked up to see Finn munching on your fry as Dale closes your book. You smirk as Roper and McRenyolds pull out chairs in front of you, and flinch as the chair Nesbit is dragging over squeals on the tile floor.

They have you completely surrounded.

"Hello boys," You smirk, picking up another fry. "Come to give me the rest of my money?" Popping the rest of the fry into your mouth, you summon a smug smirk as you lord your win over the boys.

Finn chuckles as he throws his arm around the back of your chair.

"We'll give you the money."

'Perfect," You interrupt him, holding out your hand.

"If, you tell us who squealed to you about the bet." McRenyolds finishes for him as Finn high fiving you before reaching to steal yet another one of your fries.

"Nice try, a reporter never squeals on her sources!" Batting Dales hand away as he reaches for your plate.

"Come on, you owe me!" Roper states, leaning across the table to take your drink. You scrunch your nose as he puts it back down in front of you, and reach over the table push it back towards him.

"You can have it, I have no interest in catching whatever diseases you may carry!" Beside you, both Finn and Dale chuckle, and you lean back to cross your arms so that you can effectively death glare at Roper.

"And I owe you, owe you for what exactly?" You let all traces of humor drain from your tone.

"Umm, for yesterday?" Roper offers up weakly, well aware that he just fucked up.

"Oh, I owe you for completely rearranging my schedule to fit around yours, only for you to stand me up and leave me to do all the work on a project worth thirty percent of our grade. Oh, and lets not forget about the little bet that you started with the entire baseball team about who could sleep with me first. I owe you for that?"

"Well, I didn't fucking start it... W..." McRenyolds kicked him under the table, promptly shutting him up.

"What he means to say, is that he is truly and deeply sorry, that he regrets all of his actions. And that we would all truly appreciate it if you could, just this one time, fudge your morals a little bit, and tell us who ratted on us!" Finn proclaimed, as Roper nodded along with him.

"In fact, I think we all owe her an apology!" Finn stated, a grin stretching across his face.

"Y/n, I am very, very sorry about the bet! It was very wrong of us, and we will never do it again!"

"Your damn right you won't!" You mutter rolling your eyes at Finn. Dale and McRenyolds scoff at him, as Nesbit smothers "Asskisser" in a very fake cough.

“C’mon guys, you gotta be better then that, y’all gotta butter her up. Right now, she’s fifty bucks richer and still riding the high of Ropers embarrassment!” Finn chastises.

“She already took our money!” Dale whines. “C’mon, don’t you wanna be a good friend and tell us who squealed?”

You snort at this, throwing a fry from your plate at him. He catches it and winks as he throws it into his mouth.

"It's cute that you think we're friends!"

Now, Nes chimes in. “It was obviously someone who was least likely to win that squealed!”

“So, you!” Finn says, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Guys,  it was probably someone who already graduated. Figured they would sabotage the bet because they didn’t win.” Roper adds, looking at you with suspicion.

“I mean, statistically speaking, I’m the one who would win.” Finn says, tightening his arm around you. “Right honeybunch!”

This sends the guys into an uproar so loud they don't notice your low hum.

“Why the fuck do you think you would win!”

“Bullshit”

“Shut the hell up Finn!”

“Tell him he’s wrong!”

You scoff. “As if I’d touch any of you with a 10 foot pole. I’m very content not having any STDs thank you very much!”

“I mean, look at the rest of the guys she slept with…” Finn starts, before your turning to look at him.

“Keeping tabs on me Finnegan?”

And he doesn’t even hesitate. “Course I am. Gotta see who floats your boat, so I can imitate them, and subsequently win the bet.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove him off you. “You’re all disgusting!”

And as the rest of the guys begin to protest, you snatch your book off of Dales lap, shoving it into your bag, and ignoring Finns eyes on you as you walk away.

-

Your not even the least bit surprised when Finn finds you the next day, even though your tucked away in your little corner of the library.

“Ok, I know you’re the type of person who appreciates the whole, no bullshit thing,” which Finn and the team had learned the hard way when they had all attempted to flirt with you on your first team interview after a game last year.

Your response, listing off all of the simple mistakes they had made, and insinuating that they were all very, very small because of those dumbass mistakes.

That was the night the bet was born.

“So I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’re a liar. A hypocrite, if the shoe fits.” You narrow your eyes as he finishes his statement with a flourish, bringing that stupid pipe to his lips. Leaning forward, you snatch it from his hands, throwing it down onto the table.

“You can’t smoke in the fucking library dipshit. And also, how dare you call me a liar. You don't know jack shit."

“But you don’t deny being one?” Finn was smart, you would give him that. It was a damn shame that he wasted it all on beer, baseball and pussy.

“And why would I lie Finn? Isn’t being with one of the baseball boys the goal? From what I’ve heard, I’m supposed to shout it from the rooftops, maybe even get it tattooed on my forehead. I slept with one of the baseball boys!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s way too long to fit on your forehead. It would probably be better on your lower back, you know, like a tramp stamp!”He grins as he says it, leaning back into his chair, propping his feet up on the table, and crossing his arms behind his head. You try to ignore the way it makes his biceps look, and you definitely don’t notice the way it makes the veins on his forearms stand out.

“Did you come here for a reason Finn, or do you just find enjoyment in bugging me?" You snap at him, looking back down at your paper.

“Well, I clearly came for the pleasure of your company! And also, to… sate my curiosity, if you will.”

“Well, you asked your question, and I gave you an answer, now you can leave me alone so I can work on my paper!” It was a clear dismissal, but he didn’t move a fucking inch, continuing to stare. You kept your eyes on the paper, your hand moving to write down shitty sentences out of pure spite. You were definitely going to have to rewrite part of this paper.

“You know, I can go away real easy for the low price of just two words, a name is all it takes sweetheart!”

“I told you Finn, I have never slept with anyone on the baseball team, ever. Now leave me alone!”

“See sweetheart, the thing is I don’t believe you when you say that. You hesitated for too long yesterday, and quite frankly, we are all good looking guys. Well… most of us. And you cannot tell me that watching us play doesn’t get you all hot and bothered!”

“I have literally never been less turned on then I am when I am watching y’alls games.” You deadpanned. Which was a lie of course. He wasn’t wrong. The team had some very good looking guys, and those pants did wonders for their asses.

“Sweetheart, please, you can’t bullshit the bullshitter!” Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to your work, hoping that maybe if you stopped giving him your attention, then he would go away. He was silent for a few seconds, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand, only for him to pull out the chair your bag was in, drop it to the floor, and seat himself.

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way…”

“Shut the fuck up Finn, we aren’t in one of your stupid spy thrillers!”

“Please!” He begs, so loud that a few other students turn to look your way. The attention doesn’t seem to phase Finn, although you should have known that it wouldn’t. If anything the new eyes just egg him on.

“Why do you even want to know so bad huh? The bets over, no one won, it doesn’t matter!” You spat.

 A part of you debated on just telling him. He was as hard headed as you were, and the likelihood of him giving up was slim to none. There was always the option of just giving him the name of one of the seniors that had graduated, no harm no foul, but this was also Finn. If he found out that you had lied, then it was just going to make things worse.

You could revisit the idea of telling their coach. The probability of any of the players getting benched was slim to none, but you did have a little bit of pull, as you were the one writing half the articles the scouts were reading. You would never actually write untrue things about the guys and their game, for several reasons, but they didn’t need to know that.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by Finns snapping by your ears, flinching at the loud sound.

“How am I supposed to make my argument if you’re not even listening to me?” He pouted, leaning back in his seat once he was sure he had your attention.

“I don’t know Finn, maybe you could take the goddamned hint and leave me alone so I could get some work done?”

“I’m just saying, you had to find out from someone, and the team has been sworn to secrecy to never tell! The only thing I can think of was if someone was pussy..." He trailed off, remembering who he was talking too as he snapped his mouth shut.

“So you just wanna know who blabbed. This has nothing to do with me?” You innocently ask, batting your eyelids at him.

“Mm, exactly. See, you’re a smart girl, I knew you would…”

You lean forward, gesturing for him to come closer. Trailing your hand up his arm before cupping it around his ear as you leaned in to whisper a name.

"Walt Finnegan."

And that shuts him right up, allowing you to quickly shuffle your papers together and gather your bag, leaving a shocked Walt Finnegan left behind.

-

After Finn found you that morning in the library, Dale cornered you as you were coming out of class, demanding to know who told you. Then it was McRenyolds, who had shoved a girl off of him, before marching up to you, spouting some bullshit about the sancitity of secret keeping on the team, and how, as captain, he needed to know and some other crap.

The next day, you saw Nez coming out of the cafeteria, and you had to put up with his badgering the entire fifteen minute walk to class. The class that you shared with Coma. And you might as well have skipped it, seeing as you spent the entirety of the fifty five minutes shoving the notes from him off of your desk.

After class, you met up with Heather on the green, practically collapsing onto the blanket she had laid out.

"Rough day?" She asked, a smirk fully gracing her face as she took in her misery.

"Their tenacity is surprising. They have been bugging me all day!" You whine. "It almost makes it not worth it. Almost!"

After you explain your day to her, the two of you lay on the green in silence for a few minutes, before she begins packing up. She still has one more class to attend before she's released for the weekend. Once you confirm your plans for later, she is off.

Flopping back down onto the blanket, you pull out your book, letting out a content sigh.

It’s the first time in days that you aren’t doing homework, or writing articles, or being assaulted by the entire baseball team, or stressing about all three. Your laid out in one of your favorite corners of the green, sun shining down on you as you open your book.

You get five minutes of peace and quiet before Finn sits down next to you, effectively ruining your alone time.

“No!” You shout, the frustration in your tone clear. “No, not right now Finn. This is the first time in days where I haven’t been busy. I've been alone for like, five freaking minutes and…”

"Well, I could give you some peace and quiet if you just tell me the truth!" He says, that signature shit eating smile of his firmly in place. When you stay quiet, he nods. "That's what I thought!"

And then he surprises you, shifting so his back is against the tree next to your blanket, and lifts your legs, pulling them onto his lap. Without another glance at you, he pulls out his own book before opening it to the dog eared page.

Quickly, you snatch your legs back, moving to nail him in the leg, but he's faster then you, wrapping your ankle in a steel grip.

"Ah ah ah, you want peace and quiet don't you?" Then he's gently placing your legs back in his lap.

You gape at him, not quite comprehending what was happening, or what angle he was trying to play. But his focus never strayed from the page.

Now you were torn, if you said something, he would probably start in on you, and you were too tired to really fight him on this today.

Maybe you should just leave it alone, and not look a gift horse in the mouth. You really didn’t want to get up and go inside, and if he was being quiet, then who were you to protest. It also didn’t hurt that he looked really, really good with his dumb fluffy hair and stupid tight shirt that strained across his biceps.

Your decision was made for you as his hand begins sliding up your calf, kneading at the muscles there. You're barely able to catch the moan that threatens to escape.

Suddenly, your assaulted with visions of running your hands through that hair, finding out if it was really as soft as it had always looked invaded your mind, nails raking down that toned back…

“I can feel your staring!” He teased, breaking you out of your trance, and made you snap your attention back down to your book in an attempt to hide the blush that heated your face.

And you tried to focus on your book, you really did. Finn didn’t seem to have any problems paying attention to his. At least, that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to explain why his hand was crawling up your leg. His fingers moving higher as the patterns he was tracing got larger.

Yes, that was it. He was just distracted, and he didn’t realize what he was doing. And he also didn’t realize that you were making absolutely no effort to stop him.

But when you looked up from your book, you found his eyes on yours, a smug smile plastered on his face as he trailed his fingers dangerously high on your inner thigh.

“So, we’ve slept together huh?”

You hum, refusing to break eye contact with him. “Shame you don’t remember, although, with your performance, I’m not surprised you blocked it out.” You had fully intended for the comment to be biting enough to get him to back off. However, your voice came out unexpectedly breathy, undercutting the snark of your words.

A smirk grows on his face as he shifts his weight, bringing his face closer to yours so that he’s whispering right in your ear, his fingers dangerously high close to where your thighs meet.

“I know that’s a lie sweets. You wanna know how I know it’s a lie?”

You know you should push him off you. Finn was a fuck boy, and more then that, right now he was motivated, not to sleep with you, but to get some answers. But instead, you found yourself nodding, the sensible part of your brain having left the second his fingers made contact with you.

“There’s a few reasons. One, you could quite literally cut the tension between us with a knife, but somehow, your managing to keep your hands off me, which means I’ve yet to work my magic on you!”

Your moving to swat Finn away, the moment ruined by the return of Walt FInnegan to his natural state, a cocky asshole. But one again, he's moving too fast for you to comprehend, swinging your legs off of his lap and leaning over so that he's hovering above you, faces inches away from the other.

“Besides sweets, if we fucked, there’s no way in hell I would forget that.”

And then he’s standing, brushing off his jeans and winking before walking away.

You sit in shock for a second, watching as he fades into the throngs of people milling about campus.

Finn won that round, you can admit to that. But there’s no way he’s winning the war. Gathering your things, you plot the entire way back to your room, practically throwing the door open, grinning manically when you see Heather beat you back.

“Get up! Change of plans, we’re going out tonight!”

-

I still don't get why you won't just sleep with him!" Heather whines are she puts the finishing touches on your hair. With a flourish, she spins your around to the mirror, and you smile at what you see there.

"Thanks babe, your a godsend!" She just winks at you before moving to start on her own makeup.

Your original plan had been to stay in and do a movie night, but after Finns stunt earlier, you weren't content to let him have the upper hand for long.

So now, the two of you were getting ready for the Sound Machine, knowing that was the baseball boys party of choice when they weren't throwing their own or out of town.

And, to top it all off, James, a smarmy asshole from your English class had told you he would be there tonight. Which made him the perfect unknowing accomplice in your little game with Finn.

In the back of your head, you knew that you were walking a fine line, especially with Finn. When you had chosen to play that little prank with Roper, you severely underestimated the boys need to know who had told you.

And you never thought that Finn would take this much interest in getting to the bottom of it.

Although now, you were beginning to question if you would have done anything differently.

Your snapped out of your thoughts when Heather emerges from the bathroom, still ranting about the baseball boys.

"At this point Heath, it's a principle thing. I can't go sleeping with the athletes! I would lose all my credibility. Also, I have spent the last three years of my life insulting their very manhood. It would be hypocritical of me to fold now."

"And Walt Finnegan has spent the last three years panting after your ass babes!"

"Oh has he now, is this before or after he's stuck his tongue down three quarters of this school's female population?" You spit back at her.

Walt Finnegan didn't want you. He wanted to win the bet to rub it in his friends faces. He wanted you because he felt like you were unattainable.

And most importantly, he couldn't have wanted you that bad, because he had already had you, and he had forgotten about it.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5989

Jalsa, Mumbai July 11, 2024 Thu 9:50 pm

Birthday Ef - Vijay Joglekar, Dombivali , Mumbai .. heartiest greetings for this day and all the love from the Ef family ..🌹

🪔 ,

July 12 .. birthday greetings to Ef Vijay Joglekar from Dombivali .. Ef M. Zaheer Sattar from Malawi 🇲🇼 .. and Ef Dr. Pravin P Patel from Toronto Canada 🇨🇦 .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

In time .. in time .. IN TIME ..

At last .. but at work and the short break as the tech people work , I do my tech and the writing and the connect for the Blogomaeastra ..

After a long and arduous waiting does the time come to have spent time in the doing of 'nothing' .. and that in writing may sound as a gift to many but in reality it is a burden .. when nothing to do, there is nothing to be gained or learnt or executed .. no work, no activation of the senses that motivate or exercise the mind and body .. it be the curse ..

At a recording finally at the end of the day for an evening for another, that creates the mystique of mythology .. and during the various chapters that come up, comes a chapter of Kalki , in the sequence that dwells on the creation of the Universe , and it's coming during the time passage , which has , quite interestingly been covered in the film KALKI .. and the mysteries of its coming ..

Really there is so much to learn from our scriptures, that an effort is being made to acquire all that could possibly educate an uneducated me, to be of some knowledge ..

So an issue of several volumes of the MAHABHARAT was ordered, and when it arrived, there was the issue of keeping the book in the home .. for kept in the home is considered a NO .. so given to a library .. and back to the source that prints my words here - the net !!

Each day is filled with questions that we overlooked earlier .. and the desire to acquire that information and knowledge is so acute that each moment the mind begins to get into an analytic mode .. and the why and when and wherefore begin to erupt ..

Fascinating, this , at a stage when time is not ideally right, or perhaps not enough .. but that thought should be kept away from the being .. one shall find time to learn even at this advanced age ..

मैं मानता हूँ कि आलोचना होती है, शायद उनकी, ज़्यादा, जिनकी डोर समाज या अधिकतर समाज के व्यक्तियों से जुड़ी होती है । लेकिन उसका स्वागत होना चाहिए, क्योंकि आलोचना एक तो हमारा नज़रिया बदलती है ; उस नज़रिए को हम माने या ना माने, पर अवगत तो वो कराती है हमें । तो धन्यवाद । धन्यवाद इस लिये की उसे हमें एक नज़र बट्टू की तरह लेना चाहिये ; एक काला टीका जो माथे पे माँ लगाती थीं, नज़र उतारने के लिये ।

अच्छा ... काम रुका हुआ है, तो चलते हैं काम पे, शीघ्र मिलेंगे ।

Affection and love ..❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[carrotsnake]

Zelda and the Tale of Melusine

I'll be looking at the parallels between Zelda's arc and some Medieval tropes of female metamorphosis, using Melusine: Or the Noble History of Lusignan as an example. Specificially a translated copy of Jean d'Arras's version, since that's the most well known one.

To start, a run down of Melusine:

She's a half human, half fairy woman cursed by her mother for imprisoning her mortal father in a mountain. The curse dictates every Saturday she turns into a serpent from the naval down. She must marry a human man for a long time to slowly undo the curse and become fully human, but he must never see her monstrous form beforehand.

If he does, she'll lose her humanity forever and transform into a dragon.

She meets a knight in the woods, he suspects her otherworldly knowledge comes from "some phantasm or diabolical power", to which she goes don't worry about it kitten. But he likes her so he's like ok! ^_^ yay!

She keeps giving him cool fairy advice, and with it his life magically becomes a whole lot better - he gains wealth, power, and not just him but other people listen to her advice: crops flourish, castles are built. The kingdom is thriving! They love her just as much as he does, so it's no surprise they get married. But there's just one condition, she hides in the bathhouse every Saturday, and he's never to visit or peep at her.

He breaks his promise and discovers her secret. She says he's cursed both of them, and now he's lost her forever: "Be sure that as long as you live I shall always find pleasure in seeing you; but [...] never again shall you see me in female form."

The next passage is as follows:

'Melusine, uttering a very doleful cry and then a heavy sigh, leapt from the window into the void, and as she swept across the orchards she metamorphosed into a massive dragon some fifteen feet in length. [...] In her dragon form she circled the fortress three times, and each time she flew past the window she uttered such an excruciating, desolate cry that everyone wept for pity, knowing that she was leaving under constraint and against her will. Then she disappeared in the direction of Lusignan, letting out such rueful shrieking and strident cries that wherever she passed it seemed as if lightning and thunder were about to split the sky.'

He never sees her again after that. But phantoms of her start appearing in the castle, secretly visiting her children at night and generally just spooking people by standing there menacingly. And that's how the myth is born.

I've already drawn connections through the images above, but what's the point of this?

Like lots of other fans I was irked by the whole 'zelda jesus' thing in totk, yeah it is a little odd that everyone follows her advice without question, and it's never wrong.

I'm curious, if the team was drawing from Western myths, that this was supposed to echo the fae. Especially since most of the quests keep you on your toes on whether this was the real Zelda giving advice, or a fake - a phantom(!) - deliberately sabotaging them. It mirrors how opinions on Melusine were split between a benevolent fae or a demon. Splitting them into two entities though, I can see how that would defang it.

The og text wasn't exactly that nuanced either. I remember my prof joking the message amounted to "always listen to your weird snake wife!" Maybe we SHOULD listen to our weird snake wives.

It's interesting Melusine only interacts with children after the curse - botw+totk imply only young children who are pure of heart can see dragons.

I recommend reading the whole thing if you can find it! Then you can look for more parallels, and read riveting pieces of dialogue such as this:

[sloanesallow]

a little less sixteen candles

Something I wrote for Sloane's birthday (April 28th, 1875). I didn't anticipate it being so bittersweet, but that's what happens when your MC's birthday coincides with the end-game events.... (art by puri.dew) SWF | 2.6k words [read on Ao3] | [read on wattpad] | [tumblr masterpost]

It's spring—late April, to be exact. Flowers bloom all over the Scottish Highlands, and students take advantage of the warmer weather to spend their afternoons and evenings outdoors. Most travel to Hogsmeade and the surrounding hamlets, some take to the Quidditch pitch, and others lounge in the courtyards to daydream and watch the clouds pass by.

Instead of enjoying the beauty of nature or spending quality time with his friends, Sebastian is holed up in the Undercroft, scribbling notes on a blackboard with the last nub of chalk. On the table nearby, several textbooks and dusty tombs are spread open, their margins littered with more of his scrawl. He dusts his fingers off, smearing white across his pant leg before grabbing a quill to hunch over the latest pilfering from the Restricted Section.

Curses, Curses, and Even More Curses

It is an encyclopedia of sorts, one Sebastian found tucked away in some dark corner of the library's basement, being used to prop up a wobbly cabinet. The book smells like it has been fermenting in the lake and is icy cold to the touch, but the few pages that remain legible offer more information than he's been able to gleam in recent months. Despite having Salazar Slytherin's spellbook, it has taken considerable effort and time to translate, and even then the ancient writings refer to artifacts and magic Sebastian is just barely starting to comprehend.

He is reading a particularly interesting passage about blood sacrifices when he realizes he is no longer alone. Ominis stands on the other side of the table, eyebrows bunched together and lips pursed in an everlasting state of dissatisfaction. When the bloody hell did he sneak in?

"I won't bother with asking what it is you are doing, as I have no interest in arguing with you this evening."

"Lucky me," Sebastian quips back. Their friendship has been strained ever since Anne's curse, the relationship gradually turning into something far more toxic. But the fear of losing one of his best and only friends is overshadowed by the deep dread that consumes Sebastian every day—he will not let Anne die.

He attempts to refocus his attention to the yellowed pages of the old tome. "It must be a special occasion, if you're letting me off so easily."

"Now that you mention it," Ominis replies, sardonically.

When he doesn't elaborate, Sebastian glances up and finds himself curious for a new reason. His friend is dressed up, or rather, dressed down, in a neat but casual ensemble that is so uncharacteristic it might as well be a prank. Since when did Ominis walk around in anything less than his school uniform?

"Today is a special occasion," Ominis finally clarifies, though his tone makes it obvious he is teasing Sebastian for the gap in knowledge.

"Uh..."

What day is it? He wonders, furrowing his brow in thought. Tuesday? What important event occurs on a Tuesday other than...potions? No, he attended class that morning, even if he cannot recall the details of Professor Sharp's lecture. Crossed Wands? That isn't until Friday. All Sebastian really remembers from the last twelve hours is bartering with the kitchen-elves for leftovers after missing dinner, again. That, and being shooed away from the library by Madam Scribner, again.

The prolonged silence causes Ominis to scoff, more irritated than before. "Seriously, Sebastian?" he snaps, shaking his head. "Do you really not remember? Ugh, why am I even surprised? I only came down here to confirm for myself that you truly are lost."

"I am not—"

"Shut up," Ominis cuts him off with a pointed look that is a tad more menacing than usual. "After all she did to remind us—you—" he sighs, temper simmering. "Siobhan did well to hide her disappointment, but even I could tell by the sound of her voice she was upset by your absence."

"Sloane?" Sebastian blinks several times as the realization dawns on him. Tuesday. The twenty-eighth day of April.

Today is Sloane's birthday.

He drops the book and threads his hands through his hair in exasperation, cursing under his breath, "shit."

"It is remarkable, really, the patience that girl has," Ominis remarks, ignoring the way Sebastian starts to frantically pace. "More than I posses, at least. I do not know the details, nor do I wish to, but it is a small miracle she considers you a friend, for all you have put her through."

Sebastian pauses to glare at his friend, almost daring him to repeat the snide comment. What the hell does he know? But, for what seems like the millionth time in five years, Ominis is right. In his pursuit for a cure, he is slowly alienating the people he cares about. Sloane is a recent addition to his inner circle, though sometimes it feels as if she's been there all along. His feelings for the Hufflepuff are...complicated, to put it mildly. Sebastian knows he likes her, perhaps more than he's ever liked a member of the opposite sex. However, inexperience and denial leave him unwilling to call it love.

He lets out a pitiful groan, palms pressed hard against his eyes.

"I can't believe I forgot!" The memory of Sloane inviting them to a small celebration in Hogsmeade crashes into view, adding to his shame. He's been so wrapped up in research and schoolwork that it slipped his mind. "Merlin's beard—I'm an arse!"

"Yes," Ominis flatly agrees, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Good thing wallowing in self-pity solves everything."

Sebastian frowns, his gut twisting with regret, frustrated by his own preoccupation. The spread of journals and scribbled notes seem to taunt him, his head and heart torn between obligation and desire. He returns to pacing, murmuring incoherently as his brain tries to prioritize what the first step should be. Bathe? No time. He unceremoniously sniffs under his arm and winces—a cleaning charm will have to suffice.

"Is she still in Hogsmeade?" he asks, allowing some hope to flourish when Ominis nods. "Do you think...she'll forgive me?"

"She shouldn't," Ominis says, sighing again. He shakes his head, almost as if he is humored by Sebastian's enthusiasm. "But she will."

Sebastian allows himself thirty minutes to get to the Three Broomsticks. It's still early, but Sloane and her friends have already been celebrating in Hogsmeade for most of the afternoon. Better late than never, right? After fixing his appearance as best he can in the nearest washroom, he rushes to the kitchens and haggles with the kitchen-elves for the second time that day, this time for pastries so he doesn't show up completely empty handed. He will need to procure a proper gift when his mind isn't so rattled.

By the time Sebastian exits the great hall, the sun is just setting beyond the horizon. It's warm, and as he speed-walks across the viaduct courtyard, sweat forms on his brow and neck and elsewhere he does not want to think about. Knowing his luck, he'll be a perspiring, smelly mess by the time he makes it to Hogsmeade. How attractive, he mumbles to himself, checking over his clothing again to make sure he's properly buttoned and tucked and—

"Sebastian?"

He freezes mid-step, snapping his gaze up to find Sloane and two of her Hufflepuff roommates—Poppy Sweeting and Lenora Everleigh—standing at the top of the stone steps. Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, but his short-circuiting brain won't allow a coherent sentence to form.

Eventually, he squeaks, "me."

Poppy and Lenora giggle while Sloane's lips curl into a sympathetic smile. All Sebastian can focus on is the pale pink of her dress and the way the curve of her neck and collarbone are exposed, making it that much more difficult to speak. Her cropped hair has a slight curl to the ends, and...is that rouge on her cheeks? He's never seen her look so...

"Wow," he breathes, perfectly aware of how lopsided his grin must look. Sebastian straightens up a little, clutching the small, wrapped box of baked goods in his hands. He lets out a shaky laugh. "I was...just coming to find you, actually."

"You were?" Sloane's eyes widen in surprise—is his presence that startling? He tries not to frown at the gut-wrenching realization that she didn't expect him to show up at all. When her friends don't budge to give them any privacy, he reaches up to tug at the knot of his tie, the suffocating feeling lingering as they stare down at him. Sebastian feels like he might faint, or retch, or both.

"Sloane, I—"

"Oh, this'll be rich," Lenora mutters, rolling her eyes. The dark-haired Hufflepuff is consistently disapproving of his relationship with Sloane, though he can't imagine why. Or maybe he can.

Poppy hushes her and the three return to holding similar, expectant expressions. Sebastian clears his throat.

"I—I'm an absolute git for forgetting your birthday," he starts, hoping he sounds as earnest as he feels. Multiple excuses tickle the tip of his tongue but he knows better in that moment than to offer any. This is his fault, his burden to bear. "I'm so sorry, sorrier than you can imagine."

"That's what he said last time, isn't it?" Lenora mumbles.

If Sebastian isn't trying so desperately to look forlorn, he would glare at her. Now's not the time for a reminder of how he's unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally hurt Sloane. For all the mistakes he's made, she has forgiven him time and time again, and everyone in their circle has noticed. Regardless of how much he wants it, maybe he is undeserving of her grace. Maybe the best gift he can give is to cut himself out of her life for good—one less burden for her to worry about in an already chaotic first—fifth—year.

His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach and his hopeful smile falls into a dejected pout. Before Sebastian can fully spiral into another pity-party of one, he flicks his gaze back to Sloane and decides that surrender simply isn't in his nature.

"Can we talk?" he softly asks. He'll beg if he has to, even at the risk of making an even bigger arse of himself in front of Sloane and her friends. "Please?"

Even though Lenora and Poppy are hesitant to let Sloane go, she waves away their worried whispers and nods. "Okay."

While her friends reluctantly head back towards the castle, Sebastian and Sloane find their way to the boathouse, the long walk accented by their echoing footsteps and sideways glances. More than once he thinks about reaching out to hold her hand but refrains, not wanting to further muddle their already shaky friendship. Sloane surprises him when they reach the pier, balancing herself against the wall so she can discard her heeled loafers and stockings. She perches herself on the dock's edge, bare feet just barely grazing the dark lake waters. Sebastian follows suit, tugging off his boots and socks before sitting down next to her, making sure there's a comfortable distance between them.

Before he can find the courage, Sloane breaks the more than awkward silence, "what do you want to talk about?"

It's an innocent enough question, one that puts control of the conversation in his hands. Sebastian could easily take the cowardly route and skip past an apology, force some laughter and pretend nothing is wrong. Instead, he digs deep and swallows his pride.

"I really am sorry, Sloane," he starts, finding it nearly impossible to look at her directly when it feels like his heart might burst out from his chest. All the regret he's been carrying rises to the surface. "I've had so many chances to make things right between us and I've mucked them up over and over again that I honestly can't fathom why you give me any of your time at all."

"You are..." he trails off in hesitation, remembering that a little bit of vulnerability can go a long way. "You are one of the better aspects of my life. One of the kindest, if not the kindest person I know. And...while we haven't been friends for very long, I'm bloody well terrified of losing you over my own stupidity."

Sloane flashes him a curious look. "Losing me?"

"You know what I mean," he quickly replies, even if he is still figuring it out himself. Or maybe he is too scared to admit the truth. The last thing he wants to do is push his luck when it has already run dry. They are friends—it is selfish to hope for more. The uncomfortable tightness in his throat returns. "Am I...too late?"

For a moment that feels like eternity to a fragile boy like him, Sloane doesn't respond, her gaze focused on the water and the reflection of the moon. Her pensive expression is impossible to read, but he takes it as a good sign that she hasn't run off or shoved him into the lake for the squid to drown. She sighs and slowly turns her head to look at him again.

"You're here now is what matters," she says, lips twitching up into the faintest smile. Sebastian should feel relieved, but the guilt lingers. Perhaps in an effort to change the subject, Sloane gestures to the small box, partially crumpled by his anxious fidgeting. "Is that...?"

"Oh! Right," he hesitantly hands it over, watching as Sloane lifts the lid to reveal several squished lemon tarts. He rubs the back of his neck as he lets out a self-deprecating laugh in an attempt to save face. "They're meant to look like that. It's an after-hours kitchen specialty, I'm told."

Sloane's smile widens slightly as she plucks one from the box, generously handing it to him before taking one for herself. Emboldened, Sebastian quickly conjures a small candle to press into her share and carefully ignites the wick.

"I already made a wish," she explains.

Sebastian isn't discouraged. "Well, now you can make a second one. Happy birthday, Sloane."

He continues to watch her as she momentarily ponders, the flickering flame reflected in her eyes before she softly extinguishes it with a soft breath.

"What did you wish for?"

"The first or second time?" Sloane responds, somewhat cheekily.

Sebastian doesn't push her to offer a real answer and instead allows for a comfortable silence to settle between them as they nibble at the lemony treats. The lake water gently splashes at their hanging feet and for the first time in recent memory, he feels calm. It might be temporary, but he allows himself to sink into the feeling, smiling as Sloane offers him a second tart.

"Sebastian?"

"Hmm?"

He turns his head just in time, barely registering what is happening as Sloane moves closer with her head tilted just so. Her lips meet his and Sebastian is stunned, taking several rapid heartbeats to react, fluttering his eyes shut as he leans into the kiss. If he knew that her lips would be this soft and warm, he would've kissed her ages ago. As greedy as he is to taste more, he allows the kiss to remain chaste, inching his hand across the short distance to cover hers.

Sloane eventually pulls away and when he peeks open his eyes she is smiling, cheeks dusted with a blush he yearns to brighten. Sebastian is still too flabbergasted to utter a response, nervously laughing when she reaches up to brush away a crumb from his cheek. He catches her hand before she can pull away, squeezing her fingers in his own. The momentary calm of his heart explodes into a burning inferno he struggles to contain. This time, he is sure he knows the answer, but still asks.

"Your wish?"

"It already came true."

[olrinarts]

Ref Sheet and Background: Narinder

long post ahoy! (i'm serious. do not click that read more unless you wanna scroll for a while, it's even longer than Esriaal's)

A note about AUs: All of my AUs can be considered to be within the same ‘universe-cloud’, for lack of a better word ('multiverse' has frustrating associations, alas. curse you mcu, lmao.) That doesn’t make them directly linked or in any way affect another AU, unless explicitly said to (see: constancy must transpose and chimes of bone in the at the root series.) Otherwise, each is a standalone AU, either diverging directly from the Base Lamb and Base Narinder’s story, or in some way reflecting/echoing it (see: ashes ashes, the yuri rock god AU.) Any completely unrelated AU to this universe-cloud will have it mentioned that it’s not connected.

Name/Titles: The One Who Waits, the One Below, Narinder Base Age: 86 (age he was Crowned, equivalent to around mid-30s developmentally) Gender: He/him Race: Cat, infernal

Background:

Narinder was born as the middle son of a common infernal cat, which were once as plentiful as their cousin race, the black cats. His family were farmers in a time when the Crowns were a relatively new development, a century or two after the first god was crowned. He was about as unremarkable a cat as can be imagined at the time, and could have been anyone. That was why both the Crown of Death and the kernel of what was someday meant to be the Crown of Life chose him: neither had any use for someone special and remarkable, who’d always be apart from the people around them by nature. If he was to be remarkable, it would be by what he accomplished.

A Crown can’t sit on two heads, of course, and normally a head can’t really wear two Crowns. As the Ivory Crown wasn’t crafted, but needed to be ‘grown’ due to being the Crown of Life, both the Red and Ivory Crown were able to coexist. Ivory was essentially slumbering in the unaware Narinder’s soul until its time came to wake up. He was chosen young, not even past his first century – infernal cats lived just as long as black cats, who can live over a millennia or more if they’re smart about it, though they reach adulthood at the same age as other cats (think Forneus still being around a thousand years after Narinder was cast down.) The Crowns made their choice in one of Narinder’s family fields, having sat down from harvesting rye with his scythe to rest beneath the shade of a beech tree. About as humble a beginning for a god as imaginable.

Narinder didn’t aspire to humility, however, let alone as the god of Death, so he built his cult quickly. It was a pretty compelling message, altogether – if everything ends in death, you might as well worship what’s coming, and having the favour of the god of death meant an easier passage through the river of souls to the afterlife. He was already beginning to chafe against the idea of the One Who Waits and the inherent stagnation, however, as well as other limitations. He particularly disliked how souls sacrificed to other gods didn’t come to him in death, as well as other practices that cut lives short needlessly, such as child sacrifice. He was fine with sacrifice in general, that was just how things worked, but there had to be some guardrails, because it was starting to damage mortal trust in all of the Crowned Gods’ care and guidance.

Despite common assumptions in the many millennia to come, it wasn’t War who first raised their hand against another god – it was Narinder, thoroughly pissed off about another god using mass sacrifices to taunt him with the souls that were stolen from him. After that god fell to his scythe, it became clear that the time of peaceful coexistence among the Crowned Gods was growing strained, to put it mildly.

That was when the god of Knowledge went to him, proposing an alliance: Narinder would join their pantheon as their brother, and the souls sacrificed in Shamura and Kallamar’s names would pass into his hands, same as the sacrifices in his own name. He was more than fine with that, feeling a kinship with both Shamura and Kallamar, and so their combined pantheon grew stronger, gaining first Heket and eventually Leshy, who was the last god to ever be crowned. War was eventually inevitable, becoming one of Shamura’s domains when they took on the role of general in a war of gods, and when the dust settled, only the five Bishops remained in the lands. They divided the lands between themselves, with one land to four of the Bishops and unconditional welcome for Narinder in each (as Death ‘belongs’ everywhere), and for a very long time, the Bishops remained at peace.

The longer it went on - the longer Narinder was locked as the One Who Waits - the more restless he became. Shamura, who he was closest to, pitied him for it. They were concerned about allowing the restlessness to continue to grow unchecked, unsure what a Crowned God rejecting his domain’s nature might do to the faith, and so they encouraged him to pursue knowledge, distracting his restlessness with curiosity. That was their first mistake, for all that they were Knowledge from the start:‌ they assumed his curiosity would distract from his appetite for change, that it was the lesser drive between curiosity and restlessness. They were wrong.

The more Narinder sought to know, the closer he became in nature to the mortals, to the Narinder he’d been when he was Crowned; to learn is to change. He grew to sympathise with the natural mortal instinct to fear the inevitable, the cage of death that no one could escape, including Death himself. It grew from sympathy to kinship as time passed – not in the same way the Bishops were kin, but in the sense of a leader rather than a ruler. Part of the group, not apart from it.

Finally, the idea that was to be his downfall occurred to him: if the mortal souls were his in death, then weren’t their souls his while they still lived? And if they were his, living and dead, then wasn’t it his decision whether they died at all – or even had to stay dead?

He was so proud when he first succeeded at resurrecting a mortal that the first person he told was Shamura, because of course it was. They were the one who’d let him grow in the first place, and for the first time since almost the beginning, he felt like he could breathe.

Shamura panicked. Internally, where he couldn’t see it, but they knew they were looking at something that was going to overturn all of their careful plans and comfortable position as the leader of the Bishops, and so they began to put new plans in motion.

Narinder’s growing discontent over the millennia had soured his relationships with his siblings, growing even further apart as he grew closer to the mortals. Other than Shamura, he was mainly friendly with Leshy, but Leshy had no patience or interest in schemes other than the chaos it could cause. Kallamar had long been terrified of him, of the power of Death in the hands of a god growing more bitter by the century. And Narinder and Heket had never gotten along all that well – a mutual dislike born from natures that were entirely too similar.

Hoping to buy themselves time, the other Bishops began to keep souls from him, unmaking them for extra power instead of letting them pass on, especially as Narinder’s new gospel began to spread. By the time he realised this and confronted his siblings, enraged by the betrayal of the ancient deal, Shamura was ready. They gave him one chance to forsake the heresy he’d been preaching, and the Bishops would return to the deal. He rejected the offer, far too angry to even consider it, and if he had, he would have rejected it anyway. They were the ones who’d betrayed him first.

When he refused to forsake his new power, Shamura and the other Bishops cast him Below in chains. Shamura was the only one who knew that it would take Godly matter to chain Death, so they chose to allow him to maim the other Bishops and themself as they do in canon, ensuring the others would only blame him for what had happened. As he was cast down, Shamura cast down the two kittens that would grow to be Aym and Baal with him as well.

What followed was a thousand years of plotting and planning, taking vessel after vessel, because the Bishops foolishly thought he had no power over Death in chains, and no longer unmade the souls they sacrificed in their own names (doing so grants more power, but it’s also much more taxing and fairly gruesome, so it damages their faith base.) Some vessels worked better than others, but Narinder was the One Who Waits, and that had guaranteed his patience could be both furious and eternal at the same time. He would be free, no matter how long it took, no matter how many tries. There would come a day where he finally had the soul he needed, and he wouldn’t find them by doing nothing. So long as he had the Red Crown, he was still Death, and he wasn’t helpless.

Eventually, a prophecy was made:‌ that from the sheep led to slaughter would rise a sacrificial lamb who would be his liberator. He’d been patient, and this was his reward. It took another few decades, which itself inspired a slow, simmering anger over the fate of the sheep; even nearly a thousand years of bitterness and plans for revenge hadn’t withered that old Narinder, and he could only grit his teeth as his siblings committed a genocide that grew crueller by the year. The idea that an entire race was doomed just to spite him was infuriating. It was an unfated prophecy – whoever was the last sheep standing would be his – and so he couldn’t even know what soul he should plan for. This is where the diverging AUs begin.

It did ultimately come to pass, the Sacrificial Lamb’s soul landing in his hands, and he knew the brave little thing had defied his siblings’ hunters for over a decade since the last other sheep died. When he put them back into a living body, things didn’t connect quite right in their head, but they still looked up at him with such fearlessness that all of his anger and hope turned to sentiment. (Diverging AU: untitled politific, where they don’t lose their memory, though he’s not aware of that.)

Instead of just commanding them, he made it an offer (not one they could refuse, but still, even phrasing it differently is a hell of a concession from a god.) He chose to tell them of the sacrifice at the end, again from that sense of sentiment, but mostly because he could tell they weren’t just going to agree to be his vessel, they were doing it wholeheartedly.

From there the events of the game progressed, over the span of around one hundred and twenty years. He saw them as often as possible, after a death or a crusade, and kept them Below to spend time with them for as long as was feasible. As the decades wore on, he grew increasingly unhappy at the knowledge that he was going to be the one to unmake them, and told himself it was just a mild regret over it all, because acknowledging how much he’d come to dread his own freedom was more dangerous than just about any other possible reaction.

One of two things then happens, after the demise of Shamura: either the Lamb fights Narinder and wins (primary AU: ‘constancy must transpose’, resulting in Narinder with the Ivory Crown) or the sacrifice is successfully carried out (diverging AU: ‘chimes of bone’, where Narinder keeps the Red Crown.)

‘Base’ Narinder The above is almost always true in its entirety from fic to fic, though weight might be given to some events over others, or his emotional responses might be different and explored from there. Exceptions are made for reflection AUs (such as ashes ashes, which takes place in a world where the Bishops were never crowned in the first place.) If a reflection AU is different enough, such as a different world setting entirely, then specific things are adjusted or find equivalents, but there’s always strong parallels, and the basic facts of Narinder’s identity are unchanged.

There’s no story to go along with the Base Narinder after the end game on purpose. The closest to a ‘base’ canon for him is the world of the comic fittings, as that one is largely nondescript about the actual way Narinder and the Lamb/Esriaal came to be in the position of Narinder as a more-or-less mortal as part of the cult and Esriaal as the Red Crown’s bearer. It focusses almost exclusively on the culture of the sheep (and some of Narinder’s base backstory, as well.)

[cutephlegm]

Bloody knees

I - A startling awakening

Pairing: Enki x reader

CW: Description of gore

Read on Ao3

Summary: You wake up a complete amnesiac in a dark lone cell at the pits of an awful rotten dungeon. You do not recognise anything, in fact you do not even remember who you are. You have no memory of your name, or of your past. As you travel through the dungeon looking for answers you encounter a mysterious and enigmatic priest, who begrudgingly agrees to help you, and little by little you begin to unravel why and how you ended up in the dungeon of fear and hunger...

In the middle of this wretched dungeon, reeking of blood and rot, you staggered along a tight corridor, the smell of raw death clinging to the suffocating air. You recalled what had led up to this unfortunate point, your brain still addled with confusion and frustration. The past days... months... years... were a total mystery to you. Who you were? You did not know. Why you were cursed with such an agonising headache, was a mystery. Most importantly still- what the hell must you have done to end up in such a foul place. Nothing was certain yet you felt a sense of a hope- a drive almost, pushing you ahead, further into the oppressive maze surrounding you. Every direction you took felt as if it were almost guided, and if you strayed from your intuition, you’d feel that familiar headache reminding you to stick to your gut. You knew this wasn’t normalcy… however there was no point pondering it or even worse, attempting to fight the urge. Your joints ached, and you had bruised skin, bloodshot eyes and bloody knees. Yet you persistent, walking further and further and further…

Eventually you saw a passage branching off from the hallway you'd been walking down. Your tired eyes eyes screwed themselves shut as you saw something you’d only dreamed of seeing: light, manmade light. You gleamed, your pace picking up. You peered inside, instantly greeted by a rather large room, the bottom of which you couldn’t yet make out as stood before you were shelves filled to the brim with literature. It seemed as though you had just stumbled upon a... library? Why a library had been built in this foul dungeon was certainly a perplexing mystery, better yet; who would even bother to use it considering the perilous journey it had taken for you to access it?

The atmosphere shifted once you entered- the air was somewhat lighter, a grave juxtaposition to the heavy morbid scent that had been lingering in the air the past few hours of your journey. You inhaled it, it felt almost fresh, safe… The bookcases ahead of you were tall, imposing and certainly packed with leagues of knowledge. Then a thought crossed your mind… could you even read? The concept of literature remained in your weary broken skull but- had you still retained your literacy? You were sure you'd find out eventually, but now certainly wasn't the time to spend wasted on prying through old books.

While you pondered such thoughts, you heard a noise behind one of the bookshelves, it was the type of noise you'd hear turning the pages of a book... you stop breathing for a moment. Peeking through the gaps you attempt to make out the source but you can only see a faint blur of light across you. There was someone else in this library...Your mind drifted back to the first thing you remember after your awakening:

Your eyes were stuck together with dried scabs, wet blood covering your hands, dripping onto the concrete. You rubbed away the gore from your face and managed to see- at first you weren’t sure your eyes were still present in your skull- but eventually you saw colours… and then you saw shapes. In that cell a dozen minutes after you’d awoken, you felt your first headache, you dug your nails into your skull, trying to dull the agonising sensation but it persisted. Suddenly, the sound of thumbing emanated from outside the cell: footsteps, loud, strong, and ogrish. You'd slipped under the bed while you heard it past, praying that it wouldn't hear your frantic heartbeat and luckily your prayers came true. A moment later you’d realised that the headache perhaps wasn’t a coincidence.

After some minutes of deliberation, you muster the courage to investigate. This couldn’t be a foe...' you had tried to convince yourself. 'What would a barbaric monster like the one you'd heard before be doing reading in such a place such as this?' You didn’t know what to expect, however there were no signs of aching in your skull so with caution you proceeded. You held your breath and coyly took a few steps out towards the noise.

Before you stood a young man, light coloured hair draping over his figure he stood a few feet before you, unfazed by your presence. In his grip he held a tome, flicking though a page every few seconds, his eyes carefully scanning the contents. Bewildered, you took a few careful steps until you were sure he noticed you. “Huh? You are with a sane mind still?" He grumbled, his free hand massaging his temple. "Please leave me. I'm not here to make acquaintances and I fail to see what worth chatting with you would bring." You stare at the man a moment longer, trying to figure out the best course of action.

On one hand he didn't seem all too friendly- on another, you were sure venturing deeper into this place without at least some advice would lead you down a dangerous path. You needed to attempt to speak to him- after all this could be your only shot at getting help. "Wait- Would you please enlighten me on something? I implore you- this will not take long..." The man ahead of you stared you down for a moment longer, taking in a deep breath of air before sighing, his annoyance blatant. "Fine, I’m feeling benevolent… make this quick."

You take a second moment to compose yourself. The man’s glare bore into you, a look of disgust painted on his previously sour expression- maybe it was the absolute state you were in, you realised you probably hadn't bathed in days, you could tell your hair was matted and your exposed flesh was adorned with dark painful bruises... God knows what how they were caused.

"This is going to be difficult to explain...” You began. “I have amnesia. I woke up here and I have no recollection of who I am and why I am here... what this place is even..." You see the priest narrowing his pale eyes, with a stern expression. He mumbled something incoherent before he focused his gaze back onto you. "Amnesia..." He strokes his chin ponderously. "Amnesia, you say. I can believe it. You look half-dead, and the smell of rot and gore coming from you is enough to confirm it..."

You wince at his remark. It was... humbling but regardless true. Your mind wonders back to the possibilities of how you ended up here... "I've heard of such things before- the mind can be a fragile thing. Some things are too much for it to take." While he spoke, you stared down at your hands, bony and pale from malnutrition, callouses on your palms... perhaps the strange man was right... something so heinous and unspeakable had happened to you that your conscience had rejected it.

"You said you wanted answers? Ask what you wish, and make it quick I don’t have all day. "I was just wondering if you could at least tell me where I am... this place is utterly unknown to me." You explained with a heavy sigh. "You have absolutely no clue what this place is? No hint at all?" He asked, almost teasingly.

You shook your head and the man chuckles to himself in a rather unpleasant manor, you noticed he wore a long dark robe, was this stranger some kind of cultist? The man’s expression darkens. "You are standing in the heart of the dungeon of fear and hunger...although that mustn't mean a lot to you..." He pauses, thinking how to follow up on his explanation. "It's a deadly and unforgiving plane, where those unfortunate enough to end up are hunted by countless horror in these ruins. In truth you are very lucky to be among the living..."

You try to process the man's words, your brain cannot fathom what it's being told, you pinch your temples, a pained look on your face. "So certain death awaits me?" You almost laugh, had the world always been this cruel to you? You would probably never find out. "How charming..." The stranger gives you a curious look before raising a brow and focusing his partial attention back to the tome planted in his grasp. "I never said certain death, those are your words, woman." He spat at you. "...Well, perhaps it is foolish to ask but- do you know of an exit I can seek out?" After uttering such words, you feel that familiar pressure building in your head, almost like your body was punishing you for even bringing up such a possibility. You wince, ignoring it for the time being. "Perhaps- what use would it serve either of us if I told you, hm? You wouldn't have the knowledge to be able to locate it."

He was admittedly correct however you still felt annoyance at his words. Freedom was just within your grasp, and the person who held the key to it wouldn't even give it to you, although would you if you were in his shoes... you had nothing to offer to him, not possessions, not knowledge, not even good company. "I suppose you are right..." You grumbled. A moment of silence passes between the two of you, before he shot you another agitated glare and awkwardly looked away. "Was there anything else you needed?" He mumbled. You shook your head.

This man couldn't help you... you would have to figure out a way to survive by yourself. "No... thank you for your advice though… sir?" The man almost rolled his eyes at you, before once again muttering something which vaguely sounded like 'You're welcome' although you couldn't tell if it was your imagination playing tricks on you. “I am a priest of darkness; you may address me as Enki If we ever cross paths again.” You instinctively go to introduce yourself, but realise you had forgotten your own name, oh you unfortunate thing. “I am y/n..” You did not know why you had lied- but nevertheless it was a pretty name that you’d managed to remember. The priest nodded slightly in recognition and you realised you’d outstayed your visit,

Before wondering back into the passage you took one final breath, savouring your last glimmer of normalcy in the library, before the dark descent begun once more.

[hayatheauthor]

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if you have any advice for making immortal characters?

I'm making one for a story and kinda stuck on a few things

Crafting immortal characters presents a unique set of challenges for writers. Visualizing the personality and lifestyle of someone who has lived for centuries can be a daunting task. I personally haven't written many immortal characters, but here is my simple guide to writing immortal characters. 

Understanding Immortality

Immortality is a concept that has captivated storytellers for centuries. Before diving into the intricacies of writing immortal characters, it's crucial to establish a clear understanding of what immortality means in your story's context. Consider whether your characters are ageless, impervious to injury, or possess an endless lifespan. This foundational knowledge will shape how you approach their characterization and the challenges they might face.

The Appeal of Immortality

Deciding whether to make a character immortal is a significant creative choice. Immortality can add depth and intrigue to a character, but it's essential to weigh the storytelling benefits against potential drawbacks. Consider the thematic elements of your narrative—does immortality serve the central themes of your story? If your story explores the passage of time, loss, or the human condition, immortality can be a compelling tool.

Additionally, immortality allows for the exploration of different time periods, historical events, and changing societal norms. It can provide a unique perspective on human existence and create opportunities for character growth over an extended timeline. However, it's crucial to strike a balance, ensuring that immortality enhances the narrative rather than overshadowing it.

Types of Immortality

When delving into the concept of immortality, it's important to explore the various types that can shape the nature of your immortal character. Immortality isn't a one-size-fits-all concept, and different narratives employ diverse approaches to convey this enduring existence. Here are several types of immortality to consider:

Biological Immortality:

Biological immortality refers to a character's ability to cease aging and remain in a perpetual state of physical youth. This form of immortality doesn't prevent death from external factors like injury or disease but ensures the character won't die from old age.

Regenerative Immortality:

Characters with regenerative immortality possess the ability to recover rapidly from injuries, regardless of their severity. This type of immortality allows for survival in situations that would be fatal to others.

Resurrection Immortality:

Resurrection immortality involves characters who can come back to life after death. This form of immortality often comes with certain conditions or limitations, such as a specific time frame for resurrection or the need for an external force.

Cursed Immortality:

Some immortals might be cursed to live forever as a consequence of their actions or a supernatural event. This form of immortality can add complexity to a character's journey, as they grapple with the burden of eternal life.

Spiritual Immortality:

Spiritual immortality separates the character's consciousness from their physical body. Even if their body is destroyed, their consciousness persists, potentially allowing them to inhabit new vessels or even exist as ethereal entities.

Conditional Immortality:

Characters with conditional immortality can only be killed under specific circumstances or by specific means. This form of immortality often adds tension to the narrative, as characters may need to discover and exploit these weaknesses.

Choosing the type of immortality for your character depends on the themes and dynamics you want to explore in your story. Each type brings its own set of challenges and opportunities for character development.

The Challenges of Writing Immortal Protagonists

Crafting an immortal protagonist comes with its own set of challenges, demanding careful consideration to avoid narrative pitfalls. While the allure of an eternal character might be tempting, it's essential to navigate potential obstacles effectively. Here are some challenges you might encounter when writing immortal protagonists:

Stagnation and Boredom:

Immortality could lead to stagnation, with characters becoming disinterested or bored over centuries. Finding meaningful pursuits or addressing existential ennui becomes a crucial aspect of immortal character development.

Loss and Grief:

Immortal characters often witness the passing of loved ones, raising questions about coping with eternal grief. Exploring the emotional toll of enduring relationships and inevitable farewells adds depth to their narrative.

Maintaining Tension:

The fear of death is a powerful narrative tool, and writing an immortal character requires innovative ways to sustain tension. Introducing other forms of vulnerability or consequences for their actions becomes essential to keep the stakes high.

Relatability to Mortals:

Immortal characters might struggle to relate to mortal experiences, making it challenging for readers to empathize. Balancing their extraordinary existence with relatable elements ensures readers can connect with the character on a human level.

Memory Overload:

With centuries of experiences, memory overload is a realistic concern. Immortal characters may grapple with the weight of accumulated memories, potentially leading to mental strain or identity crises.

Moral Evolution:

Immortal characters must undergo moral and emotional evolution over time. Addressing how their perspectives change across centuries and adapting to evolving societal norms adds complexity to their character arc.

Navigating these challenges requires a delicate blend of creativity and empathy. Immortal protagonists offer unique storytelling opportunities, but their narratives demand careful handling to resonate with readers and maintain a compelling plot.

Character Development and Immortality

Creating a dynamic and relatable immortal character hinges on their growth and transformation over time. While immortality offers longevity, it shouldn't equate to static personalities. Consider the following aspects to ensure your immortal protagonist undergoes meaningful character development:

Learning from Experiences:

Immortality grants the opportunity for characters to accumulate diverse experiences. Showcase how these encounters shape their beliefs, values, and perspectives. Immortal characters should evolve emotionally and intellectually, drawing wisdom from their extensive life.

Adapting to Change:

Explore how your immortal character adapts to societal and technological changes. Their ability to navigate evolving landscapes, both physically and metaphorically, provides opportunities for character development and engaging storytelling.

Embracing Vulnerability:

Despite immortality, vulnerability adds depth to characters. Introduce challenges or weaknesses that resonate with readers, fostering empathy and connection. Immortal characters should grapple with their humanity, despite their extended lifespans.

Exploring Relationships:

Immortal characters can form unique connections across different time periods. Delve into the complexities of their relationships with mortals and fellow immortals. Address the impact of enduring friendships, love, and loss on their emotional landscape.

Personal Growth Arcs:

Craft personal growth arcs that transcend centuries. Immortal characters should confront internal conflicts, flaws, and insecurities, showcasing a relatable journey of self-discovery despite their extraordinary lifespan.

Facing Consequences:

Immortality doesn't exempt characters from facing consequences. Establish a sense of accountability for their actions, ensuring that decisions made centuries ago still reverberate in their present. Consequences provide narrative tension and drive character development.

Remember, immortality shouldn't hinder character growth; rather, it should enhance the depth and complexity of their journey. Immortal protagonists can offer readers a compelling exploration of humanity, time, and the enduring quest for self-discovery.

Physical Changes and Lack Thereof

When crafting immortal characters, the portrayal of physical aspects becomes a crucial element. Consider the following factors to effectively convey the unique nature of immortality in your writing:

Ageless Appearance:

   Immortal characters often maintain a youthful or ageless appearance, defying the natural aging process. Describe their timeless beauty or the perpetual state of their physical prime, emphasizing the contrast with mortal characters.

Scars and Battle Marks:

   Showcase battle scars and marks as enduring symbols of an immortal's longevity. These physical remnants tell stories of epic encounters, providing a visual narrative of the character's journey through time.

Adaptive Evolution:

   Explore the idea of adaptive evolution in immortal beings. Depending on your world-building, immortals might possess the ability to adapt physically over time, gaining new attributes or even altering their physical form in response to challenges.

Stasis and Stagnation:

   Delve into the potential downsides of immortality, such as the risk of stagnation. Immortal characters might experience periods of stasis, where their physical appearance and abilities plateau, presenting a unique challenge to their personal growth.

Temporal Reflections:

   Use reflections, whether in mirrors or bodies of water, to emphasize the temporal disparity between immortals and mortals. Immortal characters may see reflections that carry the weight of centuries, offering poignant moments of self-reflection.

Symbolic Transformations:

   Employ symbolic physical transformations to mirror an immortal's internal evolution. For instance, a character's eyes could change color or exhibit unique features during pivotal moments, signaling shifts in their emotional or psychological state.

Effectively portraying physical changes, or the lack thereof, allows readers to immerse themselves in the intricacies of your immortal characters. Balancing the timeless allure with nuanced details enhances the richness of their existence within your narrative.

Psychological Realities of Immortality

Navigating the psychological landscape of immortal characters adds depth and complexity to your storytelling. Consider the following aspects to capture the essence of their enduring minds:

Temporal Perspective:

   Immortals view time through a vastly different lens, witnessing the ebb and flow of history. Delve into their temporal perspective, exploring how centuries of existence shape their perception of fleeting mortal lives.

Accumulated Wisdom:

   Immortality often comes with accumulated knowledge and wisdom. Showcase the breadth of their insights, portraying them as repositories of experiences and lessons learned throughout the ages.

Isolation and Relationships:

   Explore the theme of isolation that can accompany immortality. Immortal characters might struggle with forming lasting connections with mortals due to the inevitable heartbreak of witnessing their transient lives.

Personal Evolution:

   Detail the personal evolution of immortal characters over time. Just as their physical forms may change, their personalities and beliefs can undergo profound transformations, allowing readers to witness the intricate interplay of experience and growth.

Existential Questions:

   Immortals grapple with existential questions about the meaning of their eternal existence. Address their struggles with purpose and identity, weaving a narrative that reflects the timeless quest for self-discovery.

Emotional Resilience:

   Immortals may develop emotional resilience, adapting to loss and upheaval with a perspective that transcends the immediate pain. Explore how they cope with emotional challenges and form coping mechanisms unique to their enduring nature.

Moral Dilemmas:

   Immortality often raises moral dilemmas. Consider how an immortal character confronts questions of ethics, morality, and the consequences of actions that reverberate across centuries.

Crafting the psychological realities of immortality invites readers to delve into the intricate minds of your characters. By seamlessly integrating these aspects into your narrative, you create a compelling exploration of the human—or rather, immortal—experience.

Physical Manifestations of Immortality

The physical aspects of immortal characters can significantly shape their presence in your story. Paying attention to these details enhances the believability of their immortal nature:

Ageless Appearance:

   Immortals often maintain a perpetual youthful appearance. Describe how they defy the aging process, showcasing flawless skin, unchanged features, and an eternal vibrancy that sets them apart from mortals.

Healing Abilities:

   Explore the regenerative capabilities that come with immortality. Immortal characters can heal from injuries that would be fatal to mortals, adding an element of resilience and invincibility to their physicality.

Resilience to Disease:

   Immortality typically grants immunity to diseases and ailments. Consider how your characters navigate a world where mortal afflictions hold no power over them, emphasizing the contrast between their enduring health and the vulnerabilities of mortals.

Enhanced Strength and Agility:

   Immortals often possess heightened physical abilities. Showcase their extraordinary strength, agility, and reflexes, allowing them to excel in physical feats beyond the capabilities of ordinary humans.

Immortal Scars and Markings:

   Delve into the concept of immortal scars—wounds that may linger as reminders of past battles or significant events. These scars, unlike mortal wounds, serve as enduring symbols of an immortal's journey through time.

Adaptation to Environment:

   Consider how immortals adapt to various environments and climates. Whether it's extreme temperatures or challenging terrains, their bodies may possess a remarkable ability to endure conditions that would challenge mortal limits.

Shape-Shifting or Transformation:

   Some immortals possess the ability to change their physical form. Explore the concept of shape-shifting or transformation, allowing your characters to adopt different appearances throughout their eternal existence.

Inherent Magical Traits:

   Immortality is often intertwined with magical elements. Highlight any inherent magical traits your characters may possess, such as the ability to manipulate elements, control forces of nature, or tap into mystical energies.

By intricately weaving these physical manifestations into your narrative, you create a vivid portrayal of immortal characters that captivates readers and adds a layer of enchantment to your storytelling.

I hope this blog on How To Write Immortal Characters will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[bestworstcase]

ALSO. IRRELEVANT SIDEBAR. i seem to be the only person in the fandom who a) took it as a given that ‘the girl who fell through the world’ was at least a century old and thus predated the great war by at least two or three decades, and b) didn’t think the author’s identity being unknown was odd enough to require an explanation.

and i’m wondering now if the xkcd average familiarity curse Got Me bfgrbxcjk

alice’s adventures in wonderland! that book is One Hundred Fifty-Eight Years Old. it was published in november 1865. through the looking glass was published six years later in december 1871. CAN YOU NAME THE AUTHOR?

if you answered “lewis carroll,” bzzt! incorrect!

(well, correct in that the books were indeed written under that pseudonym BUT I MEAN HIS REAL NAME.)

alice’s adventures in wonderland is a hundred and fifty-eight years old. it has never been out of print. it’s been translated into a hundred seventy-four languages and it’s one of the best known works of nineteenth century english literature in the world. it’s been adapted many, many times for stage and radio and film and video games. “retelling the true story of alice in wonderland” is like an entire niche fantasy YA subgenre; i could name seven different examples off the top of my head. it’s as close to UBIQUITOUS as it’s possible for a story to be in a world with seven billion people living in it.

and… in a world where the non-pseudonymous identity of the author is thoroughly documented and easily accessible via the internet, the average person who Fondly Remembers watching the disney animated film or having the book read to them as a kid doesn’t know that ‘lewis carroll’ was a pen name.

his real name was charles dodgson.

and the reason the average person doesn’t know that isn’t any kind of individual failing or whatever, it’s just that the book was published almost a hundred and sixty years ago under a pen name. the pen name is what’s on the cover. most people don’t go Looking for biographical information about the authors of books their parents read to them as kids unless they have a particular reason to be interested. such as high octane nerdery.

(i own the 150th anniversary edition of the annotated alice and have read it cover to cover multiple times. and i’ll do it again. i am an Owns Books About The Math In Wonderland kind of nerdy about alice.)

—the point. being. the real world has a lot of things going for it in terms of historical preservation that remnant does not, chiefly the absence of a Fuck Ton of monsters trying to eat everybody all the time and making international travel and communication horrifyingly dangerous on a good day. the CCTS has only existed for a few decades; before that, sharing information between kingdoms was matter of “send an armed convoy and hope they don’t get killed and eaten by The Horrors en route.”

so the scholars of remnant are at, to put it mildly, a serious disadvantage in terms of information being retained over time.

anyway. ‘the girl who fell through the world’ is established very clearly to be remnant’s equivalent of our alice’s adventures in wonderland, in that it is a quite old children’s story that became MASSIVELY POPULAR worldwide, to the point that nearly everyone alive has at least some familiarity with the plot, many remember it as a cherished childhood bedtime story, and the more bookish characters can quote favorite passages from memory.

which is to say, it isn’t just The Story is an allusion to the wonderland story. the book’s ubiquity is also modeled after alice’s ubiquity, and the lack of popular knowledge about the author’s real identity likewise takes its cue from the fact that in real life most people Don’t Know who charles dodgson is.

so!!!

it’s not at all unreasonable to think that ‘the girl who fell through the world’ is probably meant to be about as old as alice’s adventures in wonderland—about a hundred fifty years, which would mean lewis published it around sixty years before the great war even started. (he also presumably didn’t publish it as a child; if he was about the age dodgson was when alice went to print, this would have been around twenty years after the fact.)

and it’s also not unreasonable to think that lewis, like charles dodgson, published his book under a pseudonym. or anonymously, but given how certain jaune is that alyx wrote the book, even though it was lewis taking notes and lewis saying he would write the story for jaune to find his way home…

i’d put my bet on lewis having written his book as “A.L. [Surname].” A for alyx, L for lewis, a symbolic way for her to come home with him. but the girls upon discovering the ever after is real and alyx was real would of course think “oh, ‘AL’ as in short for alyx” and the use of initials is also ambiguous enough for jaune to worry his way to the conclusion that he did, after alyx poisoned him.

fast forward a century and a half or so in a setting with no internet for most of that and hordes of man-eating Nightmare Beasts inhibiting international communication and… yeah of course the Real Name of beloved children’s classic author A.L. Whoever isn’t common knowledge outside of academic and hobbyist carrollian-equivalent circles.

[moltensmusings]

Team Shadowgear headcanons/rewrites for fun. Note, it'll be a bit lengthy:

Levy, Jet, and Droy all get orphaned by the same monster attack on their village. Some older fairy tail mages save them from the destruction and one of them keeps the group housed even until modern day.

The trio have a sibling bond and are intensely supportive of each other, capable of knowing which areas they aren't great at and who excells.

The placement of Jet, Droy, and Levy's guildmark was chosen by levy, but the name rather than just being decided by Levy, was heavily debated among them for about a year before they settled on it.

In celebration of them going on their first mission unattended they get ear piercings. Almost like a rite of passage/adulthood. This was a Jet request as he always wanted some. (Note this is why I always draw them with the same piercings.)

They specialize in curse breaking, historical notations, and general collection of knowledge. Very much not a combat based group, often they go with other mages/groups for support and recon.

Levy has a habit of hoarding books. Droy and later on freed are the 2 who help her go through and remake books/rewrite them to help avoid rot that comes with older transcripts she finds.

Levy knows how to cast magic through sign language which is an incredibly complicated skill and can make script magic unstable of the mage isn't practiced enough. It's quicker to cast but trickier to get right.

Jet has to get specific magical shoes that are reinforced and sturdy due to his magic constantly wearing them out. He got so bummed about this that it leads to a decent portion of the guild spending a week helping him figure out how to preserve what he has.

Droy is the only one in shadowgear who can handle spice. He makes his food far too spicy and has learned to make separate portions for Levy and Jet.

Droy is the most friendly and easy to get along with in the group. It's not that they others are unfriendly, more that they get lost in their own worlds at times and aren't as focused on proper human connection. Though there aren't many close friends of Droy in the guild.

Jet has a more questionable sense of humor, he tends to find comedy in really tense and dangerous situations.

Juvia joins them a few months after getting into fairy tail due to a growing friendship with Droy as she takes up gardening as a hobby to try and figure herself out.

Gajeel joins a few weeks later, he actually would've become a bit more friendly with Jet since Makarov would've had both of them working on information gathering. Also Juvia wanting to work as a team with gajeel again.

Juvia bought Gajeel his guitar he always uses and considers herself his number one fan since she supported him even before joining fairy tail. She will fight people on it.

There is a lot of bad blood and tension between Gajeel and Levy at the start. She outright hates the man and doesn't take it easy on him causing him to have to work overtime to prove his intentions to improve and change.

When Lily does join he initially feels intensely awkward due to this hatred and an understanding that he should not involve himself and try to quell things. He tends to just pretend he can't hear or see anything since he knows how best to mind his business after years of politics and service to nobles.

Levy agrees to let Gajeel help her during Tenrou mainly because he's the only teammate who won't take it easy/will push her and it's the first time there's a clear amount of trust between the two of them enough for it to almost be said they're friends.

Juvia gets approached by Makarov before tenrou Island to see if she'd actually be willing to test for S-class, and ultimately, she refuses. Makarov wants his kids to improve but is also supportive of them figuring things out on their own and taking their time.

Droy grows various foods for the guild and guides plants into reinforcing damages the guild sustains. Him and Laki work overtime during the timeskip to keep the guildhall standing and develop a friendship.

Juvia starts a clothing line during the timeskip. Mainly, it's for children, though she also has a fair bit of exceed customers. She also makes custom dolls when requested to match her patrons.

Jet works mainly on infiltration and information gathering over the timeskip. Becoming closer with Warren, Vijeeter, lamia scale and the trimen as they all search out the missing members of the guild. He avidly refuses to accept anyone has died. Chico also assists in the efforts by conversing with spirits and making entirely sure none of the members appear after death.

Droy is naturally fat but was dieting and unhealthy with trying to stay slim, his focus shirting to caring for the guild means he goes back to his natural weight and is the most content he's been in years in spite of his grief.

Juvia post time skip is one of the main mages that keep the guild standing due to just how terrifying her abilities are. While the guild does have squabbles with rivals who want to take over the territory, no one is keen to cross her and she often calls some rain to make a point if people get to bold in their threats to the guild.

Jet started learning languages over the time skip. He and droy had a rough understanding of some prior to tenrou Island due to Levy's insistence, but as he runs more missions he does begin taking it more seriously. He's nowhere near Levy's level or knowledge, but he has a few learned by the time the tenrou crew returns.

Juvia knows how to speak 3 languages. What would be the equivalent of French, Russian, and English.

Droy is able to clock almost any plant and explain it's good and bad effects. He gets very excited about it and often rambles.

Droy, Jet, and Juvia typically try meeting for meals at least once a week just to catch up and keep the bond tight. They meet more often then that when Jet isn't on missions.

There's a noticeable shift in Gajeel and Levy's dynamic post Tenrou. Nothing explicitly romantic at first but Jet, Droy, and Levy see the beginnings of something and start a betting pool on what they think will happen. Most of the guild gets involved.

Pantherlily is fantastic with kids and considered the guild babysitter by most. He's the most easily able to handle being rough and grabbed.

I know I have more but that's my list for now. Featuring a height chart:

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Summary: Adlai and Celer finish their discussion, while something brews in the Old Ruins of Micah. If one can state that they are… actually in the Old Ruins. Meanwhile Solara is still in Clover, while she feels something that puts her even more on edge than what she already is

A/N: Hiya! I have taken another couple of months, because I don't want to miss anything crucial in canon. But. Here I am, delivering a little something and continuing down the same direction as planned. Hope you like it Length: ~4.0k Warnings: I continue on the same themes as previously, so I trust that if you've gotten this far, you'll handle where we are Tag list: @loosesodamarble @succulentsunrise

Chapter 8: Harp and tears

[“Where are you going?”] It was a fair question, asked after the meeting, in the room, with crystals that couldn’t be named by less knowledgeable men.

Celer, the oldest, and the only child of the House of Curiosi, gave Adlai, the one that was living and breathing Thea’s safety, a look.

But the look was about as informative as the silence, the empty hallway around them. Which is why Ad shook their head, and pushed his chin outwards a little as he did so, as if to try and fish out the information; hear the silence better.

However, the frown on Ad’s face, spoke of how little he understood the look.

To which Celer let out a soundless sigh. Not even a whisper. A flow of air. And placed their hands between them and Ad, palm side up for him to place his hands on top of theirs.

And he did.

Ler tapped. And tapped.

Two taps to the tip of their index finger.

[“Okay...”] Ad sighed. [“The ruins need tending, and I’ll... stay here.]”

Ler nodded. Just nodded. And let their palms lower down, so that the hands of the two people no longer met.

Someone needed to be there. In those ruins, to listen to the blasted ringing of the damned silver bells, the sound of which was nearly deafening to one’s ears.

Almost, but not quite.

After all, they had lived their entire life, listening to the bells.

It was only during the most recent years that the sound had grown so loud. So, soul shatteringly loud that it almost made one’s ears bleed. If one could hear them to begin with, that was.

A blessing and a curse, wrapped in one. Because while they could hear it, they couldn’t do anything about it.

Their hands could not touch the strings or the ropes. Even if their ears could hear the sound.

A lacking state of being that was exactly like that of mortals.

Limited.

But... the way the toll rang with silence, spoke to him. Told a tale of something brewing. Something... being about to happen.

They just didn’t know what it was, which is why they had to go there, to the old Ruins of Micah, and see for themselves.  

----

I wonder.... I wonder what that is... behind the surface. It’s blurry and too unclear to tell, but... there was something behind sister. There is something else in the room as well. But I just... don’t remember what it was. What it is. If it was there to begin with.

It must’ve.

Because the researchers of Old Micah made the room to be what it was.

This place was just an accident. An added bonus.

Or, well, an added bonus to me.

Lady Indomita says that it’s an anomaly. Something that shouldn’t be, and yet... here it is.

Not that she finds this place to be meaningful. Because it’s not as if... I can do anything else than observe here. Observe the way the threads, strings and ropes wind in their eternal dance. Mostly alone, and sometimes with... whatever that being is... but it’s nice to have company.

She placed her hand close to the surface of the mirror, the gate and the passage. Just let it hover there, without touching, and made the mirror vibrate, sent rippled course over it from the anticipation of someone going through after such a long time.

A fraction of an eternity.

I wonder... I wonder why this relic was created in the first place... and how the people of Micah came to have it....

She tipped her ring finger through the surface without effort. Which sent a wave of warmth over her. As if a whisper. A greeting. A friendly hello after being found.

The complete opposite of how she had felt, while entering the space in which she now existed.

This sensation... felt like home.

Like a home she wasn’t sure she could remember. Like one that she didn’t know how to feel about. And which, almost made her forget all the reasons why she had decided to walk away from the world, and shut herself here instead.

Because here there was no judgement. There was no wrong she could do.

After all, she was just an observer. Not a doer. Nothing was in her hands.

And yet, there she was. Centuries since then. By the door, the passage, and the mirror, about to go back into the world, which must’ve changed so very much during her absence.

But strangely enough, she wasn’t afraid.

A little apprehensive sure, but not quite afraid. Because this time she was... more curious about the world than she could remember ever feeling. After having sat on her thoughts and feelings for years. Thinking about what was her place in existence. What was her reason to be. And what should she do with it. What should she do with her life?

She didn’t have an answer.

But perhaps... perhaps it lied behind the surface of the liquid glass of the mirror.

‘Do or die’... isn’t that what they say? That there are different kinds of deaths and... how... if I stay, I know that nothing will change. Not for myself, nor for anyone else either. And... thought the threads would continue to twist and turn... maybe... maybe I could do something?

But there is no guarantee... that it’d be good. I could do damage. I could commit unspeakable horrors by not knowing what I’m doing.

Or then I could grant blessings that would fall second to only those granted by the heavens above. Heavens that must be empty...

I could do nothing at all, or then I could.... try to do something.

Which... I suppose is the question. Would I rather try to do good, or do nothing at all, and know, for certainty, that the good will not happen. Unless by some miracle.

Though miracles can be done by people too... depending on one’s definition of a miracle, of course, but... if I wish something to happen, I should at least try to do so.

Right?

...Right?

She took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

A single step. An embrace of warmth. A passing whisper that she couldn’t quite make out. After which she stood in a room.

And in that room, she saw with clarity the shape, the item, that had been in the background for as long as she could remember; and for as long as she could remember wondering what it was.

In the room, lied a harp.

----

Solara’s eyes scanned the area around.

The flames and the roar of Mereoleona.

Up in the sky, a distance away, there was another being with wings. Who seemed intent on attacking the Silvas. Against whom Noelle was battling.

Water against steel.

Until there was a flash of another kind of grey. Much more fluid and lighter in colour. Which assumed the shape of a man. Most likely Nozel.

The screams and the yells, coupled with the sounds of explosions ringing in the air, despite the battles won amidst the ongoing war.

I hope... Please... let them win. I’ll take any victory that would be given to u-

She winced. Leaned forward and curled around herself from the sudden spike of pain.

Did you two just kick mom again? She asked while trying to wobble closer to a nearby wall, so that she might lean onto it for support. Please... this is not the time. I know that you’re scared. I know. I know... she closed her eyes and pressed her back against the bricks, while feeling none of the cold due to the armour that was still around her. I know, she repeated within the depths of her mind. I am too... for your sake. And your father’s sake.

She glanced up, towards the scene where fire raged. Where the smell of burning flesh still lingered.

Where so many brave and valiant lives had been taken.

Salamander is still there... the largest form of those that were left. Which means that he must be too... she reasoned to herself while feeling that the world, or at least hers, was still somewhat in tact.

A feeling, a sensation, that she couldn’t quite explain. It just didn’t make any sense. Not while on such a field of battle. Amidst all the chaos and the screams. She shouldn’t have felt the kind of whisper, a lingering sliver of hope.

It must’ve been insanity.

But... in a place that is filled with despair, isn’t the nearly non-existent trace of hope the very thing that keeps people going? Because they simply have to believe that something good will follow. That something... if not them, then those they care about, will survive and prevail. Is that not the reason to keep going?

The feeling? No matter how unlikely and unreasonable? Because sometimes one has to defy reason, and have fate instead. That things will turn for the better.

Or then it was the feeling, the quiet reassurance that she felt in her very soul, told to her by the strings of fate that were still golden instead of stained with carmine. That the steady pulse, as if a squeeze in her hand, and a whisper in her heart, was still alive and radiant, rather than smeared by the very thing that flowed through their veins, keeping them alive.

He had to be alive.

He had to.

Simply had to.

She didn’t care if it might’ve been just a fable in which she wanted to believe due to the feeling. Because of the things she could see.

It just had to be true.

It’ll be alright, little ones... it’ll be-

“Ugh-“ she placed her hand onto her stomach and winced again.

Please don’t... oh no... little ones... please tell me that you are kicking me and not... her eyes opened and gaze flickered around without seeing anything around her. It was as if her eyes were trying to follow ideas bouncing around in her head, but did so with a faint sense of terror. Please don’t tell me that you didn’t choose this moment... she whispered within the confines of her own mind. Practically prayed to whatever non-existent being that might be able to hear her. When we said that we can’t wait to meet you, we meant it. We, from the bottom of our hearts, meant it, but.... Darlings... this is not the time.

She took a deep breath. As deep as she could, and tried to calm herself down. Let the burning pain subside, even if with one second at a time.

This is not... the time... Okay... Okay... calm down. Calm down... You know about this. Yes. You know this... If-, *if* this is it, then the contractions will take a long while. There are women who are admitted into the hospital, and spend the next day or two in this stage. So, it’s not like the kids are coming out right now. Yeah. So, there’s... well there is a lot of things to worry about, and staying here while in heavy labour is ... not ideal. By any means. It’s less than less ideal. But I have time to get ... somewhere else.

She took steady breaths while leaning against the wall, and kept her eyes closed for as long of a moment as she dared while trying to shut out her mana output. Make herself seem as difficult to notice as possible.

So... calm down. Calm down... you have time. So... for now, just focus on making yourself seem like as little of a threat as possible. No grand source of mana. No threat. Or at least as small of a threat as possible. And just... figure out where to go. The portal here I can’t use. The same applies to the one in the dungeon. Or... I could, but opening it would take a long, long while. Though I do have time.

She hesitated for a moment.

I hope... I should, have time.

Her eyes opened, and her head turned towards the direction where she knew home, the Vermillion estate to be.

Home is... too obvious. And will probably be burned down, if this goes on for long enough. The same applies to the castle, and the Crimson Lion Kings’ headquarters. So, while I would be able to make myself seem as harmless as possible, and to possess as little mana as possible, those places themselves can be targets.

Which meant that going to the places where she felt most at home, the most comfortable, was not an option.

But also... she glanced back towards the wall, where she knew her husband to be. Should I just... leave? Without... but how would I tell him? I can’t exactly reach out to him and... he did... throw away his-, no. That doesn’t mean anything. She brought her hand onto the charm around her neck; the other half of which she knew to be around his neck. He was... terrified.

She thought back to the moment. Just a few minutes prior. Tens of minutes. But minutes that had seemed far longer than that.

He was... scared...

The expression he had held. The angry. Horrified. Pale expression on his face. And the way he had grabbed onto the ring that had allowed for her to come to him, and tossed it onto the cobble stones under her feet.

He... was... He sent us away from... all this. Which is why he... it was fear. I must’ve been. Not anger at... me... Or maybe me too, but I just... she looked towards the direction again, but only briefly; as if she no longer had the strength to look for any longer.

So if I just disappear, after he has come to know that I *am* here, then he’d... I don’t know what he’d do... Because the reason why he stayed was because he... He is a dutiful man and he wanted to give us time to... If the world is going to end because of this, then at least he could make it more... difficult for the enemy and... I just...

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to fight off the tears that kept collecting behind her eyes. The grief and the fear that took on the form of burning hot tears; almost as if corroding, that seemed intent on rolling down her cheeks and falling onto the same cobble stones of the Kingdom of Clover, that had played a tune, as if a melody, with the piece of precious metal of Fuegoleon’s wedding band when it had been cast away.

The ocean of pain and grief that twisted and turned within her.

I just can’t... What am I supposed to do? Because... if I do tell him? When? Would it place him in more danger? When would it place me and our children in... not as much more danger? Or do I just go, and let him believe that we’ve disappeared. In which case he’d presume that we’ve died and then he’d... He would...

Her lips quivered, and a whimper escaped from her throat. Because the thought that was at the edge of her consciousness, she didn’t dare let in. She didn’t want to think it. Didn’t want to even consider it.

While knowing that she had to, if she was going to make this decision.

I don’t know what he’d do... she thought as the sob, the muffled cry that she had tried to swallow, broke through the air.

She hunched forward, almost as if it had been her body in pain, rather than her soul. But in reality, it was both. Because she could feel the pain in her body too. And not just in the way she was biting down her molars to the point where, had she managed to give it a conscious thought, she would have feared to be breaking her own teeth.

But a thought came through. A faint whisper.

My CCE... I still have it and he... He must have his as well. So... if he only looks at it.... That would be enough, right? It would be enough? So, if I go, and try to open the portal in the dungeon, to go back to Thea, then... he’d know...

She wasn’t quite delusional enough to trust that he’d feel the lingering sense of hope, which she felt, of him being alive through it all. Because her state of deliria was aided by the fact that she could see Salamander, if nothing else. That she could get glimpses, passing whispers of his mana around. Which confirmed her bias; the wish to believe in him being alive.

There was another spike of pain through her, which made her curl around herself, even if only a little.

That ... should be enough... Yes... it should be enough and then he wouldn’t... need to worry, as much, I think, because... even if ... If the worst would happen, the depths of that forgotten dungeon, previously a research facility, isn’t the most sensible place to look for. For anyone. At least an individual and... while our children are royalty, and royalty of this country, they’re not... there is no reason to pursue them to the extent.  

She had to believe in the thought. In the idea that it made sense. That leaving royalty of a country one was taking over, alive, was okay. Because it wasn’t just Clover being an intended target of being overthrown.

It was the world.

So now I... I need to think of our children. And he’d...

She swallowed while straightening her back.

We promised to each other. To always put our children first.

The bitter taste on her tongue still lingered.

We promised. And... if I’m going to... keep a promise then I need to... This would be it, right? If nothing else, and if I can manage to leave then... I should...

She tried to reason with herself while swallowing again. But still the bitter taste of the thoughts refused to go down. And she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be becoming any easier any time soon. Rather, she thought it would become even more nauseating.

Right?

She asked herself.

Right...? I should try to... leave... right?

----

I should check on Lara... just in case... Adlai thought while walking out of the Curiosi estate. I know that she needs time and space to grieve, while... preparing herself for labour. Though the due date isn’t for quite some time now. Not that they didn’t say that the kids couldn’t be born prematurely. Especially because it’s twins. But still... I like to think that she can... focus on one thing at a time, rather than having to go into labour during the same day as her husband is supposedly killed.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked with a slouched posture. Because... while he felt it necessary to go see his friend, he didn’t know how on earth he could do so while holding his head up high.

I know that she’s... upset that we’re not helping them, but... it’s their king. The leader of their military. Against their own country. It’s nothing short of a civil war. As absurd as it might seem. Because it’s... from my understanding, essentially one man against an army. He grimaced while setting off into the air, and towards the Equinox estate. Though he can always recruit mercenaries. Which isn’t... against the law. Technically speaking. But since the perpetrator is still, the enemy of the state, is the leader of said estate, or at least one of them, we have no right to intervene as a foreign country.

He had had to remind himself of the fact time and time again. Because... while he was an official, nobility, and a head of security, or would be in some years, he was also a friend and a man. Which also meant that he wasn’t heartless.

And... sending one or two... if those individuals so wished, wouldn’t really make a difference. If anything, it’d be one or two losses from our strengths, which, should the war eventually escalate here. If the king is successful in Clover and begins invading other countries that is. Should the war then come here, we’d need all man power we can get.

His eyes stayed down, as he tried to reason with himself.

In many ways, it’s the same situation as it was before, with the devils. Only that devils don’t know, or care, about the borders between countries. While people, more often than not, do. So... in this instance, laying low and caring for our own, makes sense. Not interfering with the internal matters of another state, makes sense. And he... always has a choice to become a refugee...

There was a bitter taste to the thought. Not because he would have, particularly, minded about Fuegoleon coming to stay in Thea permanently, but because the status in itself was, to anyone, a sorrowful one.

He is a good man and... He could do good here too. But... he doesn’t want to leave, and I get that. He doesn’t want to turn his back to his people, which I respect.

His chin lifted, even if only slightly, as his destination came into sight.

She picked a good one, the thought was bitter. Even more so than the one before. It just... seems that it wasn’t meant to be. At least for the long run.

He set down, and began walking into the building.

I just... what do I even say...? ‘How are you?’ Well obviously she’s doing bad because of all of this. ‘Would she like to talk?’ Probably not, because how does one even begin talking about something like this? ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ While nearing the due date? Short walks, sure, but a longer one no. Unless mandatory, but... where would she need to go now? And I don’t think she’d even want to. For more reasons than that.

He was let in, and asked if he could go see her. Which he was allowed to do. Only that her whereabouts weren’t known. Just that she had last been seen heading out.

To which he thanked, and sighed.

I don’t like doing this... he thought to himself, while whipping out his CCE. But as long as she has her CCE with her, which most of the time she does, like everyone else, I can track her.

His fingers tapped onto the screen with hesitation, despite him having the best intentions in mind.

I just... don’t think she should be alone too much. Not at the moment...

He let the device run its search, but in the end, the result that showed on the screen, made Ad frown.

Out of reach... Does that... Is it turned off? Or is she under ground? Maybe at the castle...? He turned to look towards the direction of the castle, the white marble towers of which still reached towards the skies. Just as he could remember them always having been.

I could... run the more advanced search... he thought. I do need to write a report about it though, but... I think it’s alright... considering the situation... he pondered, knowing fully well that this search would reach down to the lower levels of the castle as well; into places that were off limits for most of the time. Not the highest grade of device search, but close to it. And the highest grade that he could personally conduct.

Alone at least.

So, he chose the other option, and began waiting.

And he waited. And waited. And waited...

Can’t this bloody countdown go any faster? He slightly cursed in his mind as the numbers flashed on the screen, little by little getting closer to completion.

And as they did, another frown settled onto his face.

One that made cold chills run down his spine, because... from what he knew, all portals had been shut down today. No one was to go in, or out. And he hadn’t gotten an alert of any unlawful, unexpected travels from, or to, Thea.

But still, the device in his hand, was adamant of the location.

Solara was in Clover Kingdom.