#the man. the moth. the legend. — ANSWERED.

[celepom]

It’s Pride 2023! Time to put up some more comic recs!

This time I’ve put together some stories about discovering one’s own queer identity, outlining a family history of queerness, and several stories where being queer isn’t the focus - queer characters are simply allowed to be.

Belle of the Ball By Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

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The Moth Keeper By Kay O’Neill

Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth and show her thanks to her friends with her actions, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn't exactly what Anya thought it would be? The nights are cold in the desert and the lunar moths live far from the village. Anya finds herself isolated and lonely. Despite Anya's dedication, she wonders what it would be like to live in the sun. Her thoughts turn into an obsession, and when Anya takes a chance to stay up during the day to feel the sun's warmth, her village and the lunar moths are left to deal with the consequences.

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Hollow By Shannon Watters, Branden Boyer-White & Berenice Nelle

Isabel "Izzy" Crane and her family have just relocated to Sleepy Hollow, the town made famous by—and obsessed with—Washington Irving's legend of the Headless Horseman. But city slicker-skeptic Izzy has no time for superstition as she navigates life at a new address, a new school, and, with any luck, with new friends. Ghost stories aren't real, after all.... Then Izzy is pulled into the orbit of the town's teen royalty, Vicky Van Tassel (yes, that Van Tassel) and loveable varsity-level prankster Croc Byun. Vicky's weariness with her family connection to the legend turns to terror when the trio begins to be haunted by the Horseman himself, uncovering a curse set on destroying the Van Tassel line. Now, they have only until Halloween night to break it—meaning it's a totally inconvenient time for Izzy to develop a massive crush on the enigmatic Vicky. Can Izzy's practical nature help her face the unknown—or only trip her up? As the calendar runs down to the 31st, Izzy will have to use all of her wits and work with her new friends to save Vicky and uncover the mystery of the legendary Horseman of Sleepy Hollow—before it's too late. 

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Until I Meet my Husband By Ryousuke Nanasaki & Yoshi Tsukizuki

The memoir of gay activist Ryousuke Nanasaki and the first religiously recognized same-sex marriage in Japan. From school crushes to awkward dating sites to finding a community, this collection of stories recounts the author’s “firsts” as a young gay man searching for love. Dating is never ever easy, but that goes doubly so for Ryousuke, whose journey is full of unrequited loves and many speed bumps. But perseverance and time heals all wounds, even those of the heart.

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Is Love the Answer? By Uta Isaki

When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside--asexual--and she’s not the only one. After years of wondering if love was the answer, Chika realizes that the answer she long sought may not exist at all--and that that's perfectly normal.

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M Is for Monster By Talia Dutton

When Doctor Frances Ai's younger sister Maura died in a tragic accident six months ago, Frances swore she would bring her back to life. However, the creature that rises from the slab is clearly not Maura. This girl, who chooses the name "M," doesn't remember anything about Maura's life and just wants to be her own person. However, Frances expects M to pursue the same path that Maura had been on—applying to college to become a scientist—and continue the plans she and Maura shared. Hoping to trigger Maura's memories, Frances surrounds M with the trappings of Maura's past, but M wants nothing to do with Frances' attempts to change her into something she's not. In order to face the future, both Frances and M need to learn to listen and let go of Maura once and for all. Talia Dutton's debut graphic novel, M Is for Monster, takes a hard look at what it means to live up to other people's expectations—as well as our own.

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Golden Sparkle By Minta Suzumaru

Himaru Uehara’s first year of high school is off to a good start, minus one problem—he keeps having wet dreams. With only his mom and sister at home—and having skipped health class in middle school—he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him. Thankfully, a new friend has just the remedy and teaches Himaru exactly how to deal with those pesky dreams! But his solution only leads to more confusion, and the two find themselves navigating feelings they’ve never felt before.

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Thieves By Lucie Bryon

Ella can’t seem to remember a single thing from the party the night before at a mysterious stranger’s mansion, and she sure as heck doesn’t know why she’s woken up in her bed surrounded by a magpie’s nest of objects that aren’t her own. And she can’t stop thinking about her huge crush on Madeleine, who she definitely can’t tell about her sudden penchant for kleptomania… But does Maddy have secrets of her own? Can they piece together that night between them and fix the mess of their chaotic personal lives in time to form a normal, teenage relationship? That would be nice.

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Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic By Alison Bechdel

Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescense, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive.

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She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat By Sakaomi Yuzaki

Cooking is how Nomoto de-stresses, but one day, she finds herself making way more than she can eat by herself. And so, she invites her neighbor Kasuga, who also lives alone. What will come out of this impromptu dinner invitation...?

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.  

[misstycloud]

Yandere!Hunter x Elf!Reader

Yandere!hunter who is the village’s loner. He rarely talks to anyone else, instead he prefers to keep to himself in his cabin secluded from the town.

Yandere!hunter who has heard legends about the kinds of creatures living in the forest nearby, the one that almost no one goes into. Well, except him of course. The place was gianourmus and hard to find the way out the moment you set foot inside. It was like a maze. One you’ll be trapped in forever if you weren’t careful.

Yandere!hunter who regards himself as a logical man and therefore doesn’t believe a word of those silly tales. They were just bedtime stories for kids, something parents used to keep them out of the woods.

Yandere!hunter who goes into the woods in hunt for prey, he needed meat to sell at the market; also he was in urgency of food on the table. He had to eat and lazing around the cabin wouldn’t solve anything.

Yandere!hunter who definitely doesn’t believe in things like elves. Ethereal, intelligent and magical, how could a perfect being be real. They don’t exist. But how come he met you?

Yandere!hunter who was just as surprised as you to come across another creatures on your adventure through the high trees. You immediately raised your guard when you saw him. He was a stranger, a potential threat to your life.

Yandere!hunter who was taken aback by your beauty. No one he’d ever seen before could compare to you. There was just something about you that instantly drew him in like a moth to a flame. You were obviously not a mortal, that was for sure. The hunter started thinking back to the legends, perhaps they were in fact true. There really were magical creatures such as elves living in the woods.

Yandere!hunter who lowered his weapons to show you that he wasn’t intending on harming you. Then he slowly inched closer to you, barely daring to breathe in fear of you simply being an illusion of being there for too long.

Yandere!hunter who is overjoyed when you don’t run away and chose to stay and talk to him. It had been a while since he last held a conversation longer than two sentences.

Yandere!hunter who is desperate when you say you needed to go home and begs you to meet with him in the same spot the next night. He had to speak to you again, he must get to know you more. Luckily you agree to his request, albeit a bit reluctantly at first while looking over your shoulder deeper into the forest. As if you were worried about something in there.

Yandere!hunter who is thoroughly enjoying the conversations you two share every night. Not only were you wonderful on the outside, you were heavenly on the inside too. So kind and full of life, always curious about things and willing to learn.

Yandere!hunter who thinks your pointed ears are just adorable and let’s you feel his own rounded ones. How your face lits up when you are allowed to touch his ears is so cute, he thinks.

Yandere!hunter who absolutely loves when you ask him questions regarding his life. You showed interest in him! He answers all questions honestly, only wanting to reveal himself to you. You were the first person to ask him about his day and his likes, it warmed his heart to the point of it feeling like it’s going to explode.

Yandere!hunter who is sad when his inquiries concerning your life is responded with vague and short replies. You say that you can’t really tell him that much about your society, that it would be unfair to the others.

Yandere!hunter who realises he can’t live without you in his life. He must have you with him. What if you’re not safe? What if someone’s being mean towards you? What if another comes for your hand?

Yandere!hunter who won’t let anyone else have you when he needs you the most. The next time you meet, he supposed he’ll have to convince you that he is a much better option and you’ll be happier with him.

[verona2314]

Judgment of the Damned (translation) PART X

LINK PART IX

Summary:

In the realm of Limbo, where souls deemed too good for Hell but not virtuous enough for Heaven reside, Victoria finds herself thrust into an unprecedented mission. When a notorious sinner, Sir Pentious, achieves redemption and ascends to Heaven, it sends shockwaves through all realms. Tasked with unraveling this mystery, Victoria, a minor judge of souls, is sent to the infamous Hazbin Hotel in Hell. For the first time, an emissary from Limbo steps foot into the fiery depths, tasked with observing and judging the denizens of Hell for their potential for redemption. As Victoria navigates this unfamiliar territory, she captures the unrequired attention of the enigmatic Radio Demon, Alastor. Amidst the chaos of demonic antics and the pursuit of understanding redemption, Victoria must confront her own beliefs and judgments. As she delves deeper into the secrets of the Hazbin Hotel, Victoria uncovers hidden truths about sinners, redemption, and the ultimate fate of souls caught between damnation and salvation. With each soul she encounters, Victoria's journey becomes not only a quest for answers but a personal voyage of self-discovery in the heart of darkness.

Chapter 10: Convergence of Wills

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Hello everyone! I'm very sorry for my absence these weeks. I've been a bit busy with some things, but I promise to keep uploading more chapters. Thank you for following this story, I appreciate you all very much, my dear readers. <3

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Vox

The bustling and chaotic streets of Hell were more agitated than usual. The news about the possible existence of a judge from Limbo spread with relentless speed. It was no surprise that the higher-ups were employing all their resources and sources of information to locate the judge. It was a race against time where the winner would take all the advantages, and Vox was not willing to lose.

For the Overlord, the captured images were more than enough evidence that Limbo was real and, therefore, all the legends related to it were real as well. Undoubtedly, having a minor judge as an ally would be a powerful card, but caution must be exercised. Forcing a being from that plane would be complete recklessness. The only way to use a judge from Limbo would be by creating a solid friendship through manipulations, or finding something to blackmail them with. Bribery was always an option, of course, but for Vox, it was not a very reliable guarantee.

Setting aside those details, the primary concern was finding the judge. That's why Vox had spent the morning reviewing the recordings from the drones scattered around the area, although without much success. This had put him in a bad mood. It also didn't help that the cannibals constantly shot down his devices due to their strange repudiation of anything foreign to their outdated "style." As a result, he didn't have many images of the scene. This led him to wonder: why would a judge from Limbo be near the cannibal district?

"I see you're still playing with your screens," Valentino said mockingly, lighting a cigarette. "Haven't had any luck? Oh, what a pity."

"Val, the last thing I need right now is for you to fuck me. We need to find her first," he replied, frowning, trying to keep his patience.

"Oh, come on. Nobody has more eyes than you in this city. If anyone's going to find her first, it's you," his companion said, gently stroking his shoulder.

"Wait... there's someone who has more eyes, who keeps more up to date than I do," Vox couldn't understand how he hadn't thought of it before. "Tell Velvet to search her social networks for any videos, photos, stories she finds about the judge or that have been captured near the scene."

"Alright, I'll tell her. Anything else?," the moth man inquired.

“With your shitty eyesight? No, thank you,"replied Vox without taking his eyes off the screens.

"That was unnecessary. Well, if you have such great vision, how come you didn't notice a certain someone in the background of that video?" Valentino retorted, pointing to one of the screens with his long cigarette.

"What are you talking about?" Vox asked, squinting as he leaned closer to the device. It was playing a video recorded by a citizen's phone and had been featured in the news. Carefully and with effort, he studied the image, trying to spot what his companion was referring to. Suddenly, he noticed it. It was just a fraction of seconds. Amidst the chaotic crowd stood Alastor. "How the hell did you see that?"

"Huh? I'd recognize that red blotch anywhere," Valentino shrugged nonchalantly. "Anyway, I don't think it's relevant. Doesn't he usually frequent the cannibal district? It's probably just a coincidence."

"With Alastor, you can never be too sure. Did you already message Velvet?" Vox inquired.

"Yeah, yeah. You're so impatient. She's sending you what she gathered," Valentino muttered, a little irritated. "She says to stop bothering her. She can't believe you're not capable of doing this on your own, and..."

Vox ignored the rest of the comments and projected the images and videos received from Velvet onto all his screens, scrutinizing every pixel in search of Alastor. His instinct told him that the radio demon must be involved in some way. After a few minutes of intense concentration, Vox finally spotted something intriguing. In the background of one video, he saw Alastor crossing a narrow street from side to side, holding... a rug? The image was blurry, and Vox struggled to make out the details. As he tried to enhance the clarity, he noticed something even more suspicious: it looked like there was a hand peeking out from the folds of the fabric Alastor was carrying. Was he transporting a body? Why bother to conceal it? After all, Alastor was a sadist who didn't mind flaunting his actions proudly. Perhaps he was overthinking it, but he could bet that the person Alastor was hauling was the judge.

"Shit," he whispered. Once again, the radio demon had beaten him to it. But all was not lost. He still had a chance to take the judge. Perhaps Alastor had her captive, and he could rescue her, thereby earning the woman's trust. Though, knowing his enemy, he'd likely already be trying to manipulate her. "I think it's time for a new broadcast," he said aloud, smiling broadly. He already had a plan in mind.

Charlie

She stood nervously in front of Victoria's room door. That morning, the judge had already awakened, and Charlie greatly wished to finally have an extensive conversation with her. Would it be rude to disturb her on the same day she woke up? Should she have brought some token like candy or a greeting card? Should she mention her concerns about redemption or stick to superficial conversation?

She shook her head, trying to silence her doubts. She exhaled deeply before determinedly knocking on the door.

"Come in," Victoria's melodious voice responded.

Charlie entered the room carefully. To her surprise, Adrian was seated in a chair next to the judge's bed, who was still resting. Apparently, both were engaged in lively conversation.

"Hello, Miss Charlie," Victoria greeted with a tray of food on her lap.

"Hi, Your Honor," the princess replied with a nervous smile. "I see Adrian brought you lunch?"

"Oh yes. He feels very indebted for the whole situation," the judge added with a soft smile. Adrian glanced down at the floor a little embarrassed. "And call me Victoria. You don't have to be so formal with me, Charlie."

"That's adorable! I can't blame him. Yesterday he told us how brave you were in facing that guy," Charlie replied, feeling more at ease.

"You call it bravery; most call it recklessness," Victoria replied, laughing lightly. "Adrian was telling me how he ended up in hell and how happy he is to be here. He's very grateful to you too, Charlie."

"It's true, princess," Adrian added with a broad smile. "I never thought I could feel so good in hell. I promise to do my best in this redemption business. We'll show everyone that it's possible."

"Oh, thank you so much," Charlie replied, moved by the sinner's enthusiasm. However, deep down, she felt a little guilty for not being able to tell him the truth, that redemption was no longer just a possibility but a reality. She looked at Victoria, trying to see if she felt even slightly uncomfortable about hiding the truth from Adrian, but the woman seemed completely calm.

After a few minutes of casual conversation, Adrian bid farewell to both and left the room, taking the tray with him.

"So, Charlie," Victoria said in a more serious tone. "Do you believe redemption is for everyone? In my case, I think not," the judge abruptly inquired. Apparently, she was a straightforward person who didn't beat around the bush or use embellished words.

"I know you think in that way, Your Honor, I mean Victoria," the blonde replied after sighing. "I understand that not everyone feels ashamed of their actions, and many aren't even aware of the harm they caused. But maybe they can come to realize it if someone shows them. If someone teaches them. For me, this hotel isn't just about keeping them away from vices or bad deeds, but also about providing them with a change of perspective. I want them to learn something new, to understand the gravity of their decisions, and to start feeling remorse for the actions that led to their damnation. To be able to gain a new perspective. Achieve a remodeling of their thoughts."

"Your way of thinking is very noble, but you must also consider that many are lost causes. And you must be careful of them," Victoria pointed out, looking at her hands with a hint of nostalgia.

"I know, but even to those you call 'lost causes,' I must give them a chance. The outcome may be the same, but at least I will have tried."

"Are you willing to do that knowing that you could end up disappointed and exhausted? To risk your heart and faith? Can you subject yourself to disappointment time and time again without ending up defeated and with all hope extinguished?"

Charlie pondered Victoria's words for a moment. She knew they had merit. It was a legitimate concern. Can anyone endure being constantly hit with the bitterness of disappointment indefinitely? Did she have the courage and strength? Did she believe in herself to such an extent? The princess of hell clenched her fists and looked at Victoria with complete confidence in her eyes and replied, "Yes. I know this path can be painful, but I'm willing to go through all of that and more without giving up, without faltering, without turning back, because I know this is the right thing to do, because I know no one else will do it."

Victoria studied her for a few minutes with those amber-colored eyes full of wisdom and intelligence. The judge's gaze was deep and intense, yet Charlie did not waver for a moment. Finally, Victoria smiled.

"I see we're not so different. We're willing to go all the way for our ideals. It means I can trust you. Charlie, I'm going to reveal something to you," Victoria said solemnly. "With the results of this report, I hope to convince the Supreme Judges to create a standardized process focused on redemption. A kind of purgatory. And I want you to be in charge of it."

"What? Me? Is this for real? Do you really think you can convince the Supreme Judges?" she asked with excitement, enthusiasm, and fear. What Victoria was telling her went far beyond what she had dared to dream. It was something very distant and perhaps illusory, but for some reason, she believed it was possible.

"We must be careful, Charlie. There are many things they have hidden from us, or so I believe," Victoria continued with a somber expression. "You see, some time ago, I found a very old book, with a rusty cover. I think it was deliberately hidden. It contains... shocking information. So overwhelming that it made me change my view of everything. I can't guarantee that its contents are real, but it seems true."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, intrigued. She felt a shiver run down her spine. Her hands began to sweat. However, despite the anxiety she felt at that moment, she couldn't help but want to know more.

"This book is a life diary. Before coming here, I was investigating the mentioned names, corroborating facts and dates. For now, everything aligns. Charlie, you are not the first person to try to explore redemption."

Charlie felt a knot in her stomach upon hearing this as confusion invaded her mind. She tried to process those words, but the endless questions assaulting her at that moment were tremendously overwhelming. Her heart raced, and her breath caught. Eventually, she managed to string together a few words. "That's not possible... my father would have told me."

"I don't know if Lucifer is aware of the events narrated in this diary. But it does make very clear why Limbo isolated itself. You can choose not to know anything about this and remain in comfort, or you can read this life diary and learn a story that was erased to the detriment of its protagonists," the judge pronounced.

"I..." Charlie felt undecided. This choice was not simple as it could change her life forever. Who was this being who had written that life diary? Were they the one who mentioned redemption before her? How long ago had that happened? Was her father aware of this? If so, why hadn't he mentioned it? What would her mother do?

"Charlie, you don't have to make the decision now. I have hidden that diary very well. When you're ready, I'll give it to you," Victoria said, trying to offer her some reassurance.

"And what if I'm never ready?" the princess of hell asked insecurely.

"I know you will be," the judge responded confidently.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the room's door. Victoria remained silent for a few minutes before responding. "Come in."

The door opened, and to Charlie's surprise, it was Alastor who entered the room. The princess of hell could see how Victoria's eyes sparkled with intrigue, challenge, and amusement. It was as if the judge had anticipated the arrival of the radio demon and was prepared for whatever Alastor wanted to say.

"Good afternoon!" greeted the radio host enthusiastically. "I see that our esteemed judge looks better today. If you knew how worried Charlie was yesterday," Alastor continued as he placed his hand on the princess of hell's shoulder. "And before you ask why I'm here, I've come to return this possession," concluded the radio demon, releasing Charlie's shoulder and conjuring a book in his free hand, extending it to Victoria. "Oh?" asked the judge, taking the book in her hands. "Isn't this the book I was reading yesterday? It's not exactly mine."

"I figured you'd want to finish it, considering I interrupted your peaceful reading," replied Alastor, resting both hands on his cane.

"Alastor, that's very considerate of you," Charlie pointed out, moved by the gesture. It seemed that both of them were finally getting along. After all, it was he who had brought Victoria back safely, albeit after losing her. But for Charlie, the important thing was that Alastor had made a kind gesture toward Victoria. Perhaps she shouldn't worry so much about making a deal with the radio demon. What was a deal between friends?

"Yes... very considerate," repeated the judge with a slow tone, looking distrustfully at the demon in the red suit. It appeared that the judge's reservations regarding the aforementioned had not diminished in the slightest. Charlie sighed, feeling a bit disappointed. She didn't want to be present when these two argued again. She had a lot on her mind at the moment due to Victoria's words.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're feeling much better, Victoria. I'll think about our conversation."Said Charlie.

"Are you leaving already?" Alastor asked, widening his eyes.

Charlie nodded, feeling a bit curious about the demon's reaction, but she didn't take long to compose herself and make vague excuses as she walked toward the door. "Oh, yes, you know. I have a lot to do with that whole thing. You know, that thing. Don't worry, I have it under control. I hope you two don't argue too much this time. You know, Victoria needs rest." Charlie crossed the door and closed it without waiting for any response. She pondered her actions for a moment as she looked down the hallway. Didn't she sound like her father just now?

Alastor

After Charlie abruptly left the room, Alastor felt a strange and tense silence. Part of him was glad for the absence of the Princess of Hell, as it allowed him to act more freely in his attempt to establish a friendship with Victoria. But another part of him felt somewhat uneasy, and he couldn't quite comprehend why. This confusion made him stand in the center of the room in absolute silence, contemplating the judge who slowly raised an eyebrow out of curiosity at his demeanor. She certainly seemed to be recovering quickly. Her complexion regained color, and her eyes now had that spark that invited challenge. He didn't want to admit how much he had longed for the moment to confront her again, to rub it in her face that he had saved her from a complex situation.

"Well? Aren't you going to boast about rescuing me? Are you not going to scold me for putting myself in that situation?" she asked, still lying on the bed, tilting her chin slightly upward. Alastor observed the wound on her lip. It had already formed a slight scab.

"Not at all, my dear judge! How could I act that way when my act was completely selfless?" he replied, restraining his desire to boast. He didn't want to give Victoria the satisfaction to be right and ruin any chance of getting closer to her. He needed the judge to trust him so he could slowly manipulate her. "Furthermore, although our little debt is settled with this, I still intend to help you navigate through the social circles of Hell. Unfortunately, it may have to be done more subtly than we initially planned due to your little spectacle. But all is not lost," he added, moving towards the chair next to the bed and taking a seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Do you really want me to believe that, Alastor? We both know that altruism is not in your nature," Victoria replied with an uncomfortable smirk. That told Alastor that the wound on her lip was causing her some degree of pain.

"Well, my dear, I think it's time for me to be honest with you. You have earned my respect. There are even things about you that I find quite admirable, and I dare say I could declare you as my eternal rival, for you have proven more than once to be a worthy opponent, and in such a short time! It's clear that I can't simply manipulate you. But it's not in our best interest to interfere with each other's path. That would be annoying. We both pursue goals that don't necessarily have to be incompatible," Alastor stated.

"Are you trying to flatter the judge, Alastor? Oh well, perhaps I should prosecute you," Victoria joked sarcastically. Alastor couldn't help but let out a small laugh. He greatly enjoyed these conversations.

"Oh, come on, Judge. Can't you just accept a compliment? Is that a crime?" he joked back, deviating a bit from his conversation goal. He couldn't help but get carried away by the fun these little duels produced. Once again, she arched an eyebrow. Certainly, she wasn't one to fall for flattery, which didn't surprise him.

"Beyond that. Are you offering some kind of truce?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"In reality, I was thinking more about forging a friendship with you. Before you respond with your charming sarcasm, I am aware that you don't trust me, and that's why I'll make the effort to earn your trust. That's why I've decided to continue helping you with this whole entering into infernal society thing, without asking for anything in return," Alastor said, leaning back against the chair's backrest.

Victoria observed him in silence, trying to read his intentions. Alastor tried to focus on the wallpaper as Victoria's scrutinizing gaze made him nervous. He never imagined that even in such a vulnerable state, she would be able to maintain her characteristic sharpness so strongly. It was simply fascinating. He admired her brilliance and respected her strength. She faced him always with fierce determination, causing him to feel intrigued by the force of her spirit. But this fascination was also tinged with a sense of discomfort and certain anxiety.

"What do you propose?" she finally responded.

"To make yourself known to everyone,"he replied, trying to contain the enthusiasm that her response caused in him. Finally, he had made progress. "What do you think about appearing on my show? A sort of interview. That way, you can attract people to you. You could even announce that your presence in these domains is because you need to inform Limbo about the situation in Hell and that's why you would like to interview as many people as possible. You don't even have to mention redemption."

"Do you want me to believe that you gain nothing? You're trying to deceive me to boost the popularity of your show. Aren't you?"

Alastor couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, come on, dear. My show is already very popular. I don't want to hurt your ego, but I don't need you to attract more listeners, and you know it. I understand that you don't trust me, but don't jump to ridiculous conclusions just because of your extreme paranoia." Alastor looked at her, expecting a sharp response from the judge, however, she remained silent, looking out the window with a contagious calmness.

"You're right. Your show is already very popular, and you have more than enough skills to continue attracting listeners without resorting to me," Victoria responded, turning her face towards him. Her eyes seemed kinder, and her shoulders less tense. Alastor was completely surprised by this response. His mind worked quickly, trying to find the right words, but nothing came out of his mouth. Victoria continued speaking, "I understand your surprise. I can't believe my own words. I accept your offer. I'll make an appearance on your radio show. You'd better not put me in a tight spot with your questions."

"Splendid!" he replied, rising from his seat. For some strange reason, that feeling of discomfort had started to escalate, and it was becoming difficult for him to breathe.

"There's something else I want to say," Victoria added. He watched her, unable to move. "Honestly, I don't know what you're planning, Alastor. But there's no excuse that allows me to be ungrateful. Whether you have hidden motives or not, you did save me from a tight spot yesterday. That's a fact. On the other hand, despite what others may say, I firmly believe that it wasn't your responsibility to look out for me. I was the one who disobeyed you and put myself at risk. I don't regret it. I simply did what I believed was right, and I will never be ashamed of it. But I do regret causing you any inconvenience." Victoria looked him in the eyes, offering a small, honest smile, without a trace of sarcasm. "Basically, what I want to say is, I'm sorry and thank you very much for helping me. I say it sincerely, even knowing that you might have acted with ulterior motives."

Alastor was completely bewildered. It was the first time that Victoria's genuine kindness and empathy were directed straight at him. The nobility of her words hit him with overwhelming force as a strange warmth washed over him. He told himself that this warmth must be due to how significant it was to be recognized by someone he had started to see as an equal, which inflated his pride and egocentrism. However, his racing pulse only caused him greater confusion and a whirlwind of thoughts tearing through his mind. He tried to continue rationalizing this warmth her words had produced. Amidst all this turmoil, he decided to cling to an attitude of indifference and complete detachment. "Hm, it was about time you showed a bit of gratitude, don't you think?" he replied lightly, shrugging.

"You're insufferable," Victoria responded, laughing.

"Anyway, once you're fully recovered, we'll do the interview," he concluded before simply leaving the room, using his shadow to transport himself back to his room.

Safe in the privacy of his room, Alastor let out the breath he had been holding and sat down on his bed. Her sincere gratitude and honesty had disturbed him. He felt anger towards himself for fleeing the situation. He couldn't understand why his mind had descended into chaos, preventing him from asking all the questions he had stored away and even broaching the subject of the color of her blood. He couldn't deny that each interaction with Victoria left him more confused than before, but also, to some extent, longing for more encounters. Was he really forming an emotional connection with her? He immediately rejected that idea. He refused to acknowledge the obvious signs of an emotional connection. It was all a game. It was all fascination with Victoria's peculiarities. "What game is she playing?" he said to himself, trying to find any trace of hidden motivation behind that gratitude. "From now on, I must stay more alert. I can't allow her to catch me off guard again. It's like I'm fighting against a rival I can't see or understand."

"How is it possible that she showed me such gratitude even while being able to see my true nature? Even being aware of my possible hidden intentions?" he murmured to himself, once again trying to unravel the mystery behind his reaction. He knew that Victoria was not an optimistic and hopeful person who firmly believed in the goodness of people beyond all evil, unlike Charlie, who seemed even naive. No. This display of kindness was different because it came from someone like the judge.

"I'm losing control," he admitted to himself with resignation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAGLIST!!

@slytherin4ever

LINK PART XI

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the fics I read and loved this month:

holding onto heartache | likelarry | [105k] Harry and Louis' relationship start off as something causal as Louis finalizes breaking his bond and marriage to his Omega. Harry develops feelings for Louis and thinks Louis might feel the same but when Louis tells Harry he wants to give his marriage a try again, Harry doesn't reveal how he feels. Nor does he tell Louis that he is pregnant with his kid. They happen to meet again a few years later and Harry can't seem to run away anymore, even from his feelings.

Do You See What I See | allwaswell16 | [2k] Harry may or may not be rescuing stray animals as an excuse to see the very hot local veterinarian. Or an absurd pet fic inspired by She Is Beauty We Are World Class

Cowboy Like Me | Rearviewdreamer | [29k] Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rouge ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

you taught me how to love (i taught you how to stop) | devilinmybrain (venomedveins) | [13k] "I was always better at hand to hand than you," Harry growls, even as he leans his weight into the blade. It's small, sharp, has a handle of gold roses. "I don't know about that." Louis moves his arm forward, makes the presence of the barrel of the gun fit snugly to Harry's hip. "I think we just play differently." "You going to shoot me?" Harry asks, those wild eyes tracking over Louis' face. "Do it." "I think I've put enough scars on you," Louis answers, means it about the stretch marks still lining the sides of Harry's stomach, but it lands a little too raw. There are other scars on Harry's body that Louis blames himself for, scars inside too.

Moth | jaerie | [2.5k] Louis leaves behind his life to join a commune and forms a bond with Moth, the one who births the babies.

You Light Up the Path | QuickedWeen | [12k] Louis Tomlinson left his home in Doncaster as a young man with the intent of making enough money to send it back home to his family and support them however he could. None of the farms are hiring as he travels through Yorkshire, but eventually he makes it all the way up to the northern coast where he secures employment on a fishing boat. He's an in-land child at heart trying to keep his head down and make a living in a town of sailors born from the sea. Harry, or so he likes to be called, is the myth and legend himself known as the Staithes Mermaid. No one has laid eyes on him, but everyone loves to tell tall tales. Until, all of a sudden, a few incidents crop up around town. Then, the Staithes Mermaid becomes an easy scapegoat. The only problem? Harry approaches Louis, a human, for the first time begging for help to clear his name.

Every heart but mine | rainblou | [17k] In the years leading up to his presentation, Harry hoped that his soulmark would appear, that his soulmate would present first and Harry would have irrevocable proof that his other half was out there, waiting for him. Years later, he's given up on waiting and with a heat coming up, his eyes are set on Louis Tomlinson to help him through it.

don't want no other shade of blue | padfootyoudog | [43k] “I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis. “All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.” “As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.” — prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

[theflashjaygarrick]

my Reverse Portal AU Ford.

Dr. Ford Pines is a reclusive, haphazard and rather anxious man known for his mysterious cabin in the woods which he has since converted into a tourist trap serious institute of scientific learning or Gravity Falls' (second and far less impressive) museum. It is very popular with schools and confused tourists who think they are getting entertainment not a lengthy lecture on moths or woodpeckers. Not to mention the local teenagers who enjoy tormenting and vandalising the place (and refuse to pay for a ticket).

Dr. Crackpot Pines stubbornly refuses to entertain any claims of the supernatural or answer question about the many ridiculous urban legends that plague this town. Neither will he explain those mysterious lights that once came from his cabin or what happened to his poor assistant. Or, you know, where the fluorescent goo on his jacket came from.

Of course, that was all before his great niece and nephew are sent off to visit him one summer...

[stereax]

Are you a swiftie? And if so what song of hers would you say describes the 22-23 Devils? What song of hers would you say is NicoJack or any other Devils pairs!

heya anon! I'm not really a Taylor Swift kind of person - I much prefer my alternative, rock, that kind of stuff. but I'll give you some songs I associate with some players, pairs, etc on the Devils! if that's cool with you? I'll put one lyric I really associate with them with it; if you want more info, let me know and I'll explain more in-depth :) (there are a few songs I associate with non-Devils but I'll save that for another time, if anyone wants to know just let me know!) there's no real order to these, just going through my playlists lol

22-23 Devils: Say it Louder, Panic! at the Disco (Viva Las Vengeance)

Hey kids, legends and gods Give them applause We made it against all odds Choose your weapon of choice Your beautiful voice Don't ever let 'em turn you down (turn it up, turn it up, rock city) Turn it up (turn it up, turn it up, rock city) Say it louder for the people Say it louder for the people Say it louder for the people in the back

Round 1 vs the Rangers: Back from the Dead, Skillet (Unleashed)

Light it up, light it up, now I'm burning Feel the rush, feel the rush of adrenaline We are young, we are strong, we will rise 'Cause I'm back, back, back from the dead tonight To the floor, to the floor, hit the red line Flying high, flying high at the speed of light Full of love, full of light, full of fight 'Cause I'm back, back, back from the dead tonight

Pairings (there are only a few I can think of, but let me know if there are any I'm missing):

Nico + Jack: The Last of the Real Ones, Fall Out Boy (MANIA)

I was just an only child of the universe And then I found you And then I found you You are the sun and I am just the planets Spinning around you Spinning around you You were too good to be true Gold plated But what's inside you? But what's inside you? I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you But not as much as I do As much as I do, yeah

Nico + Siegs: Mariners Apartment Complex, Lana Del Rey (Norman Fucking Rockwell)

You lose your way, just take my hand You're lost at sea, then I'll command your boat to me again Don't look too far, right where you are, that's where I am I'm your man I'm your man

Dougie + Jack: La Mancha Taxi Driver, Budka Suflera (4 Pieces to Go) [SPECIFICALLY the English version - the Polish version called "Ragtime" is also amazing, but the lyrics are totally different. This one you NEED to listen to to get where I'm coming from, because there's a VERY specific vibe I'm going for here. This doesn't seem like a Dougiejack song at first, but if you listen between the lines...]

Since I know Every man is to fight all alone I'll be the one who helps you realize Good news Don't you turn your back on this love Answer Otherwise you'll be drowned in this world

Mikey + Nate: All I Need, Radiohead (In Rainbows) [this entire album gives me Superbuddies vibes tbh]

I am a moth Who just wants to share your light I'm just an insect Trying to get out of the night I only stick with you 'Cause there are no others You are all I need You're all I need I'm in the middle of your picture Lying in the reeds

Players (Selected):

Akira Schmid: Driver 8, R.E.M. (Fables of the Reconstruction)

And the train conductor says Take a break, Driver 8 Driver 8, take a break We've been on this shift too long And the train conductor says Take a break, driver 8 Driver 8, take a break We can reach our destination But we're still a ways away, but it's still a ways away

Ryan Graves: Sober Up, AJR (The Click)

Won't you help me sober up? Growin' up, it made me numb And I wanna feel somethin' again Won't you help me sober up? All the big kids, they got drunk And I want to feel somethin' again Won't you help me feel somethin' again? How's it go again?

Dawson Mercer: Scenariusz dla moich sąsiadów, Myslovitz (Z Rozmyślań Przy Śniadaniu) [A scenario for my neighbors, Myslovitz (Thoughts at Breakfast)]

Wieczorem Wieczorem przed mym domem Wystawie ekran I wyświetlę film Coś o mnie i o tobie Będę leczył chore sąsiadów sny

[In the evening In the evening in front of my house I'll put up a screen And I'll play a movie Something about me and about you I'll heal my sick neighbors' dreams]

Miles Wood: Shark Bite, Bush (The Art of Survival)

These are the days for the rest of our lives We are the ghosts 'cause we have survived Engine's on, sharp like a samurai I want you, I know your shark bite

Mackenzie Blackwood: Just, Radiohead (The Bends)

You do it to yourself, you do And that's why it really hurts Is that you do it to yourself, just you You and no one else You do it to yourself You do it to yourself

Jack Hughes: Reptilia, The Strokes (Room on Fire)

He seemed impressed by the way you came in "Tell us a story, I know you're not boring" I was afraid that you would not insist "You sound so sleepy, just take this, now leave me" I said please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast You're in a strange part of our town

John Marino: The Outsider, MARINA (The Family Jewels)

These people are weird in here And they're giving me the fear Just because you know my name Doesn't mean you know my game I look myself in the face And whisper "I'm in the wrong place" Is there more to lose than gain If I go on my own again?

Timo Meier: California, Lana del Rey (Norman Fucking Rockwell)

You're scared to win, scared to lose I've heard the war was over if you really choose The one in and around you You hate the heat, you got the blues Changing like the weather, oh, that's so like you The Santa Ana moves you (Two, three, four)

Erik Haula: Local God, Panic! at the Disco (Viva Las Vengeance)

Are you melting face at the Bellagio? Woah Or are you teaching little kids how to rock 'n' roll? Woah Did you get weighed down by your heart of gold? 'Cause you really only cared about that Wonder if you had a chance to sell your soul Did you ever get your money back? Did you ever kiss the devil?

There might be more coming in edits :) Also, forgive the random few non-italicized letters, Tumblr hates me :')

[breannasfluff]

Deep in the jungle, hidden by jagged mountains, lies a magical village. Legend says there’s a family with magical gifts who created the safe haven for those fleeing violence. They are blessed with the power to heal any injury, control the weather, and peer into the very future itself. They were given a sentient house to keep them safe and cared for.

Such immense power comes at a cost, though. Magic cannot come from nothing. Life is required in exchange and the father of the family is the first sacrifice. At first, the family didn’t realize the cost of their salvation.

It is a tragedy, they said, when it was merely a payment.

The gifted children marry and have more gifted children. As the family grows, more magic is needed to fuel the gifts, the rooms, and the house. Payment only lasts a generation and further payment is coming due.

The youngest triplet—able to see the future—is the next oldest male of the line. As the magic runs low, the house starts to crack. More life is needed.

Deep in the walls, a caterpillar begins spinning its cocoon. Woven from chipped plates, broken chairs, and stained cloth, the caterpillar doesn’t know it’s building not a cocoon, but a death bed.

Magic comes at a cost. Rich, varied life built on experiences, emotions, and conversations add to the power available.

As the caterpillar spins its cocoon, the question remains: is its life worth the cost?

Deep in the jungle, hidden by jagged mountains, a moth flutters into a tower window. It descends past stone stairs and piles of sand. It’s stymied by the wooden door—etched with a foreboding face until it swings open with a squeal. A girl enters, frowning at the endless fall of sand.

The girl doesn’t matter, so the moth moves on to fly down the hallway. A painting swings open and a rat scurries out. The moth slips through the crack into the bones of the house. It rests for a moment on a beam, framed in spiderwebs. Then it continues down the hallways until it flutters through a crack of wood into a cluttered room.

A man sits in an old red chair, eyes dull. Already he’s fading at the edges; the green of the ruana is no longer bright and his skin has the pale tinge of bone.

The moth flutters closer and the man looks up. He holds out a finger and the moth lands, wings opening and closing once. Around them, the house shakes and shudders, cracks spreading through the walls.

“The magic is fading,” the man tells the moth. “Soon it will run out and the house, the gifts, the Madrigals? It all comes to an end. Unless I do something.”

The moth rubs a delicate leg across its face.

“I heard the kids talking about the magic and the legend of our family. Magic comes at a cost and the cost is life. My papá was the first.”

Another shudder shakes the room.

“Our Casita? It’s dying without magic. The gifts are fading. Mirabel’s trying to find answers—stupid, silly girl. Of course, she didn’t get a gift, because there was little magic left. And tonight, at Antonio’s ceremony, he won’t get one either. The house will fall if I don’t see something, I saw it in a vision.”

The moth turns on his finger, showing off the skull marking on its back.

The man smiles, but it’s a thin, sharp line. His gaze fixes on the moth. “Did you know moths are an omen of death? Fitting, isn’t it?”

With a flap of wings, the moth lifts off the man’s finger and leaves for the crack in the wall.

The caterpillar is done building its cocoon. It’s time to become a butterfly.

[ajwrites52]

BATOBER DAY 2-RUINS

The thick cloud of dust forced several sneezes out of her, it had likely been ages since this entrance had been opened as she pried the grandfather clock from its place against the wall. Illuminating the darkness with her torchlight, she descended back into the darkness. As she entered the dilapidated state of the Batcave, memories of a distant lifetime began to re-enter her mind. Her muddy brown eyes drifted towards the empty space near the damaged and destroyed Batcomputer where a mat would be placed for sparring.

“I demand a rematch!” Yelled Damian after his very public defeat at the hands of Cassandra. Cassandra smiled and offered a hand to her young brother, both had a silent understanding of one another that neither had with their siblings. Both born and raised weapons, but found something else, something better for themselves under the tutelage of their siblings and father. She welcomed the challenge anyway from such a worthy sparring partner. To her memory, they might have still been tied at fifty wins each.

She saw the broken torn bookshelf that Barbara had Tim and Alfred set up for her greater education. While she enjoyed Barbara teaching her and giving her the skills that monster stole from her childhood, she did admit to mostly enjoying her and Alfred’s recreations of A Midnight Summers Dream and Othello. Those were the moments she enjoyed the most out of all her lessons.

She remembers the nights where she couldn’t sleep and Dick would find her down here staring into the display case of their fathers first Batsuit. The one that started the legacy and legend of The Batman. She would often ask Dick what it was like when he donned the cowl, “How heavy did it weigh on you?”

Dick would always take a moment to ponder his answer and he would respond with a variety of answers, but they all boiled down to a simple message. “It was immense. Like the entire weight of the world was sewn into the very cowl Bruce wore every night.”

Beside that case sat one that was far too familiar, Jason’s. He’d always felt like an outsider, some might say even more so than herself or Stephanie despite Bruce still loving him as a son. She would always catch Jason staring at this costume when he visited, his hands balled up into fists and anger all around his body. But that anger quickly metamorphosed into sorrow before becoming pain, she would try her best to comfort him. A hand on the shoulder, a hug, or kind words, but she knew best that nothing could make up for the pain that others put you through and made you believe it was deserved.

The ruins of the Batcave were immense, and all consuming, but she was there for a reason. Multiple in fact, she approached the ledge of the cavern and stared down into the abyssal darkness below. What felt like hours or even days, time lost all meaning as she peered downwards. She then asked a simple question to whoever would listen.

“Am… I… ready?” Silence. That is until she hears his voice. The voice of her father, the voice of the man that made her into the person that she is today. The voice of The Batman.

“You are more than ready Cassandra.” At that moment, a swarm of bats eject themselves from the caverns below. She watches in awe as they form a trail towards a tattered curtain, beckoning her to follow them.

Parting the moth-eaten veil, she was met with an artifact she thought long lost. Preserved in a glass case and untouched by the powers of time, a black suit with the yellow outline of the symbol stretched across the chest letting all know who this was. It wasn’t Batgirls or Batwomans, it was his. She looked at the cowl and found a bat sat atop the glass. The two locked eyes and she smiled as she finally accepted the message.

“Yes father. I shall become The Bat.”

Even when the magnificent buildings of the past are ruined centuries later, they continue to shine like candle flames that weaken by the wind but never go out!

-Mehmet Murat Ildan

[t-hal-mothman]

It's informational pinned post!

Hi! I have a lot of names! It's not a permanent, but I most often use these - Hal, Tapok, Jack, Moth(-man), T-Hal and some other spontaneous designations! In any case, use what you like, at least come up with something new! In the end, you can just ask me about some nickname if you're not sure!

I'm a freelance artist, mostly digital, but I used to be a professional folk-craftsman :D

I see all your tags, replies and stuff, it's great, but I'm too confused beginner to reply, sorry! I think I'll get used to it soon!

Don't be afraid of me, I don't bite, I'm more afraid of you than you are of me. I'm nervous and can be afraid to interact, I don't know I love it when people talk to me!

I am glad to have questions in ask! If I didn't answer right away just wait! I love just discussing things!

I'm fine with shipping or the relationship between characters in fandoms, so you may come across a few reblogs or posts on this topic. I also don't pay attention to who subscribes to me or likes posts, I don't care! I'm just glad that you're enjoying my artwork!

My major fandoms: Invader Zim, Rick and Morty, The Stanley Parable, Gravity Falls, Borderlands, Solar Opposites, Homestuck (now it's mostly fantrolls), OFF, Hollow Knight, Moomintrolls, Pixar Cars Universe, Trover Saves the Universe

My less fandoms: Sky: Children of the Light, Portal, Inscryption, Voltron, MCYT, Minecraft(?:D), Overwatch, Warcraft, Spore, The Legend of Zelda, Warrior Cats and Guardians of Ga'Hoole (both super old, more like a pleasant memory), Harry Potter, Good Omens, SCP (amateur, and I don't remember many things), Remedy Connected Universe, Cult of the Lamb, Bugsnax

My art tag:  #my art

[pink-writer-girl]

A Moth's Pursuit

Commission I did for Friend on Instagram Rotating Dendro

Warning ⚠️: Has non-explicit nudity and violence

Alfred sat in his dark Murcourt home for the longest time, nervously questioning the steps he was about to take. The auburn-haired man spent his days solving crimes and using his inheritance to finance his research. After his humiliating encounter with a Mirage cryptid, he couldn’t help but develop an obsession with them. What were they? Where did they come from? One foggy morning trolly ride would end up answering his questions. He’d never left London before, let alone think of ending up somewhere like Pale City, where the technology was so advanced. The atmosphere was shrouded in mystery and he thought his dreams were finally coming true. Eventually, Alfred found out from the other locals about how this place brought those who needed to be there to it.

Though it took him a while to get used to the new tech, he found that many cryptids that lived alongside other humans. Usually, he tried to avoid social situations unless it interested or benefited him, ‌but fish out of water had no such luxuries. The thought of mixing with the uncultured and annoying folk filled him with dread, regardless. It was then he realized that coming to Pale City was a one-way trip, well, sort of. Someone had warned once him you left ‌the trolley might not return unless you were a cryptid. He couldn’t risk going back to his mundane life.

Living in a different realm posed unique problems, lack of access to his family’s fortune being one of them, so he offered his services to the local police. Thankfully, Alfred’s consultant skills were in demand. Something about a renowned detective called “M” or whatever. He didn’t pay attention to as long as he got paid. It wasn’t enough, and the pittance barely lined his wallet. He needed to live how he used to, so he tried his hand at investments and business deals, like his father did. Unlike his father, it seemed he wasn’t very lucky in the business outlook, however. He owed people money… a lot of money.

Last week, one of those “associates” sent a brief message to pay up, which ended with him getting a black eye and bruised ribs. Even legal investments were biting him in the ass. So, being the desperate man that he was, Alfred looked for other options. After some extensive research, he found an old urban legend of a creature of shadow that lived in the woods. This creature was not to be trifled with unless you wanted to make a deal with it, which he did. Considering his precious life was on the line, he had no qualms about the price.

The man ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. It was now or never, looking at the circle and deer skull in the middle of the room. Bringing a lit match towards the circle, he dropped it in the skull, enkindling the rotting cedar wood and nightshade within. “From the shadows, I call you forth” was all he whispered as the embers changed to green and purple. He blinked, taken aback by the color, as the blackening smoke floated up until it formed a suspended shadow. Alfred retreated back as his caution grew. “Oh dear God…” he said under his breath.

“Now I wouldn’t consider myself that,” Alfred was filled with terror as an eerie voice echoed in various pitches and tones. “But a devil? I think might be the right definition,” it chuckled right behind his ear. The Englishman quickly spun around to see a dark figure resembling a rotting buck of sorts. Nervous sweat dripped from his brow as he struggled to find words. “Did you lose your voice along with your reason for summoning me?” the creature said, moving across the room and looking around.

“Y-You’re a wendigo?” Alfred stuttered.

The creature just scoffed. “No, those are spirits of the damned who feasted on the flesh of their kind in life. I was never mortal.” It was clear by its irked tone that it had been mistaken for one more than once. “You’re trying my patience. If you summoned me for idle chit chat—” I need you to kill someone!” the auburn-haired man said, cutting it off curtly. “Well, a couple of someones.”

The deer creature’s dark eyes blinked before it grinned. “The same old sin? Very well,“ the creature laughed. “But you know,“ the creature said before getting in the man’s face, “my deals always come with a price.” Its gaze grew intense as it stared him down. “I know, I know,” Alfred nodded while trying to lean away. “What is your price?” The creature hummed, looking over at the computer. “Not anything too extreme, don’t worry. I’m feeling very generous today because I’m been so bored,” the creature said, walking toward the computer. “I want to try something new, and you will shelter me while I have my fun.”

Alfred’s eyes widened at this. “Wait what?!” He gasped as he watched horrified as the shadow creature morphed into a pale man with dark hair. The process wasn’t quick though, and he even heard the bones and viscera crack and bubble I disgusting way it did. “Ah, that’s better.” A young man’s voice replaced the distorted one as it cracked its knuckles. It turned back to Alfred, who was left without words.

“I’m sorry sir—”

“You can call me Liminal,” the now-man said, standing before him. It was then it occurred to him Liminal was naked. The human averted his eyes as the naked man ransacked his drawers. “Liminal, why does someone as powerful as you need shelter?” he asked as the naked man sat cross-legged on the man’s bed lazily. “There’s those in this town who have an army can destroy me. I alone can’t defeat an army of cryptids,” he said grimly. “Are you talking about M and his group? They’re gone. They disbanded after he and his right-hand man disappeared,” Alfred said with a raised brow.

Liminal glared at the wall, hearing M’s name. That bastard was the reason he had to hide in the woods for so long. Isolated because of his strict restrictions, he had almost gone insane from it. “Yes, but his followers are still strong and have revived with his assistance.” He turned his head to Alfred, who was still looking away awkwardly at the naked man. Liminal smirked, amused. “Like what you see?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Can you please put clothes on?‘’ Alfred begged.

In the heart of Pale City laid the heart of Dog Head headquarters, a division for crime investigation. The lingering remnants of those who believed in the laws of M, since his disappearance. One of those was raised by his orphanage was Murgatroyd, a cryptid of mysterious origin with a body of a man and head of a German shepherd. Since technology advanced in the real world and Pale City, rogue cryptids had been running wild, violating M’s number one rule: ‘keeping the balance.’ They understood no cryptid could always keep their base instincts at bay, but the threat of exposure hung overhead if they would get out of control. Their city—no, everyone would be in trouble.

Murgatroyd rubbed his brows as he walked along the desks of agents busy at work. The task force had been pulling all-nighters for weeks now, because of the recent ‘computer virus’ case. Ten people had been found dead so far, their faces mangled and distorted. It was clear it couldn’t be the work of any human. At first, it seemed like something targeting businessmen who were involved with investments or under-the-table loan sharking. They had thought this curse had something to do with a former client or a poor investment. But once the next string of bodies broke the M.O., they’d hit a dead end.

“Can no one tell me what the fuck is going on!” The dogman raised his voice as he turned around to face them all. “Sir, we’re trying to track the strain, but the encryptions change every few seconds. Like it is actively protecting itself, somehow,” one of them said. “What do we have then?” He asked. “From what we can tell, the virus curse is being spread by prize email. It’s somehow able to outsmart the spam blockers of multiple ESPs.”

“Ugh, Sylphie, what do you have?” Murgatroyd asked his best agent. When he didn’t hear a response, he blinked, looking over at her area. There sat a voluptuous woman, wearing designer brands and a full face of makeup with sparkly orange French-tipped nails. It was clear she had not heard a thing her boss said. The dogman shook his head while Sylphie continued taking selfies of herself, the camera flash bouncing off her long cream-colored hair.

The older man shook his head before going over to her desk. “Sylphie, grow your vanity project on your own time,” he told her in a serious tone. “Oh hey, Chief,” she said, just realizing he was there. “Were you able to crack the encryption?” He asked again. It was the fashionable girl who leaned over and began quickly typing on the keyboard. She might not of looked it, but Sylphie was the best seasoned IT agent they had. “I was able to redirect my little virus back into the source code, sort of like echolocation,” she said as her long nails clicked against the keys.

Sylphie pulled away to face Murgatroyd, who had bent over to look at her monitor. "Hmmm, good work. Does that mean you pinpointed where it’ll strike next?" he asked, nodding. “It was tricky, but whoever it is hiding in the older buildings on the outskirts of town. I could only pull the general surrounding area,” she told him, wheeling her swivel chair back and forth. “Sylphie, you’re Mothman’s cousin, right? Why don’t you use your powers to ‘see the future?’” one coworker asked, wondering why she was making things more complicated.

The cream-haired cryptid looked at the man and deadpanned. “Ok, for one, nimrod, I’m not related to him. Yes, we’re the same species, but he’s of a different clan. Two: I don’t have premonition ability.” Sylphie was a moth cryptid, having lost most of her family and clan at a young age. She had to resort to a life of crime to survive. No one had been harmed by her, not intentionally, anyway. Usually, she used her mind manipulation to scam people out of their money. Only a few of her species were gifted with abilities of premonition. She, unfortunately, didn’t inherit it, which is also why there were very few left of her kind. Humans had hunted them to be used as a tool for their gain. Too blinded by greed and ignorance to know only a few possessed such abilities.

Her boss hummed in thought, “Sylphie, I want you to check this area. Maybe you can locate the location of the signal if you are closer,” Murgatroyd told her before leaving. This caused the moth girl to blink, then nod in agreement.

It didn’t take the curvy cryptid long to find the place. From what she found from town records, someone lived out here, in the house far off from the abandoned buildings. Pretty smart to hide in plain sight in what most thought was abandoned. Sylphie had used a program on her phone to track the signal, grumbling that her feet were killing her. Of all the days to wear heels. “I’m going to murder whoever the culprit is if my Prada heels get ruined,” she hissed under her breath as she slammed the door open of the house.

“Oh c’mon, that’s not very nice,” a voice said, coming up from the top of the stairs. Her face contorted into a frown when she saw a young man leering down at her. “Thought I was going to have to ask your ‘nightly rates’ with you looking like that,” he chuckled as he started down. She glared at him as she covered her chest with a hand, noticing his wandering gaze. “You pig,” she hissed.

“Oh, more like a demon, my dear.” His eyes seemed to radiate darkness as he spoke. The moth woman’s antenna popped out in alarm at this. She couldn’t help but sense an eerie tension in the air. “You… I thought your kind was gone,” she said as her wings slowly revealed themselves. He blinked, taken aback by her appearance, but quickly smirked. “And I thought yours was extinct,” he chuckled. “Tell me, did you predict I would be here?” he said, interested. “I don’t have premonitions,“ she told him simply. “Hmmm, pity,“ he then said with a bored look.

“You need to leave. Your activity is causing too much ruckus and messing up the balance. You’re going to get us all exposed,” she told him seriously as he walked around in circles. “You know as well as I that once I’m in a contract, I can’t do anything until I fulfill it,” he said as shadow manifested into his hand, only to reveal a boba drink. "But why should I care either way? I’ve been so bored for so long now. Why not have some fun?" he smirked darkly.

“I’m not like your kind, who made their abilities known and were hunted down like dogs. Is that what happened to your family? Were they are drawn to a pretty flame?“ Sylphie could no longer contain her rage as her human form was lost to emerging claws and fur. “Bite your tongue,” she hissed in an unnatural tone, eyes darkening.

Liminal blinked for a couple of seconds before he found his body moving by itself. He began slowly biting down on his tongue, harder and harder, until he could taste blood. His eyes widened in shock, causing Sylphie’s lips to curl into a satisfied smirk. “Bend yourself backward,” she ordered. He did without question, causing a sickening crack followed by a loud groan of pain. “You have mind manipulation?” A deep laugh accompanied his statement, leaving her perplexed.

“Very clever,” he said, pulling himself straight up, shocking her. “But I’m much older and much more experienced than you, my dear,” he said, charging at her. Both of them crashed into each other, with Liminal using shadows and teeth to swipe at her. Sylphie hissed, trying to use her manipulation again, but realized his mind was too strong. She did her best to get out her phone with the kill-switch, struggling to reach her knocked-away purse. She barely missed it by millimeters before being able to grab it. With a quick press of buttons, she activated the code, which let out a high-pitched creepy sound. It caused Liminal’s shadowy form and voice to distort as he stumbled in pain. “You whore!” He yelled madly, his body melting into a puddle of mush.

“I prefer bitch,” Sylphie said, sitting up wiping the blue blood from her lip while trying to fix her hair. “You deserved it after the trouble you caused, disrupting the balance. Do you realize what you’ve done? There’s so little of us left!” she said, grabbing at his rendered body. “M is gone! He was the only one keeping cryptids from going extinct, yet you had to cause trouble,” she yelled. “You have no idea what it’s like to face extinction! To lose everything!“

Liminal glowered at her. “I don’t know what it’s like? You know nothing, you brat!” My kind has been here longer than most cryptids combined. The forests were our home, guiding the souls of the damned to their fates, helping keep the balance. We got our strength from the spirit of nature!” He yelled at her, panting furiously. “But you know what happened… Man happened. They were still stupid, no doubt, but they grew more resourceful and greedy, cutting down our forests! Capturing us to make deals or use as attack dogs. We had to adapt to a new way to survive! Making deals with humans to do their sins…” Liminal said, looking down as he closed his eyes. Anger and sorrow wracked his frame as his hands shook. “It didn’t matter, though. We lost not only our home but our strength to where everyone in my clan withered away.”

Sylphie let go, looking at him for the longest time as his human form reassembled. “Why don’t you get a new purpose, then?” She said, earnestness clear on her face. “Work for my organization. If you do, you’ll be free. Do you want to be trapped in contracts to survive forever?” Liminal raised a brow at that, blinking before he let out a sigh. “Whatever. It’s this or death, so I think I’ll choose the alive option.”

-Fin

[detectiveblessed]

Hi! First of all, I wanted to stop and see that I love the way your write Chloe °-° your portrayal is amazing! Secondly, small (stupid) question ^^" I couldn't find this detail in your rules, so I thought to ask. Is your blog mutuals only or are you open to interact with people you don't follow too?

awww thank you doll! oop, yeah! my blog is still like…less than a week old so not everything is fully set up yet. i’d be down for talking with non mutuals and plotting something out!! 

[dailytatsu]

Hello! I love your writing and I recently saw a post of yours about the reader being the God Of Chaos and I was wondering if you could make a part two with characters of your choice, if it’s not that much of a trouble! Remember to drink water and rest well <3

Tysm! I’m really happy to see that a lot of you enjoyed it, and being honest, chaos reader now have a special place in my heart lol

Then let’s write a second part! Hope everyone likes these as well! ( ✌︎'. ')✌︎

Thanks for the request!✨

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[II - HC] God of Chaos! Reader & Genshin Characters

Characters: Bennett, Tartaglia, Scaramouche, Ganyu, Chongyun

Gn! Reader

Sorry for any mistakes!

Request are open!

Genshin Masterlist

<- First part

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BENNETT

First of all, how dare u

This boy already has a chaotic life for you to arrive and making it worse.

But being honest, it wasn’t intentional, just like always.

Besides he’s a kid. The chaos of a kid + chaos of his bad luck, I mean- how were you not supposed to meet him?

That day was really strange, for the very first time the chaos wasn’t attracted by you, but you were attracted to chaos. Like a moth following a lantern on the street, something that you felt like you had to do, some kind of childish curiosity that guide your way to find Bennett in the middle of his adventure.

Poor boy was charging his pyro attack to max until a barrel exploded near him, he flew in the air waiting for a rough landing before his trajectory sent him where you were standing, still looking for the origin of that uneasy sensation of curiosity.

Luckily for him you could see his shadow just in time to react. You looked up because of the strange silhouette on the ground next to you and there he was, surrounded by a cloud of smoke and fire, with his screams getting louder and louder as he falls.

You trapped him in your arms, with the situation turning even more strange when the first thing he said was “nice catch!” with the bright smile of his.

Like if his hair on fire wasn’t a big deal.

It’s raining men ig

Before you could ask anything, a crowd of angry hilichurls appeared from the same direction where Bennett came at first.

The white haired boy jumped off from your arms and tried to grasp your hand to run away together, but instead you pulled him near and then behind you before rising your hand to the front, pointing the stampede of furious creatures about to reach you both.

Not even a leaf fell from a tree before the hilichurls stopped, all of them felt your presence immediately, the primitive sensation of danger that meant a silent threat. Following the message that another camp of them told long ago, ‘get away from that stranger’.

Bennett was surprised, kind of scared at least. He wasn’t sure about how to call that feeling.

Are you a beast tamer?! Maybe an adventurer that discovered a secret about hilichurl’s behavior! Wait- where are you going? Don’t leave him behind, the doubt won’t let him sleep tonight!

You explained to him that it was dangerous for both to be near each other (more dangerous for him than for you), still you needed to get away. To protect Bennett and the other adventurers that were exploring nearby.

But why? He was so excited about meeting someone who could react that fast and precise! Like the heroes in the legends!

Please show him your ways, he’s begging you, how can you be rude to Bennett? That literally illegal.

When he heard that there was a God of Chaos exploring all over Teyvat like an errant he connected two points (even if there wasn’t a single thing to connect in first place).

You’re like him!

Hello ?? You’re literally ?? the most qualified to be part of Benny’s Adventure Team ??

Negative plus negative is positive, isn’t it? Maybe if you roam near Bennett his bad luck can collide with your chaos to neutralize each other!

You told him that you were leaving after that short conversation, but in reality you just hide from his sights and followed him from behind.

That kid really put you on your nerves, running into danger without knowing. Was that what Zhongli have to deal with every time you visit Liyue?

The old man really deserves an apology.

You’re not doing this an habit, of course not! You’re the all mighty God of Chaos, the ultimate troublemaker! How was even possible to think about wanting to protect a human just because he has bad luck? That’s ridic-

“Watch out!” You had to abandoned your hiding spot to reach Bennett again, pulling him away from the place where a bunch of hunter’s traps were. “Barbatos, why all your children have to be like this?…” You whispered for yourself, actually waiting for a answer, maybe a little too much because you didn’t free Bennett. His feet were just barely touching the ground.

“Oh, it’s you! Hello again!”

Enough of babysitting, that’s it, both of you are heading back to Mondstadt. This boy is a danger for himself, who allowed him to be an adventurer in first place?

After abandoned him in front of the city’s bridge you turn back to the forest, believing that it was the end, even if in the process your chaos took the life of some pigeons nearby.

Next morning you were sleeping peacefully on the branches of a huge old tree, feeling the wind of your bard friend greeting you from the distance.

Then a storm started out of nowhere; your fault.

And almost immediately you heard a cheerful voice below you, calling your name like a lost child searching for their parents.

As Bennett climbs the tree to talk with you a lightning strikes near enough to make both of you jump because of the surprise, falling from the branch and meeting each other on the mud below.

“Sorry, my bad.” Bennett and you said at the same time, to later laugh because of that.

It seems that both are more alike than you would expect

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TARTAGLIA

How do I explain that this guy already knew about you-

As you may suspect, yes, his only reason of wanting to meet you was to fight you.

The first step for taking the thrones of gods is beating one of the youngest, isn’t it? It would be a good start, and you’d be also one of the best opponents he ever fought! The only thing still needed was a way to make you accept his challenge.

Tartaglia’s first try was by attacking you without hesitation, not even a warning, just shooting an arrow for behind and waiting for you to counter. And yes, that didn’t go as planned, the rope of his bow snapped even before aiming.

It wouldn’t be that easy, the distance is always boring for a fight, why not just attacking directly?

Because you learned from Morax that you must not hurt mortals; the reason of your trip was for appreciate the human’s life, to understand why you exist, to have a reason to not end with everything that crosses your path.

To convince yourself that you’re not only destruction.

But it was hard to stay calm if he constantly provokes you to fight back. Always dodging, always running away, always breaking his weapons.

Barely holding yourself to not to break his Vision at this point.

Dodging one of his attacks again you ended up on top of a nearby structure by the side of the road, watching him from above and begging for him to stop for once.

Tartaglia clicked his tongue in annoyance, you would escape again. He was as sick as you of that senseless hunt. Maybe was the stress what impede him to think wisely, because his next strategy was like a death wish.

The water blades disappeared from his hands and, for the first time, he had a casual talk with you. Smiling and waving his hands to look relaxed.

Then he mentioned the incident with Osial, a event that almost became a tragedy. And the only reason you knew about that was because Morax told you about it, about his contract and the reason why he left his position as an Archon the next time you visited him.

It was your fault, isn’t it?

“… what?”

"As you heard! The conditions for summoning Osial was ideal, bringing back a sealed god filled with hatred and hungry for destruction couldn't have been possible if you hadn't been around Liyue that day.” His hand lifted to pointing at you, also smiling as your expression turned into a concerned one. “Oh, our God of Chaos, you were successfully satiated as the catastrophe filled the ocean! Bring us back the destruction, because it's the only thing you ever knew!”

He was obviously just mocking you, but still Tartaglia managed to actually make you think about it.

Your fault. Your chaos.

And even with that, Rex Lapis didn’t seal you or tried to eradicated you like the burden that you are for every nation.

It’s just a matter of time before you destroy all humane existence when you get bored of your fantasy of not being a spirit of chaos.

An infinity of negative and dark thoughts began to fill your mind.

It was sad, it was so sad that the erosion already began to have an effect on you being so young. You were afraid, you were concerned, the stress ate you inside while you tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t like he said.

Your mind collapsed, and you left the wrath take the control for the first time in centuries.

A fight? That’s all he wanted? Easy, that’s easy, just kill him and everything will end. His annoying voice won’t torment you ever again, his words won’t hurt ever again.

It’s easy, so easy. Mortal life is so easy to end.

He’ll defeat the gods, he’ll take their thrones and will witness the world’s end in the final battle he planned since his first encounter with the traveler.

But that day Tartaglia noticed the difference between your strength, it wasn’t huge, neither significant enough. But you were stronger, and it’s well known that wrath and despair can provide extra energy when it’s needed.

The perception of time disappeared, the world did too. Nature, men creation, everything will succumb against chaos, existence itself will be reduce to ashes.

That’s why you exist, to make sure there’s not too much heroes trying to make the nations a boring place. You just need to accept it!

But…

‘There’s no other way?’

The question sparkle inside your mind, bringing you back out of nowhere. There’s a lot of irregularities in the ground nearby, the land was broke for something that impacted with an inhuman strength, even the structure where you step on top was gone, just the remain of a building was left.

And your hands were holding something bland and soft, the warm sensation on your palms and the strange movements caught your attention to look down. Your hands were strangling Tartaglia.

From the other side his hands were trying to remove yours, his strength was minimal, not even able of closing his fingers around your wrist.

A expression full of pain and regretting of his decisions, question by question filling his mind while the air became harder to get.

A broken bow, his Vision has been thrown away. Now it was a human versus a god.

You took a step back, afraid of what you were about to do. You have to stay calm and quiet forever? To prevent catastrophe, to bring peace to mortals? Who’s the one you have to blame for creating you? How you could think that coexisting with humans was possible? Even if you say that you don’t want to make any problems you would stay near them.

“Just… leave me alone.”

Was the last thing you said, a whisper that wanted to apologize for a whole eternity, a regret that couldn’t be forgot. And then you left that place, escaping one last time.

But wait for him, Tartaglia thought, he didn’t need your compassion.

Sooner or later he would have his revenge.

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SCARAMOUCHE

Finally! With Shogun Raiden’s gnosis on his possession and the all mighty hero of Mondstadt weakened there’s no way things can go wrong for him!

A little delay in his plans, but still a smile remained on his face. Kunikuzushi couldn’t wish for anything else right now.

But you already know what is going to happen next.

In this world exist Murphy’s Law?, because anything that could go wrong went wrong after he claim for victory. Even being far away of the factory it seemed that the karma reached him immediately.

He just got his guard down for a couple seconds, and then, whoshh. Now you see it, now you don’t. The gnosis disappeared from his pocket, not here, not there. The annoyance filled his chest and then a irritated growl came from his throat.

What in the world happened?

Scaramouche looked to a huge tree in front of him, and there you were. On your favorite place to sit, above from everyone else in a branch. Holding the gnosis as the board piece it looks like, playing throwing it up a little and then catching it again and again.

Who you think you are to act that carefree on his presence? If you wanted to die so bad then you could just have asked for it.

Even if he called you and made a question first you counter it with another one, what was he doing with that thing?

You were sick of those who defy the gods thanks to his ‘workmate’.

Scaramouche ordered you to give him the gnosis back, threats and insults came out from his mouth as a distraction; in reality, he was just ready to set the first hit from behind.

But something made him stop just in time when you talked again.

“I don’t care what you are planning, but if it involves the ones who I’m in debt with, you will surely fail.”

“Another clairvoyant? Hah, your type are more words than an actual subject matter, but I have to admit it, they’re also very skill to escape.”

“It was a warning.” You said, throwing again the gnosis, this time to his direction.

Scaramouche reacted in time to rise his arms but in midair something caught the chess-like piece before his fingers. Surprising him again and making the irritation event more unbearable.

It was a tanuki. The same that looked behind a second before running even deeper in the forest.

The chaos isn’t necessary a huge disaster; a little accident, an inconvenient, a failure, it depends time and place to be considered like a catastrophe.

Scaramouche had a killer gaze just for you in his face, in respond you smiled at him, then covered your mouth with both hands to fake surprise.

“What a shame! Better luck next time, gods defier.” Your laugh could be heard all over the woods, like a spectral echo that chased him his way to get back the gnosis.

He got it back after a few minutes of a stressful walk through the forest, found the tanuki dancing on a stone before disappearing again. When he got closer he found that piece, making sure it was the real one and not just another trick.

The following days he received endless reports of Fatui soldiers and entire camps being reduced to rubble aside lost or destroyed materials; it was a higher level sabotage done by who they said was someone of relatively young appearance in strange clothes, the one that enjoyed staring at them until something goes wrong.

Nobody could defeat them, not even get closer. And with that, Scaramouche knew they were talking about you.

Was that what you meant with “warning”? Who are you exactly? Not even holding a Vision, how could you… ?

A quick order was enough to deliver him a book full of ancient legends, part of the Fatui private collection. Texts that were lost and the world had forgotten, his only hope was that you weren't exactly mortal, and if that was the case they could take advantage of your nature.

Hah, he found you.

God of Chaos, a body sculptured by the blood and bodies of the ones who died in middle of the wars. At first they were just a being full of anger and affinity for taking the life of every living being on earth, until the same hand that created them gave them a human heart of their own. Made without any prior basis, without being the remains of the deceased. Something one of a kind, the mortal heart of a god.

When human emotions filled the vessel they were released into the world, to mourn over the spilled blood and to know how everything of their existence originates. Born from the red that stained the fields and being the bud that seemed withered, the same that now has the deepest roots ever found.

Hmm, that brings back some memories…

But hey, that vital energy could be useful.

Don’t be surprised if one day you wake up chained and feeling dizzy as Scaramouche drains your life. You know what? Just wait for it! Running away as you did with that idiot won’t work this time.

Every possibility can be foreseen, every inconvenience can be solved. And if you think that you’re an exception then you’re stupider than you look.

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GANYU

Bold of you assume that Zhongli didn’t introduce you to everyone the first time you travel to Liyue.

The difference between your meeting was that it had to be really short. Ganyu is always busy so you couldn’t know her better before her duty called for her again.

Obviously you heard a lot of stories of her childhood thanks to Cloud Retainer. The day she knew about it Ganyu avoided you, next week she apologized with you about it. It was very rude, please pardon her.

Such a big sister vibes ngl

An Adeptus working that hard to human’s matters. It was so cool to follow her from a significant distance to see how was her routine.

If you could only live that peacefully near humans without causing any problem! What a dream! The envy was killing you.

Ganyu didn’t mind about you stalking her, the feeling of a companion was always present and she also knew that you had to keep some distance from everybody to not cause any accident. She appreciated your consideration.

Until a soldier from the millelith arrested you for harassment, wait- you’re innocent! Don’t get closer, hold on! Hold on!

The handcuffs broke almost immediately, though.

When Ganyu resolved the misunderstanding she hold your hands to apologize again, it had to be really stressful to be aware of any chaos you could create accidentally.

What if you… wait for her on the surroundings of the city?

Please, she have a lot of work, don’t interrupt her, she’s begging you.

Ganyu thought you heard her request, but she knew that you were just hiding when a window opened out of nowhere and a lot of documents flew away in the room.

You appeared hanging upside down from the other side of the window, jumped down and entered to pick up the documents. You hand her over all the pages and then you leave through the space on the wall.

“… I’ll be in Huaguang Stone Forest… ”

“Thank you.”

Even though you both agreed that you would return to the stone forest, she couldn't help but feel guilty as the hours passed, did you feel like a nuisance? Maybe she should apologize. Again.

When another successful day at work ended, she realized that repeating the same words over and over was not the best way to show her regret. That’s why a better idea formed in his head as she approached the abode of the rest of Adeptus.

Ganyu found you being scolded by Mountain Shaper for unintentionally releasing the trespassing intruders along with other creatures from their amber prisons.

After rescuing you again, she was able to propose her idea to you. With a calm and charming voice she asked you if you would like to learn about Liyue's traditions from the human perspective.

Sure, Zhongli could tell you about the beginning of traditions and festivities, but the way to celebrate them and pay tribute to the Adeptus was something that only a person who had lived among mortals for years could explain to you.

Your eyes shone in gratitude but no words really came out of your lips, kind of embarrassed you said some nonsensical things and then another amber cracked when you brushed its surface.

Mountain Shaper kicked you out without thinking twice.

But hey! The next day your classes on Culture from the Mortal Perspective began! A quick but calm walk through Liyue that got spread when a bunch of kids recognized you.

How could they not remember the person who plays with them every time they get a chance?

Ganyu sat by the side of the road on an empty bench, watching you scamper the children who seemed happy at your mere presence. Like the occasional accidents of a child, the curious and outlandish nature cannot be controlled, only accepted.

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CHONGYUN

Don’t move! The future best exorcist in the world, Chongyun, will put an end to your legacy of misdeeds and pranks! No evil specter that causes bad luck will survive to-!

Just by lightly tapping with your fingertips you were able to break the seal of the talismans that surrounded you out of nowhere. Pushing back the boy who was convinced that he had beaten his yang.

how dare u interrupt him.

Another of Xingqiu’s pranks? Isn’t this going a little to far? He hadn’t learn about not believing everything his friend says smh.

Let’s just mess with him a little.

‘Measure your words, human. In the presence of the God of Chaos, the first thought that should run through your mortal instinct is to beg for your life, since those who dare to defy them will be punished and displayed as a trophy in the infinity of the abyss from which the catastrophe came out.’

You took a few steps closer to him, while Chongyun kept backing away. The scene was so dramatic that you had to stop when the boy summoned his sword.

Haha jk, nice to meet u.

It's nice to know that there are still such dedicated exorcists out there.

But wait-, so you're not an evil spirit? A God? Why is there a god causing accidents all over Liyue!? That makes no sense! If you think you can deceive him by pretending to be a deity then he shall punish you severely for disrespecting them!

After a detailed explanation of your identity, Chongyun's mood plummeted again due to another failure as an exorcist.

He sat silently on a rock and remained silent, his expression showed so well his disappointed that it made you feel like it was your fault.

Ohno, a sad human child, your weakness-

At the end you sat next to him to listen to what he had to say.

Did he really want to see a spirit so badly? Those things are horrible, wearing strange clothes and yelling all the time, buagh! The thought of it gives you chills. But there's nothing you can do, after all they are drawn to your chaos.

When you finished talking so indifferently about what you lived through from day to day, you looked back at Chongyun, finding his expressive eyes filled with astonishment and disbelief.

Are you a magnet of evil? Chaos and destruction? Demons and spirits alike appear wherever you go?

Then you stopped him, it wasn't something to take so lightly; there’s also the chaos of the butterfly effect, natural disasters, unforeseen events, influencing the mood of evil people, losing your favorite pair of socks-

But you attract spirits, right!? You have to help him! How can you say ‘no’ to that face?

The next day he took you to one of his commissions as an exorcist, a house that had numerous reports from its previous tenants. He stayed outside and asked you to come in first, obviously you refused, if your chaos broke something inside you would have more problems besides the ghosts of the house.

He insisted a little more, it worked. Now you were waiting to feel the presence of some spirit trying to attack you. You could feel it, their energy was spread throughout the building, but still there was no movement. Neither hostility, neither terror, just the presence of a soul.

When it was Chongyun's turn to enter you explained this to him, his yang was also easy to perceive, you could describe it as a blizzard in the middle of the storm. But despite this, that presence didn’t react to his energy, nothing changed.

Then you understand it, your energies neutralized each other. Your chaos and his yang ended in a stalemate that went nowhere.

“I was really hoping to see an actual spirit and not only stay still in the middle of the entrance… “

“Well, I can still curse you. Want to try?” Chongyun crossed his arms, annoyed for your jokes.

“Maybe I should exorcize you instead… ”

“Ohh, so the little exorcist wants a deity to be his personal dummy? Let’s make a pact then. Promise me your soul.”

“I-I thought you said you weren’t actually a demon!”

When you stroked his hair he couldn't help but think about how much he still had to learn, so much so that even the gods were taking pity on him.

[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 19: Mistakes

Written by: The Maribat Pit  Prompt: Mistakes Rating: T 

Soulmate AU - red string of fate around the ankles, references to other versions of the myth

A/N: This might become a mult-chap, we’re not entirely sure.  Comment on this post if you want to see this story continue.  There will be some Adrien/Chat Noir salt.

Marinette often heard stories about the ‘red string of fate’, the idea that there was a soulmate out there who was chosen just for her.  No one believed her when she told them she could see a red thread looped around her ankle. No one really explained what it meant, they would just tell her that she would grow out of that silly superstition.  She would look down at the floor, towards her ankle, where she could clearly see the red string tied around it.  Maybe they couldn’t see it, but she could, clear as day. When she became Ladybug and fought alongside Chat Noir, he would go on and on about how they were soulmates and destined for each other.  When she became Master Fu’s pupil, she asked him if he knew anything about it. “What brought this on?” he asked curiously. “I see this red string around my ankle, I’ve known about it ever since I was little. Everyone says it’s just a legend or a silly superstition.” she explained. “Around the ankle is a new one, but it’s also the oldest version of the legend,” Master Fu explained, “most prefer the version where it’s around the little finger, or a woman’s little finger and a man’s thumb.” “What does it mean?” she asked, “no one will tell me.” “It means the string will lead you to the person you are destined to be with,” he explained, “it may stretch and tangle, but it will never break.” For many years, she brushed aside other boys and their advances, much to the chagrin of anyone who knew the real reason why.    Whenever Chat Noir rambled on about them being soulmates, she knew it wasn’t true. It was infuriating, really, as she would look down at the red string leading away from him.  She would tell him that she was in love with someone else, because someone else was out there waiting for her.   Not that he would listen to her, but still she always kept him at arm’s length.  Some might say that her standards were too high, never mind that some boys just could not take “no” for an answer.   She thought about using Kaalki to find her soulmate, opening a portal directly to them.  The only problem was she only knew which direction the string was pointing, and not having a clear idea of where she was going could lead to complications. Marinette kept her head held high through Lila and Chloe bullying her, and the teachers doing very little to stop them.  She didn’t hate Adrien as much as she did on that first day of school, but he had done very little to stop his childhood friend from bullying people.  Marinette had been humiliated, insulted, and almost kicked out of school on multiple occasions.   Chat Noir, on the other hand, was only in love with the idea of her.   He had absolutely no clue who she was under the mask, and vice versa.  There were times when Marinette felt like she couldn’t step one toe out of line without someone breathing down her neck about being the bigger person.  She felt like she was the only one bearing the heavy burden of carrying the Ladybug mantle.  She took being a heroine seriously, but she knew that she couldn’t do everything perfectly.  Sometimes Chat Noir was more of a hindrance than a help, and this continued for many years. When days felt tough for Marinette, she only needed to look down at the string around her ankle and remind herself of what it meant.  It meant that someone out there was waiting for her, destined to love her with all their heart and she would love them in turn.  So Marinette kept her head down by day, and as Ladybug she would fight to bring an end to Hawk Moth’s reign of terror. Whoever her soulmate was, they would know the truth about her, they would love and accept her.  Sometimes she would wonder if Master Fu had chosen wrong when he decided that she should be the next Guardian of the Miraculous.  The red string on the other hand would stretch or tangle, but never break.  She could be certain that her soulmate was one choice that couldn’t be a mistake. Most of Jason’s earliest living memories were spent in hiding.  He would hide under the table with the family dog in his arms, while the adults around him argued.  When he got older, he would scurry back to the crevices in Gotham’s streets, hiding from whoever he just stole from.   All the time he’d worry they could see the glowing red thread wrapped around his ankle.  He could never understand what it meant, he assumed everyone had one at the time.   When his questions were met with mockery or indifference, he stopped sharing his curiosity about it.  It would always be glowing in the corner of his eye, like a bright light on a summer’s day.   One day he wandered into a bakery inside Gotham’s Chinatown.  He was waiting for the shopkeeper to look away so that he could grab a pastry without them noticing.  Their topic of conversation turned to a ‘red string of fate’ and Jason was intrigued.  Supposedly, the thread around his ankle bound him to someone. That someone was the person he was destined to be with forever, his soulmate.  He left the shop empty handed, hoping to try his luck finding food elsewhere.  If his soulmate was out there, whoever they were, they were going to be sorely disappointed.  He remembered thinking, whoever decided to pair him up with someone had made a terrible mistake.   If his soulmate could see him now, they would probably think so too. When he encountered Batman that fateful night in Crime Alley, his whole world had drastically changed from that night forth.  As Bruce Wayne took him under his wing and as he took on the Robin mantle, a secret part of him had hoped that he was becoming someone his soulmate could be proud of.  Still he kept it to himself, Alfred would occasionally find him staring off into space whenever he was alone.  If Jason asked Bruce about it, he would probably tell him that he needed to focus on other things. The glowing red string was the last thing he would see at night before letting sleep take him, this time, he wasn’t afraid. When she was 15, Marinette woke up one morning to find the string no longer glowed bright red.  Instead it was grey and limp, and she was desperate to know what this meant.  At the first opportunity, she ran to Master Fu, he was the only one she could confide in about this.  He lowered his head, almost unwilling to tell Marinette what it meant for fear of how she would react.  He told her solemnly, it meant that her soulmate had died… Elsewhere, a bomb was counting down the seconds until it could go off.  Jason had been battered, bruised and broken, but as long as his heart was still beating he still had a chance. Ten… He pushed against the locked door.  That damned clown had locked him in, probably for the sheer delight of it. Nine… He had only just noticed the bomb, he had to find a way out of the building and fast.  Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Dick and...he looked down at his ankle, his soulmate...they were all waiting for him.  Eight… This was all a mistake, he had been led into a trap.  He hoped that Batman would arrive just in time to save him.  He would probably slap him upside the head after he had recovered, and lecture him about being far too reckless, but at least he’d be alive. Seven… Strength was leaving his body, most of which was probably beaten out of him moments earlier.  The fighting spirit that always burned like a raging inferno inside of him was dimming.   Six… In those last few seconds, all he had left in him was a silent apology.   Wherever his soulmate was, he wished them nothing but happiness.  He was sorry that he couldn’t meet them for the first time.  He wanted to tell them that the mere idea of them gave him hope.  Hope that quite literally hung by a very thin thread, but it was what kept him going all these years.  It kept him going through living on the street, through pushing himself to meet Bruce’s expectations, even through the ordeal he had just endured.  All he needed to do was look down and remind himself that whoever chose him to be someone’s soulmate hadn’t made a mistake.  The reason he wouldn’t get to meet them was because of his mistake. Five...four...three..two...one. Marinette didn’t know how to mourn someone she had never seen, met, or even spoken to.  All she knew was that for the next three years, the string around her ankle was limp and grey.  The legend said that it would tangle, it would stretch, but it would never break.  Sometimes she would lay awake at night and wonder what could have possibly happened to her soulmate.  Had they even noticed the red string around their ankle? Did they even care about what it meant?  How did they die? Was it an accident or did someone kill them? These were questions that kept Marinette up at night as she gazed up at her bedroom ceiling.  She didn’t notice that the string was slowly starting to regain it’s glow, though it remained very dim.  She barely paid any attention to it anymore, and thought the faint red glow was just a trick of the eye.  It was a cruel reminder of what that thread meant and what she looked forward to. By the time she was 18, Marinette decided she needed to get out of Paris.  She wanted to be a designer, but she also thought a change of scenery would be good for her.  She kept the Miracle Box with her when she moved to Gotham City,  to keep the rest of the Miraculous from falling into the wrong hands.  Around this time, the thread around her ankle began to glow bright red, just as it had done a few years ago.  She was honestly curious to follow the thread and see where it led, but Plagg and Tikki were unsure about it.  They could sense that something was amiss with the thread reignighting, and they had a bad feeling that the forces of creation and destruction were involved. That’s how Marinette found herself pacing around her dorm room, trying to think of an explanation.  “How can you tell?” she asked them, “Maybe whoever did this chose someone else to be my soulmate? Someone who wasn’t dead.” “That’s not really how this works, Marinette.” Tikki told her. “Well, not according to Master Fu anyway,” said Plagg, “if the string is turning red again, that means whoever it is was brought back to life.” “But that’s impossible...is it?” Marinette looked at them,  not that long ago she had fought a man who wanted to use them to bring his comatose wife back.  Was it really so impossible? “Long ago, we were forced to grant such a wish.” Plagg confessed. “Plagg!” Tikki hissed, “you’re not suggesting that maybe…” “I am,” Plagg told her, “and she needs to know if she’s going to go herring off looking for someone who might be dead.”  Plagg turned his attention back to Marinette, “long ago, someone did acquire the Miraculous and they did use it to grant one wish…to make them young and strong forever.” “How did they do it?” Marinette asked, a little afraid of their answer. “We created what humans call ‘The Lazarus Pits’.  Anyone who bathed in its waters would be healed, rejuvenated, even snatched from the jaws of death.” he explained “Tikki’s healing magic is infused in the waters, that’s the healing part.” Marinette looked over at Tikki, “So what’s the catch? It can’t be that easy, can it?” “Well, the more they bathe in them, the more it destroys their mind,” she explains before giving Plagg a pointed look.  “It heals them on the outside, while their mind is slowly destroyed.” Marinette is slightly horrified by the thought.   “Can it bring someone back to life?” She asked, they exchanged worried glances. “Yes, but...Marinette, the person they were could have easily eroded away.” Tikki explained, but Marinette was growing tired of imagining and daydreaming.  She had to see for herself the person that her soulmate had become, so that’s how Ladybug set off to see where the red string led.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

All about the Dullahan

Thomas Croften Croker’s Fairy legends and traditions of the south of Ireland (1825-1834) seems to be the main – if not only – written source of full folktales about the Dullahan. It contains a section titled “The Dullahan” which consists of four folktales, one ballad, and some research notes that refer to further stories.

Not all these stories actually even use the name Dullahan, but Croker seems to have gathered them together on the basis of them being headless. Explaining: “Headless people are not peculiar to Ireland, although there alone they seem to have a peculiar name” (1928, p. 98). So which Dullahan does Mr Croker have on offer? The answer is: a set of very different creatures which he all calls Dullahan, but which are not always referred to as Dullahan and who are, from story to story, revenants, fae, death omens, and a restless spirit.

I will sum up their characteristics for every story and give a verdict on their supernatural nature under the cut (this got very long):

The Good Woman (1928, p. 85-98):

Type 1:

A short woman in a large cloak that conceals her completely who is:

Headless, and isn’t carrying her head

Shows up in twilight, seen only by a man riding home alone

Very quick and nimble, can leap onto a horse and over a wall, seem to glide rather than run

Does not speak, does not make a sound when jumping on the ground

Is corporeal, as she can be touched

Is described as a “merry wench”

She allows a man to give her a ride before jumping off his horse and running away from him, clearly making a game of letting him chase her

She runs into the ruins of an old church near a pool to meet with:

Type 2:

A crowd of “well dressed ladies and gentlemen, and soldiers and sailors, and priests and publicans, and jockeys and Jennys, but all without their heads”

These Dullahan are having a party, where they dance around a torture wheel set with skulls (unclear if these are their own heads) amidst the ruins of the church, to the music of ringing bells and rattling bones

Accompanying them, but not dancing, are:

Type 3:

Skeletons with loose heads that they bowl and throw around as a game

They have bleached bones covered by moth-eaten shrouds

These Dullahan speak, but only in unison “as with one voice, that quavered like a shake on the bagpipes”

One of them carries his head under his left arm while he offers the human protagonist a drink

All three types are referred to as Dullahan

They all leave in “a great hurry scurry with the noise of carriages and the cracking of whips,” presumably making off with the protagonist’s horse as well, who accuses them of being “the horse stealing robbers of the world, that have no fear of the gallows”.

VERDICT: Revenant. Having wild parties, tricking people, and stealing from them is definitely fae behaviour, but apart from that these Dullahan seem to be playful and rather powerful undead, that once were human.

Hanlon’s Mill (p. 103-109):

A great high black coach drawn by six headless black horses, with long black tails reaching almost down to the ground, and a headless coachman dressed all in black sitting up on the box

Possibly heralded by strange sounds during twilight: “such blowing of horns and hallooing, and the cry of all the hounds in the world and “the golloping of the horses, and the voice of the whipper-in”

They appear near a pool of water, bringing darkness with them that blocks out the moon

Neither whip, nor hooves, nor wheels make any sound

The day after a hitherto healthy man has fallen ill and dies

Not called Dullahan by name

Verdict: Omen. Specifically the ghostly coach-a-bower, the death coach. The image of a black coach (or hearse) riding by to foretell someone’s death is quite a common occurrence in folklore.

“Another legend of the same district (as Hanlon’s Mill)” (p. 109):

A black coach, drawn by headless horses, drives to and fro every night, both through the countryside and through a town

It stops at the doors of different houses, but anyone who opens the door to it gets a basin of blood thrown in their face

Not called Dullahan by name, but the story is not told in full

VERDICT: ??? Supernatural prankster? No mention is made of this coach foretelling death, so this seems to be mischief for mischief’s sake. Throwing blood at people is also not very spectral, nudging them a step towards fae in my book.

A legend from Dublin (p. 110-111):

A coach, sometimes driven by a coachman without a head, sometimes drawn by horses without heads, drives furiously past a castle where a clergyman hung himself, possibly with supernatural aid

Not called Dullahan by name, but the story is not told in full

Verdict: Omen. The coach-a-bower again, but this time not to foretell a death but to announce that an (unnatural) death has taken place.

The Harvest Dinner (p. 112-128):

A great old family coach, drawn by six headless horses, driven by a headless coachman

There are headless passengers inside and four fine footmen standing behind the coach, also headless

They emerge from a moat with a great rumbling noise and go towards an old church

They are driving at the rate of a hunt and make sparks fly out of the stones of the road (which implies their horses were horseshoes!)

Even with the whole coach they are faster than a man on horseback

A gate opens for the coach as by magic

Not called Dullahan, but referred to as “fairies”

Ahead of them in this procession are other fairies: “the prettiest little fellows you ever laid your eyes upon. They were all dressed in green hunting frocks, with nice little red caps on their heads, and they were mounted on pretty little long-tailed white ponies, not so big as young kids"

All are seen by the light of the (full) moon, by a man going home alone at night, but he is not afraid of the headless fairies after he notices they have no eyes to see him with

VERDICT: Fae. They are clearly taking part in a fairy procession and are minding their own business, possibly going to have a party at the old church.

The Death Coach, a ballad (p. 134-136):

A coach decorated with a shroud, with headless horses, headless driver and headless passengers

The wheel spokes are thigh bones, the pole a spine and the lamps sculls

They drive at great speed and the coachman cracks a whip

They stop at a churchyard where they speak with the dead in the ground, arguing with them to let them rest there for the night

They plan to go on tomorrow: “for having no heads of our own, We seek the Old Head of Kinsale" (this is a place in Ireland, the whole ballad is full of puns like this)

VERDICT: More rowdy revenants. They have a very gaudy death coach, but do not foretell death, and are clearly accustomed to sleeping in graves.

An anecdote from Cork (p. 136):

Dullahans “drive particularly hard wherever a death is going to take place”

They come in a great crowd, with a large procession

The coachman has a long whip “with which he can whip the eyes out of any one, at any distance, that dares to look at him”

VERDICT: Omen?? Fae that are into death for the goth of it??

The Headless Horseman (p. 138-150)

A headless rider who carries his head under his right arm or in the pocket of his coat, on a headless white horse, who has its head floating in front of it

The head is gaunt and ashy pale, with “depressed features” that look “like a large cream cheese hung round with black puddings” and has two large, fiery eyes, matted black hair, and a mouth that reaches from ear to ear

He wears a scarlet single-breasted hunting frock with “a waist of a very old fashioned cut reaching to the saddle, with two huge shining buttons at about a yard distance behind”

He appears to a man on horseback, at night, in the rain

The head speaks in a hoarse voice, but only sparingly, most questions only get a “Humph”

The horseman rides without use of whip, spur or stirrups

The ground shakes under the weight of the hooves, which make a fearful clattering noise and stir the water of nearby pools into waves

Gladly enters into a race with the protagonist and he even promises the man that his horse will be safe

He is never called a Dullahan but just “the headless horseman” and even refers to himself in this way

After the race the headless horseman reveals that ever since he and his horse broke their necks at the bottom of a hill he has been trying to find a man brave enough to ride with him, he gives the man his blessing, promising him that he will never desert him nor the old mare he is riding (and supposedly helping him to win horseraces)

VERDICT: Restless spirit. To me this fellow has very little in common with the other stories. This is very much a doomed rider type of figure, although the curt conversation has a striking resemblance to a similar headless rider in the story A Queen’s County Witch (Yeats, 188, p. 151-154), where the figure is a witch in disguise.

Croker collected his stories in the typical 19th century folklorists’ style, through correspondence, interviews, and borrowing from other authors. He also rewrote the stories quite extensively, and has been criticised on his attitude towards “the Irish peasantry” as he did so. Yeats was one of these critics, (while he did still consider Croker an expert), and as he is the only other 19th-century source on Dullahan I thought his short notes are worth quoting too. He refers to the Dullahan (or Dallahan) both as “headless phantoms” and one of the “solitary fairies” (p. 81), and mentions them in the section “The Banshee”:

“An omen that sometimes accompanies the banshee is the coach-a-bower [cóiste-bodhar]—an immense black coach, mounted by a coffin, and drawn by headless horses driven by a Dullahan. It will go rumbling to your door, and if you open it, according to Croker, a basin of blood will be thrown in your face. These headless phantoms are found elsewhere than in Ireland.” (Yeats, 1888, p. 108).

CONCLUSION: If it’s Irish and headless and walking or riding around ominously, it’s a Dullahan. Which may be a fae, a ghostly omen, or a revenant, just as they please. There clearly is no one coherent definition to be found.

I still insist on putting the cursed headless horseman in another category though. Dullahan clearly have some shared preferences, like a love for twilight and moonlight, horses and coaches, ruined churches and pool. And, interestingly, they seem to always show up either with a coach or a whole company. So I feel justified in saying that the spectre of a solitary person who remembers his own death and knows his reason for still roaming the earth, does not embody the Dullahan sprit.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite History Books || The Black Prince: England’s Greatest Medieval Warrior by Michael Jones ★★★☆☆

The Prince’s martial exploits were the stuff of legend even in his own lifetime. On 26 Au- gust 1346, at the age of sixteen, he fought heroically with his father in an army that crushed the French at Crécy. Ten years later, on 19 September 1356, by now a commander in his own right, he turned the tables on his numerically superior opponent, capturing King John II of France in battle at Poitiers, one of the great English victories of the Hundred Years War. In 1362, he became prince of Aquitaine, holding a magnificent court at Bordeaux that mesmerized the brave but unruly Gascon nobility and drew them like moths to the flame of his cause. Five years later, he led a great Anglo-Gascon army across the Pyrenees into Spain (crossing by the mountain pass at Roncesvalles, where Count Roland had fought a valiant rearguard action to save Charlemagne’s army seven centuries earlier), winning a stunning victory against the odds at Nájera that restored to the throne King Pedro of Castile, who had been ousted by his bastard half-brother. Edward’s meteoric military rise captured the imagination of Europe. The chronicler Jean Froissart saw him – at the outset of his career at least – as a model of chivalric virtue.

Edward became known to posterity as the ‘Black Prince’, a soubriquet that was not in existence when the Chandos Herald wrote a long poem (circa 1385) on La Vie et Faites d’Armes d’une très noble Prince de Wales et Aquitaine (The Life and Feats of Arms of the most noble Prince of Wales and Aquitaine), a tribute to a man seen as a paragon of chivalry, and in fact was used only from the sixteenth century. It is found in notes of the antiquary John Leland in the early 1540s and first appeared in print in Richard Grafton’s Chronicle in 1569. More than twenty years later, in William Shakespeare’s Henry V (Act 2, Scene 4) the French ruler Charles VI says that his countrymen fear King Henry because of his ancestry, his ‘heroical seed’... That ‘black name’ is now the standard way of describing the man. Some have suggested that the ‘Black’ is an allusion to the black armour that he wore at his first battle (although the evidence for this is scanty); others, that it is derived from the cruel way he waged war in France. When I inspect the tomb itself, I notice that the heraldic backdrop to his tournament badges is black – the colour forms part of a show of jousting prowess. Whatever the explanation for this knightly soubriquet, it was synonymous with a single-minded dedication to the warrior ethos, and the fighting fraternity of Europe’s elite.

In 1688 the antiquary Joshua Barnes wrote a historical biography of Edward III and his son, the Black Prince, praising the prince’s feats-of-arms; some seventy years later David Hume, in his History of England, also extolled his martial virtues. Indeed, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries this ‘Black Prince’ was seen in straightforward, heroic terms. On 16 September 1903 a mounted statue of the Prince was unveiled in City Square, Leeds, proclaiming him as ‘the flower of England’s chivalry’. However, modern scholarship has been more critical of him, criticizing his lack of administrative ability and also his failures of political judgement. He is seen as fixated on his military career, inflexible in his approach to government and limited in his broader abilities. As I gaze on the tomb, I wonder if French manuscript collections, many of them underexploited, can cast fresh light on this fascinating figure.

The chronicler of the abbey of Moissac, Aymeric de Peyrac, for example, showed that the Prince could be engaging, humorous and pleasingly direct. He recalled the Prince asking one of the monks, who was famed for his melodious singing voice, to take Mass. At its end, the Prince greeted the man, thanked him and said: ‘I am sorry so much misfortune has be- fallen you – and that your good friends are no longer with you.’ The monk looked a little surprised and asked him why he had said that. ‘Well,’ the Prince replied, ‘I noticed that in the service you rushed through the Office for the Living but seemed to spend an eternity on the Office for the Dead.’ The monk looked at the Prince for a while, smiled, and then said: ‘I feel that the living can more easily look after themselves; it is those souls trapped in purgatory who really need my assistance.’ This was an age of violence and frequent visitations of the plague, a horror that struck communities rapidly and without warning; an age that demanded the warrior should prepare to face death, at any time or place. For a moment the Black Prince seemed lost in his own thoughts. Then he smiled back, and thanked the monk for his answer. The two men became friends.

The last years of the Prince’s life were blighted by sickness and he was only able to attend his final military engagement, the siege of Limoges, in 1370, carried on a stretcher. According to the chronicler Jean Froissart, the Black Prince – increasingly frustrated by his own debilitating sickness and the deteriorating war situation – sacked the town and put its civilian population to the sword. This striking image of a chivalric hero falling below the standards that had made him admired throughout Europe has lodged itself in the popular imagination, but I find myself wondering whether it really happened in the way that Froissart described it. Whatever the truth of Limoges, there was now a cloud hanging over English fortunes. The Prince relinquished his duchy of Aquitaine due to ill health and spent his last years con- fined to his sickbed. He died on 8 June 1376, aged only forty-five. Nine years later the Black Prince’s magnificent tomb was completed by his son, now ruling the kingdom as Richard II. There was no more appetite for foreign war; the realm was divided by internal dissension and unrest. The Prince’s memorial at Canterbury became a memorial to a bygone era.

[viking-raider]

The Belle and the Bane - Intro

Summary: How the legend of the Bane began and your simple life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 2,611

Rating: Fantasy!AU, Mentions of death, Illness, Language, Angst, Curses

Inspiration: The beauty and the beast, among other things.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for brainstorming this with me, hammering out the details! Tell me what you think!

Once upon a time, in an ancient land, there was a small village of three hundred dreary and poor inhabitants. In this small village of Mintwillow, there was a legend of dark and sinful proportions; the legend went like this.

Living in a neglected castle, a handful of leagues from the village, placed perilously on the edge of a cliff, with the roaring and roiling waves of an ocean below, crashing against the rock face and eroding it away, was who the village called, the Bane. He had been the fourth of five children, all brothers, who had all lived happily and harmoniously with their loving and pampering parents. The family was the most prosperous family within nearly sixty leagues of the village, which, at the time, was just as prosperous and bustling, riding the wave of their success.

But, then, disaster struck.

A horrible illness washed over the county, striking the inhabitants of Mintwillow the hardest. The Bane's family, despite their wealth and good standing, also became victims of the disease. Every last one of them became sick with it; bedridden and raving, bodies throbbing, as if all of their bones were shattering, and sweating so profusely from their fevers, that their mattresses were soaked through, and took turns in getting sick. Their servants, also sick themselves, did their best to care for their beloved masters, but it was all for not. First, the mistress of the castle died of the illness, followed by the youngest son and the third oldest. The father and oldest went two days later, but the second oldest and second youngest held out for a fortnight. On the night of the fourteenth day, even after a glitter of hope of becoming well again, the second oldest perished, leaving only the second youngest alive.

Who still fought for his life against the illness.

He had languished between getting better for a day or two, before becoming quite worse and being only moments, if not seconds, from death. But, finally, after nearly another fortnight, the second youngest son roused, his fever breaking and his life safe from the dark tentacles of death that had taken all of his family, all that mattered and he held so dearly to his heart.

It had taken time, and a good many lives, before the plague that washed over Mintwillow to pass away, leaving an ugly scar in the lives and minds of the inhabitants. While a mass grave had to be excavated for the townspeople, the bodies of the dead family were given single graves in their ancestral graveyard, just down the hill from the castle. It was the day of their funeral, even though they had already been in their graves for a month or more, that the second youngest son, now the heir and executor of the family empire, realized the amount of power he suddenly wielded; the mass fortunes of gold he had at his disposal, for every want, whim and fancy he could ever dream of, with no one to tell him no, or hold him in check with the spending.

That was when the Bane came to be.

He threw huge balls for the top families in the land, inviting the prettiest women his staff could find and lived in the county. He spent thousands of pounds on furnishings, decorations and things he had no need for; some he didn't even know how to work and use, but bought, simply because he could. But, within two years of his new found power, the money was starting to dwindle. He was spending more than the family business could support.

So, he taxed the small town of Mintwillow.

Raising the taxes on the goods he supplied them, supplies and goods they needed to live and support themselves, since the next option to do so, was over a hundred leagues away. He taxed them for everything he could, and even thought up new things he could tax them on, because he knew without him, they would all likely starve.

After awhile, spending mountains of gold, throwing lavish parties and having an endless line of women, didn't fill the hole that had been left at the loss of his parents and brothers. Nonetheless, he kept spending the gold and dancing at his parties and bedding every woman he could. It had become a habit now, instead of a pleasure. However, in the third year after the illness, and quite suddenly, he no longer threw lavish parties that lasted for days, he no longer spent vast amounts of gold or entertained a woman. Some in the village speculated that he had packed up and moved out of the county, having slighted some young lady's honor and ran before her father could force him into marrying her. Some said, someone he had overtaxed had become so enraged by it, they murdered him and his body was decaying somewhere in the castle.

But, the impossibly high taxes kept being enforced and collected.

What he had done, was reduced the staff to a single butler, closed up all of the rooms, but his own bedroom, a study and the kitchen; leaving the rest to grow thick layers of dust, cobwebs, moth holes and to fall into disrepair and neglect; leaving the ghosts of his former life to inhabit them.

Shutting the world away and darkening the once bright and full of life castle.

Why would he suddenly close out the world like that? The answer isn't as simple as one might think.

During one of the biggest balls he had ever thrown, the girls were flocking him, as usual, when an exceptionally gorgeous woman approached him, she was so radiant in her gown and her self assurance, that he couldn't help be attracted to her, drawn to her glow, like a moth to the naked flame of a candle. Pushing away all other women, he approached her, turning his handsome charm onto her. She was just as drawn to him as he was to her. They danced and floated around each other, none other existed to them, not the nearly two hundred guests or the jealous women; just him and her.

Before long, the pair were in the privacy of one of the castle's many rooms, sitting close together on a divan, smiling faces so near to each other, they shared the same breath. They shared jokes and quips, flirtations and jests. But, suddenly, her behavior changed and her bright eyes dimmed, like a dangerous storm cloud.

“You like all your fancy things, don't you?” She hissed at him. “Having every woman fling herself upon your feet, like a simpering puppy.”

He blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. “What are you talking about?” He demanded, pulling away from her; shock and brewing rage in his blue eyes and handsome face.

“Taxing the lands and lives of all the poor souls in this land, while you sit fit and happy upon your mountains of gold and privilege.” Her own rage grew, out matching his own. “Yet, you are as miserable, if not more so, than they are. But, you still tax them, sucking them dry, until they are so far in debt to you, they fling themselves from the cliffs, to end their suffering.”

“Suffering you cause for nothing.”

“I won't be spoken to like this.” He said in a low growl, his upper lip twitching with a snarl. “Get out and never show your face here again! Or I'll show you what true misery is!” He raved, jumping to his feet and pointing a stiff finger to the door.

She stood with him, quite gracefully for a soul so consumed with rage and distaste. “No, you will know what misery really is!” She barked, before roughly kissing him, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of his neck, leaving thin trails of blood in their stead.

“That will be the last kindness you will have for some time.” She hissed, then swept out of the room.

The room was dark and stifling hot, you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your back, as you leaned over the mortar you were currently grinding up a combination of white willow bark, yarrow and marshmallow root in. Another painful sounding and wet cough filled the single room hut your patient lived in with her husband and six children, all under the age of nine. Getting the herbs fine enough, you turned to the roaring fireplace that dominated a large section of the north wall of the hut. You had told her husband not to put so many logs on the fire, she was already badly hydrated, and the overwhelming heat of the fire, combined with her high fever, were causing her to sweat profusely, making her even more dehydrated.

But, being a man and feeling he knew better than you, he kept feeding more and more logs into the licking flames.

You suppressed an eye roll as he tossed another sizable log into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks into the chimney flue. Using the skirt of your dress, you grabbed a hold of the handle to the roiling kettle and pulled it off the hook that held it over the flames. Taking it back to the makeshift kitchen table, you dumped the ground herbs into the battered and chipped teapot, then poured in the steaming hot water, leaving it to brew the herbal tea that would reduce her fever and help quiet down her cough.

“Have her drink the whole pot.” You told him, holding the teapot, and still using your dress as a barrier, while you gently swirl the liquid inside, the heat radiating through the porcelain felt pleasant. “Even if she doesn't want to. But, don't make her drink it too fast either. Maybe a cup every half hour.” You explained to him, setting it back down on its stone coaster.

“If she gets any worse, come and get me.” You added, gathering your little bag full of herbs and other odds and ends you used as a healer for Mintwillow.

“Thank you.” The husband said gruffly, standing stiffly by his wife's side.

“Of course.” You nodded to him, then gave the youngest child, only fourteen months old, and sitting on the hearth rug, gumming on a biscuit, a smile; recalling you helping birth the babe into the world, before going out into the cold and salty air.

It was so much nicer out there, the winds pushing in pungent ocean air, salty and fresh, with a tang of fish and kelp. It was cool and refreshing, an excellent cure all to the stuffy and hot atmosphere of the hut you just left. You were nearly home, when a familiar silhouette appeared in the early evening mist, bringing a happy smile to your face.

“Hello, papa.” You greeted him as he fully appeared.

“Hello, child.” He smiled back at you, his tired and wrinkled face brightening at the sight of you. “How is she?” He asked, eyes flickering to the hut several yards behind you.

“She should be just fine.” You assured him, confidently. “Just a strong cold. Nothing I can't fight.” You chuckled, but you could see the undeniable fear and anxiety in his deep set brown eyes.

Your father, honestly, loathed that you were a healer, but he honored your choice, like he had always done your entire life. If you set your mind to something and he knew you couldn't be swayed on the subject, he would respectfully disagree, but would support you, through and through. You were his daughter, his first born, his only born, and he would move heaven and earth for your happiness. But, his fear and anxiety over your chosen profession came with good merit and reason. Nearly five years before, a great illness had swept over the village, taking so many lives. But, there was one person there, doing her utmost best to try, and at least, slow its progression.

Your mother.

She had been Mintwillow's healer longer than you had been born, before she and your father had even married. Nothing would stop her from healing her fellow villagers, not even that horrid plague. She had worked tirelessly to try and stop it, though, more often than not, she would lose to it. Your mother didn't let that stop her though, she kept trying and trying, mixing every type of herb she had and could get her hands on, looking for a cure. Your father would have to bodily drag her away from her herbalist table, just so she would take a moment to eat or drink something, to sleep, even if it was just for a moment's nap.

Then, she was right back at it.

In the end though, four dozen Mintwillow villagers died, your dearest mother, being one of them. She had caught it, after being in contact with so many of the infected, and died almost a week later; leaving only you and your father. You had gotten the illness, there was barely a single handful of people who didn't get it, but had survived, with very little after effects. Your father on the other hand, had survived, only to be severely affected by it, he couldn't work the endless hours he once had as the village's blacksmith, finding wielding the heavy tools of his craft almost too much to manage for more than an hour or two.

Which affected the household income, making so many things you both needed scarce, like food and clothing. So, taking what you had learned from your mother, you stepped into her shoes as the village healer, hoping that the occasional gold piece would help ease the burden on your father. It still wasn't enough though, and that became abundantly clear, when stiff and high taxes were pressed on the village and its workers, your father being one of them, needing the supplies for his blacksmithing, causing him to be heavily in debt.

Of all the bones in your body, there was only one of them that was mean, and it loathed the life crippling taxes that squeezed and bled every person in the village, man, woman, child and even infants. You glanced across the foggy village, to the shadowy smudge, almost hidden by the charcoal clouds, that were like puffs of wool, against stark purple sky; the castle. You hated that filthy structure that loomed over the village, like an awful eye, bringing nothing be hardship and doom. You hated the creature that lived inside of it, reaping all the benefit of your father's hard-work, while you both struggled to put half a loaf of bread on the table for one of the two meals you could afford a day; if you were lucky.

Shaking the malice away from your thoughts, you followed your father back to your home. It was a little more than the rest of the homes in Mintwillow, it was a story and a half, the kitchen and living area was all one room, there was a water closet and a back room, that was your father's room. The half story was a loft, that was your own room. You loved your room, going up the half spiral staircase to it, it was closed off, so you had the utmost level of privacy. Half of your room, hanging above a writing desk, was an array of herbs that you used for your healing.

The one thing about your room that you had a qualm with, was the single peaked window; it pointed towards the bleak structure on the stormy cliffs, forever in your sight, whenever you look out your window. You wished it would just fall off the cliff it was butted up against; the gloomy and cursed castle of the Bane.