#the self destruction of the ultimate warrior

[batgirlteeth]

thinking about samus' radical design changes from the onset of fusion and how they relate to her self-image. the x parasite didnt just steal her armour, it stole her identity too, her chozo power armour was the one connection she had left to the people that made her who she is, and it was infected and cut out like a cyst and then it quite literally haunted her. her default appearence is then one that is stripped away, laid bare, and shes far more vulnerable.

the only thing that could save her was the most destructive legacy of the chozo, the metroids. then over the course of fusion, she learns that the federation has been cloning metroids for weaponisation themselves, the humanity shes so desperate to hold onto is acting no different to the space pirates, looking to control and conquer. everything she thought she was has either been torn from her or corrupted beyond recognition.

and then dread follows up on this so well by introducing raven beak and the mawkin tribe. we always saw the chozo from this idealised lens, a generous and benevolent civilisation that shared their bounties with the universe. but the truth is that was only their best and brightest, the real reason theres chozo ruins on nearly every planet in the galaxy is because they were conquerors. they were colonisers. and samus herself was yet another soldier being indoctrinated into war for the sake of raven beak's ego. just another weapon. just another metroid.

any vestiges of samus' heritage and the legacies she holds onto have had their facades stripped away for what they are, and its up to samus to define herself. she chooses to become a metroid, the ultimate warrior, because she can defy that legacy and scrounge some good from the dirty hands she was dealt. quiet robe inspires her to do this, by holding onto a fraction of his kindness even after assimilation by the x, because that altruism can shine through no matter how dark it gets.

metroid is about growing up in a fascist society and peeling away the layers of obfuscation and deciding what you want to fight for. also youre transgender

[krisluxxeeempress]

Astrology Observations

Those with Mercury in Cancer tend to eat, to process their thoughts. For example, if a mercury in cancer individual has a paper to write and are struggling to formulate words, they will stop to get something to eat and while they’re chewing, their thoughts become clearer about the subject matter. Cancerians love food and when placed here, it helps their mental functioning.

Mars Square Pluto Aspect will force a MF to face and fight their battles, fears and WIN. Mars is the God of War ruling over soldiers, warriors, fighters, champions and heroes. You have the spirit of a champion but with every champion, you must TRAIN as such. Whatever sign or house Pluto resides in, will reveal the type of training you undergo during your “training camp. (ex. boxers do not train the same as soldiers but they both have an opponent they need to take out/ down)  The Individuals  who stick the course and endure- usually come out of mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually stronger. They come out on top! If you have Mars or Pluto (retrograded) , this aspect is fought within. You are fighting yourself, you vs. you. You are your enemy, and you will have to fight the version of yourself that is weakening, sabotaging, discouraging and ultimately holding you back. The battles fought could be fear, denial, self-doubt, insecurity, inferiority, addiction, abuse etc. Anything or anyone that makes you feel powerless, you will be forced to overpower it/them or die trying.

The quotes “only the strong survive” and or “ death before dishonor” can be used to explain this aspect.

Pluto in Capricorn 6th House ( especially retrograded) Makes individuals obsessed with achieving greatness and success on a grand scale. If this isn’t accomplished Pluto can also make one begin to self-destruct in such a way that it’s hard to bounce back from. This placement promises a slow grind and slow demise. Considering Pluto is farthest from the sun, that is seen by all, no one will notice the trials and tribulations one must overcome until they either overcome or succumb. This placement can certainly be discouraging if one is unable to handle the pressure that is placement gives.  We all want to be successful until it’s time to put in the consistent time, effort and energy required. It’s a heavy weight to carry. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown”.

Saturn in Aquarius 8th house ( especially retrograded) Individuals with this placement do like people at all. They are forced to experience and witness all the negativity humans are capable of. Because of this, these people are not only rebellious towards societal norms but also resentful towards all who uphold and live by these societal constructs. These individuals categorize everyone. If they experience rudeness from one person, they will conclude everyone is rude etc. This placement gives these individuals a solid reason to dislike everyone. The sign of Aquarius is naturally rebellious and different in comparison to most. They do not have to try; however, Saturn in Aquarius 8th house gives them a REASON to be rebellious. There’s a major difference. They are constantly in situations where they are forced to see what others attempt to hide about themselves including the corrupt in governments, business and other countries. They observe everything that is wrong and experience injustices to confirm what is wrong with everything and everyone. These individuals really would prefer not to be bothered by anyone and wouldn’t be if it was possible. They are pessimistic because they are realist. This placement will make these people extremely indifferent to the suffering of humanity because they “feel” it’s deserved. High levels of intelligence are granted to those with this placement making it difficult to tolerate many people who are simple/ narrow minded and impressionable. This placement is unbearable especially in their younger years because with Saturn’s influence, they must learn to control their anger, resentment and hatred towards humanity. These are our misanthrope’s, sociopaths, psychopaths and murderers. If this energy is retrograded in one’s chart- they have more control over their disdain towards others. They are more aware of the consequences that would follow if they acted on these violent urges deriving from hatred. When the government is lying, they know and can’t stand when others can’t see or worse- accept they’re being lied to. When workplaces pull some bullsh*, they see if before it occurs and can’t stand when others “fall victim” or willingly conform. When people get caught up, confused and taken advantage of in relationships- these individuals can’t understand how others can’t see it or won’t leave it. Everything that most find so complex and difficult is the complete opposite for them. Lastly, These individuals may enjoy reading psychological thriller books that involve crime, death, detective work and anything considered DARK.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - My Fawn & My Shadow: Epilogue

Alastor x F!Reader

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Dear Hoteliers,

Helluva Boss events take place after Apology Tour and after the most recent Helluva Boss short “Mission 4: Chupacabra.”

<3 Stay smutty

My Fawn & My Shadow: Epilogue

Content Warning: Self Harm, abuse, mental health, mentions of suicide

Just Outside Levittown, Envy

Tom Trench: “Five years after 'The Massacre,' V Tower is finally being rebuilt!”

Katie Killjoy: “That’s right, Tom! The Sins of Lust and Gluttony purchased a 50/50 share of the building three years ago, but after a long legal battle with Lucifer Morningstar, reconstruction can finally begin!”

Tom: “Today marks a new era between Hell Natives and Human Sinners after the Sins won the right to purchase property and run business within the once forbidden Circle! What does this mean for the travel ban on the other Rings? What does this mean for the economy now that Hell Natives can run and own businesses within the Pride Ring? And who will soothe the King’s butt after it was kicked in court?“

Katie: “In other news, Massacre memorials are set to begin tonight…”

You clicked the radio off.

Has it truly been five years already?

Vox.

Velvette.

Crim.

The hundreds of Souls who all got in the way.

Carmilla who tried to stop you but died trying.

The THOUSANDS of Souls after who died for no reason.

Massacred.

Charlie tried to intervene, but Vaggie wouldn’t let her near you.

Rosie focused on getting everyone away from you.

Lucifer was hurt but thankfully lived.

In the end it was Angel who stopped you. Angel who knew the truth. Angel who told you to think of the baby…

Then it was Husk who carried you through the portal to this safe house where you still remained.

The Entertainment District had been leveled by the time you had finished.

And the red staining your fingers still hadn’t faded, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

It was the least you deserved.

Eve has been quiet since then, popping up for short moments of conversation and then disappearing. It’s almost as if all the power used to take out half of Pentagram City had drained her batteries.

Or…

Perhaps she had known that, after the destruction, you had truly given up.

No more Endgame. No more games in general. No schemes or plans or revenge.

You simply just wanted to be.

You would have ended it all had you not had a reason to go on.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Turning off the faucet, you start the kettle and head for the door.

“Tomatuh!” Rosie pressed a kiss to your cheek, her arms filled with supplies she often brought along despite your protests. Mostly food but sometimes gifts - clothes she made herself.

“Shh,” you took the goods from her. “You’re early, she’s still asleep.”

Rosie hesitated in the doorway.

“Is something wrong?”

“Well,” Rosie adjusted her gloves.

Something was wrong.

“Tomatuh, you know I love you and that little tyke.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But…?”

“Can I come in yet or what?” Vaggie stepped into the kitchen.

You grit your teeth. “Rosie!”

“Hey!” The moth demon stepped in front of the Overlord. Still the warrior she was created to be. “Rosie forbade me from coming but I pushed myself through your stupid portal anyway!”

“That portal,” You held your ground, trying to look as formidable as possible - which admittedly was more pathetic than you assumed given the state of your health. “Is for Rosie only. It is not to be used for gallivanting across the Rings!”

No one was allowed here save for Rosie. The portal opened at the same time everyday - automatic magic she helped you to set up. It opened right on the porch and closed the moment she stepped through.

For Rosie. It was too much of a risk for the others to know your location. They can be captured and they can be interrogated by Heaven. Rosie was a much bigger fish to go after than say someone such as Husk.

“Listen here, asshole! I’m here because Charlie asked me to deliver this personally!” The ex-Exorcist shoved a box into your chest. “The only reason she isn’t here is because she’s at home in our bed balling her eyes out!”

The box…

“Vaggie,” Rosie pulled her back. “That’s enough.”

…it smells like…

No. That can’t be.

“…so ungrateful for everything we did for you!”

“Vagatha, that is enough! Go wait outside.”

The forest after a storm…

“She didn’t mean it.” Rosie grabbed your attention.

Your fingers started to tremble. “Where did this come from?”

Rosie pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Charlie had it boxed up at the Hotel. Apparently they did some fall cleaning with all the new Hotel guests and Angel accidentally unboxed it.”

Oh, Angel.

“Charlie’s been a mess ever since. She insisted that be sent to you right away.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I think I’ll take my tea at home today.” Rosie pulled you into a hug. “I love ya, tomatuh. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell the little tyke I’ll bring her somethun’ special tomorruh!”

And then she left.

Leaving you alone with a piece of him.

Oh! What could it be? Eve materialized on your kitchen counter.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Your entire body and mind froze, completely entranced with the box in your hand.

All of Alastor’s stuff had been boxed up and either moved to his radio tower or to Rosie. You forbade anyone from going to the tower - not that you yourself had returned to it since. Rosie has been there a few times to clean and check on the place but other than that…

“There were only a few things missing…” The package was wrapped in a thick layer of dust. The only evidence that the box had been opened was the few fingerprints around the edges. Angel's fingerprints? Charlie's?

You peeled the tape off carefully, afraid that ripping the box would somehow mare his memory.

"Holy shit," you collapsed over the box and sobbed.

Alastor's coat lay folded inside - the black pinstripe suit jacket he died in. Speckles of golden and red blood crusted the surface, the fabric ripped diagonally across the chest. Atop sat Alastor's microphone, busted in half along the pole.

Something inside your chest snapped as your fingers traced the cut.

“Mourir d’amour, vivre de haine…" You mumbled.

That’s what Alastor had said to you when he died.

Dying for love.

I miss him too. The embodiment of power leans over your shoulder and huffs. Eve was fun for a while, but I agreed with you. Her plans were small and easily fixed. I never even introduced myself to her. Then I met you, and your plans were extraordinary - I didn’t even think of making Heaven destroy itself. Then we met him. She motioned to the jacket. You fell in love with the man, but I’m why you fell in love with his thirst for power and chaos.

You rubbed the tears from your eyes, afraid of crying too loud for fear of waking the toddler in the next room. “I could feel his magic even before we met. That day I came to the Hotel and Sir Pentious attacked, I felt his static moments before he appeared. I always knew before he was going to enter a room and when his shadow was nearby. Others could not. We had a connection long before the deal we made atop his radio tower - a pull I could never quite put my finger on. I've never had that with anyone else, not even Eve. You’re the reason why I could always feel his magic? Why I had access to his static even though I voided the contract? Why I could summon static during the Extermination?”

Oh, no. She waived her hands. I have nothing to do with Soulmates and Magic Bridges.

“Wh-what?” You stammered.

Look I know things but my magic can’t do everything…

“No. Not that. Can you explain the Soulmate part?”

Wait. You didn’t know? Ha! Oh, my God this is rich!

You blinked. “But Angels don’t have Souls…”

She shot you a dumb look, And who told you that?

You shrugged sheepishly, “Dad?”

Ugh! She rubbed her face. How can you be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time?

“Hey!”

Angel’s have Souls, babe. Soulmates share their Souls. One Soul in two bodies.

“But why would Dad make me a Soulmate?”

Answer: he didn’t. He’s a dick. But hear me out. You have been so sad and so alone for so long, do you ever think that maybe you wanted it enough that YOU made it happen. YOU willed it into being? Your upbringing wasn't precisely the picture-perfect happy childhood.

“That’s insane!”

Oh, well. Excuse me. I’m just the Book of Knowledge, I don’t know anything.

“I made Alastor?”

No! Eve threw her hands in the air. You'd shush her but no one else but you could hear her. You made a Soulmate! Fate decided who. Fuck, girl. It took thousands of years to find him, not like the Soul just popped into a body and called it yours. The Soul is made and ripped into two, it’s probably been floating around the Ether waiting for him.

“Oh…” You fisted the lapel of the jacket, finding comfort in the feel of the jacket in your hand.

That’s a compliment. Some people get shit Soulmates. Sounds like Fate was picky with you.

That made you feel a bit better.

Wait.

“Why are you trying to comfort me? You never try to comfort me.”

It’s not comfort, bitch. It’s pity.

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks.”

Eve didn’t disappear. She sat back on the armchair and watched as you folded the jacket into a nice pile on the table. “What?”

The embodiment of power crossed her legs and rested her chin in her hand. Nothing. Just waiting.

“Waiting for what?”

For you to figure it out.

“Figure what…”

Why I'm pitying you with this knowledge.

Whatever...

You grabbed for the pieces of microphone left inside the box but accidentally knocked it off the table instead. The cardboard came crashing down along with the metal. It smacked against the tile, eliciting a wave if green sparks as the microphone came to rest a few feet away.

Holy shit.

… green static.

Oh, shit!

There it is. Eve smiled.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

That's not possible. Green static was Alastor's magic. Alastor is gone. Therefore, so should his magic.

But if his magic was still here...

Angel’s have Souls, babe. Soulmates share their Souls. One Soul in two bodies.

You looked at your hands.

It wasn't possible.

You grabbed the jacket and held it against your chest, letting Alastor's natural musk drown you in a sea of his memory. Of his hands in your hair. Of his cockeyed smile whenever his true self shined through. Of his laugh, absent of the radio static.

Blue flame lit up your right hand and in your left...

Green.

Holy shit.

“Wait but how do I…?” You spun, preparing a barrage of questions to through at Even, but just as you had figured it out, the embodiment of power disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Bitch.

Eve wasn’t going dormant, she was just ghosting you - literally.

But then again, you already knew where to start.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath as you made your way to the bedroom.

You practically tripped over yourself as you flipped on the lights. “Mary Marie, it’s time to wake up.”

“Maman?”

“I’m sorry, my fawn, but it’s time to go.” You threw clothes into a bag, along with a few essentials such as a pink bedazzled hair brush and a singing toothbrush that played Verosika Mayday as you brushed.

The small child, previously tucked into her crib for her daily nap, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “Mais, maman, où allons-nous?”

Flinging the backpack over your shoulder, you wrapped her favorite pink fuzzy blanket around her and pulled her from the crib. “We are going to visit Auntie Rosie.”

“No! My Angel!” She screamed, reaching for the stuffed animal in her crib.

You tucked the black cat into her arms and sped from the room. Perhaps one day you’d explain the irony to her, but today was not that day.

As you ran from the house, child in one arm and jacket and staff in the other, you felt small hands on your cheeks demanding your attention. “Maman, pourquoi es-tu si triste?”

You paused. “What?”

SNAP! The portal to Rosie’s Emporium cracked through the wall of reality.

“Why are you so sad?” She rubbed the tears from your cheeks.

You paused.

Were you still crying?

“I don’t know…”

You did know, but how did you tell your almost five year old that there was a chance - a minuscule chance but still a chance - that her father might still be alive.

And that bringing him back might kill you in the process.

She dug her small hands into your cheeks and forced the edges of your mouth up. “You should smile more, Maman.”

A sob tore its way through your chest.

Mary Marie Hartfelt was born 7lbs and 3oz in a beachside safe house outside of Levittown, Envy. Named for her grandmother on her father’s side, Rosie would tell you that she’s the spitting image of you but that was due large in part to her blonde hair and pale complexion. In reality, you couldn’t look at her and not see her father.

She had the same small tuft of red fur for a tail, which she hated you pulling, and a matching set of ears, which she demanded you scratched every night before bed. Her legs ended in red hooves that she loved when you painted pink - her favorite color - and her eyes…

She had her father’s red irises.

And her father’s temper. God forbid she didn’t get her way - she was a total spitfire. At least she hadn’t sprouted wings, the crawling phase was already too much to bear as a single parent - despite Rosie’s help. Actually the only time she calmed down was when Rosie came over for tea.

Chai - Mary Marie’s favorite.

She had her father’s appetite and her mother’s knack for weaponry. God forbid she get into any weapons unsupervised.

Her magic started showing early - most notably during her terrible twos when she almost burned down the house: electricity. Your blue fire plus her father’s green static gave birth to red electricity.

Thankfully none of the power from the Book of Knowledge seeped into her or impacted the pregnancy in anyway. Either Eve was quite attached to you or you got lucky - really lucky.

Hell have no furry like existence’s most powerful toddler throwing a tantrum.

That was your fault however. After the battle and the Massacre, Heaven was on high alert. Everyone now knew that God was missing and Mikaela Morningstar was a traitor. So, naturally, the story became that you killed God and were on the run.

If only the first part were true…

But you were on the run. Only Rosie knew your location - all communications had to go through her. Which meant you hadn’t seen Husk or Angel in years. They wrote you letters though and you wrote back (Vox was dead but you still wouldn’t risk a phone or television). Mary Marie even drew a few pictures for you to include.

What you didn’t tell her was that you ordered everything burned once they read it.

One day, when everything has calmed down, you and Mary Marie would return home.

Huh, funny how the Hotel was now home in your mind.

“I love you, my fawn.” You tickled her belly, eliciting the cutest giggle before stepping through the portal.

The day hadn't yet come when Mary Marie asked about her father, but you knew one day it would. She had seen parents during your outings and knew of relationships, but she hadn't fully grasped the concept that something was amiss.

Yes, you were sad - a lot - but, unfortunately, it was something the child had come to understand as normal. There were times when her mother would break down crying for no reason or days when she couldn't get out of bed when it was raining. There were songs she refused to listen to on the radio and recipes she'd spend hours in the kitchen trying to perfect: gumbo, Mary Marie was sick of it.

And, no matter what, she always wore her hair in a red hair clip.

Her mother was odd and always a little sad despite her smile but thankfully Mary Marie did not yet have to be burdened with the truth. Where was her father? Why did they always have to wear cloaks when they went outside? Why couldn't they meet any of mother's friends besides Rosie? Why couldn't she play with any of the other children?

“Oh, my stars!” Rosie was curled up on her couch, tea cup in hand, clearly enveloped in some book on her coffee table.

Right. You kicked her out before her daily tea time.

“Auntie!” Mary Marie jumped from your arms. Enveloped in her pink blanket, the tiny tyke jumped into Rosie’s awaiting arms.

“Hello, my sweet.” The Overlord hugged her back.

You threw her bags on the loveseat. “I need a favor.”

Rosie’s look of confusion turned serious, “Okay.”

Mary Marie played with Rosie’s collection of Build-A-Bones while you talked - creating small towers of remains which she proceeded to zap with electricity till they turned to ash.

Told you she was a spitfire.

While you told your tale to Rosie, you watched her look of concern turn to outright denial. “No!”

Mary Marie jumped at the sudden turn in conversation.

“Rosie,” you grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the other room, one eye still on the fawn as she returned to her undead masterpiece. “If there is even a small chance that this could work -.”

“And you die in the process?” She interrupted in a whisper. “You’d be robbing that beautiful child of both her father and mother.”

“I owe it to that child to try. To bring her father back-!”

“Is that what this is truly about, tomatuh? It sounds like you’re doing this for you.”

“Rosie-.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She put up a hand. “This is irresponsible and based off of knowledge fed to you by her. Remember the last time you let Eve influence you?”

How could you forget? You took out half of Pentagram City.

You stepped back, your teeth clenched in anger. Not at Rosie, you could never get made at Rosie, but she was making it so easy to. “I’m doing this Rosie - with or without your blessing.” You nodded to your child, who was completely unaware of the happenings in the adjacent room. “Look after her, for me. Please?”

She huffed, “If Angel were here, he’d talk some sense into you.”

“Good thing he isn’t.”

Rosie stared you down for a long time, waiting for you to break, but you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

“You know," she said, placing a hand on your cheek, her pupilless eyes softening. "I think of you like a daughter."

"I know, Rosie."

"I'm supposed to stop you." She smiled sweetly.

"I know."

"I'm not going to."

Your shoulders relaxed. "I know."

Rosie knows how powerful you are. She knew the day you practically fell on top of her that first day in Hell, and she knows now, even with tears in your eyes. She saw your resilience despite the countless days Carmilla tortured you. She knew your past and what you had come to endure. If Rosie truly believed this would kill you, she'd stop you.

Mary Marie had become her granddaughter - she'd never let that child come to harm. She'd never let that child lose a mother, but at the same time, she knew - she knew - that you had to do this.

You have been slowly decaying over the years. Alastor's death had taken its toll.

At the beginning, you couldn’t get out of bed. Save for the morning sickness and to use the bathroom. Rosie kept you alive, kept you fed and clean. If it wasn’t for this woman, who knows where you’d be right now.

Then Mary Marie was born and things got a little better - the days got a little brighter. Yet you still found yourself crying in the kitchen whenever jazz came on on the radio. Or felt your heart skip a beat whenever a man in a dark suit and fedora walked past. Or felt that you couldn’t go outside for days after it rained for fear of it smelling too much like him.

You could barely maintain weight as you found it hard to eat. Your muscle was long gone and eyes permanently sunken from the years of crying.

Everything felt heavier. The world felt heavier.

But you kept yourself going, your only function to be a mother, to keep the last bit of Alastor alive.

Yet, Mary Marie was a walking memory of him: a living ghost. Which made it all the easier to love her but all the harder to stay strong.

The Overlord dropped her guard. “If you somehow get your hands on the Grimoire to do this, and that is a big ‘if,’ be safe. If not for my sake, then for hers."

You beamed, the first time you had truly smiled about something that didn’t regard Mary Marie in years. “Thank you, Rosie!” You pulled her into a hug. “I need one more thing before I go.”

After the battle atop V Tower, Lucifer had taken your cloak - the one inscribed in Leviathan. At some point over the years, your brother didn’t know what to do with it, but he certainly didn’t want to keep it. Not after the destruction you caused at the Massacre. The cloak - along with your things at the Hotel that the Hotel Natives helped clear out - were sent to Rosie. You reclaimed most of it for your beach house in Envy, but what you didn’t use Rosie stored for you.

Including the infamous cloak which started all your Shadow Overlord business.

After a quick kiss for Mary Marie and a hug ensuring you’d be right back, you snapped a portal to visit an old friend.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” The imp dove behind his desk. “There’s a front door for a fucking reason people!”

The office was empty, save for Blitz sulking in his chair while he cleaned some sort of jewel on his desk. Where the others were at you didn’t know but were thankful for it. Normally this office was chaos and you really didn’t want that right now.

“Hello Blitz,” you pulled back the hood.

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” The imp’s jaw fell.

“I need the book.” Straight to the point.

His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead or something?” Blitz slowly climbed back into his chair.

Fuck, why did it smell like a barnyard in here?

“Not quite,” you took a seat.

When was the last time you did something like this? The last time you played the role of Shadow Overlord? When was the last time you donned this dusty cloak, sat lax in a chair, and demanded something of a Soul so nonchalantly as if it wasn’t important at all?

Did you miss those days?

“I need the Grimoire,” you repeated.

Blitz did not like the lack of explanation that you were giving him. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You clenched your fist beneath your cloak. That’s when you noticed the inter-dimensional gem sitting atop the table.

He doesn’t have it.

“How is Stolas these days?” You asked, running a finger across his desk.

The imp slowly pulled the gem back. You could literally portal across dimensions, if the imp thinks you seek a little trinket from Asmodeus then he wasn’t as smart as you gave him credit for.

“You know, bitch. You can’t just show up here making demands after all these years and expect us to jump when you say how high!” He jutted a finger out in your direction.

This was going swimmingly.

You stood. “It was so nice to see you again, Blitzy.”

“Fuck you, Angel bitch!” He flipped you off as you stepped through the portal.

Blitz is clearly pissed about something. Given that he now had an inter-dimensional gem and not the Grimoire, you were about to find out why as you knocked on the door of its owner.

“Gerald, if my dad Hell Eats one more pint of ice cream, just cancel the fuckin’-. Oh.”

Octavia answered the door.

You pulled back your hood just a touch and waived awkwardly, “Hey.”

And then she slammed the door in your face.

“Octavia, wait!” You practically jumped on the door, panic building in your chest. “Please! I need your help!”

Silence and then, “You left me!”

You blinked. What is she talking about?

“You dropped me off after the hospital and you left! I never saw you again!”

Oh… She means after Stolas told you off and forbade you from seeing her again.

“Your dad -!”

“I know what my dad said!”

“Then you know -!”

“Who cares what my dad said, that isn’t the point! I thought you were my friend, but it turns out you’re just like everyone else!” You heard feet stomping away.

Shit. Leaning against the door, you slowly sank to the ground. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be left behind too.”

Great. Now what are you going to do?

You pulled the chain from beneath your shirt and held it between your fingers. Eve was right, Alastor was an emerald man.

Wrapped in gold as if rays of the sun, was a green emerald ring. You had thought it would be a ruby or a diamond, but green represented Alastor’s magic and that felt more suiting.

“I miss you so much it hurts.” You choked.

It had taken exactly one year before you could open the leather box Alastor left behind. You felt so guilty doing so, knowing it would never be his hand which placed it upon your finger. So, you never put it on, but you couldn’t let it go either. Thus, here it sat, hooked around a chain hanging over your heart.

“Octavia, is that my ice cream?”

SLAM!

The back of your head smacked tile as the door swung open.

“Oh, my,” A blurry Stolas put a hand to his lips.

“Hey, Stolas,” You grunted.

“Thestral?” Then his face fell flat. “Mikaela Morningstar. I thought I told you -“

“Wait!” You held your hands up. “I need your help. Please, just hear me out!”

The Prince took a look around, noticing the eyes stopping in the street to stare. “Come inside.”

One cup of tea and an ice pack later…

“You know, I don’t always harbor fugitives in my home.” The Prince stood astutely, one pinky feather out as he sipped from the fine china.

“I’m not looking for you to hide me.” You ignored the tea, the bubbles of anxiety in your chest too much to handle right now. “I’m looking to borrow the Grimoire.”

Stolas did not look surprised.

And then you explained why.

“… I loved him and he’s gone. If you had a chance to save someone you loved, wouldn’t you?”

Stolas eyed you, “And you’d be willing to die for him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“This goes against everything the Goetia stands for.”

“I know.”

“Everything I’m supposed to represent.”

“I know.”

“Why are you asking me and not trying to steal it?”

You huffed. “I’m tired, Stolas. I’m so very tired.”

So tired your bones felt like led.

The Prince sighed. “I’ve always wanted that.” He placed the cup down gently. “I just... want someone to care, if I stay or go. I want someone to want me. To want to see me. To hold me. To look at me and think 'You're the only one I want! I desire to hold you and talk to you, and never let you feel so... alone…”

Ah, now you understood.

You placed a hand atop his wing. “I’m sorry about Blitz.”

And he lay his other atop yours. “Follow me.”

____________________________________________

You landed atop the balcony, a layer of dust parting in your wake.

The metal was absent of any signs of what took place here. You had Rosie to thank for that. She came by and cleaned up everything after…

His stuff was still here, but the curtains were drawn so you didn’t have to see any of it. You might break down again if you did.

Nothing’s changed. Eve materialized in a puff of black smoke wearing the same clothes she died in. The same clothes you killed her in.

You didn’t let your mind dwell on it too long. “Let’s get started.”

You drew the Circle of Rebirth in the same spot Alastor died - courtesy of Stolas' Grimoire. The Circle is a form of ancient and forbidden magic, guarded by the Goetia but not forgotten entirely. You vaguely remember hearing rumors of it from a time you could no longer remember.

Different from a Summoning Circle - which knew the recipient’s Soul location - or a Trapping Circle - which trapped beings of other planes within it (the same Circle Eve used to trap you in the airplane hanger a millennia ago), a Circle of Rebirth was meant to trap a dying Soul’s fragments so one could piece them back together.

Technically, that meant the person had to die while in the circle for it to work.

Do you get where I am going with this?

You stood, hand covered in red chalk, and talked with Eve as you finished up the final touches. “So, a Soulmate is of one Soul in two bodies. That means Alastor’s Soul did not fade when he died. I’m carrying it.”

But it’s also technically yours. Eve sat back against the railing, a smug look on her face.

“So, we do what I did accidentally all those years ago. We rip my Soul in half.”

I like it! Eve practically cheered.

And if it doesn’t work then you die… Cool. Okay. No stress at all.

You grabbed Alastor’s jacket and cane, and placed it on your lap as you sat at the center of the Circle.

Eve bent over so she was eye level with you. Are you ready to die?

You died five years ago when Alastor took that bullet for you…

“If I die, what happens to you?” You lifted a brow.

Hmmm, Eve thought a moment. There’s this adorable little product of power and chaos I’ve been dying to play with.

You saw red. “Eve!”

But before you had a chance to lunge, Eve melted into a mass of ink and began the spell.

A hurricane erupted around you, whipping your hair about your face and blinding you from the world.

It exploded into the sky, bringing with it lightning and rain. A cacophony of torrential pain fell upon you as the rain pelted your skin and the wind tore at your flesh.

It felt as if your entire being, every molecular connection, was slowly being ripped in half. Green and blue light exploded from your scar as your Soul slowly seeped out from your form.

Eyes filled with burning tears, you watched as the specks of green slowly floated away and collected into a solid mass before your eyes.

The mass slowly took shape, giving birth to arms and legs…

Power is of two kinds…

...and tall ears…

One is obtained by fear…

Details set in. Alastor’s face took form in a hue of green. His eyes… His lips…

And the other by love…

“Alastor?” You screamed over the wind. You screamed through the pain.

Power derived from love…

And then the ink set in. From the wind itself the liquid trailed into the blue, swirling about as if oil in water.

The demon smiled.

…is a thousand times more powerful than fear.

And then everything exploded.

____________________________________________

As if submerged in a river of silk, your body slipped away.

No sights. No sounds. No touch.

You were the world, and the world was nothing. Everything existed all at once and yet not at all.

You were the absence of existence, yet you continued to exist. Without form and body, you were consciousness as its birth and end.

You were dying.

If you had told yourself at the beginning of time that this is where you would end up, you would have said to yourself that you were nuts.

Before everything, you were a soldier. A general. A physical representation of God’s Will.

And everything was perfect.

Carry out missions. Train. Report. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Existence was simple and predictable, but that's what you liked about it.

Then the beatings began.

You questioned it at first. Why did God only ever call you to his office alone? Why were you the only Angel with bruises and marks not born from war?

Why was he so angry?

Then the answer became apparent because he told you.

Everything that went wrong in his life was your fault.

YOUR FAULT.

Even if it had nothing to do with you or your missions… It was your fault.

Then you tried to control the uncontrollable in order to lessen the beatings.

Which just made things worse.

Because it was your fault.

You kept it hidden because you were ordered to. But also because it would have been embarrassing.

How could God’s General, leader of his armies and vanquisher of the Leviathans not even protect herself?

Things changed; you rebelled and ran away with Eve, thinking that was the fix you needed. You thought you had moved on. You thought you had healed. But trauma is a scar that never heals, doomed to rip open again and again.

There might have come a day when you had moved on. When God was cold and dead beneath your feet, and everyone who let this happen had been destroyed or long gone by the time you broke down Heaven’s Gate.

That was the plan at least.

Power and chaos and revenge… That was what was missing from your mantra: revenge.

But, here you are: a pesky story of revenge that went nowhere.

And now you’re dead.

And it’s all your fault.

You wonder what would have happened had you not met Alastor. Had you shown up to the Hotel that day and he was woefully absent from the cast, still in Heaven with Lilith - or if Lilith had never recruited the Overlord to begin with.

You wouldn't have Mary Marie...

Wait, who is Mary Marie?

You felt your thoughts starting to slip away.

Dying is confusing.

But painless.

The end of existence began creeping in, growing ever closer as if tidal waves on either side of you.

Thankfully, painless.

And you were okay with that.

"Not so fast, my doe."

____________________________________________

In an explosion of greens and blues, you were flung back. Your head hit the wall of glass with a loud crack, and your body scorched from the heat as the explosion dissipated.

The thunder ceased. The rain dried. The wind slowed.

Nothing but the silence of death filled your ears - is what you thought, anyway, but death had been painless. This was not death.

"Fuck," you groaned. The scar across your front burned as you sat up. The skin beneath your shirt felt fragile as if newly minted during the moments of your... hallucination?

And when the world stopped spinning, you froze.

A body lay curled in the fetal position, directly at the center of the Circle of Rebirth. Green steam floated off the figure, now wrapped in the black jacket he died in. In his hands, he held a microphone he often used as a cane, freshly made whole once more.

The demon groaned as words flew across his bare skin.

Holy shit.

"Alastor?" Hesitantly, you crawled to the Circle.

An ear popped up, turning in your direction as you stopped just at the edge.

"Alastor Hartfelt?" You reached slowly for his shoulder.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

A sob tore through your chest. "It's me. It's..."

"My doe."

The next thing you know, you had arms wrapped around you and warm lips on your own. You sobbed into his mouth, the same familiar mouth belonging to the demon you loved.

His hands were soft as they cupped your cheeks, as the scent of the forest after a rainstorm filled your nose. His hair curled around your fingers, knotting itself as you plunged them deeper.

Alastor pulled you into his lap. Cocooning you in his warmth. He was always so warm...

The demon broke the kiss, catching his breath as he said, "Shed not tears for me, my doe."

Red irises glinted with tears of their own. A green "X" was now present between his eyes were the bullet once hit.

"You left me," you sobbed. Rivers of woe flooded down your face and soaked into his gloves.

"I did not." He rested his forehead on yours. The demon breathed, simply enjoying the mere presence of you. "I never left. I have been here the entire time."

You blinked. "What?"

"I have held you long into the night when you could not sleep and guarded you when you did. I was the shoulder you cried on when you needed to and dried your tears when you were done. I caught you when you crumbled and helped you find your feet once more. I ensured no harm ever came to you and no enemy ever found you." Alastor dried the tears on your cheeks.

"I have stood by your side every moment since that day." He went for the chain around your neck and broke it in two.

"I promised you I would never leave, and I did not. I have been at your side for the past five years." He unhooked the ring, and you watched as he slipped it on your finger. "You just didn't know it." The demon pressed a kiss to your hand. “Your personal guardian angel.”

Life flooded back into your body. "Alastor!" You flung your arms around the demon, burying your face in his jacket as you sobbed.

"I love you, my doe." He held you tight.

You shook your head, "Al, I am so sorry. It's all my..."

"Stop," He held your face in his hands, his claws brushing your cheeks. "Saving you was my choice, and I'd do it again, given the chance. Your death is mine to claim, remember?"

You chuckled. How ridiculous that sounded, given the current circumstances. "How could I forget?"

Pressing another kiss to your cheek, he chuckled.

God, you missed that sound.

With his hand in yours, you watched the words from the Book of Knowledge flow from your skin into his. "How is this possible?"

Blue fire erupted along your fingers, calling to his green static.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Alastor's heart.

"My Soulmate." The demon's purr filled your chest with warmth. "That explains everything."

"I always thought it was an old wives' tale, something you told children at night before bed." You watched the green static dance across your arm, bending and moving at your will.

And the ink. The ink flowed along Alastor's jacket as if it were his own.

Long ago, you killed the Second Lady because she had tied her Soul with the power from the Book of Knowledge, thus tying it to yours. By splitting it in half, the two of you now share it, along with your original magic.

Power and chaos and love...

"Thankfully not." Alastor was solid beneath your touch. His breath filled your lungs with new life. His magic tore the weight from your bones. His heartbeat synced with yours and willed it back to full strength.

You felt reborn.

Al brushed the hair from your face, the warmth from his breath hot on your skin.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Your body chanted.

Alastor was alive.

The demon cupped your cheeks and tilted your face up to his. "Now, where is she?"

You scrunched your nose, "Who?"

The demon smile went cockeyed - a soft, toothless grin.

"My daughter."

And then the Radio Demon kissed his Shadow, marking the beginning of a very long afterlife together.

To power, chaos, and love, dear readers… 

Thanks for reading, Hoteliers <3

-> Afterword

Tagged Hoteliers:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526 @eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick @cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah @diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta @reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages @chibistar45 @rapunzelbro @stephydearestxo

[txttletale]

Apologies for the dumb question and loads of personal information, but..

I have severe moral ocd, and in the past the exploitation has actually caused me eating issues. I’d get intensely guilty whenever I ate anything bc I couldn’t avoid thinking of the exploitation that occurred to get it here and I honestly started avoided eating.

is that what im supposed to do? I know there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism but my sustained existence is reliant on food from the exploitative world of global “trade”, medicine from the oppressive pseudo jails of the psychiatric system, and technology running on copper and cobalt that people suffered to mine. I claim to be a leftist, but my sustained quality of life, god, my entire life, is dependent on the imperial core continuing to extort the rest of the world. Should I just give up?

nah. ultimately if you're a socialist you have to understand that what you do as an individual is--politically speaking--irrelevant. it's good to be aware of the harms that were done in the process of production, but it's both a political dead end and personally self-destructive to then flagellate about that. (and to be clear, if that awareness is impossible for you to maintain without falling into disordered eating behaviours, you don't need to be that aware--again, this isn't about moral duty. genuine socialist politics are never about individual moral duty, or about being a good person. there is no level of Thought or Awareness or Conscienciousness that can become a lever of meaningful political action.)

the harms have already been done by the time the commodity exists for you to access--you're not participating in or exacerbating them by using the commodity. even if you did find a way to live completely without interfacing with the systems of exploitation, those systems would continue unabated. they don't care about you. the idea that if everyone spontaneously individually decided to stop using the goods that are generated by exploitation then exploitation would end is laughable in both premises and conclusion.

you have to look at this on a material level--the 'harm' is not an abstract quality that gets infused into the fruit or the medicine or the iphone, it's not haunted, you cannot show me an atom of 'harm radiation' emitted by an out-of-season banana--the 'harm' is a series of actual events taking place somewhere in the world. and the way to combat that has nothing to do with the personal consumption of individuals--it has everything to do with organized efforts, with groups of people taking collective action to stop that harm from happening.

you're not god. you're not a dynasty warriors character. you vs. united fruit and foxconn is a losing battle. you alone can't change the world in any way that matters, good or bad. the only thing you can do is join your energy to a group, to participate in class struggle. to unionize or join a party or participate in a mutual aid network. class struggle, the marxist analysis of class struggle, the only meaningful vector of political action across myriad forms, cannot be reached or analysed through the lens of 'do my personal consumer choices make me a good or bad person'. i know it is obviously difficult to do when we live in a society that focuses on consumer choice as the be-all and end-all of personal and political and moral expression, but you have to reject that question outright.

socialism is not catholicism--the aim of left-wing politics is not to live virtuously. it is to unite as members of the working class and improve all of our lives. focus on uniting first--find the people around you who you can form organizational bonds of solidarity with--and then figure out how to participate in the class struggle together. that's the only way forward. everything else is a trap, a dead-end, or in this case, pointless self-abnegation. good luck, comrade.

[advertingpizza]

sykobe redesign (the 6th)

self explanatory. with the revamp of my star wars stories, obvs kobe gets a revamp too! lore below the cut

sooo. new sykobe eyros. his design? toothless + orca meets red dead horse named cow + dark urge half elf. you'll understand later

i should make non chaotic moodboards for my characters and post them. anywho, the LOOOORE!

tw: mentions of very intense religious groups + torture disclaimer: this doesn't really fit in sw canon BUT. in a galaxy of absolutely billions and billions of sapient beings, you CANNOT convince me that there are only 2 groups of force sensitive beings + a few small breakoffs. so. i made my own small breakoff group

far off in the outer rim lies a backwater mountain planet known locally as sjaell, home to a peculiar chiss that is extremely powerful in the ways of the force. once prospecting to become a sith apprentice, the man saw far more in his future than serving a selfish lord that cared not for his innovation. instead, he defected from the CIS in order to begin his own colony of devoted followers that all shared in his belief. his passion for conquest was naturally accompanied by a thirst for blood, leaving a trail of corpses just about everywhere he ventured.

along his journey, he began coming across force sensitive children that had been deemed either too old or too passionate to be eligible as future jedi, creating the perfect conditions for apprentices of his own. by the time he reached sjaell in his conquest, the man—hoova—had claimed three children of his own: asara (lethan twi'lek), chi'daal (deep sea nautolan), and lastly, sykobe (pseudomelanistic togruta). all three children were taken from their natural environments, with each race being highly prized by the chiss for their natural abilities as apex predators.

growth of the group was slow, as hoova spent the first decade raising the young children to be formidable warriors with the same unhinged, murderous urges that his connection with the force brought him. over the years as his connection became more and more destructive, he began to divert much of his energy and power into his three chosen heirs, solidifying their fates as bloodthirsty assassains that served him, their god. with members joining both willingly and by force, hoova began to assert himself as an untouchable deity, and anyone who dared oppose him met a swift end by the hands of his chosen, the sjaellspawn (iykyk LOL).

these spawn—extremely ferocious in nature—were notoriously hard to control as they reached adulthood. insatiable urges to spill blood met with powers gifted to them from their proclaimed god made for lethal attack dogs that often could not tell friend from foe. on a failed expedition to observe the abnormalities in the force, two members of the jedi council were met with a deadly foe as they got far too close to the cult and its domain. only one jedi survived, barely escaping within inches of his life as he desperately retreated, leaving a fallen padawan behind.

the surviving jedi was not ready to let the loss of his padawan go unaccounted for. the jedi, master sikoal kanakan, rallied the 321st clone legion, as well as the legion's general to stage an assault on sjaell. the mission, while disapproved of by the high council, succeeded in the capture of sykobe after commander hurricane lured him into a trap by manipulating the togruta's thirst for blood, leaving him vulnerable to various traps that ultimately detained him.

as the story stands now, sykobe is aboard the venator enroute to coruscant, awaiting trial to be executed for the murder of a jedi. however, rumor has it that after arc troopers blessing and waves discovered master kanakan's relentless torture of the togruta, the clones began to stage an escape mission that could possibly cost them their ranks, as they had come to learn that the crime itself had been staged onto sykobe with the intentions of waging war on the inhabitants of sjaell.

[stories-of-the-past]

The only advice Aang doesn’t take is Yangchen’s

Something that struck my while re-watching Aang’s discussions with the four past Avatar’s is that when he take’s Ozai’s bending away he is technically following all of their last words of advice except, ironically, his fellow Air Nomad Avatar.  

Roku: You must be decisive.  Aang is so firmly committed to not kill Ozai in cold blood that he pulls himself out of the Avatar State.  The Lion Turtle also warns him that in order to successfully bend another’s energy “your own spirit must be unbendable.”  Aang was firm and committed to his decision to find another way.

Kyoshi: Only justice will bring peace.  Justice isn’t inherently a death sentence.  Justice means consequences for one’s action in a punishment proportional to the crime.  Ozai did need to be punished after all of the pain and suffering he inflicted on countless people and threatening the balance of the world itself.  And he was.  All things considered, what is a more fitting punishment for someone as self-absorbed and power hungry as Ozai:  Dying in battle, going down in history as such a powerful warrior that it took the Avatar (channeling every past Avatar) to best him or having to live out the rest of his natural life without his status and bending (the two things he valued most) and watching as all that his cruelty and imperialism created was systematically dismantled?  Also a point I can’t take credit for this interpretation and don’t remember where I read it from but fully agree with: making the choice he does Aang proves that the Air Nomad culture and values were not destroyed.  Going back to the crimes of Ozai’s forefathers, Sozin’s legacy is proven to have failed to truly eradicate the Air Nomads and ultimately it is their philosophy of peace that wins the day over rage and violence.

Kuruk: You must actively shape your own destiny and the destiny of the world.  Similar to the point about decisiveness- Aang makes his own choice.  He doesn’t passively accept what literally everyone is telling him the only possible outcome is.  Instead, even as he seeks advice he insists on his own autonomy, recognizing that whatever action he takes will change the course of the world and its destiny.  He very much took an active role in deciding how that battle ended and what came after.

Now finally we have Yangchen.  While, in context, yes all of the Avatars felt they were telling Aang to kill Ozai they all choose phasing that as illustrated above is actually open to wider interpretation and still holds true with what Aang actually does.  Yang Chen is perhaps the most direct in her advice:  Selfless duty calls you to sacrifice your own spiritual needs and do whatever it takes to protect the world.  The one thing Aang does not do is compromise his own spiritual beliefs and identity.  He finds a way that upholds his responsibility as Avatar to restore the balance, prevents the destruction of the Earth Kingdom, and mete out justice for past crimes all while still honoring the beliefs he was raised on and holds so dear.

[wilanserulia]

I wanted to showcase Wilan's new main glam for Dawntrail and onward. As soon as I saw this coat on him I knew it was perfect for him, for his style and for where he is mentally at the end of 7.0.

Yeah, ultimately it's a red coat. Another red coat, like he used to wear for years as the Warrior of Light, like the one he resolved to never wear again as his role as Hydaelyn's Champion was over. A red coat that he only donned when the world was in danger once again. But whereas his old, sharlayan style coat was formal, tight, with a necktie around his neck and a form-fitting cut, this coat is comfortable, breezy, and casually eye-catching.

In other words, when the Star was once again in danger Wilan was quick to reclaim his role as its savior, but this time on his own terms, and with a healthier and less self-destructive attitude.

And as an aside, I love that it lets me showcase how he's been wearing a necklace fashioned out of a shard of Hydaelyn's Mothercrystal ever since the events of Endwalker.

Thanks for reading! ✨ Extra shots under the cut!

And just for fun, a side-by-side comparison between Wilan's old and new coat. I tried to respect the basic design principles of his classic outfit, from the palette to the overall silhouette down to the red soles of his footwear, so that both designs would clearly read as "Wilan", but the difference in presentation is, in my opinion, outstanding.

[inkren]

Metroid dread has consumed my life for the past 2 days. Its now one of my favourite games ever made. There's a few problems with it mainly the world not being as memorable and easy to navigate as tallon IV in metroid prime but it doesn't matter given how amazing the game is.

I could rant about it for ages but I'll just talk about my 3 favourite things. Massive spoilers for merroid dread.

1. Whoever came up with the idea of letting Samus smack the shit out of your enemies and parrying them didn't get paid enough. Once you learn how to parry basic enemies basically become energy and missile dispensaries. Its so satisfying to parry something especially emmi's since its so hard to parry them. Its also extremely cathartic to parry a boss and start a cutscene where you can just pump missiles into them. Which conveniently leads into.

2. Spectacle. Most bossfights are so cool especially when you parry them and get a bunch of free shots in as samus in the curscene that plays does a bunch of cool flips or rides a massive monster and holds her blaster to their forehead to pump endless missiles into them while they writhe around trying to toss her off. The only thing that could make it better is if the music was more hype like metal gear rising revengeance (which is another game I have to get around to)

And how could I not mention the final bossfight too. The fight with Ravenbeak is so damn cool with it being like a dance with samus and him doing cool flips around each other. He summons black holes and stars and the climax as.... this actually goes with point 3 as well so we'll get to that.

3. Samus is portrayed so well in this game and conveys so much personality even though she says like one sentence in chozo near the middle of the game and at the end of the game she starts screaming madly.

When she meets kraid she is so clearly sick of him that as soon as he roars she shoots him in the mouth. Basically just saying "let's get this over with"

Her conversation with the friendly chozo in the middle of the game as we get a hell of a lore dump and the only words she says in the entire game being "don't worry I'll finish it" pretty sure i paraphrased that but it conveys so much. By having no other words in the game spoken by samus it gives these words so much power. She is legitimately concerned for this chozo and when he is killed she is genuinely sad but it has to wait. Because she has a job to do....and an annoying enemy to kill. (Seriously those chozo bots that jump you are so annoying. )

There's so much more I could say about her characterization in the game and that one scene alone but I wanna talk about the final fight again.

My jaw dropped when she was nearly dead as Ravenbeak choked the life out of her and then she just started screaming like a mad woman and drained the power from the flying fortress making it crash down onto the ground as she beat him up and continued to scream. It was so badass and yet so funny and I was just saying holy shit the entire time. Peak character.

And then the final bit against raven beak where he gets infected with the x parasite. And samus has her new metroid suit which looks freaky and organic and thats the point. She was pushed to this point and now she's basically an energy vampire. Also nothing quite like obliterating your foe with a massive fucking laser to the face.

Of course the cool escape sequence where I barely got back to my ship on time with like 10 seconds to spare. (BTW samus keeps hitting the self destruct button every planet has for some reason. Isnt this like the 6th planet she's destroyed? Why do they keep having to be destroyed and by what?)

Samus gets control of her metroid powers again before escaping and this actually brings me to a point i like about the game. It doesn't reveal there was actually more metroids because they're the series namesake. They stay extinct. All except for samus. And its revealed that metroid means ultimate warrior in chozo. So samus is the metroid now in all meanings of the word. She had metroid dna and is the ultimate warrior of the chozo. Taking the name if the franchise for herself. So next time your grandma sees you playing metroid and points to samus saying "that man's metroid isn't he?" She's half right now.

Anyway my three simple points ballooned way out of my control. Go play metroid dread. Go play every metroid game you can. Which isn't much if you only have a switch but the two metroid games it has are peak.

[zapreportsblog]

In Love With The Same Cat

➥ summary : There’s no Spider-Man without the Black Cat just like there’s no Black Cat without Spider-Man. But what if we had a multiverse dimensional traveling jewelry stealing burglar Black Cat (try saying that seven times fast aye) that traveled across dimensions not only stealing the worlds finest jewels but also the hearts of four unlucky, or lucky depending on how you see it Spider-Man’s and Spider-Women’s hearts.

➥ 3: Seeking Redemption, Not Revenge

Months of tireless training in martial arts and acrobatics had transformed (y/n) into a formidable force to be reckoned with. She had honed her skills and mastered her body, mentally preparing herself for a confrontation that would serve as the ultimate test of her newfound strength.

As (y/n) delved deeper into her mission, her initial mindset of seeking revenge began to shift. Revenge, she realized, was a dark path that could consume her soul and perpetuate a cycle of violence. Instead, she resolved to use this confrontation to reclaim her power and seek a form of redemption for the pain inflicted upon her.

After tirelessly scouring the city, (y/n) finally found a lead that would point her in the direction of Blake, the college guy who had assaulted her that fateful night. It was a trail speckled with danger, but she was no stranger to adversity. With her heart pounding and her determination unwavering, she embarked on this treacherous journey, armed not only with physical prowess but also the strength of her spirit.

When she finally located Blake, (y/n) discovered a man plagued by demons of his own, existing in a world of self-destruction and regret. It was a sobering sight, one that stirred empathy within her. As anger simmered within her veins, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for what he had become.

Drawing deep from the well of her newfound strength, she stepped out of the shadows to confront her assaulter. Blake's eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, time stood still. In that charged silence, (y/n) measured his every move, her training guiding her like an invisible hand.

But instead of lashing out with a fury fueled by revenge, (y/n) chose a different path. She embraced forgiveness, recognizing that it was not weakness, but rather a testament to her own strength.

She looked into Blake's eyes and spoke words that echoed with both pain and resilience. "I refuse to let your actions consume me any longer. I've come here not to take your life, but to claim back mine." Her voice trembled, yet carried an inescapable conviction.

Tears streamed down Blake's face as he finally comprehended the gravity of his actions. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, to find redemption for the pain he had caused. But (y/n) knew that the burden he carried was his alone to bear.

With her head held high, (y/n) turned away from Blake, leaving him in the haunted labyrinth of his own remorse. Redemption, she realized, was a personal journey that required an individual to face their demons, seek amends, and make peace with their past—a journey in which she had no power to escort him.

As (y/n) walked away, she could feel the weight of her past beginning to lift. She wasn't just a survivor anymore; she was a warrior who had triumphed over darkness. The scars on her body were now a testament to her strength, resilience, and reclamation of her identity.

From that point forward, (y/n) dedicated herself to helping others navigate the complex path of healing after trauma. She became an advocate, breaking the cycle of sexual assault, and transforming her pain into a catalyst for change.

In the wake of that confrontation, (y/n) found peace within herself—a peace crafted from the shards of her shattered innocence. She understood that revenge would only breed more anguish, but by choosing forgiveness and reclaiming her power, she had transcended the confines of victimhood.

In the annals of (y/n)'s journey, Chapter 3 marked a significant turning point. It was a chapter that showcased not only her physical growth but, more importantly, her emotional evolution. She learned that true strength resided in rising above the urge for revenge, embracing forgiveness, and forging a new path filled with healing, understanding, and compassion.

[sepublic]

Regarding what makes Queen potential rare amongst Metroids... I like to think that it has to do with SR388; The first Metroid was created in a lab by splicing together the DNA of various SR388 organisms, and was programmed to undergo mitosis when exposed to beta-rays.

When designing this original Metroid, the Thoha made sure to render various other traits included in the source DNA dormant. But prolonged exposure to the natural environment of SR388 caused these traits to reactivate. After all, the Metroid's DNA came from organisms that evolved on and were nurtured by SR388, shaped by its environment across millions of years to display various traits; Some of which the Thoha found conducive to creating an Ultimate Warrior to exterminate the X.

But the other traits they tried to suppress re-emerged by the world that created them, and this included a heightened aggression. This led to the Metroids turning on their creators, even as physical traits began to show up, causing them to gradually develop into Omegas. But in the wild of SR388, beta-rays did not naturally occur, and the ability to undergo mitosis is lost during the Alpha stage due to the body becoming too rigid. The Metroids would inevitably go extinct, and so to survive another dormant trait was activated; The creation of a Queen capable of emitting its own beta-rays, with which it used to produce its own Metroids through an egg-laying process.

And the Queen would mutate from the original Metroid that the Thoha had used to spawn all others from. This is because its birth came from the direct splicing of other creatures' DNA, whereas the rest were created from mitosis; During that process, some dormant DNA was lost, namely the DNA used to become a Queen. But Metroids birthed directly from the Queen retained that dormant Queen trait, and could express it under the right environmental stimuli; Namely the nurturing cradle of SR388's conditions, as well as a need to create more Metroids in the absence of beta-rays.

So Metroids created from the beta-ray process don't have Queen potential; Metroids hatched from a Queen do. The 'original generation' Metroids created from the beta-ray process under Thoha supervision would eventually grow into Omegas, with all subsequent Metroids coming from the Queen and carrying her trait. In addition to the Queen trait, they also retained an imprinting trait that would cause them to be fiercely loyal to the first creature they saw upon hatching from an egg.

When the Galactic Federation rediscovered SR388 following the Mawkin's abandonment of the planet, they acquired a larval Metroid birthed from the Queen herself. When the Space Pirates captured this larva, they exposed it to beta-rays to clone others, but these lost the Queen trait. Having already imprinted on the Queen, the Federation specimen -colloquially referred to as 'Metroid Prime' due to spawning an offworld population- rejected the telepathic control of Mother Brain, unlike its progeny which did not hatch from eggs and lost these dormant traits.

Mother Brain theorized that Metroid Prime's resistance to her authority was due to having naturally grown in the wild on SR388, unlike the others who only knew the control of laboratories; This was one part of it. Fearing Metroid Prime could somehow inspire the rest to rebel, she isolated it, but nevertheless kept it alive in case it could yield further data due to its unique origins. When the Space Pirate base on Zebes began to self-destruct, various Metroid specimens were evacuated, Prime among them, and transferred to Tallon IV. There, Metroid Prime would escape containment, and through Phazon consumption, mutate into a powerful beast.

When she became Dark Samus, she seized command of the very Space Pirates who had captured and exploited her as a means of revenge and pragmatism. With Phaaze offering an unlimited source of Phazon, Dark Samus attempted to create more 'Metroid Primes' like herself, but these mutations failed. The reason was that they lacked the Queen trait; The Metroids she used had been spawned via beta-rays, instead of being birthed naturally by the SR388 queen.

She did not realize this, but nevertheless intended to return to her home planet one day. Dark Samus saw the Metroids spawned via mitosis as aberrations, due to only having memories of the Queen and her fellow Metroids existing in the wilderness. She hoped to reunite with her mother and original family... While also exposing them to the miracles of Phazon. Had she done so, Dark Samus would've figured out the mechanics of the Queen trait through trial and error.

The Infant was hatched from an egg laid by the Metroid Queen; Thus, it carried the Queen trait. When its DNA was given to Samus, the Queen trait was retained due to all of the DNA being injected directly, and not replicating via beta-ray mitosis. Raven Beak would be fascinated by this, and saw firsthand on SR388 that environmental stimuli played a role in awakening dormant Metroid traits. Not wanting to lose any in the process of cloning, he made sure to awaken Samus' through various trials, believing that activated DNA would be more likely to pass on.

[hrizantemy]

CHOICES IN THE “A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES” SERIES

When someone experiences a series of situations where their choices are consistently limited or overridden, it can deeply affect their perception of autonomy. Even when presented with options, they may instinctively feel as though they have no real say in the matter. This sense of learned helplessness can permeate every aspect of their decision-making process, creating a mental framework where choice becomes an illusion rather than a reality.

Imagine a person who has repeatedly been denied agency in significant life events: perhaps they grew up in a controlling environment where their desires were dismissed, or they were in a relationship where their partner made all the decisions without consideration for their wishes. Over time, this individual internalizes the belief that their choices don't matter, that their voice holds no weight in the grand scheme of things. Even when presented with a seemingly open opportunity, they may hesitate, second-guessing themselves and defaulting to a mindset of resignation.

The psychological impact of having choices stripped away can be profound. It erodes confidence, fosters indecision, and breeds a sense of powerlessness. The individual may find themselves trapped in a cycle of passivity, unable to assert themselves even when the opportunity arises. It's as if their mind has been conditioned to expect restriction and limitation, preemptively surrendering to the perceived inevitability of their circumstances.

In such a state, even when others assure them of their freedom to choose, the person may struggle to believe it. Their past experiences act as a lens through which they view the world, distorting their perception of agency and possibility.

Rhysand with Feyre: In the first book, "A Court of Thorns and Roses," Rhysand initially appears to be an antagonist, coercing Feyre into a bargain where she spends one week per month with him in the Night Court. Despite Feyre's objections, Rhysand's power and authority make her feel like she has no choice but to comply. This dynamic demonstrates how someone in a position of power can manipulate another's perception of choice, even if it's presented as an agreement.

Tamlin with Feyre: Throughout the series, Tamlin, Feyre's former lover, exhibits controlling behavior. In "A Court of Mist and Fury," Tamlin's overprotectiveness and attempts to confine Feyre within the safety of his estate stifle her independence. He disregards her desires and decisions, assuming he knows what's best for her. This leads to Feyre feeling suffocated and ultimately rebelling against his authority, reclaiming her agency.

Cassian with Nesta: Cassian, a warrior in the Night Court, has a complex relationship with Nesta in "A Court of Silver Flames." He often tries to protect and guide her, but his efforts sometimes come across as domineering. For example, Cassian intervenes in Nesta's training without her consent, assuming he knows what's best for her. While his intentions may be noble, his actions can reinforce Nesta's belief that her choices are secondary to others' judgments of her capabilities.

In "A Court of Silver Flames," there is a pivotal moment where Feyre locks Nesta in the house in an attempt to protect her. After Nesta's descent into darkness following the traumatic events of the war and the loss of their father, Feyre becomes increasingly concerned for her sister's well-being. Nesta's reckless behavior, fueled by grief and self-destructive tendencies, worries Feyre deeply.

Feeling helpless in the face of Nesta's downward spiral, Feyre resorts to drastic measures to keep her sister safe. In a moment of desperation and frustration, Feyre locks Nesta in the house, hoping to prevent her from putting herself in harm's way. This action stems from Feyre's love for her sister and her fear of losing her to the darkness consuming her.

However, this act of confinement reflects Feyre's assumption that she knows what's best for Nesta, disregarding her sister's autonomy and agency. While Feyre's intentions may be rooted in protection and concern, her decision to imprison Nesta ultimately exacerbates their strained relationship and fuels Nesta's feelings of resentment and isolation.

In the "A Court of Thorns and Roses" series, the theme of choice is indeed complex and often fraught with hypocrisy. Throughout the books, characters grapple with the notion of autonomy and agency, both for themselves and for others. What emerges is a nuanced exploration of how individuals justify or condemn the limitation of choices depending on their own biases, desires, or perceived justifications.

One striking example of this hypocrisy is evident in the treatment of Feyre and Nesta. While Feyre's choices are often scrutinized and sometimes overridden by those around her, particularly by individuals who claim to act in her best interests, the same leniency is not extended to Nesta. Feyre's decisions are frequently questioned and challenged, yet when Nesta attempts to assert her own autonomy or make choices that diverge from others' expectations, she is often met with condemnation or criticism.

This double standard highlights the selective nature of empathy and understanding within the series. Characters justify their actions by claiming to protect or guide others, yet their motivations are often driven by their own agendas or insecurities. The result is a cycle of hypocrisy where individuals justify stripping away the choices of others while insisting on their own right to autonomy.

This decision to keep Feyre in the dark about her own pregnancy is made under the guise of protection, with the inner circle assuming they know what's best for her and the baby. However, their actions reveal a disregard for Feyre's autonomy and the importance of open communication within their relationships. By denying Feyre the right to know about her pregnancy, they effectively strip her of the opportunity to make informed decisions about her own body and future.

In contrast, when Nesta speaks out about the pregnancy, she faces harsh consequences. Her attempt to bring the truth to light is met with threats and punishment from members of the inner circle, who view her actions as a betrayal of their collective decision. This disparity in treatment highlights the hypocrisy within the group dynamics, where certain individuals are allowed to exercise agency and speak their minds while others are silenced and punished for doing the same.

The inner circle's handling of Feyre's pregnancy underscores the complexities of power dynamics and the ways in which individuals justify their actions based on their own biases and motivations. While they claim to act in Feyre's best interest by withholding information, their actions ultimately reflect a lack of respect for her autonomy and a disregard for the importance of open communication within their relationships. In contrast, Nesta's defiance exposes the hypocrisy within the group, challenging their authority and calling into question the fairness of their decisions and actions.

The theme of choices is unevenly portrayed at times, with certain characters' actions seemingly justified or glorified while others are condemned or overlooked. This inconsistency can give the impression that the theme of choices serves more as a narrative device to elevate certain characters rather than a consistent exploration of moral agency and accountability.

One aspect that contributes to this perception is the characterization of certain individuals as inherently "good" or "heroic," regardless of their actions. Characters like Rhysand and the members of the inner circle are often portrayed as morally righteous, with their choices framed as necessary sacrifices for the greater good. Their decisions to withhold information or take matters into their own hands are often justified by their intentions to protect their loved ones or achieve a greater purpose.

In contrast, characters like Nesta are frequently depicted as antagonistic or morally ambiguous, with their choices and actions scrutinized and criticized by other characters. Even when Nesta's motivations align with the greater good or stem from a desire to protect her family, her defiance and independence are often portrayed as flaws rather than strengths.

This uneven portrayal of characters' choices can detract from the complexity of the theme and undermine its effectiveness in prompting meaningful reflection and discussion. Instead of presenting a nuanced exploration of moral agency and the consequences of one's actions, the theme of choices may serve more as a vehicle for character development and plot progression, with certain characters positioned as heroes or villains based on their adherence to a predetermined moral code.

[broodwolf221]

timeline: post Regrets questline

Mythal & Solas: No Gods, No Monsters; No Good, No Evil

Just started Act 3. As of this point, I certainly do not see Solas as evil, but I also don't see Mythal as evil. But before I dig into my reasoning for that, I need to touch on my theories around spirits(/demons).

In-game, the delineation between spirits and demons is strict, and begun by a member of the Chantry. In truth, I think the line is much fuzzier, and that the implied safe vs. dangerous discrepency is false. Or rather, I think it's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, but not one that reflects on the inherent, intrinsic, and unalienable nature of spirits(/demons).

Wisdom is a spirit. Perceived as a positive force. Yet, the pursuit of wisdom can make one callous, disrespectful, demanding, obsessive... at the same time, it can make one balanced, responsible, considerate. Thus, Wisdom is not a positive or a negative force. But the nature of spirits is such that they pick up on how people interpret them, and are more often perceived as gentle beings.

In a similar vein, Rage, perceived as a negative/threatening demon, is simply an emotion. Rage can be fury at injustice, a driving force, an energy; it can also be widely destructive, careless, impulsive.

All this to say: Wisdom is not Purely Good, and Pride is not Purely Evil; Benevolence is not Purely Good, and Retribution (iirc) is not Purely Evil.

With that in mind...

We see that Mythal (Benevolence) asks that Solas (Wisdom) leave the Fade and join her. He protests, but ultimately concedes. To me, this is a choice. There's no coercion or force, simply that he is willing to follow Mythal, even to do things he does not agree with. She was the one asking, but he was the one who said yes.

Mythal wants help to control Elgar'nan (I have theories about what his Aspects are, but that's another post). This is why she turns to Solas, someone she trusts, and someone who specifically embodies wisdom. On top of the trust, it is logical to recruit Wisdom, because she needs his, well, wisdom. But the problem with wisdom - especially with Solas' wisdom - is that it has always been at a remove. It is an academic wisdom, that of a distant observer. Even when he is inexorably involved, he does not understand how to sway the Evanuris, he cannot fulfill what Mythal would have him do.

The longer all the Evanuris are existing in physical bodies outside of the Fade, the more they change. Elgar'nan, whatever he might have been originally, becomes tyrannical, obsessed not just with receiving worship, but with receiving love. Being a respected general was not enough for him. Being a god-king was not enough. He always needed more.

Mythal, as Benevolence, sought to protect her people. That was the role she had taken on, the reason she had taken flesh in the first place, a means of cooling Elgar'nan's temper. But the longer she is in court, the more politicized she becomes, the more cunning, and with what is required and expected of her constantly shifting, the more she begins to feel that the worship might be right. Elgar'nan desires control and love; Mythal, in contrast, believes that the Elvhen need guidance. Where Elgar'nan's rule is rooted in tyranny and self-fulfillment, Mythal's is rooted in a firm maternalism.

Solas protests as Wisdom would. Is their power and respect not enough? How dare they work for the Elvhen only to turn around and rule them? But by this point, both Elgar'nan and Mythal were committed to their course... just as Solas was to his.

So, Solas becomes Fen'Harel. The Dread Wolf.

Cunning, manipulative, a warrior and a general.

Mythal's corruption was absolute power corrupting absolutely, coupled with her need to continue being an Evanuris, since she was the only truly stabilizing force (presumably).

Solas' corruption was the ends justifying the means, because they had to, because he had no option but to use every possible method at his disposal. You do not win against would-be gods by playing by the rules.

To me, they mirror each other. Were their positions reversed - were it Wisdom who stood beside Elgar'nan, were it Benevolence who begged them to lay down their godhood - I think it might have gone similarly. At the core, they are very similar spirits, very similar people. But the specifics of their circumstances shaped them, changed them... and given their nature, that change spiraled into centuries, reaffirming itself and branching off.

So this whole essay is just to say... I don't think Mythal is the evil villain any more than Solas is. I think they are both deeply flawed people, whose circumstances have led to a narrowing of their perspective and an insistence that their respective courses were the right ones.

And of course, "beginning with good intentions" does not mean someone cannot become a villain... I just think that's not really what either of them are. Because, for all her flaws, Mythal tried until the very end. And then past that end. She kept trying. Yes, her focus was limited; yes, she did horrible things to the Titans (things I still don't have full context for, and maybe nobody does, but things that are very, very hard to consider ever being justified. But it is possible to consider that it might feel necessary.)

But it's also worth noting that, whatever she did in the past, Mythal - specifically Flemythal - tried to convince Solas to accept modern elves in the present. Which was not something I expected. But her time in the world has changed her; I imagine her joining with a mortal woman has also changed her. So Mythal, for all her past mistakes, was really on team Inquisition and Veilguard in the end. Trying to preserve the current world, rather than permit Solas to change - to restore - the world to what it had once been, what he destroyed in his genuine attempt to seal away the Evanuris before they destroyed everything.

But for Wisdom, for Pride, to tolerate having caused exactly what he was working to prevent... it's no wonder that Solas is so incredibly dedicated to repairing this, to alleviating this particular regret, out of all his many, many regrets. The world changed because of what he did. So many died. It was not the destruction the Evanuris sought to wreak, but could it truly appear any better when you wake up countless years later to a world that feels like a pale imitation of what it once was, and know that you're the cause?

Wisdom is an academic. Lonely, isolated, insular. Theoretical and abstract. Pride is a force, a momentum, an energy and drive and conviction. Together, in one person, driven by the deepest sorrows and regrets, his history lined with horrible actions to prevent worse actions, only to get still worse actions as a response...

Solas wanted to alleviate suffering. Mythal did, too. But the situation was such that neither of them could do so without getting dirty.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Paris: Epilogue

Alastor x F!Reader

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Dear Hoteliers,

Helluva Boss events take place after Apology Tour and after the most recent Helluva Boss short “Mission 4: Chupacabra.”

<3 Stay smutty

Paris: Epilogue

Content Warning: Self Harm, abuse, mental health, mentions of suicide

Just Outside Levittown, Envy

Tom Trench: “Five years after 'The Massacre,' V Tower is finally being rebuilt!”

Katie Killjoy: “That’s right, Tom! The Sins of Lust and Gluttony purchased a 50/50 share of the building three years ago, but after a long legal battle with Lucifer Morningstar, reconstruction can finally begin!”

Tom: “Today marks a new era between Hell Natives and Human Sinners after the Sins won the right to purchase property and run business within the once forbidden Circle! What does this mean for the travel ban on the other Six Rings? What does this mean for the economy now that Hell Natives can run and own businesses within the Pride Ring? And who will soothe the King’s butt after it was kicked in court?“

Katie: “In other news, Massacre memorials are set to begin tonight…”

You clicked the radio off.

Has it truly been five years already?

Vox.

Velvette.

Crim.

The hundreds of Souls who all got in the way.

Carmilla who tried to stop you but died trying.

The THOUSANDS of Souls after who died for no reason.

Massacred.

Charlie tried to intervene, but Vaggie wouldn’t let her near you.

Rosie focused on getting everyone away from you.

Lucifer was hurt but thankfully lived.

In the end, it was Angel who stopped you. Angel who was the only one able to get through to you...

Then it was Husk who carried you through the portal to this safe house where you still remained.

The Entertainment District had been leveled by the time you had finished.

And the red staining your fingers still hadn’t faded, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

It was the least you deserved.

Eve has been quiet since then, popping up for short moments of conversation and then disappearing. It’s almost as if all the power used to take out half of Pentagram City had drained her batteries.

Or…

Perhaps she had known that, after the destruction, you had truly given up.

No more Endgame. No more games in general. No schemes or plans or revenge.

You simply just wanted to be.

You would have ended it if you thought Eve wouldn't stop you.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Turning off the faucet, you start the kettle and head for the door.

“Tomatuh!” Rosie pressed a kiss to your cheek, her arms filled with supplies she often brought along despite your protests. Mostly food but sometimes gifts - clothes she made herself.

“Shh,” you took the goods from her. “You’re early, tea isn't ready yet”

Rosie hesitated in the doorway.

“Is something wrong?”

“Well,” The Overlord adjusted her gloves.

Something was wrong.

“Tomatuh, you know I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But…?”

“Can I come in yet or what?” Vaggie stepped into the kitchen.

You grit your teeth. “Rosie!”

“Hey!” The moth demon stepped in front of the Overlord. Still the warrior she was created to be. “Rosie forbade me from coming but I pushed myself through your stupid portal anyway!”

“That portal,” You held your ground, trying to look as formidable as possible - which admittedly was more pathetic than you assumed given the state of your health. “Is for Rosie only. It is not to be used for gallivanting across the Rings!”

No one was allowed here save for Rosie. The portal opened at the same time everyday - automatic magic she helped you to set up. It opened right on the porch and closed the moment she stepped through.

For Rosie. It was too much of a risk for the others to know your location. They can be captured and they can be interrogated by Heaven. Rosie was a much bigger fish to go after than say someone such as Husk.

“Listen here, asshole! I’m here because Charlie asked me to deliver this personally!” The ex-Exorcist shoved a box into your chest. “The only reason she isn’t here is because she’s at home in our bed balling her eyes out!”

The box…

“Vaggie,” Rosie pulled her back. “That’s enough.”

…it smells like…

No. That can’t be.

“…so ungrateful for everything we did for you!”

“Vagatha, that is enough! Go wait outside.”

The forest after a storm…

“She didn’t mean it.” Rosie grabbed your attention.

Your fingers started to tremble. “Where did this come from?”

Rosie pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Charlie had it boxed up at the Hotel. Apparently they did some fall cleaning with all the new Hotel guests and Angel accidentally unboxed it.”

Oh, Angel.

“Charlie’s been a mess ever since. She insisted that be sent to you right away.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I think I’ll take my tea at home today.” Rosie pulled you into a hug. “I love ya, tomatuh. Don’t you ever forget that."

And then she left.

Leaving you alone with a piece of him.

Oh! What could it be? Eve materialized on your kitchen counter.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Your entire body and mind froze, completely entranced with the box in your hand.

All of Alastor’s stuff had been boxed up and either moved to his radio tower or to Rosie's. You forbade anyone from going to the tower - not that you yourself had returned to it since. Rosie has been there a few times to clean and check on the place, but other than that…

“There were only a few things missing…” The package was wrapped in a thick layer of dust. The only evidence that the box had been opened was the few fingerprints around the edges. Angel's fingerprints? Charlie's?

You peeled the tape off carefully, afraid that ripping the box would somehow mare his memory.

"Holy shit," you collapsed over the box and sobbed.

Alastor's coat lay folded inside - the black pinstripe suit jacket he died in. Speckles of golden and red blood crusted the surface, the fabric ripped diagonally across the chest. Atop sat Alastor's microphone, busted in half along the pole.

Something inside your chest snapped as your fingers traced the cut.

“Mourir d’amour, vivre de haine…" You mumbled.

That’s what Alastor had said to you when he died.

Dying for love.

I miss him too. The embodiment of power leans over your shoulder and huffs. Eve was fun for a while, but I agreed with you. Her plans were small and easily fixed. I never even introduced myself to her. Then I met you, and your plans were extraordinary - I didn’t even think of making Heaven destroy itself. Then we met him. She motioned to the jacket. You fell in love with the man, but I’m why you fell in love with his thirst for power and chaos.

You rubbed the tears from your eyes. “I could feel his magic even before we met. That day I came to the Hotel and Sir Pentious attacked, I felt his static moments before he appeared. I always knew before he was going to enter a room and when his shadow was nearby. Others could not. We had a connection long before the deal we made atop his radio tower - a pull I could never quite put my finger on. I've never had that with anyone else, not even Eve. You’re the reason why I could always feel his magic? Why I had access to his static even though I voided the contract? Why I could summon his magic during the Extermination?”

Oh, no. She waived her hands. I have nothing to do with Soulmates.

“Wh-what?” You stammered.

Look I know things but my magic can’t do everything…

“No. Not that. Can you explain the Soulmate part?”

Wait. You didn’t know? Ha! Oh, my God this is rich!

You blinked. “But Angels don’t have Souls…”

She shot you a dumb look, And who told you that?

You shrugged sheepishly, “Dad?”

Ugh! She rubbed her face. How can you be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time?

“Hey!”

Angel’s have Souls, babe. Soulmates share their Souls. One Soul in two bodies.

“But why would Dad make me a Soulmate?”

Answer: he didn’t. He’s a dick. But hear me out. You have been so sad and so alone for so long, do you ever think that maybe you wanted it enough that YOU made it happen. YOU willed it into being? Your upbringing wasn't precisely the picture-perfect happy childhood.

“That’s insane!”

Oh, well. Excuse me. I’m just the Book of Knowledge, I don’t know anything.

“I made Alastor?”

No! Eve threw her hands in the air. You'd shush her but no one else but you could hear her. You made a Soulmate! Fate decided who. Fuck, girl. It took thousands of years to find him, not like the Soul just popped into a body and called it yours. The Soul is made and ripped into two, it’s probably been floating around the Ether waiting for him.

“Oh…” You fisted the lapel of the jacket, finding comfort in the feel of the jacket in your hand.

That’s a compliment. Some people get shit Soulmates. Sounds like Fate was picky with you.

That made you feel a bit better.

Wait.

“Why are you trying to comfort me? You never try to comfort me.”

It’s not comfort, bitch. It’s pity.

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks.”

Eve didn’t disappear. She sat back on the armchair and watched as you folded the jacket into a nice pile on the table. “What?”

The embodiment of power crossed her legs and rested her chin in her hand. Nothing. Just waiting.

“Waiting for what?”

For you to figure it out.

“Figure what…”

Why I'm pitying you with this knowledge.

Whatever...

You grabbed for the pieces of microphone left inside the box but accidentally knocked it off the table instead. The cardboard came crashing down along with the metal. It smacked against the tile, eliciting a wave of green sparks as the microphone came to rest a few feet away.

Holy shit.

… green static.

Oh, shit!

There it is. Eve smiled.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

That's not possible. Green static was Alastor's magic. Alastor is gone. Therefore, so should his magic.

But if his magic was still here...

Angel’s have Souls, babe. Soulmates share their Souls. One Soul in two bodies.

You looked at your hands.

It wasn't possible.

You grabbed the jacket and held it against your chest, letting Alastor's natural musk drown you in a sea of his memory. Of his hands in your hair. Of his cockeyed smile whenever his true self shined through. Of his laugh, absent of the radio static.

Blue flame lit up your right hand and in your left...

Green.

Holy shit.

“Wait but how do I…?” You spun, preparing a barrage of questions to through at Eve, but just as you had figured it out, the embodiment of power disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Bitch.

Eve wasn’t going dormant, she was just ghosting you - literally.

But then again, you already knew where to start.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath as you made your way to the front door.

“Oh, my stars!” Rosie was curled up on her couch, tea cup in hand, clearly enveloped in some book on her coffee table as you stepped through the portal.

Right. You kicked her out before her daily tea time.

“I need a favor.”

Rosie’s look of confusion turned serious, “Okay.”

While you told your tale to Rosie, you watched her look of concern turn to outright denial. “No!”

“Rosie, If there is even a small chance that this could work -.”

“And you die in the process?” She interrupted in a whisper. “This is irresponsible and based off of knowledge fed to you by her. Remember the last time you let Eve influence you?”

How could you forget? You took out half of Pentagram City.

You stepped back, your teeth clenched in anger. Not at Rosie, you could never get made at Rosie, but she was making it so easy to. “I’m doing this Rosie - with or without your blessing.”

She huffed, “If Angel were here, he’d talk some sense into you.”

“Good thing he isn’t.”

Rosie stared you down for a long time, waiting for you to break, but you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

“You know," she said, placing a hand on your cheek, her pupilless eyes softening. "I think of you like a daughter."

"I know, Rosie."

"I'm supposed to stop you." She smiled sweetly.

"I know."

"I'm not going to."

Your shoulders relaxed. "I know."

Rosie knows how powerful you are. She knew the day you practically fell on top of her that first day in Hell, and she knows now, even with tears in your eyes. She saw your resilience despite the countless days Carmilla tortured you. She knew your past and what you had come to endure. If Rosie truly believed this would kill you, she'd stop you.

You have been slowly decaying over the years. Alastor's death had taken its toll.

At the beginning, you couldn’t get out of bed. Rosie kept you alive, kept you fed and clean. If it wasn’t for this woman, who knows where you’d be right now. Yet, even now, you still found yourself crying in the kitchen whenever jazz came on on the radio. Or felt your heart skip a beat whenever a man in a dark suit and fedora walked past. Or felt that you couldn’t go outside for days after it rained for fear of it smelling too much like him.

You could barely maintain weight as you found it hard to eat. Your muscle was long gone and eyes permanently sunken from the years of crying.

Everything felt heavier. The world felt heavier.

The Overlord dropped her guard. “If you somehow get your hands on the Grimoire to do this, and that is a big ‘if,’ be safe. For my sake."

You beamed, the first time you had truly smiled about something in years. “Thank you, Rosie!” You pulled her into a hug. “I need one more thing before I go.”

After the battle atop V Tower, Lucifer had taken your cloak - the one inscribed in Leviathan. At some point over the years, your brother didn’t know what to do with it, but he certainly didn’t want to keep it. Not after the destruction you caused at the Massacre. The cloak - along with your things at the Hotel that the Hotel Natives helped clear out - were sent to Rosie. You reclaimed most of it for your beach house in Envy, but what you didn’t use Rosie stored for you.

Including the infamous cloak which started all your Shadow Overlord business.

After a quick kiss and a hug ensuring you’d be back, you snapped a portal to visit an old friend.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” The imp dove behind his desk. “There’s a front door for a fucking reason people!”

The office was empty, save for Blitz sulking in his chair while he cleaned some sort of jewel on his desk. Where the others were at you didn’t know but were thankful for it. Normally this office was chaos and you really didn’t want that right now.

“Hello, Blitz,” you pulled back the hood.

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” The imp’s jaw fell.

“I need the book.” Straight to the point.

His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead or something?” Blitz slowly climbed back into his chair.

Fuck, why did it smell like a barnyard in here?

“Not quite,” you took a seat.

When was the last time you did something like this? The last time you played the role of Shadow Overlord? When was the last time you donned this dusty cloak, sat lax in a chair, and demanded something of a Soul so nonchalantly as if it wasn’t important at all?

Did you miss those days?

“I need the Grimoire,” you repeated.

Blitz did not like the lack of explanation that you were giving him. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You clenched your fist beneath your cloak. That’s when you noticed the inter-dimensional gem sitting atop the table.

He doesn’t have it.

“How is Stolas these days?” You asked, running a finger across his desk.

The imp slowly pulled the gem back. You could literally portal across dimensions, if the imp thinks you seek a little trinket from Asmodeus then he wasn’t as smart as you gave him credit for.

“You know, bitch. You can’t just show up here making demands after all these years and expect us to jump when you say how high!” He jutted a finger out in your direction.

This was going swimmingly.

You stood. “It was so nice to see you again, Blitzy.”

“Fuck you, Angel bitch!” He flipped you off as you stepped through the portal.

Blitz is clearly pissed about something. Given that he now had an inter-dimensional gem and not the Grimoire, you were about to find out why as you knocked on the door of its owner.

“Gerald, if my dad Hell Eats one more pint of ice cream, just cancel the fuckin’-. Oh.”

Octavia answered the door.

You pulled back your hood just a touch and waived awkwardly, “Hey.”

And then she slammed the door in your face.

“Octavia, wait!” You practically jumped on the door, panic building in your chest. “Please! I need your help!”

Silence and then, “You left me!”

You blinked. What is she talking about?

“You dropped me off after the hospital and you left! I never saw you again!”

Oh… She means after Stolas told you off and forbade you from seeing her again.

“Your dad -!”

“I know what my dad said!”

“Then you know -!”

“Who cares what my dad said, that isn’t the point! I thought you were my friend, but it turns out you’re just like everyone else!” You heard feet stomping away.

Shit. Leaning against the door, you slowly sank to the ground. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be left behind too.”

Great. Now what are you going to do?

You pulled the chain from beneath your shirt and held it between your fingers. Eve was right, Alastor was an emerald man.

Wrapped in gold as if rays of the sun, was a green emerald ring. You had thought it would be a ruby or a diamond, but green represented Alastor’s magic and that felt more suiting.

“I miss you so much it hurts.” You choked.

It had taken exactly one year before you could open the leather box Alastor left behind. You felt so guilty doing so, knowing it would never be his hand which placed it upon your finger. So, you never put it on, but you couldn’t let it go either. Thus, here it sat, hooked around a chain hanging over your heart.

“Octavia, is that my ice cream?”

SLAM!

The back of your head smacked tile as the door swung open.

“Oh, my,” A blurry Stolas put a hand to his lips.

“Hey, Stolas,” You grunted.

“Thestral?” Then his face fell flat. “Mikaela Morningstar. I thought I told you -“

“Wait!” You held your hands up. “I need your help. Please, just hear me out!”

The Prince took a look around, noticing the eyes stopping in the street to stare. “Come inside.”

One cup of tea and an ice pack later…

“You know, I don’t always harbor fugitives in my home.” The Prince stood astutely, one pinky feather out as he sipped from the fine china.

“I’m not looking for you to hide me.” You ignored the tea, the bubbles of anxiety in your chest too much to handle right now. “I’m looking to borrow the Grimoire.”

Stolas did not look surprised.

And then you explained why.

“… I loved him and he’s gone. If you had a chance to save someone you loved, wouldn’t you?”

Stolas eyed you, “And you’d be willing to die for him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“This goes against everything the Goetia stands for.”

“I know.”

“Everything I’m supposed to represent.”

“I know.”

“Why are you asking me and not trying to steal it?”

You huffed. “I’m tired, Stolas. I’m so very tired.”

So tired your bones felt like led.

The Prince sighed. “I’ve always wanted that.” He placed the cup down gently. “I just... want someone to care, if I stay or go. I want someone to want me. To want to see me. To hold me. To look at me and think 'You're the only one I want! I desire to hold you and talk to you, and never let you feel so... alone…”

Ah, now you understood.

You placed a hand atop his wing. “I’m sorry about Blitz.”

And he lay his other atop yours. “Follow me.”

____________________________________________

You landed atop the balcony, a layer of dust parting in your wake.

The metal was absent of any signs of what took place here. You had Rosie to thank for that. She came by and cleaned up everything after…

His stuff was still here, but the curtains were drawn so you didn’t have to see any of it. You might break down again if you did.

Nothing’s changed. Eve materialized in a puff of black smoke wearing the same clothes she died in. The same clothes you killed her in.

You didn’t let your mind dwell on it too long. “Let’s get started.”

You drew the Circle of Rebirth in the same spot Alastor died - courtesy of Stolas' Grimoire. The Circle is a form of ancient and forbidden magic, guarded by the Goetia but not forgotten entirely. You vaguely remember hearing rumors of it from a time you could no longer remember.

Different from a Summoning Circle - which knew the recipient’s Soul location - or a Trapping Circle - which trapped beings of other planes within it (the same Circle Eve used to trap you in the airplane hanger a millennia ago), a Circle of Rebirth was meant to trap a dying Soul’s fragments so one could piece them back together.

Technically, that meant the person had to die while in the circle for it to work.

Do you get where I am going with this?

You stood, hand covered in red chalk, and talked with Eve as you finished up the final touches. “So, a Soulmate is of one Soul in two bodies. That means Alastor’s Soul did not fade when he died. I’m carrying it.”

But it’s also technically yours. Eve sat back against the railing, a smug look on her face.

“So, we do what I did accidentally all those years ago. We rip my Soul in half.”

I like it! Eve practically cheered.

And if it doesn’t work then you die… Cool. Okay. No stress at all.

You grabbed Alastor’s jacket and cane, and placed it on your lap as you sat at the center of the Circle.

Eve bent over so she was eye level with you. Are you ready to die?

You died five years ago when Alastor took that bullet for you…

“If I die, what happens to you?” You lifted a brow.

Hmmm, Eve thought a moment. There's this adorable little Princess Morningstar I've been dying to corrupt!

Charlie!

You saw red. “Eve!”

But before you had a chance to lunge, Eve melted into a mass of ink and began the spell.

A hurricane erupted around you, whipping your hair about your face and blinding you from the world.

It exploded into the sky, bringing with it lightning and rain. A cacophony of torrential pain fell upon you as the rain pelted your skin and the wind tore at your flesh.

It felt as if your entire being, every molecular connection, was slowly being ripped in half. Green and blue light exploded from your scar as your Soul slowly seeped out from your form.

Eyes filled with burning tears, you watched as the specks of green slowly floated away and collected into a solid mass before your eyes.

The mass slowly took shape, giving birth to arms and legs…

Power is of two kinds…

...and tall ears…

One is obtained by fear…

Details set in. Alastor’s face took form in a hue of green. His eyes… His lips…

And the other by love…

“Alastor?” You screamed over the wind. You screamed through the pain.

Power derived from love…

And then the ink set in. From the wind itself the liquid trailed into the blue, swirling about it as if oil in water.

The demon smiled.

…is a thousand times more powerful than fear.

And then everything exploded.

____________________________________________

As if submerged in a river of silk, your body slipped away.

No sights. No sounds. No touch.

You were the world, and the world was nothing. Everything existed all at once and yet not at all.

You were the absence of existence, yet you continued to exist. Without form and body, you were consciousness as its birth and end.

You were dying.

If you had told yourself at the beginning of time that this is where you would end up, you would have said to yourself that you were nuts.

Before everything, you were a soldier. A general. A physical representation of God’s Will.

And everything was perfect.

Carry out missions. Train. Report. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Existence was simple and predictable, but that's what you liked about it.

Then the beatings began.

You questioned it at first. Why did God only ever call you to his office alone? Why were you the only Angel with bruises and marks after meetings?

Why was he so angry?

Then the answer became apparent because he told you.

Everything that went wrong in his life was your fault.

YOUR FAULT.

Even if it had nothing to do with you or your missions… It was your fault.

Then you tried to control the uncontrollable in order to lessen the beatings.

Which just made things worse.

Because it was your fault.

You kept it hidden because you were ordered to. But also because it would have been embarrassing.

How could God’s General, leader of his armies and vanquisher of the Leviathans not even protect herself?

Things changed; you rebelled and ran away with Eve, thinking that was the fix you needed. You thought you had moved on. You thought you had healed. But trauma is a scar that never heals, doomed to rip open again and again.

There might have come a day when you had moved on. When God was cold and dead beneath your feet, and everyone who let this happen had been destroyed or long gone by the time you broke down Heaven’s Gate.

That was the plan at least.

Power and chaos and revenge… That was what was missing from your mantra: revenge.

But, here you are: a pesky story of revenge that went nowhere.

And now you’re dead.

And it’s all your fault.

You wonder what would have happened had you not met Alastor. Had you shown up to the Hotel that day and he was woefully absent from the cast, still in Heaven with Lilith - or if Lilith had never recruited the Overlord to begin with.

You felt your thoughts starting to slip away.

Dying is confusing.

But painless.

The end of existence began creeping in, growing ever closer as if tidal waves on either side of you.

Thankfully, painless.

And you were okay with that.

"Not so fast, my doe."

____________________________________________

In an explosion of greens and blues, you were flung back. Your head hit the wall of glass with a loud crack, and your body scorched from the heat as the explosion dissipated.

The thunder ceased. The rain dried. The wind slowed.

Nothing but the silence of death filled your ears - is what you thought, anyway, but death had been painless. This was not death.

"Fuck," you groaned. The scar across your front burned as you sat up. The skin beneath your shirt felt fragile as if newly minted during the moments of your... hallucination?

And when the world stopped spinning, you froze.

A body lay curled in the fetal position, directly at the center of the Circle of Rebirth. Green steam floated off the figure, now wrapped in the black jacket he died in. In his hands, he held a microphone he often used as a cane, freshly made whole once more.

The demon groaned as words flew across his bare skin.

Holy shit.

"Alastor?" Hesitantly, you crawled to the Circle.

An ear popped up, turning in your direction as you stopped just at the edge.

"Alastor Hartfelt?" You reached slowly for his shoulder.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

A sob tore through your chest. "It's me. It's..."

"My doe."

The next thing you know, you had arms wrapped around you and warm lips on your own. You sobbed into his mouth, the same familiar mouth belonging to the demon you loved.

His hands were soft as they cupped your cheeks, as the scent of the forest after a rainstorm filled your nose. His hair curled around your fingers, knotting itself as you plunged them deeper.

Alastor pulled you into his lap. Cocooning you in his warmth. He was always so warm...

The demon broke the kiss, catching his breath as he said, "Shed not tears for me, my doe."

Red irises glinted with tears of their own. A green "X" was now present between his eyes were the bullet once hit.

"You left me," you sobbed. Rivers of woe flooded down your face and soaked into his gloves.

"I did not." He rested his forehead on yours. The demon breathed, simply enjoying the mere presence of you. "I never left. I have been here the entire time."

You blinked. "What?"

"I have held you long into the night when you could not sleep and guarded you when you did. I was the shoulder you cried on when you needed to and dried your tears when you were done. I caught you when you crumbled and helped you find your feet once more. I ensured no harm ever came to you and no enemy ever found you." Alastor dried the tears on your cheeks.

"I have stood by your side every moment since that day." He went for the chain around your neck and broke it in two.

"I promised you I would never leave, and I did not. I have been at your side for the past five years." He unhooked the ring, and you watched as he slipped it on your finger. "You just didn't know it." The demon pressed a kiss to your hand. “Your personal guardian angel.”

Life flooded back into your body. "Alastor!" You flung your arms around the demon, burying your face in his jacket as you sobbed.

"I love you, my doe." He held you tight.

You shook your head, "Al, I am so sorry. It's all my..."

"Stop," He held your face in his hands, his claws brushing your cheeks. "Saving you was my choice, and I'd do it again, given the chance. Your death is mine to claim, remember?"

You chuckled. How ridiculous that sounded, given the current circumstances. "How could I forget?"

Pressing another kiss to your cheek, he chuckled.

God, you missed that sound.

With his hand in yours, you watched the words from the Book of Knowledge flow from your skin into his. "How is this possible?"

Blue fire erupted along your fingers, calling to his green static.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Alastor's heart.

"My Soulmate." The demon's purr filled your chest with warmth. "That explains everything."

"I always thought it was an old wives' tale, something you told children at night before bed." You watched the green static dance across your arm, bending and moving at your will.

And the ink. The ink flowed along Alastor's jacket as if it were his own.

Long ago, you killed the Second Lady because she had tied her Soul with the power from the Book of Knowledge, thus tying it to yours. By splitting it in half, the two of you now share it, along with your original magic.

Power and chaos and love...

"Thankfully not." Alastor was solid beneath your touch. His breath filled your lungs with new life. His magic tore the weight from your bones. His heartbeat synced with yours and willed it back to full strength.

You felt reborn.

Al brushed the hair from your face, the warmth from his breath hot on your skin.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Your body chanted.

Alastor was alive.

____________________________________________

A few days later, in Paris, France, Earth...

Alastor grabbed you by the waist and flipped you around. Backing you to the railing overlooking the Seine. 

“Mr. Hartfelt!” You gasped.

“Mrs. Hartfelt.” The red in his irises sparkled deviously. With his hands on your waist, the demon dipped down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips - to which you did not protest. 

“What’s next, my doe?” 

You breathed in his scent, his natural musk kicking up the butterflies in your belly. “Now we wait. It’s Lilith’s turn to play her part.”

“Hmm,” the demon hummed in thought. “And after?” 

You smiled wider. “I’m afraid those plans have not changed.” You went for Alastor’s fedora and placed it atop your own head. 

Alastor tilted his head back and laughed, a few sparks of blue popping off his shoulders. “I love you.”

You smiled, climbing to the edge of your toes to meet his lips. “Forever?” 

“Always…”

And then the Radio Demon kissed his Shadow, marking the beginning of the end for humanity. All because a demon fell in love with an Angel.  

To power, chaos, and love, dear readers… 

Thanks for reading, Hoteliers <3

-> Afterword

Tagged Hoteliers:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526 @eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick @cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah @diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta @reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages @chibistar45 @rapunzelbro @stephydearestxo

[hajihiko]

do you have headcanon godtiers for any of your little guys

You know'nt what you started BOY DO I

Akane: I started with her because I think she eludes a lot of what the classpects do or are. She definitely has a lot of heart, but I don't think she's as toed in with romance and souls/the self as Heart is. She would forego using a strife specibus, as Void players do, but she doesn't really have anything else going on with Void. I settled on.... Page of Mind. Hear me out! Pages start out as particularly unimpressive, but later on absolutely explode with power. Akane is, for the lack of a better way to put it, not exactly big on thinking. She would seem particularly unsuited for her class until you realize she bypasses the actual thinking part usually associated with Mind, and goes straight into core instinct and core knowledge- her danger sense and ability to just. Move on from stuff. A Mind player might be prone to overthinking, but not her! She just sort of knows exactly what's up and flips the whole planning thing on its head. She could also be a destructive class in this, though. Sorry about your booty shorts Akane. Page of Mind, role of the Giver, archetype: Warrior.

Sonia: Also a bit difficult, but I settled on Mage of Life. Mages are an understanding class, and Sonia wanted to understand normal Japanese school life and see it for herself. Mages are also notoriously lacking in their own aspect, or it tends to serve them badly- Sollux being nearly fucking unkillable, lacking in Doom, and Meulin having a history of unfortunate romance and being mind controlled (wasnt hat a thing?), lacking in Heart. Both understand their aspect in others, though. Sonia is a kind and understanding person to others, but barely has a life of her own when she's a princess (this would also work for Heart). As for powers, she definitely seems like a healing type, so that fits too. Life players are also usually rich! Mage of Life, role of the Visionary, archetype: Prophet.

Fuyuhiko: I thought of Blood pretty immediately, both because of what it means (connections) and because, yknow. Yakuza, murder, that stuff. I flip flopped a bit between classes, but I think Prince would work pretty well. Prince is a destructive class, either destroying the aspect or destroying with it, and he could fit both. He kills via his connections (Peko and the Yakuza), but he also destroys his chances at connecting with others by acting angry and aloof, and his connections are what constantly put his life in danger. In the end he destroys his strongest connection with Peko, by refusing to play along with her plan, but that births other connections. Connection and bond rebirth in poofy asshole pants! Prince of Blood, role of the Destroyer, archetype: Royalty.

Kazuichi: REALLY HARD ACTUALLY. I stumbled into Heart for him, which I think is probably fine. But class? I guess I'd go with Heir. I'm not sure about the Becoming Aspect thing, I don't see how that fits, but heirs do have something to do with change. Kazuichi tried really, really hard to change himself (change his soul, aka Heart aspect) to be something he's not, and to change Sonia's obvious lack of interest in him. I'd be open to him being one of the classes where the aspects fuck them up, too. As for powers..... manipulation, basically. But in a fantasy power sense. Heir of Heart, role of the Innovator, archetype: Magician.

AND NOW FOR THE JUICY BEST BOY

You know he's gotta be a Hope player. You know it. He's gotta. Also, he's the Ultimate Ultimate and Ultimate Some Guy, and the protag, so he gets to be a master class. Muse of Hope! The ultimate inspiration for others, through the most passive means (just being himself). Muses are also probably tied to martyrdom, or need to die to fully activate their aspect, and he did pretty much die in the Kamukura programme, for the sake of "hope" aka Hope's Peak Academy's agenda. Hell, his super Sayian mode even sort of fits the colour scheme.

As IZURU, however. He flips into being a Lord. Most active class, absolute command over his aspect (which in this case, also means the Talents, since those were lauded as hope things even though they're sorta the opposite). Destroyed Hajime with his own "birth", therefore sealing the martyrdom part. Muses and Lords both also have to do with conducting, similar to how Hajime controls the trials more or less, and Izuru triggered the game's corruption then sat back and watched. Muse and Lord of Hope, role of the Master, archetype: the Conductor.

Additional:

Impostor is way too Void coded to be literally anything else

Sorry, Gundham, but you're not a Lord. Could be a Witch though.

Peko is totally a Knight of Blood (ayo karkat moment)

Nagito can be nothing but Light, with his luck, and a Thief takes from others to use for themselves, which is basically what he does. VRISKA KINNIE

I'm a Muse of Life myself! I actually literally got that on a test. I think it's pretty cool hehe

[storms-path]

Amaurot, The Dead Ends and Conviction

I’ve been thinking a bit lately about the final dungeons of Shadowbringers and Endwalker, and how they’re ultimately a last, desperate attempt on each expansion’s villain to convince you of the righteousness of their cause.

Amaurot is a story of a world gone mad. A story of the immense and horrifying efforts that its inhabitants went to in order to save it, and (left unsaid) the story of the scars it left on the survivors and their inability to escape them. In revealing all of this to you, Emet-Selch is baring his soul and sole motivation to you, showing you the infinite depths of his sincerity in his desire to bring back his people.

But this is also his final attempt to get through to you, to make you understand just why you should give up and let him win. Surely your feeble attempts at rising above your mediocrity cannot compare to the greatness of the ancients! Surely you now understand just how vital it is that you relinquish your people to help him save his own! It’s a cheap, hollow ploy, a final dagger to level at you as he finally runs out of cards to play. But it won’t stop you.

Meteion, on the other hand, has seen it all before. Time and time again. Hers is not an attempt to sway you into saving anything, quite the opposite. She knows deep in her soul that every civilisation is doomed from the start to crumble into dust or self-destruct. The universe is a graveyard, screaming proof of her argument with a chorus of dead worlds. Why bother fighting at all? Why give your all when you’ll only be met with silence and wasted energy?

But already you’ve seen the cracks in her mask. Your friends and allies gave their very souls to prove otherwise, to convince you to keep walking despite the odds. And the very man who once tried to break your spirit and soul came to your aid and rekindled the hope in your breast and in hers. Her once unshakeable conviction is wavering, and the Dead Ends are her scrambling to put the mask back in its place, to convince herself and you that hers is the only way. End the cycle of suffering once and for all, join her in the song that will end life itself. But that song is not yours to sing.

The parallels are fairly obvious. Two antagonists pushed to the brink, their once invincible conviction suddenly tested and found wanting, making one last effort to make you stop. But neither one understands what pushes the Warrior of Light forward. Neither one can accept the need in your heart to stand tall and walk on. For those you have lost. For those you can yet save.

[sailorspica]

what do you think is Kenny's fatal character flaw?

to me it always seems reductive to attribute his failings to violence on itself and not something more rooted, to me what debilitates him more than anything is cowardice. But again, what do you think?

we're on the exact same page about violence for this universe because the whole damn point of the uprising arc and kenny's entire appearance in it, imo, is a prelude to paradis' re-entry into international conflict. measuring any of these characters based on quantitative on-page violence is so goddamn naive, but that's a tangent for my defense of gabi braun

kenny himself identifies too closely with violence as "the only tool he had," and it's silly to take his snk 69 narration as reliable/his sense of self as clear. cowardice is a great word and i think the ultimate truth of it all, but another excuse he might make is he focused too hard on uri, and later his "grand dream." another lie he tells himself could be: he's a u-haul lesbian. he fell so hard and so fast that it didn't even occur to him he was failing kuchel. kuchel and levi are like succulents or sourdough starter he forgot about

because really! if he's employed as uri's pretty much 24/7 bodyguard (the irishman dir martin scorsese), then yeah, he doesn't have time to be "some kid's dad." but childcare? you're basically aristocracy again, how you sit on the council, surely there's governesses looking after noble children. or if you want to reinstate the ackermans as a warrior house bound to the crown, levi could have grown up like, frieda reiss' gay older cousin. there were options

besides stifling his own guilt about levi (or guilt toward kuchel), i think he actually... does care about his squad, but realizes it too late, when the caves are fucking falling in! his "everyone's drunk on something" monologue shows traute and the rest of his squad on the panel for "dreams." in the tavern, he tells levi he'll kill anyone to get to his goals, but i think he was, again, too focused on the founding titan to consider this massive squad of what, 30 people? probably because they're supposed to be elite, seasoned MPs, they know what they're getting into, etc. but in this respect, he's kind of like eruri as one: trying to do the erwin thing of "calculated risks" and convincing people to die for his cause with sheer charisma and rhetoric, only to realize just before death he's too soft for that shit. (but i don't think he'd go on levi-style family condolences tour for his squad because he is a coward.) i've compared him to erwin before: he has no real idea of what he would do with the founder if he had it. he just wanted the view from up there, like erwin had no dreams for a future past the basement

i'm not entirely comfortable making this metaphor but his death speech sets it up: kenny is drunk on something more elusive than power. it could be uri, for whom his euphemism is "a grand dream" (jesus christ). i don't think what matters as much as just how plain destructive habit or addiction is, and how disinterested (or afraid) he is to consider another way of living, like rod's "fuck off now" line about finding something else to do. his pattern has been: kill as many MPs as possible for a grudge he doesn't actually care about (where is his sister? dunno); then stay glued to this dying man's side (where is his nephew? who cares); then pursue the founder (he could kill his nephew and several teenagers in the process? who cares). his yapping at levi about hobbies is way more revealing to Me about his character, while the drunkenness monologue is more of a series thesis statement