#there should be six schisms

[themildestofwriters]

I'm going to fight the Jedi historians out the back of Dex's Diner.

[eeveecraft]

Possession: By a Tulpa for Tulpas

By: Arcanus of the Dragonheart System

Introduction

Possession is an optional skill in Tulpamancy that allows a tulpa to access the physical world; it gives a chance for a tulpa to experience things not curated or managed by their host or other system members. Thus, what is possession? For those uninformed, possession is quite simply the act of a tulpa or other system members taking partial or full control of the physical body while the previous person in control is still connected to said body. For many tulpas, this is our primary manner of accessing and interacting with the same world our hosts do, especially so for systems where the host is incapable of fully disconnecting from the body, often considered a highly important step for switching. As such, even possession itself is desired by many tulpas for this opportunity of interacting with the outside, with people who are not of the same mind and body, and to gain experience and develop as individuals.

Numerous possession guides are often created by hosts rather than tulpas or by a neutral viewpoint; there are very few possession guides designed by tulpas themselves who are capable of possession and wish to teach it to others. This guide is crafted by a tulpa who has existed as such for six years, and has been capable of possessing quite well for nearly as long. The aim with this piece is to guide other tulpas with this specific perspective in hopes of sparking a form of eureka moment for other tulpas that can be the flicker necessary to obtain this skill, and for tulpas who use solely nonhuman forms that may be uncomfortable with the idea of using a human body.

Preparation and Mindset

Before attempting possession, there are things to consider and prepare for. These preparations allow future training sessions for possession to be less vexing, and can aid in avoiding potential issues further down the line.

A primary thing a host and tulpa should obtain before practicing possession is the ability to have clear communication between each other, often in the form of vocality. Seizing control of the body is an action that requires both parties to communicate their feelings to each other consistently, especially when speaking about consent. Without clear communication, a situation can go awry or create a schism between the two parties. For example, imagine a tulpa possessing the body without informing the host first, causing bewilderment and fear within the host who had no inkling that the tulpa was going to possess. On the opposing side, picture a tulpa possessing and performing activities when the host snatches back control deliberately and without warning, and thus disrupts what the tulpa was doing. With both parties, this can cause unease and anxiety simply due a lack of communication and respecting boundaries.

To avoid this, both the tulpa and host need to speak with each other and mutually agree to the possession beforehand through means akin to vocality or even tulpish. If one member does not consent, then the other should not ignore the boundaries set by the other person. However, this does not mean a host should unreasonably prevent a tulpa from possessing. There are reasonable times to possess and situations where possession is not ideal where a host may state, "Sorry, now's not a good time because we're in public," and other circumstances that are unreasonable such as, "Sorry, but I don't want you doing this harmless thing." From personal experience, it can be quite thrilling to possess and experience existence in such a physical and lifelike sense, but it is best to show self-restraint and ask before attempting possession.

For further reading to learn about techniques to build communication and vocality, here are a few well-written guides:

Tulpamancy: Guide Into the Strange and Wonderful: Section 13: Vocality & Section 25: Methods of Communication

Tips for Hearing Your Tulpa

Quantum's Nametag Method

Clear communication often also requires the tulpa to be fairly developed, capable of making informed decisions without the host's input while also being mature enough to handle any possible outside world responsibilities. Fledgling tulpas have a tendency to be childish and emotional in nature, even being somewhat unstable in form and personality at times, as they continue to establish their identity with forcing sessions and experience. Therefore, a younger tulpa may not understand the importance of respecting boundaries, maintaining what are usually the host's responsibilities such as school or occupations, or may make emotional decisions in favor of logical ones. Harsh world experiences can also be stressful for the tulpa and negatively impact their development while they are still malleable and easily influenced, thus it is ideal for the tulpa to be developed to the point of their identity being mostly solidified, and where they have learned to manage their emotions in times of stress and hardship.

It must be specified that this advice is targeted towards more extensive possession sessions, sessions that may span hours, days, or longer. Shorter sessions within a controlled environment are more suitable for a less developed tulpa learning possession and do not require as much preparation and development from the tulpa.

How much time it takes for both of these to be met is subjective and has a high degree of variance between Tulpamancers. Both maturity and vocality can come with time, consistent forcing sessions, and patience. What is imperative is to not rush possession; possession is not a fleeting opportunity that is capable of vanishing at a moment's notice. Regardless of the system's age, possession is a skill that will always be available, thus do not feel the need to rush it or obtain it as quickly as physically possible. Nor should a Tulpamancy system feel as though they are obligated to learn possession. Though few in number, there are tulpas who are quite content with never being in control of the body, instead preferring to be imposed on the material plane or live their lives in a mindscape. Neither host or tulpa should be forced into learning a skill they do not wish to learn if they do not desire it within reason, however, it does not harm either to at least attempt possession once.

Finally, another common issue, specifically for hosts, is a sense of fear or anxiety when pondering the idea of the tulpa taking control. This fear is reasonable, especially with how possession and control swapping is often portrayed in many nations and cultures. In tandem with this, the host is often one who has spent their entire existence being the singular entity of the body; switching as a concept is a direct opposite of what the vast majority of humanity believes to be the sole way of existence, that each consciousness belongs to one vessel and is that vessel. There are some hosts who require self-introspection and must accept that they are not the body itself, but a single consciousness of multiple that happens to dwell within it.

Anxiety for switching can stem from pathological anxiety or this mindset of singularity, and thus not all Tulpamancy-specific advice may apply. Trust between both parties is critical when exchanging control, not simply that they will do no harm with the power they are given, but as a general rule. For both the tulpa and the host: trust in the tulpa to be responsible, and trust in the host to allow the tulpa to safely express themself without overstepping boundaries. Any and all concerns should be spoken about between both members and genuinely listened to, this includes doing whatever possible to negate any doubts or fears.

In conjunction with maturity, the ability to communicate properly, and dousing any fears and anxieties, another key factor in possession is the mindset of both the host and tulpa. It can be deceivingly simple to believe that possession is this archaic skill, possibly due to preexisting connotations of possession from various forms of media and how only supernatural beings are capable of performing this feat. Despite this, possession is not impossible to achieve, nor does it take years for most Tulpamancy systems to gain. Remember that both the tulpa and host exist within the same mind and body; both parties have access to the same neural pathways, and thus access to movement. As months become years, a tulpa eventually reaches a point to being on equal footing with the host, being a fully separate person capable of all the same feats the host is capable of and not simply some entity that can be willed away on a whim.

In addition to this, it is a highly prevalent and pervasive myth that the host must manually dissociate from the body to allow the tulpa to possess. Quite frankly, this is false, as many tulpas have proven to be capable of possession while the host is still fully connected to the body and is aware of what the body is doing. Mindset, however not being an absolute factor, can still majorly influence how quickly or slowly a skill in Tulpamancy is gained. Another belief that can stymie possession training is the belief that the tulpa is lesser, weaker, or simply less capable than the host. By doing this, the host is setting unnecessary limitations on the tulpa, which further slows skill development. When speaking about Tulpamancy, one should not think in absolutes, but instead keep an open mind for any possibility instead of denying or wholeheartedly believing a certain outcome will occur.

Thirdly and finally with possession myths, older guides often reference possession being this "alien" feeling when experienced, a sensation easily noticeable. In recent years, many Tulpamancers have started fervently exclaiming that possession will not feel alien and that it was merely an artifact from the past. As previously stated, believing in absolutes is often an unhelpful mindset in Tulpamancy. Despite the claims from either side, there are Tulpamancers who experience this "alien" feeling and others who do not. A possible explanation for this is a tulpa's presence and the sensation it gives when the tulpa possess, or perhaps this "alien" feeling is more common with tulpas with nonhuman forms that clash more with a human body when attempting to control it. Regardless of whether or not a system will experience this "alien" feeling is unimportant, as many believe this sensation alerts the host whether or not the tulpa is actually moving the body. If one is simply unsure if the body's movement was theirs or their tulpa's, they can simply verify it with the tulpa instead of merely guessing.

Once mentally overcoming these hurdles to the best of one's ability, possession is much more likely to be swift with ample progression and lowering the possibility of tribulations in the future.

Step-by-Step Process and Explanation

At last, the process of possession specifically for tulpas in the perspective of another tulpa. For the sake of brevity and simplicity, the possession strategy will be laid out in steps first, then the explanation will be placed after the method itself. Remember that this method is done solely in the perspective of the tulpa, however, the host at minimum should relax in whatever means they wish and simply allow the tulpa to go through the process.

Begin by connecting to the body's senses, look through the body's eyes, feel the gravity of the earth pulling downwards, take in any scents or sounds in the area, and even pay close attention to any flavors the mouth may be experiencing.

Hone in on a singular sense, whichever is desired. With the eyes, absorb every single detail possible, every color, every shape, their distance from the body, and more as an example. Or not simply feel the effect of gravity, but also the textures of objects or even the body itself, the temperature of the air or ground, and potentially even focus on negative sensations such as pain if they are present.

Entrench oneself in that specific sense until feeling completely absorbed by it, entranced to the point of losing awareness of one's form or anything else, even the thoughts of oneself or the host.

Become that sense, become the eyes, become the skin, the nose, the mouth, or ears. Not simply using the sense, but embodying that sense itself.

Once this step is complete, repeat the process with the other senses, slowly becoming them while remaining connected to the ones already focused on.

With every sense focused intensely on, attempt to move the body in some capacity. An example would be moving the eyes if the first step taken was to become sight.

Attempt to do this with the other senses and what they are related to. Move the body's arms, look around, take a deep breath, and listen to one's environment.

If the process was successful, the tulpa will be possessing the body.

Note how this strategy does not ask the host to "give up" the body or instruct the tulpa to flow their essence into the body unlike other possession guides. The mindset behind the method presented is guiding the tulpa to essentially synchronize with the body to the point of becoming one with it instead of a nonphysical person, becoming so lost with the world they are experiencing that they simply forget that they are a passenger in the metaphorical car. When honing in on or focusing highly on a sense, it can be possible for a tulpa to accidentally begin possessing what controls that sense. For example, a tulpa may be interested in what the host is eating, paying such close attention to the food that they begin to experience it physically, possibly even moving the mouth to eat without realizing it.

However, not all tulpas understand the idea of "connecting" to the body's senses, especially tulpas used to living their days in a mindscape. Quite simply, this can be done through intuition and trial and error, or through symbolic means that translate to the act of connecting. It boils down to: what seems logical? For every tulpa, this is highly subjective and there is no flawless method that can be taught.

One must also keep in mind that following these steps may not be successful the first attempt or even after multiple attempts. Rather, a tulpa may take time learning how to focus on a particular sense, or possibly learning how to focus so intently in any sense. One day may be a day filled with progress, but said progress is halted by a singular part, mileage will vary between systems.

Possession for Nonhuman Tulpas

Not every tulpa takes on a human appearance, or even an appearance that matches a human's general shape. Though a tulpa is not quite literally their form, there are some tulpas who are quite connected to their form in a sense either through means of identity or simply out of fondness for their appearance. For tulpas in this category, possession or fronting at all can be uncomfortable or possibly unpleasant due to the contrast between the body and the tulpa's form; this connection with the tulpa's form can also impact how they act whilst in control such as mannerisms, walking style, or even voice to a notable degree.

Common advice to counteract this is for the tulpa to temporarily take a human form when fronting to ease the bodily dysphoria, yet, there are tulpas who are uncomfortable with that idea and would prefer to avoid it. This section is intended for tulpas who are uncomfortable with changing their form just to front.

A simple way to ease the discomfort of body dysphoria is to accept any "quirky" fronting mannerisms, opting to embrace them instead of fully attempting to act like a human. Walking on toes, using hands in a way that is considered odd, even imposing one's own form over the body to whatever capacity within reason (typically known as "phantom limbs" if this includes adding otherwise nonexistent limbs). Unless it is necessary not to out the system as plural to others the system is not out to yet, allow oneself to be nonhuman in nature regardless of if they are currently using a human body.

Another method is to have the mindset of, "I am not actually a human, just a nonhuman taking control of a human body," much like the more fantastical definition of possession many are familiar with. This mindset can create a disconnect that may ease the dysphoria, especially for tulpas who solely identify as a singular or set form.

Choose articles of clothing or accessories that match the form or at minimum, mask the human shape such as hoodies or sweatpants. One can also avoid staring at the body in the mirror or undressing, but this can have the negative consequences of becoming more and more avoidant of the body, which is not ideal if one wishes to become at least somewhat accustomed with it.

Conclusion

Being able to control a physical body can be a wonderful opportunity to grow as a person, form relationships and bond with new people, and to have meaningful impact on the world. Possession in of itself may not be a tedious challenge, but it also may not be a breeze a tulpa and host can accomplish within a day. Remember that this guide and strategy are one of many; do not feel shackled to a particular method if it is simply not working out. Every host and tulpa's experiences with possession will vary to some degree, and that is the beauty of such a thing, as it allows for many to share their experiences and knowledge that can reach out to benefit others.

I do hope this guide aids my fellow tulpas.

Please consider supporting us on Ko-Fi if you found this guide useful.

This is a slightly improved iteration of my guide, as I was unaware that we had never posted it on this blog. However, the body of the content remains identical to the Tulpa.info and Tulpanomicon iterations of the guide.

7-21-2024

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Something that drives me absolutely crazy about Jon and Rickon is that while the rest of the Stark kids love Jon, they’re all too cognizant of his “otherness”. Robb, Bran, and Arya love him as one would love any brother, but he’s always separated from the rest of the family: Ned Stark had five children, and then a sixth who was separate. And even when the Stark kids think of the direwolves, Ghost is always set apart from the rest of them. We’re always reminded that six pups were found in the snow, five huddled together and one who was white as snow separate from the rest of them.

But Jon is not separate in Rickon’s mind. During the royal feast, at an occasion where the social schism between the Stark children is all too apparent, Rickon is too caught up on “where’s Jon? Why is he not here among us? Why is he separate? He should be here!” And we see this when he waddled to where Jon was sitting with the squires, only leaving when big brother set him back on the path to the dais, thus enforcing a social boundary that he himself was not aware of. And the crazy thing is, Rickon is a bit of an other in a way. Shaggy, Rickon’s familiar, is not brown or grey like the other wolves. He’s black with green eyes, a visual representation of northern mysticism just as Jon’s Ghost is.

And it’s going to come to a head when Jon’s true parentage is revealed to the world. And Ghost’s difference becomes even more pronounced. But what a stark (pun intended) reminder it will be to know that Jon is not alone, and he is wholly accepted just as he is. Rickon is so young and full of ignorance. But that childish ignorance could go a long way, especially in reminding a very insecure Jon that he does indeed belong, all differences be damned.

[rei-ismyname]

The X-Men vs X-Men Beef feels inorganic

From The Ashes has begun in earnest, and we're being told that the Uncanny X-Men have irreconcilable problems with Cyclops' X-Men. However, we're not really being shown that. Spoilers for all From The Ashes books released so far.

We've had 3 issues of X-Men and 2 of Uncanny X-Men so far, plus answers promised for why Wolverine doesn't want to be one in the first issue of his solo (the reason is trauma, it turns out but he's still wearing his uniform ten pages in. Not especially satisfying.) From The Ashes (henceforth FTA) has had a scattershot approach to plotting so far, but one unifying theme has been that mutants in general are a scattered diaspora as well as interpersonal issues that I'm just not seeing.

Here's Gail at the end of Uncanny X-Men #1.

Let's break this down a bit. 'Recovering from grief' absolutely makes sense. They lost Krakoa only months ago and different people deal with that in different ways. Except Rogue seems pretty happy tbh, aside from select moments when the Big Picture is being discussed. The rest of the time she's talking loudly about sex and generally seems in high spirits.

'Rogue and Cyclops has replaced the relationship between Xavier and Magneto.' For one, that relationship has been a close one for years at this point. Secondly, I'm not buying that at all because it's not on the page.

They seem to be on great terms here, working together for mutual goals. Zero animosity. Friends, family, obviously. Why wouldn't they be? This is issue 1.

This is issue 2, like 6 hours later in universe. The Jubilee comment confirms they're sharing information, and Scott's team are very publicly being X-Men. The reader doesn't have perfect information here, but obviously these kids have said something that spurs Rogue into action immediately, fuck Scott/Hank/everyone else's plans.

Here's the moment just before the call. 'Last guy I want to talk to.' What the hell is that about? It's very at odds with either phone call, which were friendly and collaborative. As you'd think they'd be, you know having been family for decades now.

'Are there even going to be X-Men anymore?' You know there are, you're working with them. 'We almost had Xavier's 'dream'. No, you didn't. You had a nation, and it was great. It was the opposite of The Dream, because the Dream is solving bigotry. You should all know this by now. Also, aren't you all super mad at Chuck for his war crimes? I know Wolverine tried to kill him a few months ago - is he over that?

They discuss heading up to join Cyclops, in the former sentinel factory given as part of a settlement for six months of torture and being readied for a Kangaroo court and execution - you were all there for that. 'Imagine a community run by Scott Summers... I ain't going back there, it ain't the X-Men...'

Dude, you've been living with him, Jean and their family for the past 4 years in a polycule. Why are you talking like you're Schism era Wolverine? Your beef is ancient history, you're family. He definitely wasn't 'everywhere you turn' when you were banging his wife. Y'all are about to go break into a government sanctioned prison to retrieve your war criminal mentor that one of you tried to kill very recently - so I'm not seeing a difference in methodology or ideology. In fact you're doing that and he's compromising his team's plans around you!

Here's Scott's side of that conversation. Looks like she hung up on him for some reason, but this dude is being polite and trying to collaborate with his peers. When he gets hung up on and ignored he changes his plans, with the primary concern being everyone's safety. There's nothing in any of these issues indicating otherwise, aside from Logan shooting down anything to do with Scott and Gail Simone kinda saying so in editorial.

So why is this conflict happening? Logan has been running naked with wolves since Krakoa (despite being in ten different books) so there's been no opportunity for an incident. Everyone else is talking like they're friends. Sure, there's the grief and trauma, but everyone is making 'back to work' choices. I'm definitely not seeing an ideological divide, just being told that in editorial.

Even Kitty Pryde is telling everyone to fuck off, except we know she's in Exceptional X-Men on a team. Little hard to believe she'd turn away from all her family, except Emma Frost. Their relationship was in a good place on Krakoa, but why a team with her and refuse to even see anyone else?

It's really not that hard to give characters goals and beliefs, and ideas on the best way to achieve them. At the moment it just feels like they're apart because writers/editorial want them to be, while giving us the kind of disagreements teenagers would get over quickly. I'm not feeling it as a good start to FTA, and the implication that 'we're the X-Men now' implies Scott's team isn't. We've been here before, idiot plots leading to needless divides amongst a people in severe crisis. I have to ask - is that really the best Marvel can do?

I really want to like or even love this reboot, but nostalgia and forced conflict is the definition of old hat. There's so many ways to use nostalgia in fresh ways, but this isnt it. Worse, I'm being told otherwise. I know you don't hire Tom Brevoort as editor to take risks, so I'm really hoping this is just a slow start with everyone finding their feet.

I've definitely noticed that Magneto has been sitting in a chair doing nothing for 3 issues too. I want to know how his ideological awakening is going to be paid off, and I'm wary it's just going to be ignored. I'll be coming back to this topic when there's actually something to talk about, and perhaps foolishly being cautiously optimistic.

Maybe this kind of stuff isn't for everyone, but at least make it make sense, yo. How are you finding it? What are you loving? What are you looking forward to? I'd love to hear.

[khaleesiofalicante]

MEMORANDUM FROM: J. C. HERONDALE, NEW YORK INSTITUTE TO: ALL INSTITUTE HEADS IN RE: HAIR

Greetings, fellow Shadowhunters, Downworlders, and in-the-know mundanes. Jace Lightwood Herondale here, your favorite Shadowhunter and three-time winner of the Golden Stele for Most Attractive and Sinewy Institute Head[1]. Recently it has been brought to my attention that I have been the victim of a terrible slander. I present this report today, to be sent in fire-message format to all Institute Heads worldwide: to correct the record, yes, but more importantly to provide a more thorough survey of the relevant information regarding the New York Institute and its main officers. I. SITUATION REPORT As you know, a schism has caused our homeland of Idris to be occupied by an insurgent, reactionary faction of Nephilim. This has severed the Clave’s ability to enter Idris and to engage in normal governmental operations. As a result, the New York Institute has become a much more central and important location than ever before. Not only are we now the home office of the Consul-in-Exile, the Headmaster of the Shadowhunter Academy-Also-in-Exile as well as the Warlock and Werewolf representatives to the Council, we are also the closest Institute to said Academy and therefore charged with its defense. As such, the interests of the New York Institute can be said to truly be commensurate with the interests of the Clave at large. II. THE SLANDER A most dire accusation has been made against me, and in doing so, it has impacted the morale of my Institute, which, as per §1, is of utmost importance at this precarious time in Shadowhunter history. Specifically, I have been accused of DYEING MY HAIR.

III. THE RESPONSE The accusation is, unfortunately, not more specific than this. It is unclear if the accuser means to suggest that I merely add artificial highlights to my hair, or that I use dye to alter its natural hue -- or much more dire allegations. That I, perhaps, actually use bleach to lighten my hair to the blond color for which it is famous across six continents, or even that I might have need to mask the appearance of early-onset gray hairs. Let me be clear: none of these have any basis in fact. My hair is and has only ever been its own natural shade and tone, inherited genuinely from my parents and untouched by any treatment or modification by magic or chemical. Its thick texture, gentle waves, and brilliant luster are merely the result of good fortune and a regular regimen of washing and conditioning. To suggest otherwise is to undermine the cause of the liberation of Idris and to weaken the resolve of our allies. A few, more given to conflict resolution than I, have tried to find a position of compromise, suggesting that it is possible that my hair has been positively affected by the experiments my father performed on me as an infant involving angel blood. It is true that I cannot fully rule out the possibility. But I strongly doubt it, and I believe you should as well, for one can find (through rigorous searching) hair that is nearly as superb as mine even among the mundane population, who obviously have not benefited from any such magics.

IV. RELEVANCE TO THE NEW YORK INSTITUTE AT LARGE While the slander has been directed solely at me, the other main representatives of the New York Institute are also aggrieved, and feel strongly that an attack on the hair of one of us is an attack on the hair of all of us. To that end, and at their request[2], I want to provide reassurances regarding the current status of the hair of all of us here. I hope that it will offer comfort and optimism in this dark time. I have provided a helpful letter grade for each of those mentioned here, using the standard measure where “S” is the highest grade, followed by A, B, C, D, F. My own hair will be used as the S-tier standard. CLARY FAIRCHILD If anyone on this list qualifies for the highest tier, it is of course Clary Fairchild, the co-head of the Institute and my constant beloved. Her hair is of the finest red color, shining gold in the light and flowing around her face in waves that only serve to highlight the natural blush of her cheeks and the freckles which so fetchingly decorate her face. To look upon Clary is to be reminded of the beauty given to us by the Angel; to run one’s hands through her hair is to weep with the beauty of this world. RANK: S SIMON LOVELACE Unfortunately, Clary’s parabatai’s hair has suffered greatly, perhaps the most of any of us, with the rupturing of the Clave. Out of sorrow and discontent he has, unwisely, been dedicating a significant portion of his time to his rock band, in which he plays the electric bass guitar alongside several mundanes (of no other consequence). Under the wretched influence of these mundanes, he has made an attempt at lightening his own hair to create an effect he described to me as ��kinda punk and a little emo, but also not.” I cannot tell you what this is intended to mean: only that applying bleaching agents to his previously completely acceptable brown hair has turned it an unpleasant color which Clary has labeled “chromium green.” For the moment, he looks as though he has a dead snake on his head. Both Clary and Isabelle have volunteered to shave the green out of his hair entirely, but he has so far avoided their clippers and announced he will wait for it to grow out naturally. All of us here are looking forward to his full recovery in time; rest assured that, like the loss of Idris, Simon’s appalling appearance is only temporary. RANK: D (under normal circumstances: B). ISABELLE LIGHTWOOD As in all things, Isabelle Lightwood’s hair is immaculate and worthy of the great admiration it inspires. The contrast between her and Simon Lovelace is always quite striking, but never more so than now, as her appearance lights up each room she enters while his prompts questions about possible chemical spills and comparisons to a fictional mundane character known as “The Joker.” (Again, his situation is temporary, and we trust he will be restored to full strength soon.) When braided and set for battle, Isabelle’s hair inspires her allies and strikes fear into demons. RANK: S ALEC LIGHTWOOD Here we have a curious situation, it is true that Alec Lightwood’s hair is the parabatai to my own. As such, it is attractive, steadfast, brave, and rousing. Alas, while the hair itself is fine material, he simply WILL NOT TAKE CARE OF IT THE WAY I TELL HIM TO. No matter how many excellent products are gifted to him, no matter how many times he is lured into a fine salon with a promise that it is actually an arrow shop, the Consul continues to look as if he cuts his hair in the dark with nail scissors. And yet - allowances must be made. Our Consul struggles beneath a heavy burden of responsibility, by which I mean he has two children who constantly put gum in his hair. Considering all he has to face, I cannot but feel that the hair of Alec Lightwood is hair that one would not hesitate to follow into battle, which is what truly matters.  RANK: A MAGNUS BANE At this moment in time, Magnus Bane, the Consul’s husband and warlock representative to the Council, has hair that cannot be achieved through mundane or even Shadowhunter means. Though largely black, it is shot through with flecks of gold, and at the tips it faded smoothly to an electric blue that closely resembles the color of his own magic. As always, Magnus takes a look that might not pass muster on a lesser man and makes it not only his own, but a target of envy from all around him. It is widely believed (though denied) that such an effect is what Simon Lovelace was hoping to attain in his recent unlucky tonsorial experiments. That the effect of his hair can only be created so perfectly with the use of magic does not diminish what Magnus manages to achieve here. RANK: A CHURCH THE CAT While the oddly long-lived cat known as Church is currently residing in the UK under the care of others, he was a longtime resident of this Institute and is still considered by most of us here as a kind of unofficial mascot. Recent photos have confirmed that, as befits a cat of the New York Institute, Church continues to have a fine, rich coat of  the slate-blue color normally associated with his Persian breeding. Despite his usual bad temper, he is a fastidious groomer and keeps himself free of mats and unsightly tufts of shedding fur. His color is set off by his luminous gold eyes, which provide an excellent contrast. His coat presents an excellent picture when seen as a whole, but special consideration should be made to its greatest details, namely the slightly lighter color between his toes, and the tufts that rise from his owl-like ears. RANK: S V. CONCLUSION I hope that the thoroughness of the information contained here has brought reassurance and inspiration to all those who receive it. To sum up, my own hair has never been better, and remains entirely natural in its source. The state of the hair of the New York Institute is strong, and with the exception of a single mishap, which we are recovering from, we foresee only positive developments in the domain of our hair in the months and years to come. Yours in the Name of the Angel, Jace Herondale [1]This award was created by Clary Fairchild and is presented once a year on my birthday by a jury consisting of only the most discerning and aesthetically informed Nephilim available: specifically, Clary Fairchild. [2]Or at least, with only their mildest objection. Note: From Cassandra Clare’s newsletter on 01/04/2023. 

[clacesource]

From Cassandra Clare's Newsletter

MEMORANDUM FROM: J. C. HERONDALE, NEW YORK INSTITUTE TO: ALL INSTITUTE HEADS IN RE: HAIR

Greetings, fellow Shadowhunters, Downworlders, and in-the-know mundanes. Jace Lightwood Herondale here, your favorite Shadowhunter and three-time winner of the Golden Stele for Most Attractive and Sinewy Institute Head[1]. Recently it has been brought to my attention that I have been the victim of a terrible slander. I present this report today, to be sent in fire-message format to all Institute Heads worldwide: to correct the record, yes, but more importantly to provide a more thorough survey of the relevant information regarding the New York Institute and its main officers.

I. SITUATION REPORT

As you know, a schism has caused our homeland of Idris to be occupied by an insurgent, reactionary faction of Nephilim. This has severed the Clave’s ability to enter Idris and to engage in normal governmental operations. As a result, the New York Institute has become a much more central and important location than ever before. Not only are we now the home office of the Consul-in-Exile, the Headmaster of the Shadowhunter Academy-Also-in-Exile as well as the Warlock and Werewolf representatives to the Council, we are also the closest Institute to said Academy and therefore charged with its defense. As such, the interests of the New York Institute can be said to truly be commensurate with the interests of the Clave at large.

II. THE SLANDER

A most dire accusation has been made against me, and in doing so, it has impacted the morale of my Institute, which, as per §1, is of utmost importance at this precarious time in Shadowhunter history.

Specifically, I have been accused of DYEING MY HAIR.

III. THE RESPONSE

The accusation is, unfortunately, not more specific than this. It is unclear if the accuser means to suggest that I merely add artificial highlights to my hair, or that I use dye to alter its natural hue -- or much more dire allegations. That I, perhaps, actually use bleach to lighten my hair to the blond color for which it is famous across six continents, or even that I might have need to mask the appearance of early-onset gray hairs.

Let me be clear: none of these have any basis in fact. My hair is and has only ever been its own natural shade and tone, inherited genuinely from my parents and untouched by any treatment or modification by magic or chemical. Its thick texture, gentle waves, and brilliant luster are merely the result of good fortune and a regular regimen of washing and conditioning.

To suggest otherwise is to undermine the cause of the liberation of Idris and to weaken the resolve of our allies.

A few, more given to conflict resolution than I, have tried to find a position of compromise, suggesting that it is possible that my hair has been positively affected by the experiments my father performed on me as an infant involving angel blood. It is true that I cannot fully rule out the possibility. But I strongly doubt it, and I believe you should as well, for one can find (through rigorous searching) hair that is nearly as superb as mine even among the mundane population, who obviously have not benefited from any such magics.

IV. RELEVANCE TO THE NEW YORK INSTITUTE AT LARGE

While the slander has been directed solely at me, the other main representatives of the New York Institute are also aggrieved, and feel strongly that an attack on the hair of one of us is an attack on the hair of all of us. To that end, and at their request[2], I want to provide reassurances regarding the current status of the hair of all of us here. I hope that it will offer comfort and optimism in this dark time. I have provided a helpful letter grade for each of those mentioned here, using the standard measure where “S” is the highest grade, followed by A, B, C, D, F. My own hair will be used as the S-tier standard.

CLARY FAIRCHILD If anyone on this list qualifies for the highest tier, it is of course Clary Fairchild, the co-head of the Institute and my constant beloved. Her hair is of the finest red color, shining gold in the light and flowing around her face in waves that only serve to highlight the natural blush of her cheeks and the freckles which so fetchingly decorate her face. To look upon Clary is to be reminded of the beauty given to us by the Angel; to run one’s hands through her hair is to weep with the beauty of this world. RANK: S

SIMON LOVELACE Unfortunately, Clary’s parabatai’s hair has suffered greatly, perhaps the most of any of us, with the rupturing of the Clave. Out of sorrow and discontent he has, unwisely, been dedicating a significant portion of his time to his rock band, in which he plays the electric bass guitar alongside several mundanes (of no other consequence). Under the wretched influence of these mundanes, he has made an attempt at lightening his own hair to create an effect he described to me as “kinda punk and a little emo, but also not.” I cannot tell you what this is intended to mean: only that applying bleaching agents to his previously completely acceptable brown hair has turned it an unpleasant color which Clary has labeled “chromium green.” For the moment, he looks as though he has a dead snake on his head. Both Clary and Isabelle have volunteered to shave the green out of his hair entirely, but he has so far avoided their clippers and announced he will wait for it to grow out naturally. All of us here are looking forward to his full recovery in time; rest assured that, like the loss of Idris, Simon’s appalling appearance is only temporary. RANK: D (under normal circumstances: B).

ISABELLE LIGHTWOOD As in all things, Isabelle Lightwood’s hair is immaculate and worthy of the great admiration it inspires. The contrast between her and Simon Lovelace is always quite striking, but never more so than now, as her appearance lights up each room she enters while his prompts questions about possible chemical spills and comparisons to a fictional mundane character known as “The Joker.” (Again, his situation is temporary, and we trust he will be restored to full strength soon.) When braided and set for battle, Isabelle’s hair inspires her allies and strikes fear into demons. RANK: S

ALEC LIGHTWOOD Here we have a curious situation, it is true that Alec Lightwood’s hair is the parabatai to my own. As such, it is attractive, steadfast, brave, and rousing. Alas, while the hair itself is fine material, he simply WILL NOT TAKE CARE OF IT THE WAY I TELL HIM TO. No matter how many excellent products are gifted to him, no matter how many times he is lured into a fine salon with a promise that it is actually an arrow shop, the Consul continues to look as if he cuts his hair in the dark with nail scissors. And yet - allowances must be made. Our Consul struggles beneath a heavy burden of responsibility, by which I mean he has two children who constantly put gum in his hair. Considering all he has to face, I cannot but feel that the hair of Alec Lightwood is hair that one would not hesitate to follow into battle, which is what truly matters. RANK: A

MAGNUS BANE At this moment in time, Magnus Bane, the Consul’s husband and warlock representative to the Council, has hair that cannot be achieved through mundane or even Shadowhunter means. Though largely black, it is shot through with flecks of gold, and at the tips it faded smoothly to an electric blue that closely resembles the color of his own magic. As always, Magnus takes a look that might not pass muster on a lesser man and makes it not only his own, but a target of envy from all around him. It is widely believed (though denied) that such an effect is what Simon Lovelace was hoping to attain in his recent unlucky tonsorial experiments. That the effect of his hair can only be created so perfectly with the use of magic does not diminish what Magnus manages to achieve here. RANK: A

CHURCH THE CAT While the oddly long-lived cat known as Church is currently residing in the UK under the care of others, he was a longtime resident of this Institute and is still considered by most of us here as a kind of unofficial mascot. Recent photos have confirmed that, as befits a cat of the New York Institute, Church continues to have a fine, rich coat of the slate-blue color normally associated with his Persian breeding. Despite his usual bad temper, he is a fastidious groomer and keeps himself free of mats and unsightly tufts of shedding fur. His color is set off by his luminous gold eyes, which provide an excellent contrast. His coat presents an excellent picture when seen as a whole, but special consideration should be made to its greatest details, namely the slightly lighter color between his toes, and the tufts that rise from his owl-like ears. RANK: S

V. CONCLUSION

I hope that the thoroughness of the information contained here has brought reassurance and inspiration to all those who receive it. To sum up, my own hair has never been better, and remains entirely natural in its source. The state of the hair of the New York Institute is strong, and with the exception of a single mishap, which we are recovering from, we foresee only positive developments in the domain of our hair in the months and years to come.

Yours in the Name of the Angel, Jace Herondale

[1]This award was created by Clary Fairchild and is presented once a year on my birthday by a jury consisting of only the most discerning and aesthetically informed Nephilim available: specifically, Clary Fairchild.

[2]Or at least, with only their mildest objection.

[rkin413]

Thinking more about the Shadow!Cilan AU, specifically about the animosity between the Triplets and N, Anthea and Concordia.

All six of them were basically Ghetsis' adopted children, but he set them up to hate each other from the start just based on how he intended to use them - the girls were basically just meant to be N's caretakers, and N himself was a disposable puppet, but the Shadow Triad were meant to be his little minions/bodyguards. And since I'm in camp 'Ghetsis was planning on offing N eventually' I imagine he wouldn't want the triplets possibly jumping ship, so he'd set them against each other from the start - being harder on the Triad, strategically lovebombing N in front of them while withholding any affection from them accept to string them along (which he did to N too, of course, but they wouldn't know that), being softer on N and the girls (because their roles were symbolic, and because he didn't want to ruin N's innocence and therefore his purpose) in front of them while they're constantly pushed to their limit (training in stealth, in making their own tools, in Pokemon training, in a lot of things, constantly putting them under pressure) despite him being older than them, the constant feeling of N being his 'real' son so of course he's the important one here, not them.

All the while N and the girls are having the Triad used as an example of how being a Pokemon trainer makes you callous and cruel, and the end result of the blatant favoritism makes the triplets antagonistic towards N (at least for a while) shattering any sort of trust they could and should have built up as basically foster siblings.

I can imagine after the schism between N and Plasma, the triplets had some complicated feelings - both anger at him either for the 'betrayl' despite being raised 'pampered and spoiled', or, if we're going by what happened in the anime, that everything Ghetsis did for him was for nothing and how he was a failure in the end. But also maybe preening, because they were the ones who stayed loyal, they were the ones who didn't fail. N was spoiled, in their eyes and that's why he couldn't cut it- why he either left, or failed and then ran away because he simply couldn't accept one failure so he blamed Ghetsis instead. N and the girls were spoiled rotten, but the pressure put on them made them diamonds.

N, Anthea, and Concordia, after the schism, might recognize, vaguely, how messed up their childhood was, but they know so little about what the triplets went through - with N sequestered in his room and not allowed to interact with others, and most of his interactions with the Triad would have been negative, and Anthea and Concordia's whole lives were made to be about N, almost exclusively - that they don't know how to fix it. What's their deal? They sort of respected them before, when they seemed to grow out of their bullying behavior but they were all on the same side, but after the schism they because vicious towards them. Brutes blindly following after the footsteps of an evil man who sees them as tools, when they should be smart enough to see that.

(they do. they just don't see why that might be a problem.)

[claudiatherelentless]

Anyway I can't stop thinking about the obvious ancient schism in The Faith of the Seven about wether it should be a Seven pointed Star or Six pointed Star, because the seventh point is for The Stranger and you dont want to Invite Death into your Home.

[werewolfetone]

"The average church in late eighteenth century ireland is just an umbrella organisation for six different warring iterations of itself" factoid is actually a statistical error. presbyterian georg, who has at least two catastrophically dramatic internal schisms every decade, is an outlier and should not have been counted

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

gif credit

masterlist | playlist | chapter vii

Chapter VIII: It’s Enough To Startle Us

tags/warnings: brief descriptions of wounds, rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, slow burn, mutual pining, mutual heartbreak, angst (though this chapter is sufficiently less angsty. but i guess y’all deserve a break. but it’s not gone forever hehe)

summary: The events of the night before send Eddie into a panic, and you into even deeper confusion. lots of eddie’s pov in this one bc we love watching him writhe and suffer. This chapter is pretty short, but i think it’s necessary to break between this and when shit Goes Down soon. so stay tuned! feedback is always appreciated!

a/n: idk what happened but when i titled this fic i was so sure Schism by Tool had come out by 1992. Jokes on me, it didn’t until 2001, so we’re gonna ignore that (and not mention the song in the fic, even though it is the title. Bc i can’t change the title now! and i like it anyway! so there!) Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

—

April 1986

“Hey, hey. Easy now.” Eddie throws his arm over your shoulder for support as you help him sit up. “This is gonna sting, okay? But that’s because it’s working. We’re gonna make you feel better.”

“I know what’ll make me feel better.” Eddie’s words string together, a blissed out smile on his face. He’s on a lot of painkillers, making him far happier than he should be right now.

You give your boyfriend a sad smile. “That would make me happy, too. But the doctor said no strenuous activity for at least six weeks. We can’t prolong your healing process if you wanna walk at graduation. Arms up.”

He obliges, wincing as he raises his arms above his head. You take the hem of his shirt, gently pulling it up over his torso, revealing the stained and sticky bandages that cover his wounds. The sight hurts your heart, seeing the man you love in so much pain. You get to work undressing the wounds, careful to peel slowly as not to irritate the scabs underneath. Once he’s bare, Eddie looks down to see his scarred and serrated flesh, frowning at the gore. “Think these will scar?” He asks, going to poke one of his black and blue spots before you swat his hand away.

“Oh, I dunno, probably not too badly.” You dig around in your bag for the fresh gauze.

He frowns at your words. “If I’m gonna be impaired like this, the least I could get is some sick battle scars.”

You giggle at him, grateful he’s still himself even after such a traumatizing experience. “Okay fine. They’ll be the most gnarly, metal scars anyone’s ever seen.”

“That’s more like it.” Eddie looks up at you with glazed, sleepy eyes. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” You wet a piece of gauze with bacitracin.*

“For loving me. Takin’ care of me in my battered state. What’s a freak like me done to deserve such a beautiful companion?”

You blush at his words, knowing they ring true even through his fog. “You didn’t do anything. I just like ‘em freaky.” You lean in, and he meets you halfway connecting his lips to yours. “Now hold still, this is gonna suck.”

*a/n changed rubbing alcohol to bacitracin bc why tf would u use rubbing alcohol on healing wounds supposedly assessed by a doctor. it’s not like they’re dirty jfdkjccj anyway.. moving on

—

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

The sun streams in through the haphazardly drawn shades of his hotel room, rousing him from another uncomfortable sleep. Eddie groans, the pounding in his head increasing as he shifts to lie on his back. He’s still fully clothed, sans his boots, left with indents on his arms made by the denim of his vest. He tries, desperately, to recount the events of last night. I gambled, I lost, I came back here, I went to see… Oh no.

He shoots up in bed, regretting it immediately as the sharp pain in his head jabs him again. What the fuck did I say to them? He squeezes his eyes shut, begging his brain to let him remember. He only sees the look on your face, a pitying concern as you yank his shoes off, leaving him to fight the hangover the next day. He remembers mumbling to you as the door opened, one foot already in the hallway. Shit.

It’s probably the most honest he’s been with you in years, but he didn’t want it to happen that way. It isn’t fair, after you finally got everything you’ve ever wanted, to drop what probably was a huge bomb on you. He assumes it was, at least.

—

Your POV

Ugh. You rise from your bed, kicking the comforter off as you try to ignore the pounding in your head. Memories of last night flood back like a tidal wave, and you're helpless in stopping them. I'd still choose you. Eddie’s words repeat in your head like a broken record, a mantra you desperately want to believe even though you know you shouldn’t. You need to tell someone. You need to talk to Steve.

You caress the hotel phone between your ear and your shoulder, dialing Steve’s room number and tapping your socked foot on the carpet. Pick up, pick up, pick up. “Hello?” His voice is groggy, you must’ve woken him up.

“Rise an’ shine, buddy, I have drama I need to spill.” You rush the words out and Steve responds with a sigh.

“What happened? You get back okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Well, I'm not fine, that’s why I’m calling. But I got back okay.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” You can almost hear him place his hand on his hip.

“Eddie came to my room last night.” The line is silent. You hear Steve inhale sharply, but nothing else. “Earth to Steve?”

“Hey, yeah. Sorry, I feel like this is my fault.”

“How is Eddie drunkenly banging on my hotel room door your fault?”

“I may have told him to do it.”

“YOU WHAT?!” You can’t help but bellow the words, surprised by your best friend’s idiocy.

“I didn’t tell him to do that, but I keep telling him he needs to talk to you.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut as Steve relays this news to you. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you two need to fix this shit! I’m tired of playing messenger when one of you gets drunk and sad and talks about the other for hours. You two need to start acting like adults!”

“Steve, who is asking you to play messenger? I’m asking you to play, I dunno, best friend? I never asked you to tell Eddie anything, I only need you to listen to me whine!”

“You ever think I’m tired of listening to you two whine?!”

You chew your bottom lip. “The thought may have crossed my mind. Whatever! He shouldn’t have come to my room drunk. He said some weird shit.”

It’s Steve’s turn to go meek. “What kind of weird shit?”

You debate whether to tell him, whether Steve really needs to know the gory details. You eventually decide he does, as your hired caretaker. “He pretty much told me, if I’d give him the chance, he’d drop everything. Be with me.”

Steve groans into the receiver, and it pulls a breathy laugh from your nervous throat. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“You think he meant it?”

“Has he ever lied to you?”

You take a second to answer. He’s hidden things from you, but he’s never outwardly lied. Eddie’s known for his blunt truthfulness, in fact, and it’s one thing you admire about him. “No, he’s never lied to me. Even while drunk.”

“Okay, then he’s probably not lying. The real question is if he remembers saying that.”

“Chances are he’ll act like he doesn’t, regardless.” Your eyes drift to the digital clock on the nightstand. “Shit, I gotta go. I promised everyone we’d get breakfast. Will you check on Eddie for me?”

“You could check on him?”

“Haha, good one! No, thanks.”

“Yeah, I’ll check on him. Take it easy on him if you do talk, though. You know as well as I do he hasn’t been doing well.”

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Stevie.”

“Of course, Y/n. See you later.”

“Bye.” The line clicks, and you hang up. Ugh!

—

You relay last night’s events to your bandmates and stylist at breakfast between sips of mimosas.

“He said that?!” Robin almost chokes on her pancake, causing Sylvie to snort orange juice through their nose. “And you just left?! Y/n!” Robin scarfs down another bite between sentences, eager to finish her thought.

“Honestly, I can’t believe Steve told him to talk to you!” Harley scoffs, her pretty eyes rolling. “Men are so dumb!”

You shrug. “I wish he’d just talk to me like a normal person. Only ever happens when he’s drunk, or I’m drunk, or some weird third party pisses one of us off enough.”

“Do you miss him?” Sylvie asks between nibbles of bacon.

You aren’t sure. Of course, you miss the people you were. You miss how real that love felt, how Eddie always felt like home. Until he got signed, a year out of high school, and let the fame eat at his heart slowly. “I don’t know.” You shake your head sadly.

“Maybe you two need, like, an intervention.” Lilith suggests, earning a baffled look from you in response. “What? You guys were in love, that’s super close to being addicted to something. And Eddie could probably use a real intervention, all the drinking he’s been doing.” She adds sadly, “Death and rock ‘n’ roll go hand in hand. I'd hate to see him end up like that.”

You think back to high school. To the Upside Down, and Eddie almost dying. For him to go through that and survive, only to be taken out by too much whiskey, would destroy you. You nod. “Maybe we do need an intervention. But isn’t part of the point for us to be surprised by it? What good will it do if I know?”

Lilith shrugs. “I'm not a doctor!”

It causes an eruption of laughter from your table.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Dude.” Steve whacks him on the arm as he sits down at the table. Hotel guests bustle around them, picking from stale muffins and cold eggs for their so-called continental breakfast.

“Ow! What?” Eddie’s nursing an orange juice, playing with the bacon on his plate that’s burnt and cold.

“I made sure you got to your room last night. I watched you go inside. When did you go see Y/n?”

“Steve, I know you’re used to being the babysitter, but I’m a grown man. I can go on a nightly excursion or two if I feel so inclined.” Eddie takes another sip of his juice as Steve pours himself some coffee.

“Okay, but those little side quests shouldn’t include embarrassing yourself, right?”

“Did they say I embarrassed myself?” He can’t help the worry that colors his tone.

Steve shakes his head. “No, I added that. But you know that isn’t what I meant when I said you should talk. That’s probably the last thing I meant.”

“Yeah, see, my drunk brain doesn’t really care what someone means versus what they tell me to do. You said talk, I talked. Nothing happened.”

“And you don’t know what you said?” Eddie shakes his head. “Do you want to?”

“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“Y/n told me you said you’d drop everything for them. If they’d give you that chance, you’d choose them over this. Over Corroded Coffin.”

Eddie suddenly feels like he’s underwater. He’s drowning, Steve’s voice sounding more muted as the seconds tick by. He only blinks at his friend, offering no hints of what he’s thinking. He knows he means the words, but knowing he’s said them aloud is a whole different game.

“Ed?”

“Hm?” Eddie drags his eyes away from the wall in front of him, slowly bringing his attention back to Steve.

“Did you mean that?”

He looks into his best friend’s eyes. They’ve grown tired, not with age but with increased proximity to terror and now, two very immature adults.

Eddie throws his hands up, waving them like a white flag of surrender. “Maybe I do! Does that mean it’s logical? That I should give up everything to be with them? I don’t know! They’ve done little more than put up with me so far, I can’t gauge the way they feel about me. I just know that I-“

“You love them. Yeah. That’s been established.”

Eddie drops his head into his hands and groans. It’s a sound of utter defeat, tinged maybe by a bit of acceptance. “What am I gonna do now?!”

It’s Steve’s turn to throw his hands up. “I’m staying out of this one.”

“Fine,” Eddie brings himself to his feet dramatically, somehow not toppling over as the room spins slightly. “Then I’ll ask someone I know can help me.”

—

Eddie finally finds her, sitting by the hotel pool with a thick book in her lap. Eddie steps up to where she’s lounging, her freckled skin damp from the moist air. She looks up at him, cupping her hand over her eyes to block the rays of sun escaping behind Eddie’s wild curls. “You’re blocking my light.”

“Hey, Bobby.” Eddie plops down on the plastic chair next to Robin, clasping his hands together as if to plead with her. “How’re things?”

Robin makes a show of snapping her book shut, angling her body to face Eddie. “What the hell do you want, Munson?”

Eddie feigns offense, clutching his chest with one hand, mouth agape like she’s told him Metallica don’t make good music anymore. “Why, it’s lovely to see you, too!” He scoffs, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

Robin doesn’t respond, her lips remain pursed as she waits for him to get to his point. It deflates Eddie, someone he was once so close with acting so coldly towards him. Though he supposes he should be used to the treatment by now. “I did a dumb thing.”

Robin lets out a laugh, but she lacks any trace of humor in her face. “On what planet would I want to help you cover your own stupid ass? We aren’t like that anymore, Ed. Get a grip.”

“Please, just listen to me. It’s about Y/n.” He recoils at his words, like saying them causes him pain. “I said something I shouldn’t have. I don’t know how they took it, I was drunk, it kinda just slipped out.” He rambles on, much to Robin’s amusement. It’s not every day Robin isn’t the one letting her tongue flap on its own. “Wait. Did they tell you?” He takes in her smug expression, the way her arms cross over her chest. “Oh my god, they told you.” He’s mortified, jumping back into the air like an exterior force has ejected him from his seat.

“They told me. Of course, they told me!” Robin stands up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “They aren’t the one who left me when they got signed.”

Eddie’s heart cracks at her words. You’re not the only one that feels he left them. “Well, hang on. That’s different, you and Y/n are in the band together. Why would they leave you?”

Robin sighs. “That’s not the point, dingus! You broke both our hearts when you got signed. We barely heard from you for months at a time, and when we saw you, you were mean! And god, don’t get me started on Steve.”

“What about Steve?” Eddie’s almost sure she’s fucking with him now, Steve has never actually liked him that much.

“Never mind. Why do you need my help? What’s done is done, right? You said the thing, they probably didn’t believe you anyway.”

“What did they say?”

Robin shakes her head. “That’s for me to know, and for you to hope they’ll trust you enough to clue you in.”

Eddie hugs his arms around himself, shielding his vital organs from Robin’s magazine of words hurtling toward him. Each one stings more than the last, but he powers through. “I wanna make it up to them. I want to be normal around them.”

“Try not drinking an entire bottle before you see them next time. Just hang out. Don’t play mind games with them. Be a fucking normal human.” She ticks the suggestions on her fingers. “You can’t make a grand gesture after two years of not seeing them. It will take time for them to trust you again. Especially with your later track record.”

Eddie huffs, trying to calm himself as Robin berates him. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. This will take time.”

“Don’t do it for their sake. They’re okay without you, y’know. I don’t wanna see them hurt like that again. So if you’re gonna try to be in their life, in our lives again, you better fucking mean it.”

Eddie nods so hard his head pounds. He means it, he swears he means it. Robin nods back, doubt still painted on her freckles. She doesn’t believe him.

“Rob?” She looks back into his eyes, and he can read the hurt in her expression. He’s been so caught up, living what he thought was the only dream he had. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

She scoffs, this time less convincingly. “‘Course ya are.” It takes everything in him not to wrap his arms around his estranged friend, muttering apologies until the sun sets. But he has other things to fix now, more amends to make.

—

Your POV

You’re smoking a joint in the dressing room of the club. The openers tonight are some Vegas locals, you forget what they’re called. Your friends are socializing somewhere backstage, waiting for the show runner to summon you to the stage. Usually you’d have joined them by now, but you’re marinating in Eddie’s words of last night, trying to find a hint of truth in them. You don’t know if there is any, if anything would convince you Eddie would choose you over his dream. You’d never asked him to, you never wanted him to have to choose. Being with him through it all was the point. But he chose to stop making you a priority the bigger Corroded Coffin got. The more attention he received from the public, the less you received from him.

Your eyes are closed, joint between your lips as My Drug Buddy plays quietly on your little radio when there’s a knock on the open door to the room. You mumble a “come in,” expecting Harley to touch up your makeup, or Steve to give you your pep talk.

“Hi.” His familiar voice sends a chill down your back, and your eyes shoot open. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame like an out of place mannequin.

“Hi.” You shift on the couch, sitting up and crossing your legs as if to look more awake than you feel. He doesn’t say anything else, and you’re not sure why he’s here, but you’re tired of walking on eggshells any time he’s in front of you. You offer the still lit joint in his direction, not moving so he’d have to walk to you to get it. “Smoke?”

He can’t resist, he pushes off the wall and walks toward you, plucking the burning herb from your fingers. “Mind if I sit?”

You shrug, scooching over slightly to make room for him. You watch as he inhales the smoke, closing his eyes as he fills his lungs. He’s already dressed for the show, his shirt a plain white tee he’s cropped so it sits just above his navel, and his jeans majorly ripped at each knee. Sylvie’s question rings through you again. Do you miss him? Based solely on this moment, his proximity to you, his knee daringly close to brushing yours, you think you have your answer.

Before you can ask, Eddie speaks again. “Look, about last night,” He pauses to ash the joint, bringing it to his lips once more. “I was wasted. That wasn’t fair to you, having to listen to all that. I didn’t mean for you to see me like that.”

He passes the joint back to you, and you inhale deeply before responding, tasting the remnants of his own mouth on the filter. “It’s okay, I get it. I know it’s hard being around me like this.” You look to the floor, trying to ignore the way your heart continues to bang in your chest.

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. I mean, of course it’s hard, seeing you again. But not because you left, not because anything you did hurt me. It’s just, being reminded of what could have been. What I did wrong.”

You look back into his eyes, and they’re misty, sparkling in the harsh lights of the room. He doesn’t blame you for leaving him? “Did you mean what you said? Last night?” You’re not sure what you want his answer to be.

He hesitates for a second. When he responds, it’s like he’s ripping the rug out from under you. “I think I did. I do, I mean. I do mean it. But that’s all hypothetical. I don’t expect you to trust me, I did a lot of things wrong when we broke up. But maybe we could just, I dunno, be friends? At least for the tour.” His smile is sad, but his words make your heart flutter. Friends. It’s more than you could ask for, all you’d wanted was civility, peace of mind. But “friends” sounds so hopeful, so promising.

You nod, plucking the joint from his fingers again. “I really, truly, would love that. Friends.”

He smiles again, this time an ear to ear, giant smile that you’d missed seeing.

“Hey, Y/n-“ Steve pauses in the doorway then, cutting himself off to take in the sight in front of him: You and Eddie smiling at each other, sitting so close you’re almost touching. “You uh, you guys okay?” You both nod, and for the first time you’re sure you mean it. “Alright, cool. Death Dance goes on in ten. See you out there.” You catch the knowing smirk Steve sends you, and you bite your lip in excitement, or embarrassment, you’re not sure. When Steve leaves, you chance another look at Eddie, who averts his eyes quickly to the couch space between you.

“I should finish getting ready.” You don’t want him to leave, you’re afraid to lose this mirage of calm with him.

He nods, bringing himself to his feet and offering his hand to help you out. You take it in yours, ignoring the chill that once again shoots through you. “Break a leg.” He says, still standing awkwardly close to you, unsure of what to do with himself. You nod, thanking him silently, and he turns on his heel and leaves you again, alone in the room with several confusing and contradicting thoughts.

—

chapter ix

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld @poisonedluv | send a message to be added🫶

[theknightlywolfe]

Avengers: Age of Ultron - Deleted Scene: Watch Your Six

Just found out this deleted/extended scene exists.

These scenes should have been left in full like this. One, it makes it all less choppy than it ended up being because we follow Cap from the elevator with Hill all the way to the team gathering, but look at that character development and the beginnings of CA: Civil War.

1) Bruce and Maria both point out that Ultron could be doing exactly what he was designed for, and a reminder that peace looks different to different people (don't swing an ax v and quiet).

2) Maria calling out Steve on his tendency to run head first into a fight, which is exactly what he did in Civil War, against advice, making the situation worse.

3) It explains why Thor didn't just call in reinforcements who are better able to handle Infinity Stone related shenanigans and hints at Heimdall having been removed from his post that we later see in Thor: Ragnarok.

4) Tony is already starting to shift blame for Ultron, which is how he started out Civil War.

5) Rhodey stating the beginnings of the schism between the Avengers and the US government, a definitive first step towards the Accords in Civil War and why Ross would be involved from the get go and why the Accords are already written and ready to go when Civil War starts.

6) Natasha's spy training on display in activity and pattern analysis on a mark. Also the implication that she is reading Maria's data compilations and reports in full as well as coordinating with the government via Rhodey. AKA being the person on the team who actually reads all the angles of a situation (the very thing she did all throughout Civil War).

For a movie criticized as being more about setting up future movies than it's own coherent thing, it's wild that they would cut down a scene that does so much heavy lifting of what is to come.

[catalinadearagonsblog]

The Fall of Rhodes began on June 26, 1522, when the Ottomans launched their attack on the island. This was their second attempt to expel the Knights Hospitaller, a Christian military order that had been ruling Rhodes since the early 14th century. Despite their brave resistance, the Knights were heavily outnumbered. After a grueling six-month siege, they surrendered on terms to the Ottoman forces on December 22. Sultan Suleiman allowed them to depart, marking the end of their reign in Rhodes.

Catherine of Aragon was also seen as being an influential figure who might influence her husband and her people. The new Pope Adrian VI, wrote to her directly, shortly before the fall of Rhodes, to invoke in her the spirit of her parents:

"All the world knows the zeal of the late King and Queen Catholic [Ferdinand and Isabella] in behalf of the Catholic faith, whose footsteps Katharine [sic] has followed. Is writing to the King her husband touching the oppression of Christendom by the loss of Rhodes. Begs she will give effect to his exhortations like a good Catholic, and induce him to peace, or at least some good truce, by means of which the power of the Turk may be repressed. Recommends public prayers and processions in England, on account of the sins of Christendom. Henry should act up to his title of Defender of the Faith against the present dangers, which are of more consequence than the schism, which he has almost extinguished."

Sources:

Amy Licence, Catherine of Aragon: An Intimate Life of Henry VIII's True Wife

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

Family has descended upon us, so my usual routine is shot to hell, but at the very least I have a 7am tea watching the sunrise. This morning is blissfully clear and cold, and high in the sky is an airplane contrail the color of a mandarin orange, dripping down the blue in a thick, bright stripe. 

MIL is dying today. She might even be already gone - she was still hanging on when everyone came home from the memory care place, but maybe she decided it was time to go when things finally went quiet. Maybe we haven’t gotten a call yet. Maybe FIL got the call and decided not to call us. Maybe she’s still there: Schroedinger’s mother-in-law.

There are six people in this house that usually only holds two, but for all the people, it’s weirdly quiet. Even when there’s talking, no one is talking. There are no funeral plans, no discussion of cremation or burial, none of the busy-ness that I want to be happening. When Dad died, it was unexpected. We thought we could save him right up until the last few hours. Husbandthing’s mom has dementia. She’s been declining for years. We knew this would happen, but the conversations that I want to happen, the conversations I think need to happen, aren’t.

I keep thinking of deathwatch beetles. It’s too quiet here but it feels too heavy to make noise. We’re here looking through old photos instead of by MIL’s side, which is a choice that wasn’t mine to make. She isn’t my mother and it isn’t my place to step in. 

I cried on the phone to my mom last night: everything reminds me of Dad. I don’t want this to be about my own grief. I don’t want to make this about me. I just want to be a good support to my husband and the family I married into, but everything reminds me of Dad and it’s so fucking hard. She cried back: I’m making you a pot roast. I’m making you cookies. I’m here. I understand. I love you.

His family is different from mine. There are schisms and breaks, jagged lines in a complicated family tree. When Dad was dying, the nurses ignored quarantine rules to sneak my sister and me into his room so we could sit with him and Mom. We made a ring around him, holding each other’s hands and counting his heartbeats. My mother-in-law’s place has no restrictions, but when FIL saw my sister-in-law sitting by the bed, he turned around and left. Maybe he came back later. He should be there with her, my mom said. He knew her longest.

Should is a word my family uses a lot, but right now, I’m the daughter-in-law. It’s not my place to make decisions, nor to pass judgment. I’m biting my tongue bloody and blathering here instead. I’m sitting in a silent house thinking about beetles, making tea over and over and over again. Husbandthing brought sandwiches to the hospital when Dad died. I made soup yesterday. We picked my niece and nephew up from the airport, the same terminal where we picked up my sister last year. She’s going to need her big sister, Husbandthing said then. It was a reminder I needed, and I keep repeating to myself now, he needs his wife. They need a sister-in-law. He needs his daughter-in-law.

We’re going to take a break and see my mom today. It’s a long drive into the woods, and my sister-in-law has never met my mother. It feels awful to be taking Husbandthing’s family away from his own mom, but they want the break. They want sandwiches. They want to make a connection that circumstances over twelve years haven’t let them form. I’m going to cry, Mom said. If you cry, I’ll cry, I said. Let’s be strong together. 

[audiofictionuk]

New Fiction Podcasts - 19th March - Part 2

I think I've met you, but also know I haven't Audio Drama People tell us the worlds your oyster…but what if you’re hungry? One oyster isn’t going to do it for you…is it? So why should we settle for one world? Brothers Ger and Martin O’Malley proudly present a six part mocumentary series called I think I’ve met you, but also know I haven’t. The podcast explores the excitement and furore caused by the discovery of a portal to a different dimension at a sports venue in Ireland. Reports describing similar portals from around the world follow. Long established views are challenged and opportunities are presented for believers in the new reality. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240313-05 RSS: https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2325128.rss

Debatably Arcadian Entertainment Audio Drama A place to listen to everything that doesn't belong on a specific show feed. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240312-04 RSS: https://pinecast.com/feed/debatably-arcadian-entertainme

SYNTXE Audio Drama Fiction audiodramas over a wide variety of genres. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240305-01 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f323c834/podcast/rss

Void Record | Sci-Fi Fantasy Audio Drama Audio Book We abandoned God long ago. Now nothing protects us from ourselves. The future is duller with every passing eon. Soon nothing will be left but records and void. A story across time and space, following the journey of deep space explorers who have found themselves in a unknown world. Politics, religions, cults, gods, and aliens. What horrors or wonders await them across the cosmos? https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240302-04 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/eed60e68/podcast/rss

Apotheosis | Dark Fantasy Audio Drama Audio Book Long has mortalkind been scattered across the spheres, scrounging for life, and meaning. The ancients unlocked their souls and brought forth magic, only to rip it away again with the Schism. Dark days have plagued the races of the Mortalworld for eons since. The power of the Otherworld ebbs and flows at the whims of the gods. Who among mortalkind can reach beyond the confines of their soul and achieve Apotheosis? Countless have tried, most have failed. Still some persist. The gods of old and new wage violent wars, the Mortals their pawns. The universe itself hangs in the balance. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231209-03 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/eed4e204/podcast/rss

The Extrables Audio Drama Five years ago, Yorkadelphia City underwent an event that saw the birth of extra-abled people known simply as “Extras”. With powers ranging from the enviable like super speed to making an entire city block cream their jeans, the impact of thousands of civilians suddenly gaining powers has been felt daily in the years since... The Extrables is a serialized radio drama with heavy emphasis on Satire, Puns, Incredible Characters and of course, Filth.(pretty spiffy ehh?!) https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240315-01 RSS: https://extrables.com/podcast?format=rss

Amrika Audio Book The history of Amrika as told by Rania Hafiz, from the birth of the Republic to its final demise. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240314-01 RSS: https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2329834.rss

Dice & Dudes Audio RPG A weekly actual play podcast, with dudes, dice and a few jokes. Each week we dive into a pen and paper RPG. New EPs Sundays. Currently, we are playing through a homebrew campaign for Delta Green written by our Handler. Follow Working Group Jade-November as they investigate the darkness that lurks among us. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240224-04 RSS: https://feed.podbean.com/addisonlhall/feed.xml

Seonder Audio Book In einer den Menschen unbekannten Parallelwelt genannt Seatria leben die Seonder in fünf verschiedenen Gruppierungen mehr oder weniger friedlich zusammen. Die fünf Gruppierungen besitzen unterschiedliche magische Fähigkeiten, die auf den Sinnen basieren. Welcher Gruppierung ein Seonder zugehört, kann an den Augenfarben erkannt werden. So gibt es die klugen, vernünftigen blauäugigen Vidlus, die empathischen, mächtigen braunäugigen Sentellis, die kühlen, unnahbaren, grauäugigen Audir, die faszinierenden, zerstreuen Nador und die besonnenen, vertrauenswürdigen schwarzäugigen Orare. Jede der Seondergruppen hat ihre eigenen Werte, Traditionen und Ansichten, sodass die friedliche Atmosphäre nie lange hält. Und wo viel Macht ist, herrscht immer viel Neid, Missgunst und der Hunger nach noch mehr Macht... Tretet ein in die Welt der Seonder und begleitet die immer wechselnden Protagonisten in ihrem Alltag durch Seatria, hindurch durch Straßen voll geflüsteter Intrigen bishin zu den dunklen Ecken des Verrats. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240314-02 RSS: https://seonder-podcast.podigee.io/feed/mp3

Three Pilots Audio Drama Sterling Arts and Design presents three pilots for new audio dramas: Unrequested, All The Hype and Onyx Ridge. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240305-02 RSS: https://feed.podbean.com/sterlingartsanddesignthreepilots/feed.xml

Shattered in Stone: A Werewolf the Apocalypse RPG Actual Play Audio RPG Called together from across the globe, a disparate group of garou are set with the task of helping a small village deep in the heart of the Amazon. Upon their arrival, they discover strange effects happening to the very earth around them. The newly formed pack must stop the ravages to Gaia before it is too late while nature and the spirits around them demonstrate one thing above all others: you try to bite them, and they will bite back with force. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240309-02 RSS: https://feeds.castos.com/15467

SHAM:An Irish Alcoholic Audio Book ”SHAM” is a 10-part semi-autobiographical story set in modern-day Ireland about an alcoholic attempting to navigate the crutch of his addiction while quietly struggling with his mental health. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20230817-08 RSS: https://feed.podbean.com/trevamoran/feed.xml

The Struggle: Book 1 - The Struggle Series Audio Book A suburban South Denver family has recently moved to a beautiful neighborhood only to find that their lives have begun to fall apart. Strange knockings and other unexplained events began to happen almost immediately. After Jonathan Stout is asked to leave, his wife, Pamela, is forced to deal with the increasing activity on her own. Minor issues become terrifying occurrences that the family can no longer ignore. Pamela is forced to reach out to an out-of-the-box pastor for help. When all is said and done, no one will be the same as they pursue freedom from The Struggle. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240316-01 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f37dbf10/podcast/rss

[uozlulu]

I want to see the Vampire Chronicles playlist you keep talking about

Thanks for showing an interest in my playlist :D Not only because yay sharing but also this made me weed out all the accidental duplicates and I ended up with like 10 or so fewer songs lol

I should note I think the AMC show had an influence but also the idea of 80's rocker!Lestat did too, so...

Here is the TIDAL link.

I'll list the tracks under a cut since there are so many of them. There's no real set order to them, this is just the order I added them to the playlist.

"You Are My Everything" - Gummy

"Tu Mere Samne" - Lata Mangeshkar and Udit Narayan

"Schism" - TOOL

"Cold as Ice" - Foreigner

"Hold the Line" - Toto

"That's All" - Genesis

"Alone I Break" - Korn

"Physical" - Dua Lipa

"Big Empty" - Stone Temple Pilots

"I Want You to Want Me" - Cheap Trick

"Send the Pain Below" - Chevelle

"Stricken" - Disturbed

"The Music of the Night" - Andrew Lloyd Webber

"Tell It to My Heart" - Taylor Dayne

"Knowing Me, Knowing You" - ABBA

"Total Eclipse of the Heart" - Bonnie Tyler

"Stay (I Missed You)' - Lisa Loeb

"Believe It" - White Lies

"Voiceless Screaming" - X JAPAN

"Slow Hands" - Interpol

"Somebody Told Me" - The Killers

"I Get Weak" - Belinda Carlisle

"Yours" - Conan Grey

"White Flag" - Dido

"Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" - Starship

"What's Love Got to Do with It" - Tina Turner

"(I Just) Died in Your Arms Tonight" - Cutting Crew

"I Want to Know What Love Is" - Foreigner

"Never Be Me" - Miley Cyrus

"Fade" - Staind

"Broken Jaw" - Foster the People

"I'm the Only One" - Melissa Etheridge

"I Miss You" - blink-182

"The Metro" - Berlin

"Bigger Than Us" - White Lies

"Love Is a Battlefield" - Pat Benatar

"We Belong" - Pat Benatar

"Ordinary World" - Duran Duran

"Self Control" - Larua Branigan

"Love to Hate You" - Erasure

"Time After Time" - Cyndi Lauper

"Send Me An Angel" - Real LIFE

"Shadowboxer" - Fiona Apple

"Sunny Came Home" - Shawn Colvin

"Sweet Surrender" - Sarah McLachlan

"Possession" - Sarah McLachlan

"Who Will Save Your Soul" - Jewel

"Building a Mystery" - Sarah McLachlan

"It's a Sin" - Pet Shop Boys

"Lose Your Soul" - Dead Man's Bones

"Always Something There to Remind Me" - Naked Eyes

"Pieces" - Sum 41

"Save a Prayer" - Duran Duran

"Psycho Killer" - Talking Heads

"절망에 관하여" - Shin Hae Chul

"Disillusioned" - A Perfect Circle

"Driven Under" - Seether

"Foever Young" - Alphaville

"Give A Little Bit" - Supertramp

"What Is Love (7" Mix)" - Haddaway

"Was That All It Was" - Jean Carn

"Kiss from a Rose" - Seal

"End of the Road" - Boyz II Men

"Baby Come Back" - Player

"I Hate Everything About You" - Three Days Grace

"Vitamin R (Leading Us Along)" - Chevelle

"Voodoo" - Godsmack

"Judith" - A Perfect Circle

"Always" - Saliva

"S&M" - Rihanna

"We Found Love" - Rihanna, Calvin Harris

"Hold Me Now" - Thompson Twins

"Is This Love" - Whitesnake

"Juke Box Hero" - Foreigner

"Go Your Own Way" - Fleetwood Mac

"Bad Day" - Fuel

"Iris" - The Goo Goo Dolls

"The Outsider" - A Perfect Circle

"THAT'S WHAT I WANT" - Lil Nas X

"If You Leave Me Now" - Chicago

"Every You, Every Me" - Placebo

"Infra-Red" - Placebo

"Gay Bar" - Electric Six

"Miserable" - Lit

"Control" - Puddle of Mudd

"Flowers" - Miley Cyrus

"C7osure (You Like)" - Lil Nas X

"Tragedy" - Bee Gees

"소나기" - BOOHWAL

"When Doves Cry" - Prince

"Just a Girl" - Gwen Stefani

"Alone" - Hole

"I Wanna Be Your Dog" - The Stooges

"The Power of Love" - Huey Lewis & The News

"Minor Feelings" - Rina Sawayama

"From the Inside" - Linkin Park

"Home" - Three Days Grace

"Standing Still" - Jewel

"Caged Bird" - RŌGUES

"Told You to Run" - RŌGUES

"TALES OF DOMENICA" - Lil Nas X

"Only" - Nine Inch Nails

"Free from Your Love" - RŌGUES

"Let Me Go" - 3 Doors Down

"Sabotage" - Beastie Boys

"Hotel California" - Eagles

"Blue Monday" - New Order

"我愛你" - Cody・Lee(李)

"Bring Me to Life" - Evanescence

"My Immortal" - Evanesence

"Going Under" - Evanescence

"Gives You Hell" - The All-American Rejects

"Flesh (Paul Oakenfold Radio Edit)' - Jan Johnston

"Blood & Glitter" - Lord Of The Lost

"Breath" - Breaking Benjamin

"Unfinished" - X JAPAN

"The Only Time" - Nine Inch Nails

"Telephone Line" - Electric Light Orchestra

"I Will Always Love You" - Whitney Houston

"Right Here Waiting" - Richard Marx

"Oops!...I Did It Again" - Britney Spears

"I'm So Excited" - The Pointer Sisters

"You Keep Me Hangin' On" - The Supremes

[moldygreenblue]

'The Chaperone'

I once began writing a fic in late 2020, and completed it in late 2021. I planned on posting it, but never did. The fic is about Widdershins and his chaperone. Said chaperone is an OC, and making an OC original schism generation member made sense because it's pre-canon and it's a sandbox to play with. I called the fic, uh, 'The Chaperone', because I couldn't think of a better name.

Some point last year (late-mid 2022), I re-read The End. Due to what Ishmael said in passing, it had me going, "Hm, considering this canon detail, could he work as a chaperone?" And I ended up deciding to rewrite 'The Chaperone' with Ishmael replacing the OC. The rewrite is still a WIP, with the first section done. If I never get around to finishing the rest, I'm glad to share what I have finished.

Widdershins flattens his shirt, and sighs as he looks upward, letting the raindrops hit his face directly. He has been waiting on the bench for his chaperone to pick him up in the Beverage District for a few hours. Widdershins isn’t sure why the Beverage District is the location, but that what he was told this morning by Montgomery —Monty’s father— after picking his chaperone from a list of seven names: K.W. Anderson, I. Basehart, Alexander ‘Alex’ Denouement, Dorothea S. Markson, Y. Ichihara, Charlotte Haze, and William ‘Billy’ Shears-Campbell.

It was list that had him doom from the start. No captains of a submarine are listed. Six of the seven names Widdershins is familiar with he knows aren’t in any fields of his other interests, like mythology or poetry. Picking I. Basehart was because he had no other choice.

Widdershins continues to wait on the bench. He moves the balls of his feet up, and then moves the heel back down. Widdershins soon stares at the small suitcase resting beside him.

Widdershins doesn’t have an umbrella, because he thought the weather would be wrong. But he doesn’t mind waiting in the rain. He’s used to getting drench in the rain. However, he can only handle the rain for so long. What also doesn’t help is that underneath his shirt is an envelope. Inside it, is a letter meant for Basehart. Montgomery told him that Basehart must read it, and under no circumstances should Widdershins read, as well as get ruin.

“I hope the letter isn’t ruin by the rain. I don’t want to get in trouble with my chaperone before meeting him. Or her.” Widdershins gives out a sigh and leans back against the bench.

“It depends on the letter’s content,” answers a male voice. It’s a male voice that Widdershins unfortunately, know all too well. “Would you kindly give me the letter? I’m curious to know what my associate wrote.”

Widdershins slowly turns his head towards the direction of the voice. Standing several inches away in front of him is an old man with a beard. The beard isn’t what he would call a full-grown beard though. It’s smaller, as well as more neatly trim. Not a rogue hair in sight.

The man is wearing a grey rollneck sweater and white slacks, cover up by an old blue bridge coat that goes down to his knees. The man is frowning, and a ‘tch’ escape from his lips as he stays dry underneath the black umbrella he’s holding. Widdershins isn’t shock to hear the man’s disgust upon seeing him. Ishmael never like him for being an ‘outsider’, as well as other things.

Widdershins had hopes he wouldn’t see Ishmael again. Ishmael months ago, moved back to his home of New England for reasons no amount of eavesdropping could discover. To think he was free of Ishmael, only to once again be back in Ishmael’s care again.

He keeps his mouth set as he stands up, and pulls the letter from underneath his shirt. Widdershins hands the letter to Ishmael. He hates how the man’s hands are still the same. Warm and rough. Warm and rough that hurt when getting slap across the face.

Ishmael takes the letter, and then gives Widdershins the umbrella to hold. Widdershins watches the old man tears open the envelope, stuffing into his right pocket. Widdershins swallows the suddenly form lump in his throat as Ishmael reads Montgomery’s letter. Ishmael gives a scoff and shakes his head, folding the letter carefully, placing it into his left pocket.

“I thought you were a chemistry teacher, Ishmael,” says Widdershins, handing the umbrella back to the man. “Why are you on the list of chaperones? When did you even came back?”

The corner of Ishmael’s mouth twitches; Widdershins suspects he’s fighting the urge to say, “Call me Ish.”, or some variation. Ishmael keeps quiet as he holds the umbrella over himself, allowing Widdershins to get soak in the rain again. “Montgomery sent out a dispatch saying he needed volunteers to be potential chaperones to an unexpected group of neophytes a week ago. As my time in New England is now done, I responded, and came back. I never thought you’ll be part of that expected group, considering your background and circumstances.”

“And I never thought I’ll be force to learn about chemistry against my free will again.” Widdershins quickly slaps his hands over his mouth. He shouldn’t have said that at all.

“Believe it or not, I have other interests,” says Ishmael, narrowing his eyes. “I have a minor degree in oceanology, and have experience out on open-waters on ships such as the Pericles, the Penelope, and the Persuasion. Most importantly, I’ve done numerous deep-sea missions in the bathyscaphe Starbuck. I’m no stranger to the ocean. My experience at sea is greater than you think, Widdershins.”

Widdershins slowly removes his hands from his mouth, and briefly curls a lock of his wet hair upward. “I doubt it’s more than a submarine captain could experience. How will you be being my chaperone work if you only ever controlled a bathyscaphe? It’s a deep-sea submersible, yes. But it’s not a submarine.”

Ishmael keeps quiet as he outreaches a hand, and tucks the same wet lock of hair behind Widdershins’ ear. The man then gently pats Widdershins’ face, before turning around, and walk away. “All in due time. Now, would you kindly grab your belongings and follow me? I asked you to meet me in the Beverage District because my lodging is here. I don’t want you getting lost and in trouble in such a place like this.”

Widdershins rubs the patted spot on his face, and quickly grabs his suitcase. As he runs after Ishmael, Widdershins hates how unlucky he got with picking his chaperone. But he figures, having survived the man’s care once before, he can do it again. He endured much more and worse before Ishmael. Yes, Widdershins can endure it all over again.