#there was also a bit about using the cremated bodies as well which is what nya was gonna say

[riptidesblog]

Morro: I want a cool weapon.

Nya: So I counted and...if we kill about 400 grown adult men and extract the iron in their blood,you could make a pretty neat sword.A sword from the blood of your enemies.Also-

[crossedsabers10s]

hey i was wondering if you have any headcanons or theories on what if enzo had been the one to escape augustine instead of damon? i know enzo probably wouldn't leave damon but what if something happened and he does. idk i just find the idea really interesting that's all.

ah so, someone actually asked me this once and this is what i told them (paraphrased a lil):

To the person who asked me this the first time: thank you this is still one of my fav ideas <3

And to the anon who reminded me this exists: thank you, ily <3

So. The way i figure, Enzo wins the rock paper scissors, but Damon actually gets disappeared earlier. Enzo gets told that he was disposed of--like old equipment or a sharps bin or something--that keeping two vampires was too much a risk or getting too costly. Plus. Like. I'm sure Whitmore knew all of Enzo's baseline stats, maybe he noticed he was improving? (Which. Makes me question how the hell they didn't notice one of their patients was a step away from desiccating in canon but--) But Damon actually got given to someone else doing a different project. And Whitmore throws Enzo Damon's ring as proof, probably in effort to break his spirit.

So Enzo carries out their plan alone--it was more difficult, but he'd been drinking both his and Damon's rations for long enough that he manages. He escapes goes on a very bloody rampage and burns Augustine to the ground. He finds Maggie, or Maggie finds him. They get their love story, at least for a while, bc Maggie doesn't want to turn (or maybe she does and they stay friends? or lovers and friends or--)

Eventually, he wanders into Mystic Falls—because, the thing is, Damon had told him about Katherine. There had been a day or week or long month where he had been sure he’d die in Augustine and he’d made Enzo swear to get her out for him. Told him about the amulet and the comet and the tomb. 

So. Enzo rolls into a town where—well, first, Gale and Sarah are alive and living with Zach—and second, Damon’s brother is there. Enzo watches Stefan stalk Elena for a while—he’s never seen Katherine, but he had heard Damon describe her enough that he absolutely knows Stefan is Being Weird about this—before dropping by the Boarding House, very polite and chatting with Sarah, Gale, and Zach before Stefan walks in and clocks him for a vampire. Enzo keeps on being polite like ‘yes, also a vampire, not here to hurt you, don’t worry about it’ and tells Stefan that his brother is dead. He’d died decades ago. (He does Not show him the ring he keeps on a chain around his neck, right next to the wedding ring, if he ended up married to Maggie. Maybe he should give what’s left of Damon to his brother—since there hadn’t been a body, Enzo’d been told he’d been cremated—but he Does Not Want To. There’s a thought there about how Enzo had been the one to mourn him while Stefan hadn’t even known he was dead.)

Anyyyway. Canon happens with a bit less collateral damage, as Enzo had his emotions on and wasn’t quite as invested in fucking with Stefan as canon!Damon was. He gets the amulet, Emily, with the excuse that it was Damon she made the deal with and Enzo does not have the right to use her amulet as a key, still intervenes, but eventually the Tomb gets unsealed and Enzo discovers that, hey, Katherine was a giant bitch. Who knew? (He makes it a life goal to kill her, after that. Remember that time Katherine /did/ end up trapped in the Tomb? Enzo shows up with a few gallons of gasoline and some smokes and scared the unlife out of her.) 

Canon continues to happen—as Enzo sticks around to try to find Katherine/and then to protect what’s left of Damon’s family once the Originals roll into town. (Lexi is also there, because she isn’t dead. Both of them take turns filling Damon’s original role of protecting Elena/turning Caroline/dealing with Mason so on and so forth. Lexi is the one to get bitten by Tyler, Stefan still sells his soul to Klaus for a cure. He’d just discovered that he lost his brother—and, you know, didn’t even notice—he doesn’t want to be left Alone for the rest of eternity.)

Canon remains mostly on track—a few differences here and there, but Esther still gets re-alived and the Ball still happens. 

So. Uh. Right as the toast is going down—the one that would link all the Original Sibs to each other so their mother could gank ‘em all at once—someone walks in and—uhhhh, well. Enzo drops his drink. 

Because, the thing is. Damon isn’t dead. 

Damon, had, in fact, been sold to yet another mad scientist, this one obsessed with magic. Like, the guy wanted to unlock the secrets of vampirism, but not how their blood heals. He wanted to unravel what makes them. Like reverse engineering Esther’s spell. Maybe even he’d been after/interested in Silas and rightfully liked vampires as the next step down from it. Or he’d even tracked down Silas’ doppelganger bloodline and mistakenly thought it was Damon instead of Stefan due to the blood they share. 

So Damon spent fifty years being put through ritual after ritual, used as ingredients, had his mind, body, and very lifeforce played with like putty. He’s got magic runes and sigils inked and burned into his skin, scars that refuse to heal from magic so dark it makes Expression look like Glinda the Good’s bubble spells, and a whole host of new issues because he’d been alone for fifty years. 

Like. Anxiety, severe depression accompanied by an emotional flatness that often ends in dissociation. (I’ve legit been thinking of this as: In Which the Author Gives Damon Salvatore Anxiety *Evil Cackle*) Plus the magic that’s been dragged out of his soul makes him more prone to like. Just not paying attention to the physical world. He just stares off into space, blank faced and lifeless as any slightly glowing statue.

So. Yeah. After that, Elijah, of all people, finds him. Maybe Evil Magic Scientist died and one of the witches who knew Elijah went, maybe he’d like to hear about this? (As I imagine Elijah was forever looking for some way to break Klaus’ curse/restore Kol’s magic, he just never mentioned it to not get their hopes up, and he just. Kept up the habit even after he thought Klaus yeeted their sibs into the ocean.)

Elijah rescues him, debates killing him out of mercy, but doesn’t. And Damon spends some time recovering on a beach in like France or something. Elijah is the one to break it to him that Katherine is alive and free, that his Augustine friend is too, is living with his brother in Mystic Falls—and like. Damon wants to go there, but also—he’s traumatized, with powers he can barely control, and there’s the nasty thought that he’s been replaced. That Stefan has a new, better brother in Enzo, that Enzo has a new best friend who isn’t broken and moved on with his life when Damon’s been stuck missing him for more decades than he cares to remember, that if Katherine never cared about him at all, what does he have to live for? 

So. Damon walks into the ballroom, skin still tingling from the magic burned into him, a scar curving under his eye from where it had been cut out, spelled, and then put back in, and gives most of the people there a variety of heart attacks when he very casually knocks Elijah’s drink out of his hands, says ‘oops’, and then walks back out. 

…

There should be better music. 

The town’s rebel son coming home after half a century should rate better than a lackluster rendition of Clair de Lune. Like AC/DC. He likes Back in Black. It’s exactly the kind of music his father would have had a heart attack at, which automatically puts it in the running for Best Things About the Twenty First Century. 

Right up there with the clothes—or the lack thereof—the cars, and the sheer magnitude of the internet. 

…

“You’re late,” Elijah says, acting as if Damon walking into the black tie party of the year wearing jeans, a flimsy T-shirt, and motorcycle boots was the plan all along. He doesn’t even have a jacket, putting all the silvery scars and stark black arcane sigils on his arms on display.  

Hell, maybe it was. Elijah is hard to read at the best of times. Let alone right after his long dead mother pries her way out of the afterlife to throw herself a party. He’d been oddly reserved in his correspondence lately, not giving his opinion on the events one way or another. Just another reason for Damon to come to Mystic Falls in person. Elijah going cagey after Damon had grown used to the man being bluntly honest, if somewhat polite about it, had been disquieting. 

And it’s a good thing he had decided to return home at long last—after months of avoiding even the thought—with what he’d learned not even half an hour ago. 

“Sorry,” he says, shallow as any of the myriad of glitzed out people staring at the scene they're making. Somehow, despite all the eyes making his skin prickle, no one is really registering as real quite yet. No one but Elijah. And if he’s deliberately keeping it that way by purposely focusing on the Original, then at least there’s no one else in his head to call him out on it. Right now. That he knows of. “I didn’t want to come.”

He snags a champagne glass off the tray as he walks towards the staircase. The dirt on his boots from where he’d been lurking in the garden and not giving himself a pep talk flakes off into the polished floor. 

He used to be good at this, being the center of attention, going to these things all the time. When he was human and otherwise. 

He can do it now, when there’re actually things of importance on the line, but he’s no longer so at ease in his own skin and the crowd of people is leaving him—

Not nervous. 

Damon doesn’t get nervous. 

Uneasy, maybe. 

Paranoid, definitely. 

…

The entire room watches as champagne drips down the stairs. 

Belatedly, he says, “Oops.”

…

He’d been hanging out on the window to Esther’s spell room while she was with Elena and Finn while in the form of a crow—a nifty power that he actually likes. He actually prefers being crow shaped to human some days—and overheard their whole plan. Including Finn and Esther’s jabs at Elijah. Who he is spectacularly attached to, even if they both prefer to pretend that he isn’t. 

…

“You told me my brother was dead.”

Enzo doesn’t look away from the ghost across the ballroom. Faintly, he says, “I thought he was.”

“You lied to me,” Stefan says, so quietly that he could scarcely be heard over the noise of the room. 

Enzo manages to tear his eyes away Damon’s tense silhouette. It takes a certain amount of willpower to not immediately turn back. He looks at Stefan, whose hands are clenched around an empty champagne glass so tightly it is just as much a miracle as Damon’s appearance that it hasn’t shattered. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t—“ 

All of Enzo’s words abandon him at the soul-deep betrayal Stefan can’t hide. 

They hadn’t gotten along in the beginning, he and Stefan. Not when Enzo had only known him as the man who hadn’t even noticed his brother’s absence. Not when Stefan had only known him as someone who had barged his way into his perfect high school fantasy, bringing bad news and worse intentions as Enzo had done his best to fulfill Damon’s wish to see Katherine free. 

(He’d been almost glad that Damon hadn’t been there to see that godforsaken tomb, to know that the woman he’d died for had skipped merrily away while he’d devoted his life to getting her back.)

… 

“No big deal. I owe you, remember?”

“Damon.” Elijah steps forward. Damon doesn’t flinch as a hand settles into his shoulder and squeezes. Elijah’s eyes are firm as he says, “For this, any debt you think you owe is more than repaid.”

“I don’t think—“

“If anything,” the man continues, “I owe you. You put your life at risk to save my family.” 

And hadn’t that been a delicate way of skirting around the fact that it was family that had put the rest of them in danger. 

“I hung out on a windowsill for five minutes,” Damon protests. 

…

“You,” he says, scarcely an inch away from Damon and staring like he’s two seconds from slicing him open to see what makes him tick, “are not a vampire.”

“News to me,” Damon says lightly, in direct contrast to the blatant way he takes a step away from the Original. That brand of curiosity is one he is more than familiar with and he doesn’t appreciate it. If that step takes him closer to Elijah, then it’s a coincidence. “Should I not be drinking blood, then?”

“Vampires,” it is proclaimed as Kol draws even nearer, “cannot do what you have just done.”

“Have they tried? It’s not that hard,” Damon says, taking another step back. His arm brushes Elijah’s. Who sighs, but takes a single step forwards, extending an arm as he does. 

Damon doesn’t sigh in relief, but he does lose some of the tension he hadn’t realized was in his shoulders. Not all of it. But some. 

Kol frowns down at where Elijah’s finger is touching the center of his chest, stopping him in his tracks. He exhales petulantly, but stops staring at Damon like he wants to weigh his liver. “‘Lijah, your pet turns into a bird. How?”

…

“What have you brought into the house?” Rebekah asks her brother, eyes on Damon. 

…

Damon isn’t a witch or anything, his powers are like. The result of having the magic that made vampires stripped bare, broken down, and amplified. It gives him powers closer to what vampires had in the Vampire Diaries books—though def not as strong as his much older book counterpart. 

This, of course, leads to Kol going on a research spree, because this is the closest he’s come to getting his magic back since it abandoned him. Cue multiple scenes of Damon running tf away while Kol pokes him with a stick. Elijah dumps all of Evil Magic Scientist’s Research on his brother to cut down on the instances of Damon hiding somewhere in the rafters. 

Klaus absolutely tries to use him as an asset, except Elijah is fond of him and Damon can and will find a flock of crows to chill with for a week or two to hide. 

…

“And you thought that what? Taking over my life would be atonement?”

“I—“

“My town, my family, my brother? Leaving me there wasn’t enough, you had to replace me?”

“Da—“

…

Enzo slams him into the wall. Damon falls silent. The placid look on his face can’t disguise the rage, eyes glinting like ice in the light. It’s the most emotion Enzo’s seen from him since— 

It’s the most emotion Enzo’s seen from him since he’d popped back up, miraculously alive and in the company of Elijah, of all people. 

…

“Because the memory of you was all I had left!”

…

So. That. Stefan, who has been feeling guilty over Augustine and everything, is relieved that Damon isn’t dead. Enzo, who has spent. Years of his life loving Damon’s ghost, now has to deal with a walking, (sometimes, not often) talking man who looks through him more than at him. 

 Elena, Bonnie, Caroline, ect. Try to be supportive while also being not as trusting, bc Damon is v obviously on the Originals (Elijah’s) side. Though he won’t hurt them or anything, and, in fact, is more likely to zone out and leave the room, he’s still like an active obstacle to getting rid of the Mikaelsons. And then there’s a whole new subplot that Stefan and Enzo are invested in called Getting Damon Away From the Originals. 

(Damon barely notices this. He’s in Mystic Falls again. It’s weird. Whenever he’s human shaped and not with Elijah and Stefan/Enzo and all the complicated feelings he doesn’t get as a crow arent at home, he basically haunts the Boarding House like a ghost. The human relatives keep giving him food he doesn’t eat and Sarah keeps sending him playlists on the phone/computer he barely knows how to work. She eventually makes him an actual mix tape on a tape recorder he knows how to work called Music My Grandpa Doesn’t Listen To. Gale will show him baby pictures and like. Will occasionally get a very disjointed anecdote from Stefan’s childhood in return. Zach will sit with him in nervous-at-first—on both ends lol—silence and watch TV. Damon absolutely won’t drink something if any of them pour it, esp Zach, they notice this and stop trying.)

Eventually, Katherine rolls into town and tries to start a makeout sesh with Damon to make Stefan jealous. (She makes Enzo jealous instead) and Damon. Uh. bites off her tongue. It’s a thing.

So, there’s a long road of Damon coming back out of his shell, being more present, complete with the occasional backslide and a few instances of him forcing himself to act like he used to to be ‘more normal.’ Enzo stays very patient through all this, helping him recover, respecting his boundaries, and just generally trying to do what Maggie did for him. Stefan does his best too—the more Damon gets more used to everything the wilder he gets, which Stefan both appreciates and does Not lmao. The Originals move on to New Orleans, Damon stays in MF, which both he and Elijah decide is a Good Thing for him, bc he’s more stable/is less codependent these days. Still visits tho. Which. Skews things a lil bit, to have a magic vampire dropping by in NOLA. 

I did end up using some of this in my Feral!Damon series actually, tho the beginning is different, mostly the interactions w his human family

[essayofthoughts]

So I had a terrible terrible thought.

Oh Wise Friend of Paleopathology... what do you think you would be able to learn from Percy's tomb, whenever he kicks the bucket and ends up buried? Assuming a language barrier + at least a few thousand years (and Kiki can't just chime in if still alive).

What strains of his life would still be on his bones? What about the teeth? What do you think Whitestone’s burial customs would be like (and how would his status/history be conveyed in that context)? Would any fabrics used in funeral dress be likely to survive, or only his wedding ring + buttons + whatever that shiny thing is in his ascot?

What would you, future archeologist, make of that earring in just one ear???!

I would note that it has been several years since I properly studied the subject, but Palaeopathology and Skeletal Analysis were some of my favourite classes and I do remember a fair bit. But for any currently practicing Archaeologists - forgive my oversights. It has been Too Long.

Now. Before I get to anything else in this scenario, we have to think about the likely context. This word means different things in Archaeology and Anthropology but for our purposes here today the short definition is "What is he found with? Where do we find the body? Is there a tomb, a grave, grave goods? What is there here that is not the body, that can tell us about how the body got here?"

I don't know how to explain to you that this is one of my favourite parts of archaeological thought - everything matters, everything plays a part, everything is context enabling us to better understand a site or an artefact. Every new thing we discover is another datapoint to weave into a greater whole until the web resolves into something greater than the sum of it's parts.

So in this instance we're going to have to start with the following questions:

Where is his body interred?

What kind of inhumation is it? (graveyard, cemetery grave, wooden coffin or vault casket or leaded sealed, mausoleum, crypt, ossuary?)

How well preserved/damaged is it?

What are the burial customs of Whitestone nobility and how will that affect things?

Why am I exhuming it?

Now, we know a few things from canon, most namely that the de Rolos had a family mausoleum beneath their castle. This suggests a formal burial in a family crypt. We do not however know if the bodies were placed in coffins, or niches or even if they were cremated! From the transcript of Reunions Pt2:

MATT All right, so. You progress through the undercroft as quietly as possible. You notice as you get past the first section, you look to your right and left and the inside of these small like cubby offshoots that contain these separate ten by ten stone tombs. The walls have shelves burrowed into it, in which there are urns and small gems and offerings-- things that were buried alongside the family members as part of a remembrance. →

So it seems like some may have been cremated! Being adherents of Pelor, this doesn't actually surprise me - the sun burns, after all. But then again, neither would traditional burial - Pelor is also associated with agriculture and standard decomposition returns you to the earth that fed you.

Though... that would be a bit complicated in a sealed stone tomb.

Given also how I'd equate to modern time periods and technology levels... I'm inclined to say embalming hasn't taken off in Exandria at the time Percy dies. And... even if it was possible, I rather feel it'd be associated with Necromancy more than standard burial, plus Whitestone is predominantly Pelorian and Percy's wife is Champion of Pelor, and Pelor is god of agriculture. Embalming chemicals seep into the soil and are catastrophically bad for the environment - there's a reason American cemeteries expect caskets to be fully sealed and in a concrete vault - to prevent exactly that. I can't see Pelor being down with that kind of embalming, so most likely a body is neatened up, shown for funeral, and buried, with minimal messing about. Even nobles being buried in crypts where they won't immediately return to the soil, I imagine they'd want to stay true to the general idea.

Further, from Matt in that same episode:

#MATT Continuing down, a long set of whitestone-constructed stairs descend for about 45 feet before they level off into the de Rolo mausoleum. A long hallway continues forward that contains two ten-by-ten stone structures that contain the entombed bodies of previous generations of de Rolos, with six passages-- three on each side-- that split off of this main hallway that contain their own stone-encapsulated corpses. → This is a place of silent prayer and showing appreciation for the previous families. Not all of them are full, and there were extensions planned as the family grew, but the first thing you notice is all of the tomb doors are open. →

So the idea is that the graves stay in use! This isn't a case like Sedlec where bodies are periodically disinterred to be reinterred in an ossuary, these are meant to be lasting burials.

So... why am I excavating here?

Given Keyleth's lengthy lifespan I would assume that Whitestone likely survives quite well (yes, even with the Apogee, shush, I've only watched C1 so far). It's also a source of, well, whitestone and residuum, meaning it's likely to remain inhabited. Even given the significant shifts a thousand plus years bring - castles and keeps and forts are pretty good at lasting in some form! We have a lot of remnants of old castles (In Britain alone: Tintagel, Colchester Castle, Tower of London, the Roman Forts at Hadrian's Wall, various Caers throughout Wales), and they frequently get built on or rebuilt over time. In a case like Whitestone, with valuable resources and economic links, even if it were, say, invaded, colonised, etc. - the castle would be a good seat of administration or even just a tourist hotspot. And crypts are well down in the foundations: even if the castle was damaged or destroyed, it actually has good odds of staying intact. The Alabaster Sierras are mountainous, but given the ziggurat survived from the Calamity to when we see it well enough it only took the Briarwoods and Ripley a few years (minus the time excavating down to it) to restore it, it seems that they're not terribly tectonically active.

So... this is likely a very stable site, with good odds of at least 500 or so years of protection (Pike and Scanlan are set to have long lifespans, JB too seems set to live there, all would have reason to see it protected) even before we get to Keyleth's likely thousand-odd year protection. Given that much time to build itself stronger, I see Whitestone as most likely still existing, and the castle a significant historical site and cultural heritage.

I can see some degree of linguistic drift, but if the area has remained inhabited then there's good odds there'd be scholars of the area able to translate Pre-Apogee-Era Tal'Doreian Common. And, likewise, if the area has had so long protected then there's good odds the Chamber is still around, and so there's probably a good library and even recorded genealogy of the founding de Rolos, even if the family itself had died out. (Factual accuracy of these records might be suspect, but I'll get to that.) This kind of persistence of a culture would not be without IRL historical precedent - Ancient Egypt lasted for thousands of years using largely the same Hieroglyphics, even as Dynasties rose and fell. The culture absolutely changed, but good chunks of records were still around.

Given all of this, most likely I can see the reason being some kind of refurbishment of the castle prompting archaeologists to be called in for the safe disinterrment of the tombs and then some kind of funded study by the Chamber of Whitestone of the bodies in those tombs to help inform on who Whitestone's forebears were. This, again, is not without precedent - if I'm recalling my Sixth Form case studies correctly, Christ Church in Spitalfields had a massive crypt of lead caskets that were disinterred, catalogued, studied and, wherever possible, returned to relatives.

Let's return to those questions, yeah?

Where is his body interred?

Most likely in the de Rolo crypt under the castle.

What kind of inhumation is it? (graveyard, cemetery grave, wooden coffin or vault casket or leaded sealed, mausoleum, crypt, ossuary?)

Stone tomb burial - likely dry but not anaerobic. Reasonable odds of non-human disturbances (rats, flies, bugs, etc.)

How well preserved/damaged is it?

Good odds of reasonable preservation. Depending on how well and consistently the crypt is tended it could be best case for the scenario or somewhat less.

What are the burial customs of Whitestone nobility and how will that affect things?

Given Taliesin has said that the de Rolos took a bit from Prussian nobility in etiquette and manners, I'd be inclined to say probably similarly, with an eye towards our 1800s funerary practices simply because that's when the Pepperbox was prominent in our world.

So most likely, Sunday best, plush coffin, but - unless royalty - left to rot. Royals (in the UK at least) have historically been prone to leadlined caskets but that tends to lead to a specific kind of anaerobic putrefaction that results in something called corpse liquor.

Ick.

So let's hope that's not the case. Given Whitestone is primarily Pelorian in devotion, at least in Percy's day, I'd be inclined to say they're not completely sealed - possibly even just interred as bodies, but unlikely - plus the crypt is in the family castle and it seems that the crypts were visited periodically by family prior to the Briarwoods' attack - the odds of someone breaking in to try to steal royal relics is pretty low, unlike the public royal burials in Westminster Abbey.

Why am I exhuming it?

Castle refurbishments prompting a Chamber-sponsored study on the historic remains in the pre-Chamber de Rolo crypt.

OKAY. Now that's all out of the way, let's get into what I might discover, yes?

So most likely I've gone through several other bodies before I get to Percy. During exhumation the details of the tomb would have been recorded - it's placement in the tomb, which tombs it was next to. Now, I would imagine his tomb would be between Cassandra's and Vex's, but while working I likely wouldn't know that! Assuming linguistic drift and font changes, most likely the burials and tombs are labelled in the database something like T6E2 - Tomb 6 of the 2nd East Section. I would then have to find a scholar working on recording and identifying any inscriptions and translating them - so names, dates, quotes, etc.. And, most likely, I would be kept in the dark until I was done! Archaeology is best done without recorded human history to bias one and huge amounts of history have no contemporaneous record to speak of.

Now, if I'm just doing the Palaeopath then likely with a specialist in coffins, caskets and funerary fittings, I would record the state of the coffin and body inside, as well as the positioning of the body inside. Is the body extended (laid out flat as we tend to bury bodies now) or contracted (foetal position, very common prehistorically)? How intact are the remains?

And then, recording everything as I go, I would extract the body from the coffin, bit by bit. I would want to ensure that no bones were left inside the coffin, no tiny tatters of cloth - assuming any remained, cloth disintegrates shockingly quickly and if it wasn't fully sealed it's likely the moths got to it, let alone any rats - and that I didn't misplace any bones as I laid them out per diagram.

Jewellery, buckles - any metal grave goods would also be extracted here and recorded. Also, given Exandria - Detect Magic. Make sure anything enchanted is Identified so we know what it did (hello Earring of Whisper!). Again, I'd probably end up giving them over to someone who knows how to compare them to similar items to properly study them.

Now... Percy's fleshy bits would most likely be gone. Unless he mummified which is not impossible with a dry stone internment but between two thousand years, one's own gut bacteria (remember, modern embalming is unlikely), rats and bugs... yeah I can't see much remaining beyond fragments of cloth and bones.

Oh, and his glasses.

That would have been noted during removing the body from the coffin - this person wore glasses. From my colleague examining them, we'd be able to see if they were prescription (or as historically close as you could get) or if they were a stylistic choice - so we'd know this person had bad eyesight.

Now, the first step after checking every bone is present would be to sex it and to look for damage or signs of wear and tear. Given this is Exandria 1. Gender equality for ages and 2. Magical with options to trans one's gender. This is also a high-status burial so there's good odds this person was living as their chosen gender; and sexing the body could tell us what that was. Even if there's a mismatch - grave goods can also tell us. Is the jewellery more commonly seen on men or women of the era? Percy would likely have a pocket watch (he does make a clocktower! I'd be shocked if he didn't make himself a pocketwatch) which is often a more masculine item, and an ascot pin - ascots are a masculine fashion - and his Earring of Whisper, which is a bit more complicated. Any remnants of clothes could also tell us. And of course - the coffin furniture. Any plaque with inscription, or inscription on the tomb panel. After drawing my own conclusions I would ask my scholarly colleague if their findings lined up with my own.

Given also that this is Exandria, it'd probably also be very important to identify which (DnD) race he was. Elves seem to be more gracile than humans, half-elves likewise albeit to a lesser degree, genasi would likely have magical influences, likewise aasimar, tieflings having horns, tails, hooves, claws, dwarves being short and stocky, while halflings are short and comparatively gracile and gnomes are smaller still. Goblins would be ruled out by size alone, goliaths would be massive and probably have big muscle attachment marks and dragonborn would have very obvious conformation compared to a human.

I don't think identifying Percy as "Most likely human" would be hard - but we can confirm it later.

Now... damage.

Percy's torture would almost certainly show on his bones. Given it was torture, I highly doubt Ripley wasted magical healing on him. It was only a week or two, so likely no broken bones - unless she only wasted enough healing on him to keep him alive, in which case... yeah absolutely some wear and tear. Signs of partial healing, mixed damage. Scarring on the bones, evidence of dislocations, etc.. Likewise, injuries from his time with Vox Machina would show - him leaving his hand in a bulette's mouth probably left marks on those bones, his death at Ripley's hands probably is extremely interesting in the skeletal record - most of his pre-mortem injuries only partially healed if that, while the actual cause of death being healed up completely, a lacuna in the record. Likewise - Percy's cane. If he was buried with it we would probably look for some kind of leg injury. Was the cane an affectation or was there an injury it was compensating for? What injury might that be, what could have caused it? Or even... was he not buried with it? Would we see a leg injury that implies a need for a cane, but no cane to go with it? If so, we could assume that presentation in death had significance, and they were presenting a "perfect" "whole" version of him at death. Again, there's cultural precedent for this! Ancient Egyptians would provide wooden prosthetics and false eyes during mummification because of a belief that how one was interred was how one would arrive to the afterlife - they could be given limbs they had lost or even never had in life.

Just due to all of this I'd probably also take a close look for any evidence of malnutrition - though this might be significantly faded after his many comfortable years retired. That said, Percy was tortured and then washed up on a fishing boat and dissociated for two years. Given this was at the tail end of his puberty, I'd be shocked to find no sign at all of lasting physical trauma at that.

I'd also find he had one arm that was just. Fine. Factory reset perfect. Nothing wrong at all. What the hell. Did someone cast Regenerate on him? (If they did cast Regenerate: did that have an accelaratory effect on any bone remodelling his healing bones were going through after the Vecna fight?

Assuming I've studied some of the other crypt bodies before Percy's this would be very interesting! Most of those would be de Rolos who likely went through little to no hardship - Percy stands out.

I'd also want to check to see his teeth - what kind of teeth care is he getting? Any cavities, calculus build up, abscesses, missing teeth? How worn down are they? Are there any fake teeth? Given Vex would probably chivvy Percy to take care of himself (and wouldn't care for stinky breath) and they have Pike on hand for healing, I imagine he has very good teeth for his age.

This is a good thing.

You see, assuming this is a very thorough study and all of that time between Percy's era and know gives me access to modern technology or some equivalent I would want to a few destructive tests. Namely - carbon dating, isotope analysis and DNA testing.

And these are often best done with Teeth. Teeth are fun! They are growing bones which live in our bones! And we lose our milk teeth and gain our adult teeth on the same reliable time frame as we use to age infant skeletons (sealing of skull sutures in that case) which makes them really useful. Like. Unspeakably useful. Teeth are fantastic. Take care of your damn teeth.

Carbon dating would, obviously, give us a rough idea of how old the body was. This is easier the more recent it is, and much more exact. We can then cross-reference this with the scholar translating inscriptions and checking historical records to see how well the carbon date matches up with the historical record!

DNA testing is the thing that would tell us if he was human, and, depending on how advanced it is, might even be able to tell us a few phenotypic genes! Melanin levels for skin and hair, eye pigmentation - possibly if he was genetically predisposed towards a few diseases. It would also allow us to compare him to other bodies in the data set! We would find out that the female body interred on one side of him was most likely his sister, and while the woman interred on his other side shares no meaningful DNA with him, there are other nearby bodies which share DNA with both of them, being their children! And from those children we'd know that there was a tiefling in the family, which would allow us to infer that somewhere in this family there was some kind of infernal influence.

Isotope analysis - if I'm recalling correctly, you can use isotope analysis to both identify some part of a person's diet in life (carbon and nitrogen analysis, usually) and where they came from (strontium and oxygen analysis).

So we'd have some idea of Percy's general diet, and also know he was local! I imagine given, you know, Exandria, magic - we'd have not just strontium analysis to place him as a Whitestone native, but also likely some lingering magic from the local whitestone rock to further establish that. Now, if I recall rightly, strontium analysis only really works for childhood, but based on the injury and malnutrition pattern, the idea that he either went through hell locally or left in some relation to that is not an unlikely one - just hard to prove.

CONCLUSIONS

We would see from his grave goods and the circumstances of his burial that he was high born and likely associated with the de Rolo family. From DNA analysis we'd know he was related to a good number of people in the crypt and that his apparent spouse was not, meaning he is most likely the de Rolo of the pair. Plus the strontium analysis we'd know he was local and his likely spouse was not, again furthering the idea that he was the de Rolo.

We might also have some idea of how he'd look, and if we decided to try to do a digital or artistic facial reconstruction we'd likely have some pigmentation pointers. Also, we know he wore glasses and that he needed them - that they weren't a stylistic choice.

We'd know he'd been badly injured at various points in his life, and, depending on how severe his various post-Glintshore and post-Raishan injuries were, we might still be able to see the gap of the resurrections in his bones, which would further suggest he was someone of means to have afforded such a resurrection. A lot of his injuries could probably be put down to an adventuring lifestyle, which the resurrections and any evidence of magical healing would probably attest to, and without the kind of surface scarring torture leaves, while we'd know he was injured badly over the course of his life, I don't know if we'd be able to easily conclude it was all at once. Certainly some marks on the bones would seem older than others but bones remodel over time! Some of it might be damn near invisible, while others would remain obvious. He also has a mysteriously perfect arm for Some Fucking Reason.

We'd likely have his wedding ring (I'd be shocked if it didn't have some inscription on the inside; this was very common historically and Percy is a complete sap), an ascot pin, a belt buckle and some buttons or fasteners for his clothing, a pocketwatch and chain (and again, I'd be surprised if the pocketwatch didn't have an inscription or a hidden flap with a miniature of his family or something). We'd have his glasses and possibly even his cane. We'd likely have the Earring of Whisper and based on how well Purvan Suul's two magical items lasted - one of which was not a Vestige! - I'd be inclined to say an Identify would let us know what that was once Detect Magic turned up that it was enchanted.

I imagine someone would also have catalogued any offerings left outside his grave - keepsakes, mementos, inscribed tablets of memorial, etc. which would help to let us know not just who he was but what he meant to the community in which he lived.

After all, the dead do not bury themselves - this is what I meant at the start by context. He was buried by people around him - his community. They chose his grave and his grave goods, they chose the inscription of his tomb (he may have requested it, they chose whether or not to honour that) and they left offerings and markers of what he meant to them.

And... from all of this? Assuming Scanlan really went ham telling the Legend of Vox Machina and bards keep telling it? I'd think an in-world archaeologist could make a good guess as to who this body was even before getting it confirmed by the scholar checking the inscriptions. And with the Cobalt Soul storing information - good odds they'd have a record of Scanlan's version of the tale and their own additions (see also Chronicles of Exandria books, intended as being from the Cobalt Soul). And, also, of course, Tary's version too! There's likely to be several different contemporaneous sources, not to mention later additions from the Voice of the Tempest.

So... I imagine this would probably help to fill out things that weren't covered by Scanlan's tale, refute things in Tary's and generally do as finding Richard III's body did for Britain - give us more information about the person behind all the stories and propaganda. Flesh out their life, give us hints of the hardship they went through - if there's inscriptions on his ring or pocketwatch, give us a hint of the heart he shared with his family.

It certainly wouldn't be everything, but it would be enough to let you touch another's humanity across a thousand years or more.

[beardedmrbean]

It’s almost like a washing machine, if you ask Joseph H. Brown. The casket-shaped metal tank sitting in Brown’s crematory in West Baltimore uses hot water, chemicals and a bit of agitation to dissolve human remains, leaving behind only bone.

The practice, formally known as alkaline hydrolysis, was legalized during this year’s General Assembly session. But the state Board of Morticians and Funeral Directors is still writing the regulations that will govern the practice in Maryland, according to its director. There’s a law on the books, but no regulation, creating what may be a legal gray area for performing the procedure.

Brown, who installed his system in April, said he hasconducted water cremation. He believes he’s the first to do so in the state. He charges $5,000 for it, compared to $1,700 for a traditional flame cremation.

“My mother, who is 94-years-old, she says — joking — ‘Why would anybody pay more for alkaline hydrolysis?’” Brown said. “Let me answer that for you: Some people drive a Mercedes and some people drive a Pinto.”

For his part, Brown insists that he’s following the law, which took effect in October. On Thursday, alongside Baltimore City Councilman Mark Conway, he invited journalists to a news conference at the funeral home, located in Mondawmin, south of Druid Hill Park.

“I’m a licensed mortician. I have done thousands of cremations. Now, I’m just doing it a different way,” he said. “Does the Board have a problem with me doing it? Well, they want me to wait for regulation.”

Brown joked that if authorities come to arrest him for doing so, he ought to “make sure I have on a nice suit.” The media coverage might only drive more attention to water cremation, he said.

“The publicity works,” he said.

Erika Malone, executive director of the board, said the regulations have yet to be released and there is no set timeline, but declined to comment further. The Maryland Department of Health, the parent agency for the board, did not immediately provide a comment Friday afternoon.

A growing base of consumers

Brown’s equipment utilizes water, ethanol and alkaline chemicals to decompose a body in about three hours, tilting back and forth to agitate the solution, the way a washing machine cleanses clothes, he said.

Brown said he spent close to $1 million on the water cremation equipment, which also includes a tank where the water’s pH is reduced from 14 to 12.5 before it is released into Baltimore City’s sewer system, and heads to the Back River Wastewater Treatment Plant for treatment.

For that, he has received a permit from the city, said Jennifer Combs, spokesman for the city’s Department of Public Works, in an email.

According to the Cremation Association of North America, the leftover water is considered sterile, and contains salts, sugars, amino acids and peptides. There is no tissue or DNA left after the process completes.

After the process, the bone fragments are dried for several days before they can be reduced to an ash-like substance, which could be placed in an urn like other cremated remains. The water cremation process actually produces a higher volume of remains than fire cremation, because less material is lost to the surrounding air, Brown said.

Brown declined to say when his funeral home, a family business that he calls the oldest African American funeral home in Maryland, completed its first water cremation, or how many have been completed, saying he didn’t want to give authorities “ammunition.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m doing something that is different,” Brown said. “Some people might object to it, but I feel that there is a growing base of consumers that will stand up for me in providing this service to the state of Maryland — and nothing goes out into the air.”

A lower carbon footprint

Brown touted the process as a greener option for death care. For example, during a water cremation, the liquid is heated to about 140 degrees Fahrenheit , cooler than boiling.

During a fire cremation, the temperature reaches more than 1,000 degrees, requiring a great deal of fuel. The Brown funeral home uses propane, which has a lower carbon footprint than other fuels such as natural gas. But for water cremation, the funeral home uses an electric water heater, bypassing the need for fossil fuels altogether.

At least one traditional crematorium proposal, from Vaughn Greene Funeral Services in North Baltimore, has drawn criticism in Baltimore, in part because of neighbors’ concerns about air emissions from incineration.

Conway, who represents the city’s fourth district, proposed a bill in October that would further limit the zoning districts in which crematoriums can be operated.

“Our proposed rezoning is not an opposition to funeral homes or sustainable death care alternatives,” Conway said in a news release. “We are, however, opposed to placing a human waste incinerator within such close proximity to our schools, homes, and families. Aquamation provides an environmentally responsible choice, and today we stand in support of that.”

Some mourners view the water cremation process as gentler on the body, making it more favorable, Brown said.

“Some people prefer water to fire,” Brown said. “Water is so spiritual.”

But not everyone is confident the trend will take hold, the same way that cremation, which was once unpopular, has grown to make up about 60% of the death care industry in the United States.

Jack Mitchell, a past president of the National Funeral Directors Association, said he believes that natural organic reduction, wherein a body is broken down into soil, may take hold instead. The procedure was legalized in Maryland at the same time as alkaline hydrolysis.

“It’s even more environmentally friendly than the alkaline hydrolysis, and it’s not icky,” said Jack Mitchell, who is also president of the Mitchell-Wiedefeld Funeral Home in Towson. “People love the notion that the soil that is the end result, that is mother’s remains or grandma’s remains, you can then use it in the garden.”

“When you see those flowers growing you can say, ‘That’s mom,’” Mitchell said.

[amanita-the-spore-druid]

Computer is broken so moving one of my fics to tumblr

Deare Diary

A 2010s AU Post Mortum Fanfic from soda's perspective

Agust 15:

Deare Diary, a cuple weeks ago Darry talked with Pony's school and got us set up with a shrink and she got us to start jornal's after todays visit. Nothing much today, but Pony's been asking about going to the libary recently.

Agust 17:

After Darry left for work me and Pony walked to the libary. I wound up spending 30 minuts arguing with the guy (oh wait pony's not gonna read this). I spent about 30 minuts arguning with the fucker at the desk while trying to set up a card for pony. He mostly just checked out books on computures, which i guess makes sense because im pretty sure he spent all of yesterday just messing with the computure. But weirdly enough, he also got like two books about brains i think? i think one of them was like 'something something nurology'.

Agust 20:

Pony's spent the past few days just reading in his room, i went to check up on him and it looks like he has tons of notebooks full of stuff written down, but he fell asleep at his desk so i just put a blanket over him and left him alone. I invited a couple freind's over for a bit, and it turns Johnny's parents didn't pay for cremation or a coffen, and some of them said hes still at the mortuarry morticen murt the place with the corner man where they preserve the bodies. After they left it was getting close to the end of darry's shift so i made him and pony some sandwhichs. Of course pony refused to eat the bolone, he just fucking took it out. No clue why he's been so Weird about it since he got Back.

Agust 21

Today pony showd me what's he's been working on for the past week. its this weird program that converts code into like words, but does it without needing to like tell it how to say things, it just creates this weird voice. he showed it off by making it sing this old song, aparently some other computure nerds made soemthing lik it and made that same song. think it was called daisy bell. pony's also been asking to start going to church on sunday's again but darry got this new weekend security gaurd job, i hate to break it to the kid.

Agust 22

Darry and Pony got into a fight today. pony had skipped school today, And had apparently one of shepard's boys saw him and called darry immediately. Pony also had one of those notebooks on him, which darry Tried to look through. i told him to just drop it and they both stormed off to there rooms. pony refused to let me in to talk, poor kid. And then I walked in on darry smoking outside.

"You know ponyboy wouldnt like that." I told him,

"Yeah yeah, who gives a shit?" he said, before tossing his smoker on the concret patio and crushin' it.

"Hes been real fussy about smokes since he got ba-" "HE WAS GONE FOR A FUCKING WEEK, HE ACTS SCARED AND DIFFRENT!"

after shouting darry just crumbled against the door. "And he wont tell us what happened..."

Agust 23:

I got up extra early, really early, to be up in time to make him breakfast. he well, sounded confused when he saw me in the kitchen with a plate of pancakes, burnt eggs, and a black cofe coffee (thanks darry:).) He laughed a bit and offered to clean the mess befor he left but I told him id clean it after pony left for school. i decided to cheer the kid up with some french toast, so I walked to a convince store to pick up some cinoman like Mom used to make it.

Now, I have no fucking clue how they recognized me but some fucking soc fucks decided to open their fucking bitchass mouths when they realized I was pony's brother. "Hey Your the brother of that KILLER right?" some blonde said. "My brother's a fuckin' hero, prep school." the girl with him started laughing her pre- pretens- annoying rich girl ass off, "Atleast he stayed in school grease. And that Ponyboy's no he-" now, misses therapist lady, God, and officers if fate have it, I promise I am not a violent man. HOWEVER, she was going to insult my brother.

The cashear turned around the exact second I decked her. Now, he was greaser too, but he also had rent to pay. "Soda, what the hell are you doing?" he asked me, sounded like darry if 'm honest. Meanwhile blondie was yelling at me but got interrupted by the cashear, "Here's a ziplock bag, soda machine has ice, and Sodey-Pop here is going to pay for a bottle of Advil for the lovly lady." he said, "I am?" "You wanna shop here again?

So after that TOTALY FAIR accident, I walked home and made ponyboy some hero's french toast. ever wonder why its called french toast? i mean we put maple syrup on it I don't think the french got that, well maybe the Canadians are french. holy shit french toast is Canadian? anyways, I surprised the kid with french Canadian toast like mom used to make and told him to make sure he goes to school ill be walking with him.

turns out, that shit at the convince store wasn't the only place people were calling pony a killer. Now, Mrs Beth I new what I did was not aproprate but I have no regret. because when that silver spoon lickn daddy's boy called my brother a killed in my face, and spat on pony's, I had no regret or dobt pushing that little fuck against a locker, nd holding my switch to his neck.

agust 25

I know it was a bit, unkempt I think is the word? to scrible an enetery in your office but the cops held my jornal while I spent a day in the cooler. it was, decent I think. refused to take a shit though, that camera wouldve seen. darry didn't say a word while we drove here, so I know he's gonna be pissed. just, be easy on him. first pony gets detention for skippin' after a fight, and now this.

update;

darry didn't say anything to me, just gave me the keys and told me to drive pony home and pick up dinner. Ponyboy went to the bathroom and I over heard you two, sorry.

"Darrel I know your frustrated but theres very little I can do."

"Im not just frustrated! Im pissed off! i want Ponyboy to be able to head to college, and I want to atleast make sure sodapop is comfterbal. I'm asking, is there any of that welfair shit I can apply for? i don't think I can manage two jobs, and afford everything."

"Of course Mr. Curtis, do you want the papers imedatly or should I find a good few for you?"

"Mr Curtis..."

"My mist-"

"No, its fine. just look for a few you think we can apply for. and please, do something about these socs."

That was all I heard before pony was outta the bathroom and we left. we picked up mcdonalds, and I bought a six pack for darry. lite, I didn't want him getting pickled.

agust 26:

after school, darry offered to watch over pony while I 'saw a frend'. I think they were watching ben 10 while darry looked through the papers since he picked pony up. little did they know, I was going back to the school. i asked about job openings and it turns out theres a security gaurd gig with basicly no requirements. i signed up, and asked for a few extra days this weekend so darry didn't worry.

he was excited to say the least, and pony was shocked I wasn't thrown out when I went to apply. Darry quite his weekend job, and we made plans to go to church since I worked a night shift. after that we just had dinner and all went to bed.

agust 27:

darry was excited just to have time alone with pony, and took him to the library to return his books and get some new ones. i even checked out a cookbook so I could make something for the two before I left for work.

...mom and dad would be proud...

after that we just walked around town for a while, and finally went home for dinner. i tried to make fancy pork chops with the frozen ones we had in the back of the freezer. they came out, well it was a month old so no clue what we expected. darry and pony went to bed, I put on my uniform and headed to work. it was weird, seein the high school after dark like that.

it was mostly boring, until I heard something. a loud crash in the new computure lab. i ran over and I think something was stolen, no clue the whole thing was a mess. i signaled the cops and ran after the prick I saw running out of the lab. I didn't catch the fucker, checked the paper and you'd've known that. i was expecting to get yelled at, but turns out I was supposed to call the cops. lucky me.

agust 27:

darry turned on the news while I made everyone breakfast, turns out the mortuary (thanks pony) got broken into as well. and you know what? I'm telling you Beth, it was them fucking socs. Because Dally and Johnny got their FUCKING BODIES CUT UP. its a goddamn disgrace. when we went to church, the preiest was shocked to see us to say the least. pony promised i'd behave and darry asked if he could make a special prayer for dally and johnny, 'course his holyness did like a true gent.

after church we met with two-bit, steve, and their girlfriends at a greaser bar for dinner. we had a moment of silence for dally and johnny, god bless. when we went home darry took a seat on the couch and said he was going to watch a few movies on the black n' white chanel before he goes to sleep. I decided to check on pony and say goodnight, turns out he was taking a shower before bed (fair enough, the joint reeked like a barbeque pit if you know what I mean)

I noticed that the computer, which darry let him move to his bedroom, had one of the box doo-hickies opened up. i walked over to close it, and saw ...

look, don't call me loony? alright? I'm not, fuck I don't even belive me and I don't needa be sent off to booby-land but I swear to God I saw blood and some pink meaty thing twitching in the box. i closed it. and i swear the computre didn't get turned on, but i heard that bing and heard a voice. Johnny's voice. But it had like the weird robot accent like that daisy bell song robot. i left the room, and just went to work.

it wasn't pony. it wasn't pony last night. Pony would never do that to our fellow greasers.

Maybe i am crazy, if it makes you ask ponyboy less questions.

[sonicasura]

Haven't even thought about poachers and the black marked for that matter. But I have to agree on that matter. Akari would not be so nice to them at all.

Neither is Proto for that matter. He might even have dealt with a good deal of them over the 200 years he's been alive. Before and after he meet Hina. Got to wonder if there are stories going around about a humanoid like chimera in the black market that makes him a highly vauled price to get.

Which gives Proto even more reason to write down a certain wish on his will. See when Proto dies, his getting creamated mainly to avoid No 9 the chance to absorb his body. We don't really know if thats really something he can do, though Meireki Daikaiju inside I won't put it past them both.

Hench, Proto wanted his body becoming ash as soon as he died. As he did not want to take any chances. Beside, Proto knows a hell of a lot more about No 9 than most other creations would as one of the reasons for the escape to even succeed was for Proto to get to know his creator well enough to figure out something that would work. Or at least give him a higher chance of not dying.

Which also means he would warn not only his family but also the DF about that theres something lurking inside his creator. He doesn't know what, he never managed to fully find out about that before his escape. But it most certainly makes my old kaiju feel cold terror runinning down his spine each time he thinks or remember that fact.

Especially so in that what-if path where Proto lives long enough to save Isao from becoming No 9's newest addtion. And as you've said before, Proto gives his creator the biggest Fuck You as he possible can on this path.

Speaking of my old kaiju. Proto has some habits that is either bothersome or just plain bad thanks to his kaiju nature. Would like to try and guess some of these habits?

You can thank the first Pacific Rim movie for the black market bit. I still think it's ironic that such a personally underrated movie explored more of the kaiju aspect than the Monsterverse. Akari and Proto definitely wouldn't show much mercy to poachers or the darker side of humanity.

The cremation idea is actually very smart. When it comes to absorption, the brain is a very vital component as it is where all the information is found. Destruction or damage of such an organ will guarantee something is lost.

Plus there's very little to learn from ashes anyway. In fact, cremation is a very standard practice in Japan for various reasons. When it comes to mythology, this is to prevent evil spirits from using or resurrecting the body into a creature of the undead.

I have a feeling one Proto habit is eating things that are gross and inedible to humans. Personally want to hear what you got.

[aesethewitch]

If you'd like to go to the trouble of saying - because I feel like it may be a lot to answer, and I fully understand not feeling like it - after reading your last line in the Cecil Hotel question, I'm very curious about what your opinion is on what the deal is with cemeteries and how they work? Is there something special about them as far as ghost interactions go, if only due to the emotion and energy that the living pour into those locations? Do they have a tendency to hold or attract ghosts? I've never really thought to go searching for ghosts before, because it always felt like my hometown was bursting with them by default and you could just go wherever, but, in hindsight, when I moved away to a much bigger city, the only time I felt like I was living in an active place (which was very on and off and varied, as if perhaps I was in the middle of a ghost highway, and gave me my one and only inexplicably scratched story, and was its whole own thing), I was living across the street from a big, older cemetery. Also, this isn't quite related, but I thought you might enjoy this fun fact: there is a tiny café built out of an old cottage in my hometown, smack in the midst of some cemeteries, which is possibly my favourite place ever, and it's called The Soup Witch. :)

[excitedly rubbing hands together]

So, I've got a whole post planned for down the line about cemeteries and the things I've experienced in them. But! For now, a shortish set of answers to your questions:

Is there something special about them as far as ghost interactions go, if only due to the emotion and energy that the living pour into those locations?

Yes and no! Anywhere people die is liable to have ghosts hanging around, like hospitals, retirement homes, and the like. Cemeteries have ghosts because that's where bodies are. People's spirits are tethered to their physical bodies, some more than others. It's another one of those things that's very individual. And yes, I think that the power of emotion, prayer, and memory supplies quite a bit of energy in cemeteries! That's why old cemeteries are often quiet and calm, and ones that are being used currently tend to have more activity.

I do also think that if you're trying to invoke a particular ghost after they've faded, their grave/burial site or urn (if they were cremated) is a very powerful place to do so.

It's just simpler, safer, cheaper, and easier to run into a ghost at a cemetery than it is to try and get into a place like the Cecil Hotel, pay out the nose for a tour, and then endure some guy's schtick which is intended to scare rather than inform. Plus, cemetery ghosts are usually pretty cool people.

Do they have a tendency to hold or attract ghosts?

Attract? No. I think they're already there by virtue of having been buried. Hold? Well, kinda. [gestures at the above answer] Tethers will do that, y'know?

... it always felt like my hometown was bursting with them by default ...

That's fairly common! Some places feel like they have a ton of spirits hanging around, others feel very empty. I'm not sure, personally, what makes that difference! However, I will say, in a lot of places that feel "full," the culprits aren't usually ghosts. It's more often other kinds of spirits, which can include ghosts.

Also, this isn't quite related, but I thought you might enjoy this fun fact: there is a tiny café built out of an old cottage in my hometown, smack in the midst of some cemeteries, which is possibly my favourite place ever, and it's called The Soup Witch. :)

.......... [adds this to the list of places I want to go someday]

[bisque-firedvampire]

The Tale of a bisque-fired Vampire

My biggest regret in life was not finishing my transition. Which wasn’t my fault, but my chance was cut short. That alone is enough to make a guy vengeful, but do you know what actually reanimated me?

My family took the time and paid the money to separate out my hand bones and skull, had them cleaned and articulated. They actually cremated me, as asked, and portioned out my ashes to be used in both a pound of clay and to make two memorial diamonds. They followed my will to the letter, and I know that they read it all the way through. I know because of the one thing that they didn’t do.

As I watched my service from beyond, tears began to well up in my nonexistent eyes. My parents did not once acknowledge me as their son. My sister never once referred to me as her brother. And not a single one of my friends whom I was out to, nor my partner, were invited to the ceremony.

I had to sit there alone, and take it, even from beyond the grave… The exact same misgendering which had crushed me in life had managed to affect me here too. And that was too much for me.

I really wanted to believe It could’ve been a mistake. I had to believe that they just couldn’t find the right opportunity during the whole thing… but then they only confirmed it by finishing the aforementioned disposal of my old body.

There was a clause in my will, which would have saved them all that time and money, if they had just acknowledged me. But they chose to jump through all those other hoops instead. In picking the equivalent of “draw 25 cards”, they had inadvertently stacked the deck quite nicely for my return.

When they finally left my remains alone in one place I went to work. I tried out my hands first. Moving the bones was like slipping back on a worn out pair of work gloves. Thankfully they were just as articulate as I had specified in my will. With these disembodied hand, I set the respective memorial diamonds in the eye sockets of my skull. It was dazzling to finally see the world without the need for glasses.

Overjoyed that things were going to plan, I set my newly reanimated skull on a high out of the way shelf. From this vantage point I could survey the next step in my plan without worrying about clouding my new eyes. On the table where they stored my remains, I started to pull out and knead the porcelain ash-clay. I took my pound of once-flesh and miraculously stretched it back out into a proper body. One sculpted, not in the image of who I’d once been, but as I had always wished to become. It pained me to have to slice into the beautiful creation in order to embed my cleaver bones in the right places. I just had to remind myself that it would be worth it.

Next, I needed to let my new form dry out a bit before I could finally install myself inside. Thankfully nobody bothered to visit my old art studio once in that span of time. And It took over a week to dry out completely. During that time I couldn’t help but wonder why no one ever came to do anything with my remains…?

Eventually, as the moisture left my new form, I ceased to care about it. Instead I began to focus on a budding new sensation: I felt a sense of self return to me. One that had been absent in life. It was a wonderful experience, but it came packaged with another. As I reveled in the discovery of this feeling, I also felt the fury animating me grow stronger.

It was a necessary fire that began to stoke within my spirit, one that spread to my, as of yet, unfinished vessel. An otherworldly amount of outrage bisque fired me from the inside out as I realized I could’ve had this feeling in life too if mine hadn’t been cut short!

If I had inhabited a traditional corpse, this would have been the point at which I’d have dug myself out of my grave and made plans to pay my family a nightly visit…

Instead, I jerked into a sitting position on the craft table. Not stiffly, like someone else’s Frankenstein monster, but rather in smooth and fluid motion as my own person. Yes, finally as my own person…

It was a novel feeling, and for a moment I contemplated forgiveness. The thought was only a momentary flash against the dark, overwhelming, need to carry out my own personal vengeance.

They didn’t have to provide me with the means to do this… and yet they did it anyway out of stubbornness! Well, two can play at that game… but I don’t think I shall stoop to that level.

With a quirk of my new ceramic lips, I flashed the world with a sharp porcelain smile as a better idea came to mind. In time, I figure, they will come to regret their choices all on their own. Meanwhile, however, I will do the most vengeful thing I can do with this inadvertent gift they’ve handed me. I will go out into the world and live on without them, this time as my truest self.

And if they don’t like it… well, I could still use a glaze firing, and a fresh brilliant red coat of glaze would absolutely complete my new look.

[supersapphical]

sooo i'm not sure who first posted about claire x patience but honestly it's been rattling around in my mind ever since so a lil drabble about them would be amazing!! <3

YESSSSS Claire x Patience, let's do it!

This is a liiiiiiitle bit longer than a lil drabble because apparently I have no self control when it comes to rarepairs but please enjoy established relationship Claire/Patience on a hunt (also Missouri is alive and well).

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

“You ready for this?” Claire asks.

Claire’s hand grips Patience’s hand tightly as Patience nods resolutely. Claire’s other hand carries a duffle bag full of supplies.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Claire leads her in through the backdoor of the house, which had clearly been broken into before. Patience raises an eyebrow.

“What? It’s an abandoned, haunted house,” Claire shrugs. “Who's gonna care if I break a few locks?”

The air inside the house is noticeably chillier than outside but, other than that, it seems like any other building that’s fallen into disuse. Dust covering the surfaces, a bit of a stuffy smell, nothing that overtly indicates a haunting. And yet, as soon as Patience steps inside, she can sense the spirit’s presence. It’s nothing she can feel, hear, smell, taste or touch. It’s simply sure knowledge that invades her brain, sending shivers down her spine for no good reason.

Claire must notice the change in her demeanor because she asks, “Your extra senses already picking something up?”

“Yeah, you’re right, there’s definitely a ghost in here,” Patience says.

“You ready to get to work?”

Patience nods. Claire gives a final squeeze to her hand before letting go so she can get to work setting up a salt circle around Patience.

“Most ghosts don’t tend to be active during the day but just in case,” she says as she dumps salt around her.

“What do you want me to look for, specifically?” Patience asks.

“Anything you can pick up on that might help me see what’s keeping the ghost here.”

“You already torched the remains?”

“Cremated,” Claire grunts as she heaves the last of the salt onto the floor.

“All set?” Patience asks.

Claire pulls two iron crow bars from her bag and hands one to Patience, “As set as we can be.”

Patience takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She grips the crow bar more as a grounding technique than with any real intention of actually using it. She knew some basic self defense even before taking up the life of a hunter and she’s been taking more in depth hand-to-hand combat lessons with Jody but a deep psychic reading will require all of her focus.

“You should come spar with me sometime, I’ll show you how to actually use that thing,” Claire teases her lightly, indicating the completely unthreatening grip Patience has on the crow bar.

“Quiet,” Patience hushes her but it does give her some encouragement to realize she knew exactly how Claire was gesturing without even opening her eyes. She’s really starting to get good at projecting her consciousness outward.

Or perhaps she’s just gotten too familiar with Claire’s body language.

Patience shakes the very distracting thought of Claire’s body out of her head and tries to center herself again.

“It could be useful, you know, practicing some fighting techniques,” Claire continues.

“You really want me to come beat you again?”

“That wasn’t a fair fight! You cheated,” Claire huffs.

“Anticipating your movements and reacting to them is just what fighting is,” Patiences says calmly, her eyes still closed and breathing even. “That’s not cheating.”

“It is when you’re psychic,” Claire rolls her eyes.

“Do you want me to focus or not? Reading the energy in this room is taking longer than it usually does.”

“Maybe you just have to have some patience,” Claire smirks.

Patience groans, “Your dad jokes are getting worse than Dean’s.”

She says it mostly to shut Claire up and it works because Claire stands there with her mouth gaping open, clearly taken aback.

“You love my dad jokes,” Claire eventually mutters, her arms crossed and an offended look marring her face.

Patience tries to clear her mind again. She’s been honing her gift through lessons with her grandmother, Missouri, who assures her she’s been getting better but focusing her powers still takes her a tremendous amount of energy and concentration. She wishes all visions could come to her as easily as the unprompted ones do. She frequently wonders if she’ll ever be able to access her powers with complete ease, the way her grandma seems to do. Her grandmother tells her (without her ever saying her fears out loud) that it will come with time and practice. Until then, she guesses she just has to struggle through.

With another deep inhale and a slow exhale, she sends her consciousness outward, into the house. Tapping into the house’s strange energy, she follows along in her mind to every corner and cranny, searching out to see if any object in the house has sentimental meaning attached. Sentimental objects always have a different aura.

She startles a little as she bumps up against a strange energy she’s not familiar with. It’s something dark and dangerous. This must be the ghost. It’s strange, to try to connect with the energies of a house and suddenly be connected to a sentient spirit but she supposes it must work differently with dead people. When she connects with the energy of a space, she is feeling out the memories of all that has happened there. What is a ghost but a memory that can speak for itself?

She tries to unobtrusively follow the spirit’s energy, searching for its source in the house. Her consciousness moves through room after room, trying to feel out where this specific energy is strongest.

She’s feeling out a long forgotten upstairs bedroom when suddenly she’s hit with a powerful wave of desperation. Being in this room is torture, being in this room is suffocating her, being in this room is killing her. She tries to quickly retract herself from the room but she can’t, she’s stuck there and she’s being filled with feelings of despair and grief and pain that don’t belong to her.

In the room where her body stands, the atmosphere is changing. The temperature is dropping and a strange wind that seems to come from nowhere is picking up.

“Patience?” Claire asks, lifting up her crowbar so it's ready to swing.

Patience can’t answer. Her voice has been stolen from her. She can’t even nod to let Claire know she’s alright. She can see her own body in the salt circle that Claire had made for her, but everything she is is trapped in the upstairs bedroom.

A shaky apparition appears and Claire swings through it, banishing it but only for a moment before it rematerializes on the other side of the circle. Claire lunges for it, swinging, and banishes it again only for it to appear on the other side of the room.

The room downstairs becomes more and more hostile as Patience tries to escape the bedroom and bring herself back to her own body. Small debris starts circling in the wind as Claire works to keep banishing the apparition every time it appears.

“Patience! Are you alright?”

If Patience had the ability to speak, she’d only scream.

Claire is desperately fending off every attack with her crowbar as the wind picks up, howling louder and louder. Patience knows that Claire is in trouble, she’s a fighter but even she can’t fight off something undead forever. She can hear Claire struggling, fighting as hard as she can to keep up with something that doesn’t even have a living body to tire out. Logically, she knows she needs to move, to help but she’s so outside of her own body, she feels only distantly aware of the danger they both face at this moment.

“PATIENCE!”

Patience hears Claire’s frantic shouting over the sound of the roaring wind but she can’t respond. She can see in her mind’s eye that the wind is wearing away at the careful salt line keeping her safe but she’s too overwhelmed by misery and heartache to move.

Claire is wildly swinging her crowbar at any apparition that appears and Patience is no longer trying to hear she is overcome with the need to be heard. The feeling is strange, it’s such a powerful need that it fills her up until she might burst but it doesn’t feel like a part of her.

She thinks back to the breathing techniques her grandma taught her and tries to bring herself back to her physical body. It’s only doing this that she realizes that this urgent need she is feeling isn’t her own emotion, it’s the ghost’s emotions.

Tears are streaming down her face now as she finally has enough control over herself to quietly whisper to the howling wind, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She projects these feelings towards the being she can sense in the house, she tries to send them all of her compassion while repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

She closes her eyes tight and focuses all her empathy towards the tormented spirit. The wind starts to die down, bits and chunks of debris clattering back down to the floor. The air is less chilly now, the energy less hostile. The only sound now is Claire panting for breath, still clutching her crowbar.

“I should bring you on all the ghost hunts,” Claire says breathlessly, eyes continuing to search the room for any hidden threat.

Her eyes wide open now that she’s back in her body, tears are streaming silently down her face and she can’t bring herself to answer. Claire looks over at her in the silence.

“Hey, hey,” Claire says, walking up to her. “It’s okay, we’re both okay.”

Patience gasps in deep as if it's the first breath she’s taken since she connected with the spirit. She’s trying to remember her grandma’s rules. Ground yourself, keep yourself breathing, keep yourself calm, keep yourself aware.

Claire reaches up and gently cradles Patience’s face in her hands, “Patience, are you okay?”

Patience manages to nod this time.

“Good,” Claire says softly, wiping some of Patience’s tears away with her thumbs. “Are you coming back to me?”

Patience is still unable to answer, her own heart several armies worth of battling emotions.

Claire lets her forehead fall against Patience’s. Claire takes deep, slow, deliberate breaths, her hands still tenderly cradling Patience’s face and shuffles closer until the toes of their shoes touch. Patience closes her eyes again but this time, instead of spreading her awareness out further, she narrows it to only the points where Claire is touching her. The warm place where their foreheads rest together, Claire’s hands around her face, Claire’s work boots pressed up against her own soft sneakers.

She follows Claire’s breath, matching her own breathing with it until she feels like she’s entirely back in her own body again.

“What happened here?” Patience breathes out but then almost immediately says, “No, never mind. Don’t tell me. There’s a—”

She steps abruptly away from Claire and Claire’s hands fall down to her sides, looking almost dejected in the way they hang. Patiences looks around the room helplessly, unable to believe that when she first walked in here, it had looked so ordinary to her. Now she sees it for what it really is: a prison.

Patience takes a deep breath and then says, “There’s a loose floorboard upstairs.”

“Something hidden in there?” Claire asks, still eyeing Patience carefully but willing to take the cue that Patience just wants to keep working. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

Claire takes the duffle and easily walks upstairs and to the bedroom. Patience has a much harder time forcing her physical self to cross the threshold of the bedroom but she follows Claire anyway, knowing that there will be no relief for the spirit she felt if they don’t find a way to release it.

Claire gestures to the room and Patience points to the floorboard she knows holds secrets.

“Huh, actually get to use this thing as a crowbar,” Claire says happily, prying up the floorboard with the crowbar.

Patience drops to her knees, reaching into the hole to find that the floorboard holds dozens of letters, yellowed with age.

“What happened here?” Patience asks again.

“Are you sure you really want to know?”

Patience nods.

“Daughter of a family that lived here in the early sixties, she committed suicide.”

Patience takes this information in. It feels right but also…not.

“The story goes that she went insane so the family had to keep her locked up,” Claire continues. “They kept her locked in this room so she wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

“No, that’s not right,” Patience says and she’s not even sure where the words come from, only that she’s sure they’re true.

“That’s what all the neighbors said,” Claire says. “But most of it was just rumors, I think.”

“She loved someone and her parents didn’t approve,” Patience says, her fingers lightly tracing the letters. “They locked her away so she couldn’t run away with him. These are the only things she had with her, to give her hope.”

A breeze stirs in the room and Claire is on high alert again, tightly gripping her crowbar but Patience doesn’t feel any threat in the spirit’s action, only affirmation.

“We don’t have to burn all of them, do we?” Patience asks.

Claire’s silence speaks volumes. Patience gathers the letter to herself, holding them close, her thumbs running gently along the worn in folds.

Holding the letters tenderly, Patience quietly says to them, “You must have loved him so much. It’s not fair that you have to stay here.”

Claire bows her head, hands clasped together in front of her so tightly that Patience can see bright red splotches contrasting with too pale points where the blood hasn’t been allowed to flow to her fingers properly.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. It isn’t right and it isn’t fair. It’s also not right for you to be trapped here even after death, so it’s time to say goodbye now,” Patience says to the letters and the house and anyone else who may be listening.

Placing them carefully on the floor, Patience looks up to Claire expectantly. Claire reaches into the duffle bag by her feet and digs out the salt and matches.

“Do you want to…?” Claire asks, offering her the materials.

“I’ll do the salt,” Patience says. She takes it from Claire and carefully spreads grains of salt on to each letter, making sure the salt passes over all the folds and creases, before gently setting them down on the floor again.

“Ready?” Claire asks.

“Ready,” Patience says quietly.

Claire strikes a match and it sounds startlingly loud in the quiet of the room. The flame burns bright and illuminates Claire’s fair face in an almost ethereal glow as she bends down to let the fire catch on the letters.

They watch in silence as the letters are reduced to ashes.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Claire says, offering Patience her hand. Patience grabs Claire’s hand and uses it to sling Claire’s arm around herself, nestling close to Claire and snaking her own arm around Claire’s waist. It’s a little awkward, Claire a little unbalanced because of the heavy duffle in her other hand but Patience needs the reassurance, the warm body pressed to her side as confirmation that Claire is still right here with her, very much alive and reachable.

“You’re getting really good at that stuff,” Claire says.

“Yeah,” Patience says, fiddling a little with the zipper on Claire’s jacket because it’s the only thing within her reach to fiddle with.

They walk back to the car in silence, still glued to each other. Patience dreads the moment when they’ll have to separate to get into the car, even if it will be the briefest of moments before they can touch each other again.

Claire throws the duffle in the trunk while still attached to Patience but then they walk to their separate sides of the car, Claire to the driver’s seat and Patience to the passenger’s seat. After they’re settled, Patience reaches out a hand and Claire’s is there to meet her. There’s a heaviness hanging over the car as they both sit silent and still.

“Do you regret coming out here, doing all this with us?” Claire asks her suddenly.

She says the word us but Patience hears what she’s really asking. Do you regret being with me?

“No,” Patience says firmly. “It’s hard sometimes. A lot of the time, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Claire smiles at her and starts the car.

“Me, either,” Claire says and she throws the car into drive and points it towards home.

[eolewyn1010]

Dragging Frankenstein - Chapter 20, part 2

Second half of the chapter that is, at least for me, the highlight of the book; we left off at the Creature's confrontation of Victor about destroying the unfinished Distressing Damsel.

And then the slave speech. What even is this. I don’t know what to do with this. The sheer fucking hubris which he has picked up from Victor and now tries (and fails!) to turn against him. Finally, the assumption of his own superiority, declaring himself Victor’s master and, in extension of that, humanity as a whole his destined slaves, proving Victor’s fears right after all.

DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 14

That’s for his emerging Übermensch mentality.

With the Creature setting himself above Victor, he has completed his Lucifer character arc. Interestingly, he fails to take up where Victor left off; all things considered, now would have been a good time for the Creature himself to start playing God and repair the almost-complete ladymonster using Victor’s notes. He sure is clever enough for that, and he would have some time for it while Victor is out having himself a little angstfest. The fact that he doesn’t even try leads me to the conclusion that the Distressing Damsel was more of a character test for Victor, a plot device for the Creature to escalate the conflict.

On a merrier note, “you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension”? XD Okay? Don’t be condescending then?

Gawd, these guys are terrible. My last shred of sympathy for the Creature has finally vanished, and for once I feel a tiny bit of admiration for Victor’s thought process and taking a moral stance. Fine work, Shelley.

Oh, and the infamous “I shall be with you on your wedding night.” Well, first off – let’s be honest, this sounds like a threat of the sexual kind. DAS GAY: 33

INCEST VIBES: 15

Then, Victor gets one of those, too, bc he actually thinks he’s in a place to threaten the Creature. “closed with him in mortal strife”, eh? DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 15

And finally, his imagination can’t get him any further than to his wedding night being “the hour I should die”. Not like, y’know, the Creature has promised to make you miserable by destroying all you ever loved. Nah, IT’S ALL ABOUT ME: 23

Back to form. Whew, I was floundering for a second there!

…I have to give him another, because he does think of Elizabeth – in terms of her mourning for him. IT’S ALL ABOUT ME: 24

We reach a point where Victor not only fantasizes of being wretched and alone for the rest of his life, feeling isolated from the rest of humanity, but also falls asleep in the grass. Huh, they really have switched roles.

A letter from the boyfriend who’s missing him dearly! Henry, my sweetie! DAS GAY: 34

Oh, good, he does tidy up the laboratory.

…throw the parts into the sea?? Are you kidding me, you dumbass? Can’t you cremate them decently? Ugh, gross.

“I felt as if I was about the commission of a dreadful crime.” Once again, Victor fails to acknowledge that he has, in fact, committed numerous crimes. And tossing rotting corpse bits into the sea, bits that presumably originated from Christian people who thought their body safe in sacred ground, is at the very least defiling graves. (Also, gross.)

The travel across the Irish Sea is just confusing, tbh, and I only really got it when the text outright said he had reached Ireland.

“As I was in a state of extreme debility” …aren’t you always? You just got lost at sea instead of doing the simpler, and way more thorough, stake burial.

“Fortunately I had money with me.” ??? WHY? Do you always take money with you when you go out to destroy the evidence of your crimes?

Thesaurus syndrome strikes again (at least I had to look up “promontory”, sue me; it’s not my mother tongue), and then, finally, some clear information. And someone who snaps at Victor, and makes him indignant at the bad manners. If Henry weren’t dead, I could find this funny.

Not to forget, his bitchy attitude (“instead of offering me any assistance”, “inhospitably” and so on) gets him one for the I SO PRIVILEGED: 11

Get offa that high horse, will you?

Why does he think they should be friendly to him, anyway? They’re Irish, and for all they know, he might well be an Englishman. Granted, this is about 50 years before the Great Famine, but weren’t the English already getting all over the country and helping themselves to all of the land?

And from here on out, it's all downhill. Okay, factually, it was all downhill since Victor decided to play God, but the next few chapters are mainly dedicated to me hating him with all my heart. I'll try to spice it up with a little bit of character analysis regarding his similarities with the Creature, but there is the one or other capslock tantrum on the horizon. Our protagonist got one golden moment here, then continues to be the literal worst. Charming.

[darkcavewriting]

Day 9 - Funeral

I slept poorly, which was not a surprise to me at all.  There was too much on my mind, with the funeral, all the people, and just not knowing what to expect.  I knew that we were going to be heading over there to where it was being held a couple hours in advance to help with setting up and making sure that things went reasonably well.  I didn’t know who all was going to be helping with the setup.  I knew it was going to be me, and my maternal grandparents and Aunt Sara, but I wasn’t sure who else would be going early and who all would just be going nearer to the time things were supposed to start.  That was something I hadn’t really been around when they were discussing it.  Not that it made a whole lot of difference to me.

I showered, got dressed, headed down and had some coffee and a bagel.  I wanted to keep food light, and the kitchen was packed with people so I wanted to make it as quick and easy as I possibly could for myself.  I wasn’t sure when exactly we were going to be heading out.  Probably fairly soon I imagined.  I headed back to my room, and went looking for my suit, and also for a decent tie.  The suit was easy to find, the tie somewhat less so.  Still, I managed to get both out and on, and by the time we were ready to head out the door I looked pretty good all things considered.  Getting to the funeral home wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t all that far away.  Walking in and seeing big pictures of both my mother and father up at the front hit me, really hard though.  Due to the nature of the accident and the condition of the bodies, they had both been cremated, so it wasn’t open casket or anything like that.  That made it a little easier I guess.  After seeing pictures of the crash and the bodies, I didn’t know if I could handle seeing them in person.  This whole day was going to be difficult as is, that would have just made it dramatically harder on me and likely everyone.

There wasn’t a whole lot for us to do, so it was a good bit of sitting around waiting after we got there.  I didn’t mind that, it was good to be out of the house, it was good to not be around quite so many people too.  Before long, people started arriving, it was still early, but, near enough to the time that things would start.  Everyone who had been at our house had arrived, then it was a mix of my parent’s friends, co-workers, all of the department that my dad worked in at Portland State as well as what appeared to be some of his students.  Eva and her parents arrived, other neighbors of ours.  Before long, it was near standing room only.  Everyone had things to say, about my mother and father, and them as a couple.  I didn’t realize quite how well loved they were, especially my dad at work.  So many students were there who had things to say about him.

I got up and spoke, and struggled through it.  Fighting back tears wasn’t easy, but, I got through it and I felt better afterwards.  I felt relieved having spoken, but, it was still a hard situation for me to be in.  There wasn’t anything easy about it, at all.  

I didn’t know what the post funeral plan was, I don’t think I was ever around when it was discussed.  There wasn’t anywhere at the funeral parlor to do any sort of wake or reception, I didn’t even know if one was planned.

“Grandma, what is the plan after the funeral?” I asked my maternal grandmother.

“We were planning on inviting people over to the house and having something outside in the back,” she said.  “I guess we should have asked if that was alright with you, I’m sorry.”

“No, that is totally fine by me, I just didn’t know what the plan was,” I said.  “Is there food and stuff over there?”

“Yes and no,” she said.  “We were going to grill up burgers and stuff, but we were getting a bit of stuff catered from that cafe up on Woodstock.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” I said.  “Thank you for taking care of so much of all of this today, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have been alright, but I am glad we were all here to help, none of this is easy, at all, and it doesn’t get any easier either,” she said.

Damn near everyone came to my parents home after for drinks and some food.  Their house was positively packed, probably the most people that had ever been in it at one time since it was built back in the 1940's.  It had been full this week with just family, and now with an additional 50 plus people, it was overwhelming as can be.  I was happy to see everyone, especially since people were in a better mood now than they were earlier at the funeral, which was nice.  It was good to see smiles on peoples faces and that I was actually able to sit and talk with some of the people whom I had never met, including my mothers old college roommate that for some reason she never mentioned to me.

Apparently once my mother got married she cut off contact with her, and there was never and explanation for why.  This struck me as terribly odd and it really did not make much sense at all since my mother was actually pretty open about friends from college, when she attended Western Washington University.  My grandmother could attest to the face that she was my moms old roommate because she had met her before on multiple occasions.  None of it was adding up, at all.  I couldn't see why my mother would never mention her, especially when she mentioned other friends and had actually had them visit at various times during my life.  I asked Mackenzie, her old roommate, if there was any reason that she thought my mother would have done that.  

“I have no idea, once she got engaged, she never called, and we were very close before that, she got invited and came to my wedding but I never got an invitation to hers,” she said.  “It was all very strange, I never had any clue as to why.”

“Did your husband ever say anything about it?” I asked.

“Not that I remember, and I can't ask him now since he got himself shot in California after he left me for another woman.”

“I didn't know, it seems terribly odd to me, I mean even knowing my mother had her issues, it seems odd she would just cast you out of her life like that,” I said.

“It has honestly bothered me to a certain extent for the last twenty three years, I know that sounds bad, but there was never any sort of indication as to why she did it,” said Mackenzie.  “She was usually so predictable and considerate, I never understood why, or if I did something to upset her, and if so, why would she come to my wedding.”

I had no idea what to say.  I was interested to see if there might be something I could find out as to why it might have been the case, not that I had any idea at all where to look, but it was worth a shot I  guess.  I got her phone number and told her that if for some unknown reason I was able to come up with any sort of conclusion I would let her know.  

She saw my Eastern Washington hat sitting on the edge of the couch and commented about it.  I said that I was going to school there now, just started actually.  She told me she actually lived in the area up in Sandpoint Idaho.  What a small world it is I thought to myself.  It seems like everyone lives in the area around Spokane anymore, not that living there was a bad thing, just a bit odd.  I told her that I might just drop in sometime, to try and figure things out, or get details, or just to visit Sandpoint.

“You are always welcome don't worry, just give me a call, I have a nice little cabin on the lake.”

“Sounds beautiful,” I said.

“It is, you have to come see it,” said Mackenizie.

“I will, soon, I promise.”

She said she had to take off, needed to get on the late flight back to Spokane so she would get home tonight as she had work in the morning.  I gave her a hug and thanked her again for coming.

People were slowly starting to trickle out, it was beginning to get late and people had long drives and or flights to make.  I still had no idea if I was heading back to Cheney tomorrow or not, and it looked like Sara didn’t know either.  I asked her and she said she really didn't want to head back, being in Portland made her miss it terribly, which I could relate to, even though I had only really been gone for two days before we made the trip back.

I asked her about our status for tomorrow, she said it was pretty much entirely up to me, which I was not at fan of.  It really did not bother me one way or the other if we left tomorrow, or if we prolonged our stay in Portland by a day, or two or possibly even three.  I did indeed want to get back to Cheney, see Grace and figure out what in the hell I was going to do about school, but, all of that could indeed wait if needed.  I knew that I would have to make a decision about the school aspect within three days, and the sooner I did it was probably better, which really did not excite me, but it had to be done.

We still needed to sort out the will situation.  It seemed as though after today, everyone would be leaving with the exception of both sets of grandparents.  My aunt and uncle from the UK both had to get back to their respective jobs, as did my mothers siblings as well, with the exception of Sara.  So, once the house cleared out, it would give us a chance to try and sort out what the actual plan was in regards to everything.  I guess we needed to see my parent’s lawyer for the will it appeared.  I didn’t know if anyone had scheduled a meeting for that or not.  Should probably ask one of my grandparents about that, if anyone had done the scheduling it would have been them.

Staying in Portland for an additional day, or more seemed like a must.  There was no way around it.  Was hopeful to sort out some more of the financial situation with my parents, as, I had next to no money myself and trying to find a job immediately in Cheney may not be the easiest thing to do, even if I didn’t take classes this semester.  

I mentioned this sad fact to my grandmother to see what she had to say.  They said that since I essentially inherited everything my parents had, there would be no issue getting me money to live on in Cheney, but for the time being they would set up an account for me with a sizable chunk of cash that I would have access to.  

“We do need to go get everything clarified with the lawyer and your parent’s accountant though,” said my grandmother.  “We scheduled a meeting tomorrow, are you still able to be here in town by then?” 

“At this point, there is no reason to go back to Cheney until everything is sorted out here, so yes I can stay for sure,” I said.

That sounded like a decent idea to me, being broker than hell on a permanent basis was not something I really was looking forward to, and this seemed like a reasonable way to get around it, perhaps I might even be able to replace my aging and falling apart car.  I liked it and all, but I really wish I had something at least somewhat more reliable.  If I wanted to be doing any sort of real travel in it, that could very well prove to be a bit of a challenge, one that I really did not want to have to deal with unless I had to.  I was honestly shocked that the car managed to make it to Cheney in one piece.  The whole situation with that wasn’t something I would likely do soon.  I was generally happy with the car, and until I knew for sure what I was going to be doing this term I likely wouldn’t make any hasty decisions.

I was hoping I would be getting back to Portland soon, but I knew there were still things to be dealt with in here, but at the same time, I knew my grandparents would be helping as best they could.  I knew that I should probably get some of the things I might actually want in Cheney to take back with me.  Mainly a handful of reference books and some other clothing, and a few other odds and ends, including a floor lamp, as the one ceiling light in my dorm room left a lot to be desired at night as it was significantly brighter than what I really wanted.  So it was agreed that Sara and I would load that into the car now so that if we did decide to leave in the morning we would be able to just get on the road and not have to move stuff in the morning.  I had my doubts that we would leave tomorrow but we weren’t sure if we would or not at this point.   

Fitting everything into her car was a piece of cake, not that there was too much to fit honestly.  A couple boxes of books, another box of random crap, and a lamp, not too terribly bad.  Not that my down room was that big in the first place to fit everything in, but not having a roommate sure as hell helped.  I was hoping that I would not get one come spring semester but I was not going to bet on it.  Living with someone would be nice in some aspects but in others I really hoped that I could live alone for the whole school year, and then possibly find an apartment or something along those lines to move into for the summer and the next school year, presumably on my own as well.  Then again, depending on my financial situation I might even be able to buy a small house there and then sell it whenever I left Cheney and actually make a profit on the deal which would even nicer.

There were still a good amount of people milling about when we were done with all that.  Most of the people form the University had gone home, most of what was left was family, neighbors, Eva and her parents, and a few other people who had come down from Washington.  Things were a lot calmer than they were a couple hours ago.  I wasn’t used to that amount of people in the house, on the deck, in the yard, and everything.  It was a bit overwhelming but now it was a lot more manageable.

Once everyone took off, and it was just family, it was so late and we were all so tired that I was wondering if I should just head to bed.  Still wasn’t sure what the plan was for the morning but I was hardly concerned about it at this point.  Whatever was decided on would be fine I presumed.  I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to Cheney.  I wasn’t in a hurry to do anything at all at this point.  I knew I would have to go back to Cheney at some point, that was inevitable, but I wasn’t in any sort of hurry for that at all.  I knew when I got back there that there would be a large list of things I would have to take care of and I was hoping I could put those things off for as long as I possibly could.  

Sara and I were hanging out on the couch, things had been put away, food stuffed into the refrigerator and mostly everyone had already gone to bed.  We were the only ones up that I was aware of, at least down in the common area of the house.  Sara wasn’t looking overly happy.

"You alright?" I asked, You don't looks to thrilled that we are maybe going back tomorrow."

"Eh, I guess I am alright, I just miss Portland, the people, the city, everything, and things aren't terribly happy at home anyways, I have really enjoyed not being there," she said.

"Not happy at home?"  I asked.  "Things not so well between you and Mark?"

"No, not really, I think he might be seeing someone else, when he leaves town for work, I saw some suspicious calls on our phone bill whenever he is gone," she said.

"Have you talked to him about it at all?" I replied.

"No, I'm too afraid to mention it, especially after we have been together for ten years, it feels terrible to think that he could be cheating on me," she said.

"Well at this point confrontation might be your best bet ya know, better to know, than to keep wondering," I said.

"You have a good point with that, but still I really don't know for sure if I even want to know," she said.  “The thought of things ending with him, just, the whole thought of that just makes me feel so damn anxious.”

"If he is doing it though, do you really want to stay with him?" I asked.

"I couldn't make it up there on my own, especially with how little my job pays, and I don't even know anyone else in Spokane to speak of, which is a small issue."

"Well, do you want to move back to Portland or back to Port Angeles?"  I asked.  "There is kinda a house here that will be empty that you could live in if you really wanted to, and I am sure your family in Port Angeles would be supportive if you left him too.

"You would really let me live there?" she asked.

"Better than it sitting empty, and better than you being unhappy in Spokane," I said.  “Would have to make sure the house was really free for me to do with what I wanted and int hat case, I wouldn’t see why not.”

"True, but, what if he isn't cheating?” she asked.

"Well, I would clarify that first before jumping into anything, but once this whole thing here with the houses is settled, just let me know and I sure as hell don't have a problem with it,” I said.

"Thank you so much, it means a lot, I thought I would be stuck out there with him no matter what, and in the job I hate," said Sara.

"Hell, you're family, don't you worry about a thing, alright?" I said.

"I will sure as hell try not to, but it's damn hard not to," she replied.

"I noticed Mark was being kinda distant when I saw you guys with my parents,” I said.

"I know, he used to be a lot more outgoing, I really think he is hiding something, I don't know what but I really think he is hiding something big," she said.

"Well, figure it out and we can go from there, just let me know alright?"

"Will do, now lets get some damn sleep, I'm fucking exhausted,” she said.

We got ready for bed, I was pretty damn tired as well, it had been a stressful few days and I was hoping that eventually it would subside for me. I knew it probably wouldn't with Sara, given her situation with Mark, but all things considered I really hoped that she managed to come through all of it alright.  I really worried about her, being trapped in a shit situation that one did not want to be in was never fun.

I headed back to my air mattress.  I checked my phone, a text from Eva thanking me again for inviting her and letting her know about the funeral and everything.  She also asked if it was possible to see me before she left to go back to Minneapolis.  Not knowing when we were leaving for sure I didn’t know if that would be possible but I told her that I would like to if I could.  I missed her, a ton.

Sleep came fast for me, I really hoped I would not wake up too early, but I had the sinking feeling I would, I did nearly every day I had been here, and I had a feeling that tomorrow morning would be no different.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 293, Replies Part 1

1) “Oh my god man, now shit’s gonna get real! Even though he’s not gonna be able to do much against Shigaraki. Or Machia. Okay, he’s not exactly the ace that will save everyone, but we’re still glad he’s back, for Chapter 293: Hero-Saturated Society.”-Honestly? (points to the devastation wrought by each individual and the ongoing chaos) I don’t think there’s anyone who can save everybody from this. Not even All Might in his prime can stop multiple S-tier calamities like these erupting simultaneously across the country, and these poor heroes are forced to face them back to back. At this point, it’s trying to contain the damage, not stop it completely, and they need all hands on deck for that. 2) “Also, where are the girls? There’s only the boys here, also is that evil Midoriya next to Shigaraki?”- It seems to be a minor list of all the major fighters still up and running in this battle, so judging by the fact he’s standing next to Tomura I’m gonna assume that’s what Dabi would look like if he wasn’t self-cremated and still had his hair dye in. 3) “Oh yeah, there’s my baby after bringing back the power from my other baby.

Eri takes it and Eri gives it back, her power is unmatched.”- Eri’s power is so game-breaking that it’s actually pretty impressive to me how Horikoshi’s been avoiding making her too much of an OP crutch for the heroes to rely on, mangling themselves without fear of the long-term repercussions with Eri in their corner. 4) “Didn’t you saw the last panel Midoriya? Eri is the reason he’s here. Unless you meant how he knew to come to this specific location, which, being honest, is not that hard to guess, just following the trail of destruction and bodies Machia left”- To be frank, Izuku’s been so preoccupied stopping Tomura and all the little head-games that have been going on between their Quirks that I don’t think he’s fully processed the implications of what Machia’s appearance here means for everything left behind him. Gonna be a nasty shock to add to the growing pile. 5) “FUCK YOU MIRIO WE HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN AGES OF COURSE WE ARE NOSTALGIC ABOUT YOU”- It was even longer with all the weekly releases for us….well, I guess maybe not, what with finishing off the Vigilante alcohol binge for you.

6) “Also, jesus fuck man she told him about the super secret battle plan even though he was no longer a hero student and didn’t even had a quirk anymore, c'mon girl we know that Mirio is trustworthy, but that was reckless!”-She also knows him/worked with him directly as another hero intern under Nighteye’s office before the management change, so it’s like she informed a co-worker she’d known for a long time about the upcoming plan, which adds a little bit to her verification of Miro’s trustworthiness. Besides, in the same vein that having a goal to strive towards can make you push past your limits, knowing there was a big upcoming battle could have pushing Miro more into trying to regain his powers, giving her another reason to tell him. 7) “Well Mirio, hate to break it to you but you’re a bit bigger than a bug or lizard, not to say that there might be other side-effects of rewinding you half a year.

Although considering you’re here fighting I suppose that was not the case”- If there were any, I’d think they’d show up as a long-term deal, and right now, that’s a hypothetical problem they can afford to put aside whilst they focus on the present and distressingly immediate. 8) “AIZAWA GAVE THE NOD OF APPROVAL FOR HIS DAUGHTER TO LET HER POWER LOOSE

ERI SHALL HEAL THEE LIKE JESUS DID”- He’s also the metaphorical brake to her runaway powerhouse of a power, so she needs him nearby anytime she’s thinking of unleashing her Quirk in any degree, even after having better control of the “speed”. 9) “Yeah Mirio, thank you for showing up, we’re extremely happy to see you, but unfortunately you can’t do much to actually take them down. I doubt you could punch them hard enough to make them pass out.”- Miro dumped all his skill points into speed, evasion and defence, leaving him with pretty lacklustre offense against beings a jacked teenager can’t knock out in a single punch – and that’s exactly the kind of monstrous footsoldier AFO’s been honing all these years. 10) “…

Well okay, sure, I guess that the best option would be to call for help, but, who’s gonna come help you now? Everybody is already here!”- Other than his personal skills, Miro’s greatest ability is his awareness of his own shortcomings and limitations, making him a fantastic team player whenever he shows up, knowing when to delegate tasks he can’t handle himself to somebody better qualified and unafraid to show this, unlike other, more prideful heroes who might bluff about it and give a false sense of security. 11) “…

Is that Bakugo? Is Bakugo coming here? Wasn’t he already around? After he almost died that is”- Bakugo is the embodiment of “I didn’t hear no bell”…if only because he blew the bell up before he started fighting. Besides, he has extra motivation to push himself back from the brink of death, what with needing to fulfil his promise to Jeanist to tell him his incredibly serious and well-thought-out hero name the next time they spoke. 12) “fuck it was bakugo.but I swear, I thought he was there on the floor after he got stabbed by Shigaraki back in chapter 286”- He was on the floor, but then he got himself back off the floor, and doesn’t plan to hit it again until the heroes have won…somehow.

13) “Oh thank god Nejire is okay, even though she got half of her body burned like that.”- Proof that Bakugo’s not an outlier, every hero is equally capable of standing back up to continue the fight…and so unfortunately are the villains too.

14) “Also, wait, is Bakugo gonna reveal his hero name? We didn’t heard what it was so far right? In just assumed it would be Bakugo. Or kacchan. God I hope it’s kacchan.”- It’s better!

15) “what”-   Shush you, this is the greatest name he could have picked.

16) “Mirio it wasn’t meant to be funny, Bakugo is just always thinking about murder 24/7”- It might just have been because of his hang-time running out, but Bakugo looks like he face-planted in disappointment after Miro misunderstood the purpose of his name. @thelreads

[nyctoaerah]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄

“𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑, 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: You wanted revenge for Suguru, So you joined jujutsu high to gather information. Satoru was your saving grace, an angel, a lifesaver that is always sparing you from the risk of being caught while snooping around various rooms and areas. You would've thought that he's an angel sent from heaven, but not until he becomes unhealthily obsessed with you. Showing you that he was just actually the devil in disguise.

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem! Traitor! Suguru's Adopted Daughter! Reader

╰┈➤��𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Implied Non-Con, Unhealthy Relationship, Yandere Behaviors, Satoru is an abusive a-hole. Age gaps (Satoru is 28, Reader is 19). Manipulation. Dark Themes. Satoru has mood swings. Violence. Reader is scared of Satoru. Foul language. Victim Blaming. (Ooc)

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I do not support or approve of any of the behaviors and actions depicted in this book. The content is intended solely for entertainment purposes. The main storyline will be introduced in the following chapter, which will delve into the details of how the characters first encountered each other. It might be a bit confusing though. Also, support me on Quotev and Wattpad pls?:) hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3

Masterlist

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

HOW MANY DAYS HAS passed since you found yourself in this situation with him again? The passage of time eluded you, as you had stopped keeping track, but it seemed like you had been trapped in this place for months, perhaps even a year. It felt like an eternity since he orchestrated your fake ‘death’ and locked you up in his place.

You’re not weak by any means, in fact, you’re strong, as you were a grade one sorcerer, but when faced with Satoru, you were nothing. No matter how much effort you put into finding a way out or escaping him, it seemed futile.

He was the strongest after all.

Should you attempt to flee, say goodbye to your walking privilege as he would incapacitate you by breaking your legs with.

Any resistance or argument on your part would only result in more severe punishment and degradation at his hands.

You try to use your domain expansion and fight back? He’ll use his domain expansion too and it doesn’t end well on your part.

Even if you dared to confront him and try to reason with his twisted mind, you would find yourself outmaneuvered and manipulated.

Asking others for help was equally fruitless, because what can they do against the strongest sorcerer?

You tried to ask Shoko for help, but unfortunately, she is unable to intervene in the situation. However, she mentioned that there is a person who has the ability to control and Tame Satoru—Suguru. Sadly, the dilemma lies in the fact that Suguru is no longer alive, and it was Satoru Himself who killed Suguru.

Suguru was the only reason why you joined jujutsu high. You wanted to find Suguru’s body, since according to your sisters, Nanako and Mimiko, Suguru’s body wasn't cremated, so you joined jujutsu high to look for suguru’s body, and to also get some information, because vengeance is what you seek.

Gathering information about the school and the sorcerers there was made easier by your loud teacher—Satoru Gojo, who constantly yaps and shares details about literally anything.

Anything but Suguru.

Unfortunately for you though, Satoru ended up finding out that you’re a traitor.

And that’s the main reason why you’re stuck with him.

Satoru’s fingers were lightly pressing against your throat, exerting gentle pressure that caused discomfort yet not crossing the threshold into pain. His touch was brand and it felt like a scorching imprint on your flesh. His fingertips grazed the delicate skin of your throat, tracing the rhythm of your racing pulse. His nose was nestled into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his breath hot and oppressive. Unconsciously, your fingers curled in response to his touch as you tried to distance yourself from him—yet, unable to tune him out.

You fought back the rising bile in your throat, swallowing hard to prevent it from rising and vomiting, your every muscle tense with discomfort. 

You squirmed uneasily, unable to escape as his other hand pressed firmly against your tummy, immobilizing you while his grip on your neck intensified, forcing your spine to meld into his chest as you were practically ensnared on his lap. Your jaw clenched, your airway constricting involuntarily, making each breath a struggle.

“S’toru,” You whined in discomfort.

“Relax your throat, baby” he coaxed, loosening his hold slightly. With great effort, you tried to comply, swallowing down a torrent of curses and insults that threatened to escape.

“Don’t vomit on me... ‘m just trying to listen to your pulse, n’ see if you’re healthy or not.” He assured you, a honeyed lie.

But you’re not. You wanted to say.

You’re trying to choke me. You said mentally.

“Come on, relax, pretty girl.”

He drawled, his icy blue eyes narrowing as they pierced through you from beneath his pale lashes.

“No...” You murmured.

“Don’t worry about me.. I’m.. calm.” you feigned, though the erratic thumping of your heart against your ribcage betrayed your facade. His sharp ears likely caught the drumming tempo echoing through the hollow of your neck.

“But you’re not.” He said.

“Hmph. Such a pretty liar, are you? Don't gaslight yourself.” he admonished, a disapproving shake of his head punctuating his words. You ground your teeth in frustration.

“You’re the one gaslighting me here,” you countered, a futile attempt to deflect his observation. Deep down, you knew his accusation rang true—a self-imposed gaslight, for you were only convincing yourself of a false relaxation, when infact, you are beyond calm.

“Tsk, tsk. Liar.” his voice carried a weight of disappointment as his hand migrated from your neck to your jaw, the firm pinch of his forefinger and thumb steering your gaze towards his stare.

“Fine,” you huffed. Each breath felt like hot coals burning in your lungs, and your muscles tightened like steel cables. As you clenched your fists, the skin on your knuckles paled beneath the pressure, your nails digging crescents into your palms.

 “I’m not calm,” you uttered stiffly, almost choking on the words as if they were bitter pills forced out of your mouth. Satoru cocked an eyebrow at your admission. His lips curled into a smirk, a condescending smile.

“I know, babe,” he murmured.

“Then why ask?” You asked sharply, [E/c] eyes narrowed.

“Why would you lie in the first place?” He asks back.

You fell into an uneasy silence, not knowing what to say.

“That’s what i thought.” Satoru scoffs.

You grimaced as his warm breath tickled your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, his hand going underneath the fabric of your shirt. A shiver ran down your spine at the touch, a mix of revulsion and fear coiling within you as you fought the urge to swat his hand away.

You were keenly aware of the thin line you were threading, one wrong mood can cause Satoru to get mad. And satoru getting mad was far from the things that you would enjoy.

You don’t want to deal with a pissed satoru.

“Was that hard to admit?” Satoru asked suddenly.

You shook your head, the movement terse and strained, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he prompted.

“No... it’s not hard to admit,” you forced the words out through gritted teeth as he lets out a mocking laugh.

“Tsk, such a prideful princess,” he teased, his amusement palpable. You fixed your gaze on the ground, unable to meet his eyes, the weight of his hands on your body sending discomfort through your nerves. The struggle to maintain your composure, to resist the urge to push him away, felt like a battle

“But hey, you lied again, didn’t you? It was hard for you to admit that after all.” Satoru says, and you stiffened as you felt his gaze burning into you.

“What do you mean?” You feigned innocence.

“Don’t play dumb, pretty girl.” He glared at you.

That stupid cold stare of his never failed to make the hairs in your skin go up, and you hated it.

The adoring light that once danced in his gaze whenever he’s looking at you had been extinguished, replaced by a frigid darkness. His words and demeanor was now clashed with the vibrancy that once filled his eyes.

You hated it. You loathed it.

Loathed the way he looked at you in such a cold way, loathed the way he would always manipulate you, make you feel bad and blame you for everything.

This wasn’t the satoru that you had fallen for.

“you know, [Name]...When you lie,” he began, his thumb delicately tracing the lush curve of your lips. The urge to sink your teeth into his probing digit churned within you, an impulse that you struggled to suppress.

How did it go south so fast? He wasn’t like this before.

“Even if s’just a seemingly harmless little lie just like the one you just uttered,” he continued, exhaling a sigh heavy with disappointment.

“When you lie, it makes me remember how much of a traitor you are.”

With a sharp press, his thumb breached the barrier of your closed lips, barely grazing the tips of your teeth. A shiver ran down your spine at the invasion as he skillfully maneuvered his thumb into the warm recesses of your mouth, grazing against the tender foliate of your tongue.

“Traitors, don’t deserve mercy y’know?” He mused.

Gritting your teeth, you bit down on the inside of your cheek to suppress the snarl that threatened to escape.

“But lucky for you, i love you, so I’ll be showin’ you mercy.”

“Love?” You repeated incredulously, your words muffled.

He claims to love you, despite the vile deeds he's committed? The audacity of those words sends a surge of rage coursing through your veins. You make a desperate move to chomp down on his finger, but limitless stopped you.

The moment you does so, Satoru laughs.

“See? You Fuckin’ traitor.” He snorts.

“Can’t even trust you for a second, can I?” he drawls, and your insides twist with guilt and terror when you realize what you almost did. 

Shit. You messed up.

“Thought that you’re a good girl by now but looks like you’re still on your rebellious phase, hm?” He taunts.

“I didn’t meant to—” You tried to defend yourself but he interrupted you.

“I’m speaking.” He said firmly, and you shifts, hand twitching.

“But i—”

“I said i’m speaking.” His voice now rose making you flinch.

“If I turn limitless off, you’d take a bite outta me, ‘m sure of that.” he said, shaking his head as he withdraws his now moistened finger from your trembling lips, tainted with your own saliva.

He was right, but you’re not gonna admit that. If he has limitless turned off, you’ll smash his head on the wall.

“I didn’t mean to..” You said, swallowing thickly. But you did meant to do that though.

Satoru rolled his eyes.

“When will you stop lying?”

“Never thought that suguru would raise such a brat, a traitor one and a liar, at that.”

He says wearily, rubbing his temples in exasperation.

“Gosh, such a careless father, letting his poor daughter go.. but hey, i can’t blame him now, can i?” He hums, stroking his chin.

“I mean... He’s the reason why i met my sweet little [Name] after all.”

The mere mention of suguru being careless made the fragile tether of your composure snap.

Suguru was not careless.

You hated it when people talk shit about Suguru.

Your eyes widened with furious intensity, your blood coursing hot with rage as a vein visibly throbbed on your forehead. Anger constricted your throat, making it difficult to even breathe. In a moment of pure instinct, you crossed your fingers together, ready to use your domain expansion.

CRACK!

However, before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he snapped your fingers, twisting it, sending a jolt of pain throughout your body.

“What did i tell you about trying to use your domain expansion again?” His questioning gaze intensified as he firmly grasped your fingers, causing your eyes to widen in shock.

Then another came.

CRACK!

Then a ripping sound echoed through your ears.

You felt a sharp pain as blood started to trickle down from where he had inflicted wounds on your fingers. Your heart sank as you heard the sound of your severed fingers hitting the ground.

A scream was about to escape from your lips until he silenced you with a forceful kiss. His teeth clashed against yours as he firmly gripped your hip, effortlessly flipping you over and pinning you down.  

As he broke away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva lingered between your mouths, and you felt like you're going to vomit.

“That’s the third time that you’re trying to use your domain expansion on me,” he snarls, seizing both of your wrists with one hand and securing them above your head while straddling you. 

“Haah.. ‘ve forgiven you for the other two times, but it’s getting annoying now. Try to use it once again and I’ll cut both of your hands off, okay?”

“There, there, don’t cry. It’s your own fault anyways.” Satoru comforts you as if he hadn’t just cut your fingers off. He gently licks the tears from your cheeks, savoring them as if they were sweet syrup, causing you to continue sobbing.

“Maybe if you weren’t so feisty and disobedient this wouldn’t happen... Suguru seriously forgot to teach you some manners, didn’t he?”

Shaking his head in disappointment, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it, displaying a strange mix of affection and detachment despite the gruesome act he just committed.

Looking down at you, Satoru grins, his eyelashes fluttering shut like those of an angel, looking peaceful.

Looking so innocent despite doing gruesome things.

Just like the Devil In Disguise .

[phawareglobal]

Cheryl Wegener - phaware® interview 401

In this interview, recorded on the 3rd anniversary of her daughter Madison's passing, Cheryl Wegener, discusses how life has changed in the three years since Madison lost her battle with PH on January 19, 2020 and why they continue to fight this terrible disease in her honor. You can also read more about Madison on her CaringBridge page. 

My name's Cheryl Wegner. I currently live in Fenton, Michigan. I became a part of the pulmonary hypertension club, I suppose, in 2012 when my daughter Madison was diagnosed at the age of six with pretty severe pulmonary hypertension that was later deemed to probably be something she was born with and just went undiagnosed. Madison battled the disease for eight years. Much of that she thrived. We adjusted as a family. She adjusted as a kid. As she got into her teenage years things started to get a little bit harder. The disease started to have a little bit more impact. Especially in her freshman year in high school it was evident that things were progressing, symptoms were increasing. As we were in the process of trying to get answers on how best to move forward with this disease and with her prognosis, and what surgical interventions were going to be next, she went into cardiac arrest while in the hospital. She was brought back to be placed on ECMO, which allowed her body to rest while hopefully she came back to us. But ultimately, in all reality, she probably passed away in that moment during her cardiac arrest. She was probably gone right away, and ultimately we had to let her go. So, it is literally three years yesterday to the day when she did her honor walk at the hospital. We knew from a very early age that she was a big advocate for organ donation, and so she did her honor walk. We said her goodbyes and they wheeled her into the operating room to ultimately die as a hero for somebody else's child. An honor walk at the hospital is when you have a person that is an organ donor and they've been kept on life sustaining equipment for that purpose, for the team to get in place, the matches to be made. When everything's in place, the hospital staff lines the hallways with its nurses, and its doctors, and its support staff, and its whatever family members you invite. They kind of make it known to other families on the floor that this is what's going to happen, and welcome them to come out into the hall as well. It's kind of a hospital parade in honor of your child on their way to literally save lives. I guess because Madison had the wish to be cremated that bought us some time in planning her celebration of life. We actually had nearly two weeks to put that together. That kept us very busy mentally, just arranging the logistics of that and making it a really amazing event. After that, people are still very much invested in you and they're stopping by, or they're dropping off lasagna or wine. That goes on for a little while and then slowly it begins to trickle. I think for us, we were in a unique situation in that literally a month after Madison passed, we were suddenly in COVID world. That definitely played an impact because now we had another distraction in the world. Now we had what do we do with our groceries? Do we change our clothes in the garage. Do we wipe everything down? That was another distraction. I think we went from shock, and disbelief, and numbness. But then we had all these distractions for a good year. We just, for that year, went through the motions and we were in survival mode, I think, just trying to hold each other up. Because of COVID, that's pretty much all we had was each other, and our online network. That first year, I mean, I think it's really a blur. It's a lot of numbness. It's a lot of things I've forgotten. It was just literally just you got to get up in the morning and you got to progress, and you got to go through the day. Then it changes after that. After that year, there's obviously the cycles of grief, and there's no manual for this just like there's no manual for parenting a kid with a terminal disease. But you go through all the stages and I think we're still in the process of going through the stages. As a parent, I've gone through the guilt stage. We were not literally in the hospital when Madison had her cardiac arrest. We had gone home to grab some clean clothes, to kind of tidy up a little bit, because we knew people were coming to visit Madison. That morning we had had to meet with a lawyer because my son Matthew's school was not handling his coping with his sister being in the hospital, her being in ICU well, and they actually made motions to expel him while this was all going on. So, there's a lot of guilt. I think Matthew holds a lot of guilt. We would've been at the hospital if we weren't meeting with a lawyer to deal with his behavior problems at school. As a mom, I hold guilt for not being there. I question whether we should have done the pot shunt earlier. We had been evaluated for it, but the doctor said, "Not yet. It's too dangerous. It's not your time yet." But Madison had told us it was time. We told her we have to try the easy stuff first. That's what we did. And so, I still at times second guess myself there, and there's guilt there. At times you're angry. I question things still. I mean, I love my PH community. I love the girls that Madison met at conferences over those years. But you look at the picture of the six or seven of them all together, and so many of them were in worse shape, PH wise, than Madison was at the time. I never would've dreamed that she would be the first one to go. I would've picked one of the much sicker one. So, you question why is that kid still here? My kid's not still here. Then you feel guilty for saying that, because you don't want to wish this on anybody. But it's just a tumultuous rollercoaster of emotions through it. Along the way you're just trying to figure out, okay, what's my role now? Who am I now? Some of that, we're still figuring that out honestly. I still feel part of a PH family, but at the same time I feel like I'm also, from the parent perspective, we are an example of everybody's worst nightmare. This is what happens. This is the crystal ball. This is going to happen to your kid too, probably. I think a big focus for us has been continuing Madison's fight, her last wish for a cure, and we promised her we would never stop fighting for that. So, we've continued that. I think that's definitely helped. For me, personally, it was just making sure, I think, she hasn't forgotten. That her life meant something, her continuing that legacy, I think that's been very important for me. You never want her to get stuck into the shadows of life, which is only natural at some point. But I also want the people who knew her, who knew her story, I somehow want them to file that away in their heart and carry her with them too. The dreams are the best, absolutely. I wish in three years having four of them, I wish that I could have one. Even greedily once a week would be great. But the dreams for me, and I've always been a dreamer, I dream the weirdest stuff and it's very detailed, very concrete. But these dreams are different in that in the moment, in Madison's appearing in my dream and I'm there, and it's so real. It is happening. It is all of a sudden we're on our deck, and I'm talking to her, and she comes walking up. And without missing a beat she tells me she was responsible for 172 rainbows yesterday. And I'm like, "Well, that's really cool. We saw a couple of those." We just talk. And there's, for example, a vision of us walking down downtown Brighton. We're talking, and just talking mother to daughter, friend to friend. I don't get the specifics of that conversation, but all of a sudden we're sitting in a Chili's-like situation, and she orders lemonade so I know it's Madison, because she loved lemonade. We continue our conversation, and I'm acutely aware that time is running out. There's this sand timer there, and I only have a few more minutes with her, and I'm just like, "I want more time." She's like, "I have to go." And she goes. You wake up and it's just so incredible that she was there. I've had, like I said, just three or four of these dreams, different scenarios, and I'm just so grateful for them. It makes you sad, but you're just so thankful that you got to touch base. There's so much about the human brain we don't know. There's so much about the universe we don't know. I mean, who knows what's real and not? But those are terrific moments for me, for sure. I treasure those. We moved from a bougie neighborhood in Brighton with a beautiful arch house, including storage and stuff probably 6,000 square feet, to losing Madison, going through COVID. I teach high school. I very much love my job. It's my passion. My husband is in corporate America, makes a ton more money than I do but does not love his job. It was really an eye-opening experience, I think, to what matters in life, and how much do you sell your soul to the corporate world versus being happy and doing something you love? So, we went from what I call our arch house, to buying some property in Fenton that had a very old farmhouse on it. At the age of 51, my husband decided he wanted to be an organic farmer. Obviously a major life change for us. This house is maybe 1,100 square feet, but we're on 18 acres. It's year three of us running a community supported agriculture program, a CSA. It's grown from 11 members our first year to 50 members our second year. In about four days time, I think we're up to 80 members this year with the goal of 100. So yeah, very much a life reset, both in losing Madison and just having to rethink where we get our food and what we put into our bodies because the COVID situation. But just really what's important, and what do you want to spend your time on this earth doing? For him, it was time to find some joy. Somebody along the way, along our journey, told us that we should get to know the palliative team at the hospital long before we felt like we needed to. Palliative is not hospice, it doesn't mean you're counting down, it's nothing, but get to know these people. We did. So, I was thankful to already have a connection with them in the hospital, because I mean, they did offer a bit of comfort while we were there those last few days. That was nice that not dealing with strangers, just talking with people that already knew us. We, as a family, were already doing family therapy in advance of Madison's passing. I think that also was very helpful, just already having a couple people that knew us, knew our story, knew Madison's story, knew the dynamics between our kids, knew the dynamics between my husband and I. It wasn't having to sit down, explain the whole thing to somebody while we're grieving the loss of our kid. They already knew the story. We were actually in that therapy office the night before Madison's heart catheterization. She was insisting she did not want her brother to be at that appointment, and the brother wanted to go, and it was this whole thing. I can still picture her sitting in that blue chair and saying, "I don't know why you guys are so nervous about this heart cath. I've done this a million times before and nothing's going to go wrong." For the first time on, I think it was heart cath seven, something did go wrong. But having that team was very helpful to us, just having already somebody knowing our story, and being able to slide back into that and deal with that. Then I think the third thing that made it, I don't want to say easier, nothing makes this easier, but we were very clear about Madison's wishes years prior to her passing. Because of her PH connections, because we didn't have her live in a bubble, she knew that there was a good chance she would maybe need new lungs someday, or a new heart, or both. She had had friends who she celebrated them getting the call, and they got their lungs and they're doing great. She was very much a advocate of organ donation. Knowing that made it a lot easier to sit down with that organ team, and check all the boxes of everything that they ask of you. It was also helpful to us to know, and this was more through the process of going to family funerals and stuff, but whenever we went to one Madison was very wise before her years and articulating what she liked and didn't like. She absolutely thought it was disgusting to have a body on display. She never wanted that. She couldn't understand it. We knew that wasn't the gig. She didn't want everybody crying. She didn't want it to be a sad affair. She wanted some elements of God and faith in there, but she didn't want everybody leave just crying. We definitely did not have a traditional funeral or celebration of life, we did it Madison's way. It was beautiful, and it was probably the coolest funeral I've ever been to. But yeah, so just knowing that person's wishes that made it so much easier in planning it. Going forward, I think I struggle with this, but you have to learn to be kind with yourself as a parent, and patient with yourself, patient with your loved ones. You're never going to be the same person as you were, and that's kind of what it is. You put the pieces back together, and you're never quite the same. The love for that person is in there, and it's never going to seal over or seep out, or it's always going to be there. But time definitely doesn't heal all wounds, but you do go forward. I think the fear of your child being forgotten, that love that you feel for your child, I mean, that's never going to go away. Just like with PH, you get that diagnosis, you're like, "Okay, what's our path going to be? This is throwing us a curve ball, and what's this path going to be?" Losing a child, definitely unexpectedly, you just got to figure out what that path's going to be and what that's going to look like. It's not easy. There's no timeline for it, but that's kind of how it goes. My name is Cheryl Wegner, and I'm aware that my daughter, Madison, was rare. Learn more about pulmonary hypertension trials at www.phaware.global/clinicaltrials. Follow us on social @phaware Engage for a cure: www.phaware.global/donate #phaware Share your story: info@phaware.com

Listen and View more on the official phaware™ podcast site

[katerinaaqu]

That's what I mean. Technically speaking the actions of the characters are not "doric" they are "iron age onward" customs. That's what I mean. In fact one can potentially detect characteristic differences in some things even if we have a united culture in regards to hellenism. That's what I mean your mention of "doric" was a bit confusing. But I see now you meant "iron age" customs.

So yes I would say is not "doric culture" it is "iron age culture". Homer was not doric. He was ionian. But yeah culture that continues after the elleged doric coming.

Cremation does appear even in prehistoric times. True we discover some magnificent burial complexes that date from the Mycenean times and burial seems to be the most frequent form of funeral, oftentimes with common graves as well where we discover various sets of peope from different time marks and oftentimes with different decoposition rates. However burning the dead had occured before, it is just that we ususlaly do not see it as often and the burning is not perfect. Ironically Homer doesn't imply that people left behind were burnt. He seems to speak on burning of the dead such as soldiers in battlefield whose bodies cannot be buried and contaminate the ground (especially during the plague in the first rhapsody of Iliad) or soldiers and kings that needed to be taken back home (such as Achilles and Patroclus). There are two cases that I know seem to be insinuating that Homer speaks on burns in general; Hector and Elpenor. Both of these cases could have been buried in a tomb and instead they are given a burning funeral and set in a tmb later (Hector) or placed a sema at the beach post mortem (Elpenor). So yes it does seem possible that Homer mostly insinuates burial customs of his time. We also see the customs of the dead being placed on display and the funerary matches happening after. We do not know for absolutely certain that the same customs happened in Mycenaean times or at least if it happened the same way. We have more information from classical greece for example. I only vaguely touched the subject to my fanfiction about Odysseus's funeral

For the scepter I am not sure where that comes from to be honest. We do not know much on the myceneans to assume such a thing, to my knowledge at least (I would love to see more on that source). The scepter is the proof of power but it is also the scepter that allows people to speak. It is the symbol that shows someone is the one speaking publicly. Odysseus takes the scepter in various occasions to speak up (we see the same in Telemachus's case when he gathers the nobles of Ithaca). It is a symbol of power which has its meaning that Odysseus uses that specific scepter to beat Thersites up. It signifies that he proves his power over him.

I have to repeat for clarity's sakes that the use "doric" is not good here because "doric" implies Doriean greeks. Not all customs are from doric tribes. But I see now how you mean it. You mean "iron age practices" or practices of Homer's time. I don't deny that the Doric Greeks might as well have been influencing the new customs but by n large when I hear "doric" the first thing that comes to my mind is doric tribes (Maybe I am wrong though.)

I have mentioned this in many conversations and talks in here too. Homer is known for using anachronisms. To what extent sometimes is hard to pintpoint given how vague our information on mycenean culture. Some examples we know for sure is for example the extensive mention of iron in the poems for example Odysseus says to Penelope that she "has a heart of iron in her chest" or that he mentions how Achilles would "cut his throat with iron" mentioning the dagger or a sword. (I make a light mention to my translation:)

Ironically he does make a very good mention in bronze weapons all the time but he brings up iron which was not widedly used in that time. There are some examples where we see iron historically but it wasn't used widedly in the 1200 BC so it was probably anachronism. Other customs he mentions is the veiling of women and men. We do not have enough evidence in the depictions on the walls of mycenaean palaces, to my knowledge, to support the idea that veiling was occuring at that time so probably that is also an anachronism

So as I said before it depends on what you want to do. If you want to insinuate historical continuation you can use some of the iron age customs and imply that they are somehow continuing to the upcoming iron age. Otherwise I would say it is safer to use primarily mycenaean stuff.

I am genuinely impressed though You are very well informed!

I need some fanfic of Odysseus trying to impress Penelope by being brutal and she's like: oh. in Sparta my brothers did kind of like that when they were 15 lol 😭 please sometimes I remember she's Spartan

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Father of Mine – 1/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is. 

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Family death, cancer, absent father, cremation 

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t. 

“Do you want to say anything before we…” the operator asked her.

“No,” Y/N answered quickly.

“Oh, my assistant forgot to give you this,” the operator gave her a shy smile as he handed her a small cardboard box.

She opened it to find all of her mother’s jewelry that had been on her body at the funeral.

“Thank you,” Y/N told him.

“Ready?” The operator asked.

He had been so kind throughout the whole process. It was obvious he was used to people breaking down and being extremely emotional. 

But Y/N had been stoic, almost concerningly so. 

Though he wasn’t one to judge. Everyone grieved differently.

With the pull of a handle, Y/N watched her mother’s body going into the chamber.

“It will be a few hours,” the operator told her.

He meant it will it will take a few hours for her mother’s body to burn to ash. Then they would hand her a tacky vase with her remains.

Y/N just nodded. “I’ll go for a walk.”

As soon as she was outside, Y/N called her mother’s executor.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I was just about to call you.”

“I’m at the crematory,” she told him. “I figured we should discuss the bills that still need to be paid for.”

“Yes, of course. As I mentioned to you before, your mother’s life insurance covers quite a lot of it…” his words died out.

“But it’s still not enough,” Y/N finished for him. “I’ll get the money.”

She wasn’t exactly rich, but she also wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck. But people never realized how much money it cost for loved ones to die. It was honestly ridiculous.

“You might want to consider taking out a loan,” he tried to suggest gently.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Another thing, Ms. Y/L/N. There was an envelope with a name on it. And your mother left instructions on delivering the envelope to them.”

She stopped her pacing. 

“What name is on the envelope?” Y/N asked.

There was a pause.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed.

Of course she knew who Bruce Wayne was – everyone in Gotham did, as well as most of the country. He was a billionaire playboy, only making headlines when he was a mess. But every once in awhile his philanthropy would sneak in there. Y/N always assumed those were only to help recover his image and not because he was a good person.

“You still there?” The executor asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a bit confused. But please pass it along to him, if that’s what my mom wanted.”

“I can’t. The instructions specifically say for you to deliver the envelop to him in person.”

“In person?” Y/N groaned in annoyance as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why did all of this have to be so god damn complicated?

“Yes. Her instructions are…oddly specific."

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll pick up everything from your office before the work day ends.”

——————

Y/N stared at the envelop that she’d tossed on her coffee table as she sipped a rather large glass of red wine.

She was wracking her brain trying to think of a time when her mom mentioned knowing Bruce Wayne. But Y/N would’ve remembered her mom saying his name – even in passing. It’s not a name that one can drop casually.

Y/N pulled up her phone and googled him. But she looked at his history. Yes, he was from Gotham, as was her mom, but so were 10 million other people.

But then Y/N’s scrolling paused when she realized they went to the same high school: Gotham Academy. Not only that, they graduated in the same year.

‘Were they friends?’ Y/N wondered.

But just classmates or friends still didn’t seem to warrant a handwritten letter to be delivered after one’s death.

Y/N didn’t open the envelope.

Her mother’s instructions specifically told her not to. And if she put in that much of an effort to get this done after her death, Y/N wasn’t going to ignore such a request.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

“Fuck,” Y/N sighed before throwing back the rest of her wine.

——————

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t grant you access to the building without your name being in the system by the company you’re visiting,” the building receptionist told her for the third time.

“I understand. But I called his office 30 fucking times and they refuse to put me through to him or get me an appointment,” Y/N practically growled.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I already called their office to say you were here and they didn’t recognize your name. I can’t let you through to the elevators.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the security guard who stood a few feet away. He was eyeing her now that there was clearly an argument going on.

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes. She had a good foot on him – even without her heels on. And he looked like he couldn’t run a 50 yard dash without passing out or vomiting. If he thought he was going to physically stop her, he had another thing coming.

“Listen, I am not some crazy fucking stalker. My mom knew Bruce Wayne and in her will she asked me to deliver this to him,” Y/N’s voice lowered and became disturbingly calm. “I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the security guard finally stepped forward.

“Oh, fuck off,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the rent-a-cop.

“Ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” he continued.

“Call me ma’am one more fucking time…” Y/N growled.

But the security guard was taking a step to her.

“Excuse me. What seems to be the problem here?” A voice suddenly interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a young man – younger than Y/N – glaring at the security guard just as he was about to grab Y/N.

“M-Mr. Drake, we were just escorting this young woman from the premises,” the guard stuttered out.

Everyone at the building knew every member of the Wayne family. But unlike his siblings, Tim Drake was at the office almost every day. As one should be when they’re the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

“For what reason?” Tim Drake asked.

“She insists on seeing Mr. Wayne. But she doesn’t have an appointment. For security reasons, I cannot let her through, obviously, unless the company she is visiting has put her into their system and the building’s system,” the receptionist explained nervously.

Y/N frowned as if she was bored of the whole thing.

Tim stepped forward. “May I ask what your business with Bruce Wayne is?”

Now that he was closer, Y/N noticed how exhausted he looked. He was handsome still, of course. But she wondered when he last got a good night’s sleep. He was shorter than her, probably standing at 5’5. And she still believed he was younger than her, which was wild seeing as he was already the CEO and couldn’t be older than 24.

Y/N sighed before she grabbed the envelope from her black leather satchel, and showed that Bruce Wayne’s name was handwritten on it.

“My mother wished me to personally deliver this to him.”

Tim tilted his head slightly. “Why isn’t she doing it?”

“Because she’s dead,” she shot back without emotion.

But Tim’s face became sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Y/N quickly cut him off before he could continue.

She was so tired of being on the receiving end of people’s sympathy. It didn’t help. And the words stopped holding any meaning to her.

“But I’m sorry. Bruce isn’t in today. And he probably won’t be coming to the office for the rest of the week.”

“Oh,” was all she responded with.

Of course Bruce Wayne didn’t come to work. Why would he?

This was a stupid idea. And now she had made a scene because of it.

“But if you give me your information, I will personally let him know that you are trying to reach him.”

“Really?” Y/N asked in shock.

Tim smiled at her surprise. “Of course.”

“Here’s my card,” she quickly grabbed one from her wallet and then a pen. “All my info is on that.” She wrote something on the back. “And that’s my mom’s name.”

He took it from her and nodded. “What was your mother’s relationship with Bruce?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out. Apparently they graduated in the same high school class. But that’s all I was able to find.”

He nodded.

“Thank you…Mr. Drake. For your help. Really,” she urged.

“Please, it’s just Tim.” Then he glared at the receptionist and security guard. “For you it is, at least.”

“Thank you again,” Y/N felt like saying it 30 more times still wouldn’t be enough.

“You don’t have to thank me. Someone will be in touch. Have a good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Y/N,” she corrected with a smile before she nodded and started backing away.

He smiled at her correction and gave a final nod.

——————

Y/N didn’t expect to hear from anyone for at least a week.

If the Wayne family was one thing, it was busy.

They probably had parties to go to, meetings to attend, private jets taking them around the world whenever they wished.

Why would they ever prioritize a meeting with her, a stranger?

So imagine her surprise when she received a call from an unrecognized number the same day she gave Tim Drake her card.

“Hello?” She answered.

Usually she would let any unknown number go to voicemail.

“Hello,” a British voice answered. “Am I speaking with Ms. Y/F/N Y/L/N?”

“This is she,” Y/N sat up straighter on her couch.

“This is Alfred Pennyworth. I work for Master Wayne and manage all his personal appointments. I was told by Master Tim that you wished to meet with him?”

“Uhhh. Yes. Yes, I do. Is that…is that possible?”

“Would you be able to stop by Wayne Manor on Friday afternoon?”

Y/N already knew she had nothing going on that would stop her from getting this done. But she still paused to pretend to think about it.

“Yes, Friday afternoon should be fine. Are you sure he doesn’t just want me to stop by Wayne Enterprises?”

It felt oddly intimate to stop by Wayne Manor. Wouldn’t they want to meet her in a more secure location like a corporate building with security that already hated her?

“He is quite certain. Should I send a car for you Ms. Y/L/N?”

A car?

Y/N felt even more out of her depth now.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Thanks,” she answered before hanging up and realizing that probably wasn’t the proper response to such a polite goodbye.

——————

“I haven’t heard that name since high school,” Bruce had muttered as he stared at the business card for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Yes, and the end of your relationship did not end on the best of terms,” Alfred commented.

Y/M’s/N Y/L/N had been Bruce’s high school sweetheart.

An she had seen the last moments of Bruce’s normal life. 

Upon graduation, Bruce decided to leave Gotham and that’s how his second life was founded. The two of them broke up before the summer after graduation had even ended.

Well, “Breakup” was a strong word.

Bruce stopped answering her calls.

She was his first love and he continued to love her.

But once Bruce realized where his life was going and who he wanted to be, he knew he couldn’t drag her into it. She deserved better.

And Bruce was a coward about relationships then. Maybe he still was.

“I am certain you did a thorough background check on her already,” Alfred commented with a smirk.

Bruce took in a breath before listing off all of her accomplishments. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. Graduated number one in her class at Gotham Academy. She was the star of the track team, breaking the regional record for fastest time in 100m, 200m, and 400m races. Also captain of her soccer team. Attended NYU’s photography program before dropping out after a year. Now she’s a professional photography. Her work’s been featured in Vogue, New York Times, National Geographic…amongst others.”

“Rather an impressive woman,” Alfred said.

Bruce nodded.

“I should get the tea and coffee ready for her arrival.” And with that, Alfred left Bruce in the drawing room.

30 minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Bruce glanced down at his watch: she was right on time.

He heard Alfred saying his pleasantries before he heard the clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner to enter the room he was waiting in.

For being a famous photographer, she could’ve been a runway model with her height and the way she walked into the room, completely owning it. She wore four-inch heels, only adding to her natural tallness. And her bright, red coat only added to her presence.

For a split second, Bruce was convinced that he was looking at an Amazon. Diana immediately flashed into his mind for a split second. Perhaps that was what Y/M’s/N needed help with: to get her daughter to her real people. But how would she have known Bruce Wayne had such connections? Unless she knew Batman’s true identity…

As soon as Y/N spotted him in the room, he rose from his seat.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Bruce greeted.

He took a step forward and held out his hand.

“You guys really love the formalities.” She said it with a dark evenness, but it was clearly a joke. “Y/N is fine, Mr. Wayne,” she added as she shook his hand.

“In that case, it’s Bruce,” he countered with a soft smirk.

There was something so familiar about her. But Bruce knew they’d never met. 

“Thank you for seeing me. I don’t want to waste anymore of your time,” Y/N quickly got to it. She opened her purse to grab the envelope.

“My mom wanted you to have this. And she wanted to make sure I was the one to give it to you,” Y/N explained as she offered it to him.

Bruce took it carefully, but didn’t open it. “Yes, I heard about her passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said hurriedly, making it obvious to Bruce that she did not want nor need his condolences.

Bruce nodded slowly.

There was a pause.

“Do you know what it says?” He asked her lightly.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to read it.”

“I see.”

“I should really be going. I have a flight to catch later tonight.” Most people that visited Wayne Manor wished to stay there forever. Or their curiosity got the best of them and their eyes took in every little detail.

But Y/N looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. And she wanted to get out as soon as she possibly could.

“Thank you again for seeing me,” she rushed out.

Without waiting for his answer, Y/N turned and started walking out of the room.

But she only got a few steps before she stopped.

Bruce watched her shoulders tense and her body move as she was clearly taking in deep breath.

Slowly, Y/N turned around to face him.

“Were you friends?”

Bruce gave her a watery smile. “She was my girlfriend in high school.”

Y/N seemed annoyed by that answer. “She never mentioned you. Not once.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed at that and his eyes zoned out as if he was revising the past in his mind. “I’m not entirely surprised. Things didn’t really end well between us.”

She nodded slowly. “Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

And Y/N turned and strutted out of the room without looking back.

As soon as Bruce heard her cab drive away, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a letter.

He barely noticed that Dick had walked into the room. “May I ask…Who was the extremely attractive and tall woman that just walked out?”

But Bruce didn’t hear him as his eyes raced across the letter. His heart sped as he continued reading.

“Bruce?” Dick asked after being ignored. “Is she your next conquest or what?”

It wasn’t until Bruce was done reading the letter for the third time that he finally looked up and acknowledged Dick.

Alfred had also walked into the room, unbeknownst to Bruce.

“You OK?” Dick asked, now concerned with how silent Bruce had become.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred also urged.

“That was…my daughter,” Bruce finally muttered.

Dick blinked before his eyes grew wide in shock.

Alfred seemed less surprised, almost as if he had already put that together.

“Excuse me,” Bruce told them and exited the room.

———

Dick and Alfred must’ve warned the rest of the family not to bother Bruce in the cave. Usually he would’ve been disturbed by now.

Bruce had been at the computer for hours.

Alfred was the first person to come down, carrying a tray with dinner and tea.

The butler wasn’t surprised to find Y/N’s face all over the screens.

If Bruce had left any available information hidden before inviting Y/N to the manor, it was all out there now. Bruce knew everything about Y/F/N Y/L/N that was public knowledge – probably even some things that were not.

“You know, you did not seem all that surprised,” Bruce said to Alfred as he put the tray of food down next to him.

“Seemed rather obvious, didn’t it?”

Bruce quickly turned to look at him. “It did?”

Alfred smirked. “Her eyes,” was all he said.

“The color?”

Alfred shook his head. “As soon as she walked into the manor, they were reading me.” He tilted his head in Bruce’s direction. “Observation. Perception. Attention to detail...That is all you, Master Wayne.”

“The way she held herself,” Alfred continued, "Shoulders held back, head high, walking with purpose. No hesitation.”

“Also me?” Bruce asked.

Alfred simply nodded.  

“I don’t think she liked me very much,” Bruce sighed.

He didn’t know how he felt about that yet.

“A lot of people think you don’t like them when you first meet them,” Alfred countered. “Because I don’t trust them yet.”

Alfred raised his brows and silently ask him, ‘Don’t you see my point?’

Bruce rubbed his face and reached for the tea on the tray, ignoring all the food.

“I don’t know why you’re so entertained by this, Alfred.”

“Yes, I was entertained. I just saw a younger, female version of you, Master Wayne.”

“I abandoned her,” Bruce shot.

“You didn’t know she existed,” Alfred corrected.

“And why do you think that is?”

Alfred’s face dropped a little bit when he noticed the envelope discarded on the far end of Bruce’s desktop.

He looked down at the ground as he asked, “Might I ask what the letter said?”

Bruce glared at the letter as if touching it would burn him.

But after a moment, he grabbed it and quickly handed it to Alfred.

Bruce,

If this letter has finally reached you, it is because I have passed.

I must admit that I wrote this letter mostly in the event that I leave my daughter before she is an adult. But once Y/N turned 18, I decided to still pass this along to you.

There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will get to the point.

The young woman who delivered this letter to you is your daughter, Bruce.

Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was only 18. We had just graduated high school. You had started traveling. You called less and less. And you grew more distant – physically and emotionally. Eventually, you stopped answering my calls altogether. I left you a voicemail, only saying that I so desperately needed to talk to you, that I needed you.

But you never called me back.

With no words at all, you made it very clear that you no longer wanted anything to do with me.

But there I was, a teenager who was pregnant with our child.

I would be lying if I said I never considered terminating my pregnancy. I was scared and you broke my heart. All I wanted to do was erase you from my life.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Once I decided what my future was going to be, I also decided that I did not want you to have any part in it.

I knew even if you pretended to play the doting father and the committed partner, you would grow tired of us eventually. You would resent me and our child for bringing you down. And you would brush us aside for yourself.

I realized I would rather Y/N have no father at all than one who would only disappoint her over and over again.

To this day, I truly believe I did the right thing for all three of us.

There are not enough words to explain the complicated woman that Y/N grew up to be. But I will try my best. I think I owe you that at least. 

Or maybe you have no interest.

I don’t know how she became so much like you, even when I never so much as showed her a picture of you or uttered your name.

She enjoys being alone – almost to her own detriment. I constantly catch her repressing her feelings, always staying strong for everyone else. It reminds me of you. She’s assertive and confident, never letting anything stand in the way of what she wants. Sometimes I don’t think she’s scared of anything. It worries me, just like it worried me when I thought the same of you.

I truly don’t know what you will do with this information.

But…if you have any desire to form some sort of relationship with her, then you should know this: she will not make it easy for you. She will push you away. And she might even hate you. I raised her to never need a man in her life, and she’ll make sure you know that.

I don’t expect anything from you. I never did.

But I would just like to know there might be someone who will be there for her should she need them.

Goodbye, Bruce.

Alfred slowly handed the letter back to Bruce when he was finished.

“I pushed her away because I knew what I was about to become,” Bruce explained darkly. “And I didn’t want her anywhere near it. She would’ve been in danger.”

“Y/N, as well,” Alfred added.

“But had I known…if I just listened to her–”

“Master Wayne, I thought we had agreed to never linger on the ‘what ifs.’”

That sure silenced Bruce.

“Now, what do you plan on doing, Master Wayne?”

———

Y/N frowned when her phone started vibrating and she recognized the name of her mom’s executor on her phone screen.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you?”

“Fine. How are you?” She was quick, wanting to get this over with. Surely, he had bad news. Another medical bill came in or some other expense that slipped by them.

“Good, good. Just curious…have you placed any payments to our various claims?”

“Uhhh…no. But I’m working on it.”

Y/N hadn’t expected to get a call nagging about paying bills.

“No, no, no. You misunderstand. They’ve all been paid,” the executor explained.

Y/N sat up straighter in her chair. “What? That’s not possible.”

“An anonymous donor. They somehow got record of all your outstanding payments and covered all of them.”

Y/N was stunned to silence.

“Ms. Y/L/N…this is a good thing.”

She blinked and shook her head. “Right. Yes, of course. I just…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank this guardian angel of yours.”

---------------------

Part 2

Let me know what you think!!!