#they have no memories of their human life

[iwtv-theories]

Similarities between Daniel & Armand (analysis)

In the iconography: 20 y old Daniel is on his knees (and 20 y old Amadeo is on his knees in the painting). I also have to point out that young Daniel has a startling resemblance to the white-washed Amadeo painting as well. A visual cue that they’re more alike than meets the eye.

"Bartering with desire" vs "in kind". At 20, both were 'rent boys'. Daniel 'bartered' himself for dr*gs. While Armand was 'donated...in kind' to pay for art work . "In kind" = payment in goods or services as opposed to money. "Bartering"= trade by exchanging one commodity for another. 

At the end of Louis' interviews both get their heads shoved into walls.This could be visual symbolism : both their ���minds are broken’ because both of them can’t recall a decade’s worth of memories. Ironically, Louis may know more of his own story , than Daniel or Armand .

"curiosity"

“An instinct to self efface" . Effacement :“to erase oneself from a situation (to keep oneself in the background ) ” . Cough Armand literally erasing himself from memories & his Rashid disguise. Interestingly, out of all the traits Armand lists about Daniel this is the one trait Daniel agrees is true about himself. Both of them use ‘self-effacement’ as a manipulation tactic to find connection with others. Armand does so to stay with Louis. Daniel uses it to "get angles” and get people to "open up" to him. Literally right after Daniel said this he almost got Armand to open up about his life story

Armand:" That warrants investigation" vs Daniel the "investigative journalist".

Daniel & Armand lounging on the couch and saying Louis is being overly dramatic XD

being turned while having terminal illnesses : Parkinson's (Daniel) & in the show an unknown illness (for Armand) . Similarly , in the books Daniel was turned due to alcohol poisoning and Armand due to being poisoned.

Armand says in ep 4 his memories as a human are “fragments” vs Daniel saying his memories from the 70s-80s were a “blur” .

Both are called “boy” despite being old men. Santiago, the youngest coven member referring to the oldest : “I don’t know what the boy sees in him.” Louis: “he looked like a boy masquerading as a gentleman.” Daniel: “I’m not your f*cking boy! I’m an old man with all the triggers that come with it.” Daniel : “save it for the rent boy.” Armand looking visibly triggered by the comment then asking to leave the room . Armand to Marius (who often called him “boy”) : “I hate you! I’m a man and you deny it!”

As a human , book Amadeo had a drinking problem while book Daniel almost died of alcohol poisoning. Young Daniel (in the show) may also have drinking issues like his book counterpart /book Amadeo. Armand to Daniel in episode 5 : “a genteel drinking problem , like your father .” Armand’s dad : “Ivan the drunkard… Ivan was hopeless. Ivan would never see another sober night or day .Ivan would die soon poisoned by liquor./ a soft prayer for my father that he would not freeze to death tonight as he had almost done so many times, falling down drunk as he did in the snow. (*this echoes human amadeo getting so drunk he fell into the canal)”

Show Armand says Marius called him his "beloved Amadeo", which seems like foreshadowing/an easteregg of 70s dm since "beloved" was his nickname for Daniel in the books. Armand tries to emulate the Marius/Amadeo dynamic in his future relationships since he still equates it to love. Like how he tries to put himself in the Amadeo role with Louis as his 'Maitre (master) '. But for d.m he put Daniel in the Amadeo position (partially because it’s his first relationship with a human , since becoming a vampire and his relationship with Marius is the only vampire/human relationship he’s had) . So at least on some superficial level he recreates some aspects of the Marius/Amadeo dynamic, with Daniel .

In the books Marius feeds human Amadeo his blood, like Armand does to human Daniel. In the books amadeo says Marius’ blood tastes like “honey”.Cough- Louis describing Armand's blood as tasting like "honey" and Armand saying to Daniel in ep 5 "like honey on your tongue" (*this could be foreshadowing he will drink Armand's blood in the 70s/80s… or simply when he was turned).

Armand , during their first encounter, says “it’s okay it’ll be like a bath ” after he uses a rag (to remove the dried blood from his neck). This reminds me of when Marius first met amadeo and used a rag to clean his face / give him a bath. “He bathed me slowly . He had a soft gathered cloth with which he wiped my face.”

Human Amadeo/daniel were incredibly sarcastic and snarky to their future vampire makers

And both of their makers abandoned them

The parallels between Armand/Daniel persist throughout ep 5 , Daniel says he’d be a good companion to Louis because he has traits similar to Lestat and Claudia . 

But the IRONY is throughout the whole episode we see Daniel has A LOT of similarities to Armand . Possibly laying the groundwork for devil's minion in the 70s-80s.

I think while Armand was reading Daniel’s mind -whether it was as subconscious or conscious - it irritated him even more that they had so much in common. Or at least how similar Daniel was to Amadeo. Especially because he was trying to discern why Louis found him “more fascinating” .

For Example , all the other traits Armand lists out about Daniel’s could also be attributed to himself

'Dirty'

'deceitful'

'Enterprising'

'A splinter of coldness ' .

“He wants you in pieces for the privilege of putting you back together “

There’s also other more superficial similarities like Daniel saying he’d do night swims if he was a vampire (similar to Armand who swims often). Or the fact they both read the newspaper often.

I feel one of the MANY reasons Daniel and Armand were probably constantly butting heads and being snarky to each other in the present timeline is because on some subconscious level they remind each other of themselves (and they don’t want to acknowledge that). Especially Armand who is constantly playing a new character to placate his lovers . Young Daniel definitely reminded him of Amadeo . Similar to how Claudia reminded Armand of his past self as well .  

If I missed anything feel free to add to the comments or in a reblog :P

[hydras-tiny-dancer]

Open starter (all are welcome)

Since Anika’s past memories were restored she’s been adjusting. She’s still using the name Anika, though she’s mentioned maybe a side name. She will answer to Rebekah, though, but only for a few people. She’s the kind of person to talk about herself as Rebekah in the past tense, and Anika as a separate life. To her, they are

The problem is, she’s still under the mind control. When she supposedly died it was rendered inactive, but she’s still got it — and apparently some other things.

So where when a few weeks later she disappears, it’s concerning. She’s not answering texts and her phone was left on the kitchen table, the apartment neat but with signs of forced entry. Her handgun is gone.

And when you next see her, she’s standing in the middle of a highway intersection, dressed as a Black Widow, muzzled and chained to a weight she drags as she lays some sort of wiring.

And she doesn’t look so human. Not like she should, anyways. Her eyes are too green, brilliantly so. It’s dusky but they glow, and she has wings, beautiful, glimmering angel’s wings made of a material that looks like gossamer glass. Her ears have points, beautiful.

And she’s in pain. Visible pain.

@yoursx-cyber-skye @the-good-redheaded-witch @the-best-duck-tamer

[esamastation]

wvyld: Desmond wakes up in Angelgard — to find a guy in chains who feels Very Evil (daemons) to the Eagle Sense, but also. uhhhh. you know. it's just — the chains are going through his flesh it's. yeaah he may have to go against his intuition with this one, this is no way to treat an eldritch abomination....

Guess what I didn't write? Any of that. I did however write Desmond in FFXV. :D

-

He sleeps the deep, deep sleep of the Earth. He dreams of mountains, of ravines, of endless pressure and crushing weight. He sleeps, and dreams, and his dreams have the weight of gravity, the drag of continental plates, the churning of magma and rattling of earthquakes. They're slow dreams but they're not peaceful.

They're also never enough to distract him from the weight still resting on his shoulders. The weight he can never put down. The heat of it pounds down on him, burning him, crushing him. Weight and heat are the same, when you really think about it. Mass makes gravity makes pressure makes fire makes explosion. Gravity makes stars. Makes planets. Makes earth. It's all the same.

There's always some weight upon him. That is his task and nature, as an Astral. A shitty gig, if there ever was one.

He breathes in deep and then falls deeper into slumber. Deep into memories of other worlds and other planets and man that once was and doesn't really matter anymore. The Meteor is heavy, heavy, heavy, burning, burning, burning. He sleeps and dreams deep, deep, deep.

And then someone Sings with the Voice of Stars and drags him from Beneath - and for the first time in eons, Awakens him.

It's not a pleasant feeling, to become aware once more under all the weight of the Cosmos' Rage.

"God of the Earth I beseech you!" A small voice calls out from somewhere below. "Enter into a covenant with the Chosen King so that he may reclaim the Stone and purge the Darkness from our Star!"

It takes a moment - a stretch and press of time dilation under weight of infinite gravity - to remember what speech is. What the little voice is saying makes no sense, even then. "WHAT," he says, with the Meteor roaring like hellfire in his ear, deafening him.

There's a little human somewhere near his feet, tiny, tiny thing, blond and pale and wearing white. She reminds him of something from eons ago.

"The Time of the Prophecy is at hand!" the human says, grand and commanding and barely audible. "The Darkness Eternal threatens our Star and only the King of Light may defeat it! To do that, he will have your power - you must enter into this covenant!"

The words make no sense. "WHAT KING?" he asks. "WHAT COVENANT? WHAT DARKNESS? THERE'S ONLY THIS DAMNED THING," he shifts under the weight of the Meteor. "AND THE ASSURED DESTRUCTION SHOULD I EVER PUT IT DOWN."

The little human wavers and he realises - his voice is too loud. He's shouting at her. His quietest voice is deafening to her. Even so, she keeps shouting back. "There are worse dangers now! Even now the Darkness grows stronger - every day, it claims more of our Star's Light. Without that Light, there is no Life, without Life, there is no future! The Meteor doesn't matter now - "

"THEN WHY THE FUCK AM I STILL HOLDING IT?" he asks sarcastically, and the little human is thrown back, faltering under his power. Oops. Poor thing. "WHAT IS THIS DARKNESS YOU FEAR SO MUCH, THEN? WHAT IS SO BAD THAT YOU'VE AWOKEN ME FROM DEEP SLEEP?"

The human struggles to her feet, using her little staff to prop herself up, and faces him with a stern look on her face. "It is the Scourge of Stars!" she says and lifts her staff. "I will Show you!"

And she does. She shows him a Disease. A plague that causes transformations and shadows, that infects flora and fauna and twists them into living ash. It makes monsters they call Daemons, and it has been coming up again and again for the last two thousand years. No one knows where it came from, but people have a Prophecy about it.

The Draconian made a Prophecy about it. Apparently that's what they call that guy now. And the little human - the Oracle? The Oracle tells it to him like he's supposed to know it. Like he's already part of it.

"I DON'T KNOW YOUR PROPHECY," the Archaean - that's what they call him now, apparently - answers. "I'VE NO PART IN IT. I WAS UNDER BURDEN BEFORE YOUR STARSCOURGE EVEN APPEARED. THE DRACONIAN'S WORDS, SPOKEN EONS HENCE, HOLD NO SWAY OVER ME."

The little human falters. "But - but the Cosmogony - the Prophecy says - "

The Archaean strains under the weight of the Meteor. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT A PROPHECY IS, LITTLE ONE? IT'S SOMEONE VOLUNTEERING SOMEONE ELSE FOR A TASK THEY THEMSELVES WILL NOT DO. THAT'S ALL."

The little human shakes her head. "No, no, it has to be the Chosen King, the Draconian said - "

"IF THE DRACONIAN REALLY WANTED THIS DARKNESS GONE, HE'D DO IT HIMSELF," the Archaean says, unamused. "HE CERTAINLY HAS THE POWER. JUST LOOK AT ME." He shrugs his shoulders and the Meteor upon them, sending tremors through the earth beneath his feet. "WHO DO YOU THINK CAST THIS THING UPON ME?"

The Oracle clutches on her staff, her eyes wide. "The Draconian sent the Meteor down upon us?" she asks, horrified, and falls to her knees. "W-what? No, that's not possible. I don't - that can't be."

Well. That seems rather telling and alarming.

The little Oracle can't take this conversation for long, it seems like - his voice is too much for her, as it tends to be for most humans. There's no way around it, though. He can't do much for her. The Archaean simply cannot put down his burdens, not for a long, long time, not until the half life of the damned thing runs its course. Until then, it's just him between the Meteor and Eos - and an explosion that would rock the whole solar system, if the two ever met.

He can, however, detach a small portion of himself to act as his avatar.

-

"Well, don't you look far less tiny from this angle, huh," the Messenger says, cracking his neck and getting used to being human sized again. "Hello, Oracle."

The Oracle stares at him, wide eyed. "You - you're the Archaean?"

"Small part of him. It's a bit of a long term gig, holding up the Meteor," the Messenger says and peers up at himself, standing tall as a mountain under the Meteor. Already his larger self is going back to slumber - much easier to bear the weight like that. "Six thousand years down," the Messenger says, shooting finger guns at himself. "Six million more to go."

"Y-you -" the Oracle stammers and then goes down into a bow. "My Lord, I am your humble servant - I beseech you to listen to me, for our blight is true and dire."

"I believe you believe that, and it probably is pretty bad," the Messenger says and motions to the Meteor. "But if that thing goes down, it will destroy this whole planet. Into itty bitty space dust," he adds, just to drive the point across. "So, no. There will be no Covenant. The Archaean will not move. Not for a long, long time."

The Oracle looks at him, stricken - her lips actually quiver. "B-but I foresaw - this is meant to happen - all the writings -" she trails away, staring at him. "Is it really impossible?"

"It really is. If it was possible to put down the Meteor, the Meteor would be down, trust me, and I'd not be here," the Messenger says and shakes his head. "I'm sorry - whatever the Draconian has been telling people, the Archaean has no part in it. Our hands are tied."

The Oracle looks at him like she's going to cry. "I - all my life I've been preparing - training for this moment - I was supposed to awaken all the Artrals for Noctis - I -" she stops, drawing a hitching breath. "It's all been for naught - the Darkness will win? Our star will be destroyed?"

"Okay, okay, let's back up a bit," the Messenger says with some alarm, lifting his hands soothingly to calm her. "Why don't you tell me about this terrible fate about to befall all of us, and we'll figure it out?"

So, she tells him. Faltering and stuttering, she tells him everything she knows.

It's a lot.

-

So maybe sleeping away the eons under the Meteor's weight wasn't the smartest idea. Turns out, he's missed a lot. Like, apparently, the Fall of Solheim? Which, in the human time frame, happened eons ago, of course - six thousand years is ancient time for humans. Since then, there's been other nations, empires, kingdoms - like the one they're currently in, the Kingdom of Lucis, the one the Draconian chose. Which has since fallen into ruin, because of war.

"So," the Messenger says. "There was a Chosen One who was supposed to be the first king of Lucis, but he got sick with this Starscourge and was betrayed, so he was made the Accursed instead and the Kings of Lucis descend from his brother, the usurper. And now the current last heir to the throne is supposed to kill his many, many times grand uncle to defeat the Scourge once and for all. With Astral's power and the Crystal."

The Oracle, now sitting down on a rocky ledge looking small and sad and hopeless, nods.

The Messenger rubs at his forehead. "And that didn't clue you in to the fact that Draconian is making this shit up as he goes along?"

The Oracle's shoulders slump. "Gods are fallible, I know," she says. "But I thought the Revelation of Bahamut was true. Everyone always said it was. Even the Kings of Lucis believe in it, and they're the closest to him."

"Sounds to me like nothing is true, really," the Messenger muses. "But okay. I have a question - what, exactly, is the Crystal you keep mentioning?"

The Oracle looks up, and sort of sputters at him. "It - what - how can you not - " she chokes out. "It's the Heart of our Star - "

"The heart of a Star is mostly hydrogen and helium and thermonuclear fusion under pressure," the Messenger says and folds his arms. "I've never heard of this Crystal of yours. Is it something the Draconian made, maybe?"

"I-it was gifted to mankind so that we may know lasting prosperity -" the Oracle says before faltering and frowning at her own knees, confused. "It gives powers to the Kings of Lucis. It has protected the Kingdom for centuries, and they have protected it. I don't…"

The Messenger scratches at his neck, not sure what to tell her. It sounds like a lot of stuff the Astrals can do. The Archaean could probably whip up a magical rock too, if he wasn't under a bit of pressure at the moment. Well, he could probably still do it.

Under pressure is how gems were made.

Bit beside the point, though.

The Oracle looks up at him, actual tears in her eyes. "Everything I have been told my whole life is a lie, isn't it?" she asks as the tears spill out. "The Revelation of Bahamut is a lie. The Draconian dwells in the Crystal, it's his chamber, his fortress and for two thousand years the Kings of Lucis have bled for its upkeep."

Ouch. "Don't know what to tell you, Lady, this is all news to me," the Messenger says awkwardly. "Maybe we should set the whole… existential horror aside for a moment. Tell me more about this Accursed."

-

Six thousand years he bore the weight of the Meteor just fine. Now that he's stepped away from it, this is what he gets from it - a tension headache.

"So this guy was a healer fighting this Scourge, he was the Chosen One, supposed to be the king, the First King of Lucis, this great magical nation to be…" the Messenger says, just to clarify, while rubbing at his temple. "And then he was betrayed, usurped, and kept prisoner and tortured by the Kings of Lucis for two thousand years."

The Oracle nods slowly.

The Messenger hums in understanding. "Yeah, I kind of see where he's coming from."

The Oracle winces. "Yes, same," she admits with a sigh and then continues her increasingly depressing explanation of all the things he'd missed.

It's getting late by the time he has the full picture. Time is relative when you're Ancient Astral Being, or whatever, but as a Messenger he experiences daylight the same as your regular humans and the sun is going down below the horizon. Which apparently means the Daemons of the Star Scourge are going to come out.

"Alrighty, I want to see these Daemons and the Scourge for myself," the Messenger says, stretching his arms. "I'm guessing the radiation from the Meteor is keeping them away from here?"

"The light, yes," the Oracle says, lifting her staff. "I have the power to keep them at bay. I can also create Havens, sacred ground that will repel them."

"Neat - don't do that just yet, though, I want to see them," the Messenger says. "After that we can hopefully figure out something that won't involve the Archaean's power."

"Right," the Oracle says, taking a slow breath to steel herself, preparing to lever herself back to her feet with her staff. "I will do all I can, even - even if I cannot fulfil my original duty. I will do everything I can to cure our star."

"That's the spirit," the Messenger says and holds out a hand to her. "By the way, never caught your name."

"Lunafreya - Lunafreya Nox Fleuret," the Oracle says and takes his hand. "And you, my lord - what can I call you?"

"Not your lord, for a start," the Messenger says and pulls her up and to her feet, thinking of a name. Oh, well, why fix what's not broken. "Call me Desmond. Now, what say you we get out of here Lunafreya?"

Lunafreya nods and follows him away from the crater. Behind them the Archaean stands still, steadfastly shouldering his stellar burden, like he always did. Desmond casts him a last look, shaking his head - the last six thousand years had not been kind to him. The Meteor's radiation really brought out the Isu in him too, it looks like. Awkward.

One of these days he would stop being such a sucker about world ending disasters. One of these days.

Not today though.

-

Lol. Lmao even.

Here you can see in real time my daily word limit coming at me as I pass it somewhere in the middle of this and the writing starts getting increasingly nonsensical as it goes on. Anyway. Desmond as the Archaean, just because the white streaks on Titan made me go 👀

Also we're just ignoring Gentiana's existence here entirely. And pretty much all sense and logic.

It's 2 a.m. I'm tired.

[mahoganydesk]

Danny's life imploded - Bad Reveal or everyone he loves died, take your pic - and in throws of grief, someone tried to put their will on Danny. Could've been the Observers trying to make him a puppet king, could've been Vlad trying to gain control custody of him, could've been the GIW trying to capture the Ghost Boy. In any case, Danny had no desire to let them win but he had no will (or strength) to fight. So, he ran into the Infinite Realms and got lost. He has no idea how long he stayed there, but as time went on, he slowly started acting more like a ghost. His humanity started slipping. It was easier this way, letting his human thoughts go fuzzy and putting his ghostly instincts in the driver seat. At some point in time, he slipped through a natural portal. Without thinking, he reformed his feet and stood on solid ground for the first time in forever. His senses told him right away that he wasn't in the Realms any more but he had no idea where he was. Not anywhere he recognized in the slightest, like the whole world was different. But that could've just been in his disorientation. He was starting to feel nervous and itchy - he had to do something. He was just about to run off when something mysterious dropped from the roofs and attacked him. He fought back just as hard as this new person but he recognized that this wasn't a fight to the death. There was nothing to be gained but greeting and sizing each other up. As such, he didn't put his full strength in it. He wanted to show off that he was just as skilled as this other being. In the end, he wasn't. He lost but as he was being carried off by this person who just radiated safe/protect, he thought it wasn't a bad thing. Danny woke up the next morning with his first coherent thought since he ran away: I'm hungry When was the last time he had eaten? When was the last time he had been in his human form? Looking up from the shoulder his face was pressed into, he saw himself in the mirror in the corner of the room. He wasn't deathly skinny - maybe a bit paler than normal with bruises from the half-remembered fights. It seems the Infinite Realms took care of both sides of him or his human side was dormant while in ghost form? Eh, too much theorizing, not enough evidence. Instead of wrapping his still fuzzy mind around the existential questions of an eldritch location, Danny decided to snuggle into the body he was wrapped around, nuzzling his face into the crook of the neck - Only for his eyes shoot open and his whole body tense. He would have flung himself off in panic if the limbs of the other person didn't immediately hold him place, a hand going to the back of his head to keep his face pressed into her shoulder. "You're safe," a voice next to his ear whispered. And he believed her. Danny didn't really know this person, although his memory from last night was clearing up and he realized that it was she who gave him these bruises. He took a calming breath, taking in her scent, and waited for the adrenaline to leave his body. As he drifted back off to sleep, he heard her very softly, with such love, say, "Mine."

Silly little Dead Silent idea where Cass, as Black Bat is just finishing up patrol with the others when she suddenly finds herself overcome by strange yet for some reason familiar instincts.

Those instincts have her taking off to follow an invisible trail only she can sense, eventually leading her to what appears to be a glowing meta boy.

Black Bat doesn't even think, just immediately goes into attack mode and proceeds to beat the "meta" boy into submission, the guy retaliating just as fiercely.

The only reason the rest of the Bat clan aren't stepping in is because Red Hood, having a weird feeling he knows what's happening says not to interfere.

It all becomes clear once Black Bat successfully gets the glowing guy down, then proceeds to pick the now docile "meta" up and carry him in her arms in a rather possessive manner.

The only explanation the Bat clan gets from her is "Mine now."

[whiteobsidian]

cyra's loa guide

this will be my first and last post about how to manifest. i’ve gotten many asks on what loa is, how to manifest and if they can manifest xyz. there are hundreds of guides on tumblr on how to manifest, here is mine. i hope this can be helpful to any one discovering loa or a comforting post to those who doubt themselves. with that being said, do not go in my inbox and ask how to manifest and if you can. everything is here in this post,

xx,cyra

What is the Law of Assumption?

the law of assumption is a universal law that states that whatever you assume to be true, is true. This law is always working, it can never stop working as 90% of our thoughts are assumptions. Assumptions can be created by our circumstance, perception, and opinions of the world around us.

What is an Assumption? 

The google definition of an assumption is “a thing that is accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof”, meaning that you assume something as true without having proof in front of you to support that statement.

An example of assumptions are:

“The weather is always hot here”

“I’m not good enough to do this”

“People who dress casually don’t care about their appearance”

Assumptions can be menial or controversial, it doesn't matter what they are, you just need to realize you assume the things in your life all the time.

What is the Subconscious and Conscious mind?

The subconscious mind is a part of the brain that is not focally aware (it can’t see!).  This part of your brain is always consuming information from you , it stores long term memories, beliefs, and assumptions without you being aware of it. It acts on the assumptions you repeatedly persist in and it does not care if the assumption is true or false, it works on what you focus on most. 

The conscious mind is the part of your mind that you are aware of. This part controls your logical/active thinking. Here you make decisions, set goals, analyze situation, and focus attention on tasks or subjects. Here you consciously decide and identify with your desire and choose affirmations and/or visualizations to ‘impress’ your subconscious mind. 

In summary, The conscious helps you set the intention of your desire and the subconscious mind absorbs this intention, aligns your feelings, and works to create the reality to match it. 

What is the 3D and 4D?

The 3D is the physical reality you perceive with your senses( smell, touch, see, taste, hear). It is a mirror that reflects your inner state.

The 4D is your imagination and inner consciousness (your awareness that exists beyond consciousness and/or the true self separate from external influence). 

Awareness is is your true self ( sometimes considered God or Creator), it operates in the 4D.

Ego is your human identity, bound to logic, past experiences, and physical senses. The ego cannot perceive the workings of the 4D and may have fear/doubts. 

Time and Detachment

 Manifestation is instant. Your inner world is creating the outer world, and as soon as you change your assumptions and feelings, the outer reality shifts.

The 3D world doesn’t control you,  it reflects you. While you interact with it, don’t accept it as your ultimate reality. If circumstances frustrate you, allow yourself to feel those emotions but remind yourself that they’re remnants of an old state. Let doubts or fears arise naturally. Instead of arguing with yourself and getting frustrated, let the thoughts pass and know these doubts have no affect on your desires.

 Time is an irrelevant concept because the moment you assume the feeling of the wish fulfilled, the manifestation has taken place, and is finished. 

The inner you/4D does not experience time, you have it instantly. Do not be bound by your physical reality, that is not your true self. 

What is a state?

A state is the mental and emotional condition you are in. It reflects your beliefs, assumptions, and feelings about yourself and your desire. The goal in manifestation is to consciously shift your state of already having your desires. The key is to embody the feelings and thoughts of the desired state. Understand that your inner world shapes your outer experience. For instance, if you want to manifest abundance, you need to live in the state of abundance by feeling and thinking as though you are already wealthy.

The state of fulfillment is the feeling that what you want is already true in your life. In this state you are confident and assured that your desires have already materialized. This state will feel natural and effortless (as manifestation should be).

You can change your state by changing your thoughts, feelings, and assumptions on your desire.  

How do I manifest?

Step 1: Decide What You Want

Get clear on your desire. 

Step 2: Assume It Is Already Yours

Imagine yourself already having your desire. Use the phrase: “I am/have [your desire].”

Step 3: Feel It as True

Experience the feeling of already having it. It’s not about forcing emotions but genuinely dwelling in the state where your desire is fulfilled.

Step 4: Let It Be

After assuming your desire, release the need to “make it happen” in the 3D. Trust that it is already yours and will reflect externally. 

Can I manifest xyz?

Yes. you can manifest whatever you want, it doesn’t matter if it seems unrealistic or impossible, you can still manifest whatever you want. You perceive some desires as big or unattainable because of societies own assumptions on it. You don’t need to suffer to get good things, you don’t need to work, or change your circumstance to get good things. It all relies on your thoughts.  

How do I persist?

To persist means that you stay firm in your assumption that your desire has already manifested, regardless of any circumstances, fears, and doubts. When you persist, you acknowledge that doubts and fears may appear, but you don’t give up on your belief in your desired outcome. In essence, you're just reminding yourself that you have your desire. You can live in the end, affirm, visualize, script etc, or anyway you want to persist.

 Persistence is about consistency. This doesn’t mean obsessing over your desires, but consistently maintaining your belief in the manifestation.

Remind yourself that your desire has already manifested in the 4D, and your 3D reality is simply catching up. 

Void State

The void state is pure consciousness (or pure awareness), free from physical senses and 3D distractions. Entering this state is about detaching from external reality and focusing solely on your awareness. This can happen at any time with practice. Relax your body, let go of external thoughts, and place your awareness on your inner state. The void is where you realize your infinite creative power as awareness.

Who is Neville Goddard?

Goddard was a teach and author known for teaching the powers of manifestation, imagination, and consciousness. His principles align heavily with the Law of Assumption and we continue to use his teaching's today.

Imagination

Goddard taught that imagining a scene as though it already happened is the key to manifesting it in reality. He believed that our imaginations is the force behind everything in life. You don’t need external validation or techniques to manifest,  simply need to shift your inner state.

God is within You

Goddard taught that God is not a separate from us but rather the power of awareness  within all of us. If you identify as someone who has what they desire, your outer world will reflect that identity. He referred this to the “I AM” state, which is the force of universe.

“Man is all imagination, and God is man and exists in us and we in Him.”

Feeling is the Secret

According to Goddard, our feelings are the key to manifestation. The feeling of already having your desire ‘impresses’ our subconscious mind, which then brings it into reality. Feel as though you already have what you desire (because you do.)

Living in the End

This means that we should feel and think as though your desire has already come true. For example, let’s say you want a job, think and feel how you would if you had the job. Go straight to the end. You only need to repeatedly assume the feeling of already having what you want. 

Techniques you can use to Manifest: 

Imagination

Your imagination is the creative power of your awareness. When you close your eyes and visualize, you are stepping into the 4D. Create scenes that imply your desire is fulfilled and dream in them.

Scripting

Write out your desires as if they’ve already happened. Example: “I am so grateful to have my dream job. I feel fulfilled and excited every day.”

Affirmations

Affirmations are simple statements of what you want as if it’s already true. Example: “I am loved,” or “I have everything I desire.” Make sure to repeat affirmations you resonate with.

Revision

Rewrite past experiences in your imagination. For instance, if you had a bad day, imagine it going exactly how you wanted instead. This changes your assumptions about reality.

Circumstances don’t matter. The 3D is only showing remnants of old assumptions. Stay faithful to your new state.

Extra/Rant:

You don't need a technique to manifest, you can affirm once or affirm hundreds of times for hours : you still get your desire.

If you keep asking yourself why you don't have your desire, then you don't completely understand it. i've explained it as much as I could.

be kind to yourself, don't beat yourself up. manifestation should be easy, if it's hard you're putting too much pressure on yourself.

my beliefs on manifestation may not align with yours, that's fine. this is just how i perceived it in my years in the community.

You can manifest whatever you want, yes you can. It doesn’t matter what it is and how crazy it sounds, you can manifest it. yes you can manifest out of thin air, multiple things at once, etc. there is no limit in manifestation. Manifestation is real, LOA is real, it isn’t my job to convince you, that is your decision. Stop asking me for permission, stop asking period, all you need to do is assume. Let this be your sign, just decide, right now that you have everything you want. You and your mind are not separate beings, your mind is you, you control everything! Everything is in your hands, use it.

happy new year and live you dream life.

[greenjudy]

weird cultural shift detected

Fam, be careful with your time online. I highly recommend sinking some time and energy into offline pursuits.

Try: knitting or crochet; gentle movement, stretching, walking if you can; playing a musical instrument, whether it's piano or penny whistle; and especially reading.

I do not mean performative BookTok reading that we do for likes because our neurotransmitters have been nerfed by modern life.

I mean actual reading that we do for ourselves alone.

If reading is hard, if attention or energy or memory are operating at a deficit, I get it. Nevertheless, please try. If you notice you're skipping across big chunks of text like a river stone, if you can't finish a paragraph, slow down, pronounce the words out loud. Stop sometimes and ask yourself what you just read. Explain the story or article or poem to your blorbo or your cat or a stuffed animal.

If your head feels scrambled up, no judgment. We may have incredibly intractable neurochemical reasons that this is hard. Just tell the blorbo, "That's hilarious, I don't remember any of what I just read. Let's read it again, together."

(Please don't ask A.I. to do this for you. Please. It's your right to read and think about it your own way. A.I. doesn't actually understand anything. Please don't assume it will guide you safely through this next weird phase of our human culture.)

If reading longform, offline, makes you feel bored or anxious, be gentle and patient with yourself. Start with stories you remember well, reliable sources of well-being. But please know you will need to put some backbone into it in the long run.

I think we are going to need to rebuild our ability to think, to process experience. This will be an unsupported activity. In fact, most of the really powerful cultural forces are making it very hard for us to notice, feel, perceive, or think clearly.

Not sure what, but something's happened quite recently that is making this situation much worse, some kind of tipping point.

Please read something every day.

Your friend, greenjudy

[personapeters]

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

— a jj maybank one shot (?)

✰ none if it was real — it was a dream; it was all just a dream.

rating: sfw — cw: depressing theme, s4 spoiler, graphic

˗ˏˋ listen & read: i know the end by phoebe bridges ˎˊ˗

the human mind is intricate — it’s ability to store, record, replay, create and delete different mediums of life. it’s bittersweet, saving each of your most cherished memories that you could only ever see again in the deepest grooves of your brain, allowing one to revisit them anytime they’d like and subsequently mourn all that will reside there, and only there, forever — childhood scents you’ll never smell again, the feel of loved ones hands you’ll never touch again or see again… unless you close your eyes.

“hey, no, no, it’s okay, it’s—it’s okay. look at me, jj, look at me — you’re gonna be okay. don’t—don’t move, okay? stay with me, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna— please, jj, you have to—.”

her own voice sounded miles away, echoing as though she was deeply nestled in the furthest end of a cold, dark, vacant cave, her plea’s consumed by the null void of nothingness, dissipating into no more than just that — nothingness.

“please, you’re okay, hey, you’re��you’re okay, jj, please!”

her screams ripped violently through her throat, burning like fire at her aching vocal cords, ringing relentlessly in her ears. warm blood bubbled through her shaking fingers as she pressed into his waist, painting her nails a deep shade of red.

an unknown force gripped her ankles, yanking her legs from underneath her and throwing her down onto her stomach with a thud, violently dragging her away.

she dug her bloody fingers deep into the ground, desperately clawing and scratching at the sand in an attempt to crawl her way back to him.

“jj! i’m—i’m coming! hold on, please, i’m here!”

his limp, nearly lifeless body became smaller and smaller in the distance as she was pulled further and further away, though she could still see his face so clearly — he was insanely vivid.

“i love you, y/n,” he strained, his dirty blond hair resting over his crystal blue orbs as his head slowly lolled to the side, his pink lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut, a single, shaky exhale escaping his lungs before he fell completely limp.

he was so far, so distant, yet felt so close — so much so that she could have sworn she felt a warmth on her skin as though he released his final breath against her neck.

she didn’t stop struggling against her invisible restraint, not even for a second, kicking and thrashing relentlessly as her sight began to fade, darkness tunneling her vision.

“NO! i love you, JJ!

i-i’m sorry, i’m so sorry…

PLEASE jay! JJ!”

her eyes shot open frantically as her pupils dilated, attempting to collect the dim moonlight streaming through the window. her chest heaved rapidly as beads of sweat collected at her hairline, tears streaming endlessly down her flushed cheeks as violent sobs tore through her trembling lips.

what the hell was that?

was it real?

where is he?

suddenly, a flick was heard and a pool of warm yellow light flooded the space, a previously unnoticed presence shifting beside her underneath the thick duvet.

“y/n?” a familiar voice groaned, and her head instantly snapped in it’s direction, her entire body trembling in the wake of her terror.

it’s him.

“jj!” she choked out, her voice catching in her throat, her mind painfully foggy and vision an intense blur as she flung her arms around his neck. she squeezed him tight, relief flooding her body like rushing water from a broken dam, her frame jolting violently as distressed cries spilled out of her mouth and into his chest.

“woah, hey, what—what’s wrong, baby? what happened?” he croaked out in concern, his voice still heavily laced with sleep, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist in return, rubbing a comforting hand in circles on her back.

“i had a dream you—you died, you were… you were bleeding, so much… there was—there was so much blood, jj, all over you and—and my hands, i felt it. i—i tried to get back to you, i tried… i tried to get to you and i couldn’t… i just couldn’t get to you—.”

“—shhh, it’s okay, y/n… hey — it’s okay,” he reassured, pulling his head back and locking eyes with her, the poor lamp lighting making his blue orbs appear an empty gray, “you’re okay.”

he pulled her close to his chest once more, running his fingers across her forehead to brush some of her disheveled, sweaty hair out of her face, though her skin was so numb, she couldn’t feel it.

“it—it just felt so real, like you were… like you were actually gone… i—i can’t explain it. i’ve never… i’ve never had a dream like that before…. you died right in front of me, and—and there was nothing i could—could do to save you, i couldn’t—”

“—shhh, just breathe, baby — breathe,

breathe,

BREATHE—”

“—BREATHE, JJ!

PLEASE! no, no, NO, PLEASE!

kiara! john b! POPE!”

“hey, hey, focus, baby — focus on me,” he whispered, his voice so soft, so faint, so far, she almost couldn’t hear him, “you’ll be okay… promise. i’m here…. i’m here, just close your eyes.”

close your eyes.

close your eyes.

CLOSE YOUR EYES.

she closed her eyes.

“hey, y/n?”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

“take care of the others, okay?”

“what?”

“wake up.”

“wha—? jj, where—where’d you go?”

“y/n, wake up.”

“please, jj, turn the light back on… i—i can’t see, p-please!”

“Y/N!”

“NO… don’t—don’t leave me here! jj, where are you?!”

“wake up! Y/N! please,

wake UP!

Y/N, WAKE UP!”

“wake up, please!” kiara wailed from the edge of the bed, heavy tears pouring from her wide brown eyes, her hands resting on the girls shoulders from where she was vigorously shaking her awake.

y/n’s eyes shot open, her arms instinctively reaching for something to grip as she gasped for air. she quickly sat herself up straight, quickly scanning the entirety of her surroundings with bloodshot eyes.

where is he?

“are—are you okay?!” kiara cried, though she already knew the answer, her lips trembling as she stared intently at her friend, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest.

“jj…” y/n breathed out, her voice cracking as tears spilled out of her already red, raw, sore eyes, “where… where is he?”

“i— what… what do you mean?”

“he’s here,” y/n stammered, her volume getting louder, “where is he, kiara?!”

“y/n, he’s… he’s not…” kiara shook her head to herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she pursed her lips, her heart disintegrating even more than she ever thought humanly possible, “he’s not here.”

“he is, kie, he—he held me, i felt him. he talked to me, told me he loves me… i—i heard him,” y/n sobbed furiously, leaning forward as she jabbed a finger towards herself before pointing it at what was once his side of the bed.

“he was right here — i woke up and he was right… right here, why—why are you lying?! don’t lie, he was here, kiara!”

she had herself fooled for a short lived time — a blissful, almost peaceful, heaven sent time where her mind was too congested with sleep and grief to know any better…

…but the last remaining sliver of her sanity tugged at the nerves in her gut, twisting and pulling harshly until her stomach lurched, tumbling her headfirst back down to earth, crashing back into reality with a bone-shattering impact to the unforgiving ground.

part of her hoped that if she believed long enough, strongly enough, then somehow, as though life was a fairytale, in that cloudy space between an unconscious slumber and hovering reality, jj would step out of her foggy dream bubble —

— and that by some miracle from god, he’d come walking through the bedroom door, his bright, dimpled smile on full display as his ocean eyes glinted with mischief, eager to let everyone know it some elaborate, sick joke and that they had all fallen for it.

but that wasn’t going to happen.

and she knew that.

“you—you were screaming, y/n… in your sleep,” kiara weeped pitifully, tilting her head as she furrowed her brows, “you didn’t… you didn’t just see him… here, did you?”

y/n shook her head slowly as she screwed her eyes shut, covering her face with her hands and crumbling sideways against the mattress, taking a deep, shaky inhale that hardly squeezed through her clenching airway before letting out a glass shattering, gut wrenching, throat tearing, blood curdling scream.

heartache.

sadness.

torment.

despair.

sorrow.

hatred.

misery.

anger.

regret.

pain.

love.

one could hear them all fighting through in the piercing octaves of her cry; every emotion — every. single. one.

all kiara could do was collapse beside her, pulling the girl’s head into her neck and cradling her, allowing their collective tears to merge as their bodies convulsed against one another.

“tell me he was here, kie! tell me you—you saw him, too!” y/n screeched, her breaths short and quick as kiara rubbed softly on her back; she, too, wanted to scream — wanted someone to tell her the exact words y/n was wrongfully hoping for, and to mean it.

“i wish i— i wish i could, baby,” kiara whispered, placing her wet lips against y/n’s temple, knowing there was absolutely nothing she, or anyone, could say — nothing they could do.

no amount of denial was going to bring him back.

sweet jj maybank,

the outer banks’ sunshine boy,

was gone.

“it was just… it was all a dream?”

“it was all a dream.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[mawlbone]

LUCKY RABBIT’S FOOT - KÖNIG

SNIPPET: Preparing for the winter means a lot of preserving and curing food for the long nights ahead. So when a giant rabbit falls into your traps, you can only sigh as you release it once more… And again, again, and again.

[CW: gender neutral reader, socially awkward reader, giant flemish rabbit hybrid König, hunting, mention of dead wild animals, childhood neglect, bullying, bad memory, and loneliness.]

[COMMENT: So many bunny König posts going around… Makes me very happy! Apologies for being very late to the party, but I brought this, have a fluffy little guy to hold. Also I should probably make a hybrid au post like my pet au one, but I will think myself into exhaustion assigning everyone a creature. But in short, like pet au, hybrids are kept as an open secret, kind of, but mostly reserved for military work.]

You realized from an early age that you were a surprise as many of your relatives liked to call you, which in adult-speak is a socially acceptable way to say you were unwanted. For as much as adults likes to underestimate what a child know and doesn’t know, it’s not hard to tell when everyone immediately goes silent when you enter the room.

It’s not like you asked to be born, neither did you asked for much. So why? Why cannot you even get a morsel of the attention that your peers can get. It doesn’t matter, children are adaptable therefore children too get used to feeling disappointed.

Crying gets you nowhere there’s no one willing to find you.

It’s not like they were abusive, there’s enough food on the table and a bed for you to sleep in, but nights at the dinner table while everyone else was out and about without you still inevitably stings. You rarely hear your family anymore, signing off your own paperwork for your own education and attending your own graduation by yourself. No effort in remembering anything about you at all, even at times forgetting your age.

So you don’t know how to act whenever you’re around people. It’s hard to gauge what you’re doing correctly or not when you have no practice whatsoever in knowing how to act. So parties at family friends’ house usually consist of you standing in the background and watching instead of participating in the play that everyone seemed to be part of, except you. Usually you find yourself just fiddling with your clothes or touching any textures your brain found enough fascination in.

Despite everything, if there’s one good grace you get from your family was your grandfather’s house, which you get to visit every summer. He was your stereotypical man: grumpy and grey from a bad leg injury during his service and not much of a talker. You’re sure he puffs more than he breaths in the many times you came to see him, but he made it a point to never do it in the same room as you. You never met your grandmother, she died before you can be born but from the giant portrait of him and her on the wall, you can guess he deeply cherishes her.

When you were old enough, you can remember taking you out for hunting trips with him. Long drives in the car with nothing more than lunch and his old rifles as he lectures you about gun safety time and time again.

During these moments, he’s the most talkative to you. Gently guiding you to the handle and teaching you how to be careful around animals and use every part of them.

Leave nothing behind, it’s the least you can do for taking a life even if it’s for your benefit.

Perhaps such an act would had raise eyebrows from anywhere else but humans are the scariest thing to you, so you ignore them for the most part as you gradually increase from small rabbits to the deers that overpopulate the area.

You’re not sure if you’re his favorite grandchild, but the effort he had done into at least spending time with you made him your favorite family member, you would had invited him to your graduation if it wasn’t for his worsening health.

An inheritance, a little cabin in the woods was what you had received in your grandfather’s will with a considerable sum of money to get you started, no word left behind as usual. Typical grumpy old man he was, you left behind his favorite cigars and flowers at his bed. Though you had to say, you had gotten a bit of a kick in getting the appliances while everyone else was arguing over family heirlooms. Hey, products are not meant to last nowadays, might as well get the oldies.

So here you are, living alone with your company only being the occasional visiting deer outside your window. And your visit into town only consist getting your medicine and last minute groceries nowadays.

It’s nice… The escape from everyone.

No longer did you had to deal with snippy comments for every little action you do in the endless bullying from your household. Still, it doesn’t satisfy that emptiness in your stomach.

You’re not sure what you hunger. It’s hard to tell with the limited amount of energy you have nowadays.

Scattered scribbled notes litter your bedroom and trash reminding you to maintain your schedule: brushing your teeth, taking a shower, making phone calls with your client to pick up their orders… All of it so you can feel some sort of maintenance in your life, at least normal enough to pass for your own self-satisfaction.

You’re too nervous to go to a therapist anyways.

But taking over your grandfather’s hunting business wasn’t what you expected in your career plans, not that you are complaining, it keeps the bills paid: selling the meat, bones, and using what couldn’t be sold to feed yourself from your trips to the woods.

However, the last thing you could had expected while checking on the last of your traps was the fattest rabbit you ever seen stuck in one of your footholds trap with a broken front paw laid in front of you.

All black with the slightest blond stripe down its face, you can only stare as it huffs and thumps its foot down at you. Almost daring at you to pick it up and find out. Hard to look intimidating with giant floppy ears though, as you laugh at the trapped animal.

It’s awfully cute. A flemish rabbit, you learned later after tucking the animal underneath your arm to take back to your truck. Too weak and exhausted to fight back with its injury.

You didn’t kill it.

After all it may had been someone’s pet if anything with how well-maintained its fur is. Though you were met with the fluffiest kick in your life when you had to check its sex wondering about whether it needed to get fixed or not.

You didn’t dare to give it a name, attachments is scary enough as is but taking care of him was probably the most interesting aspect of your year.

His fur was unbelievable soft, better than any fox or deerskin you had touched before when you brought him home. It’s embarrassing how you got yourself in a bit of a giddy after you removed the trap and wrapped the poor thing’s leg after contacting your closest veterinarian for help. Pressing your face into his dense coat while he laid on your lap and eating your greens all while huffy didn’t bother you, it’s probably the closest physical touch you had in years.

Animals were a lot easier to handle than people, you think as you settle him inside a large box of yours laid between thick old blankets you no longer use before in your living room. Just feed and love them enough and they’ll stay with you.

How nice…

You’ll call later to see if anyone lost their pet rabbit, but for now, you get to enjoy laying beside the rabbit and watch as he hides his squishy face from you. You had to hold yourself from squealing at the adorableness of his actions. Even if you panic whenever he gets too close to any one of your notes, fearing he’ll eat them and make him sick.

In weeks time, he’ll make a full recovery and be out of your life. So you’ll enjoy what comfort you can get from this new little creature in your life before he’s inevitably gone.

—

When König escaped into the woods after unexpectedly being ambushed from wrong intel, the last thing he could had expected was for himself to be trapped within a hunter’s trap for hours on end with a broken leg if anything.

A human’s trap to make it worse, as his ears perked up, hearing the crunching of leaves and branches being brushed aside before beady eyes meets you, a painfully ordinary person, he thinks as he watch in dismay as their eyes gaze over his shifted form stuck in their machinery.

Should he be mortified? Yes, yes he should at the threat of a towering human nearby making him feel ever so small again.

All weak and pathetic.

He’s old, experienced, and definitely killed enough men to fill an ocean, so why? Why is he feeling like he’s back in the halls again dealing with spitballs being flung on the back of his head, older children slamming him against the walls for fun, and dealing with daily beating at the back of the school and for the first time in decades…

He feels scared.

For all his muscles and size, he couldn’t save himself for what you plan to do with him.

Maybe it’s the grace of humans to be given enough intelligence to feel merciful towards the small. He doesn’t know. He’s too tired to fight back anymore as you settle him inside the truck after weak attempts to escape. Might as well die without pain, he so thinks.

But nothing could had prepared him for the absolute babying he received once he arrived inside your home. Honestly, it’s almost sickening if he’s wasn’t enjoying it so much as you cooed and pamper him, wiping his paws and checking his bandages regularly with a giant bowl of fresh veggies for him to eat. Hell, even massaging his fur! Never in his life had he been treated as a pet as he cries at the loss of his dignity. But fuck, if he’s not enjoying the sensation of your nails pressing against his skin and soothing him to sleep regularly.

Sure, you may be giggling like some freaks he know every time you press your face into his back but at the end of the day, he’s breathing, alive and even thriving at this unexpected vacation he found himself in. But you have duties to do, your hunting. So often times, he will find brief moments where he’s alone while you’re out hunting to shift and stretch his muscles and do some snooping around your cabin.

He never got the chance to properly take in all the notes taped to the walls of your bedroom as he was placed in another spare room but the sheer amount of paper covering everything was truly a sight. It was nothing important per se, if anything they were just mere instructions on the wall and dates of various kinds of all sort all litter around like a brain and its thoughts. Yellows mixed with blues and pinks and all sort of post its on your mirror and bathroom had him loss in all its vividness. Perhaps the strangest wallpaper he had ever seen if anything.

What a lost human.

He doesn’t know what to feel, perhaps a sense of pity at you or gratitude, which one first would be acceptable? He truly doesn’t know. Emotions are hard and it’s easier to numb everything out.

He’ll have to check in on you often if anything, he concludes once he shifts back after hearing your keys jangle into the front door and the familiar noises of you gently scolding him for getting his bandages all unwrapped again.

When the time comes for him to leave after his leg is all healed up, hopefully he doesn’t get grilled out by his superiors. For now, his mission is to accompany your time as he settles beside you on the couch to rest near the fireplace for warmth this chilly winter.

Goodbyes will be hard, but you won’t be alone anymore.

—

The next spring when you released your rabbit into the bushes, you had to stop yourself from shedding some tears when he refused to leave your lap and letting you have some last minute cuddles. His fur coat is shinier now, all soft and sleek from your endless pampering of the creature and truly did the black fur sparkle in the sunlight as you held him tight before he ran off to the depths of the woods with nothing more than the platters of his feet against the dirt road.

Truly, you thought that will be the last you seen of him. He didn’t appear the following summer or fall much to your disappointment with every pitter patter of your heart, which you desperately tried to ignore. Life still continued, and you’re alone once more with nothing more than your notes and mind to accompany you. But when a peek of black fur comes across your view in the middle of your checkup standing right next to your trap with a familiar thump.

Your heart had quicken as you crashed through the brambly bushes to see your dear bunny looking all grumpy and white from the snow falling down onto his black coat. You were met with 20 pounds of softness as he jumped onto you, giving you enough time to brace yourself as you carried the loaf around and cheering, swinging your rabbit around and around in an excited rampage before settling down once more to inspect him.

His leg is all fine, but there’s a glaring red collar wrapped around his neck with a tag on it.

So he is someone’s pet, you muttered quietly to yourself as you flipped over the sliver tag and brush your glove over the cold metal to find a name embedded onto its surface.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise once you read it. How fitting for such a large creature…

König, a king, hm?

How perfect, you think to yourself with a nothing more than a smile before your rabbit nudges you to focus back on him with a firm thump against your lap to cuddle him some more, even nudging its head against your check to redirect your focus on him, which you can only laugh at as your hands immediately scrunch his warm sleek fur.

It’s always lonely during this time of the year for you in the silence of nature, but for the first time in years, you get to enjoy it with a floppy eared friend for many more winters to come.

[mikiemcsmitty]

Omori x Owl House Crossover AU

The Azura AU follows the events of the game Omori but with the characters and backstories of the characters from The Owl House.

(TLDR: Luz is Sunny, Azura is Omori, Hunter is Mari, Vee is Aubrey, Gus is Kel, Willow is Hero, Amity is Basil)

Luz/Azura:

After Hunter's death, the rest of her friends travel to the boiling isles to stop Belos from taking over their home. Luz stays true to her word and never returns to the demon realm out of guilt choosing instead to live out her life in the human realm. After her friends save the boiling isles Luz cuts contact with them and shuts herself off from the world. She stops going to school and spends all day sleeping the grief away until she starts to forget things from her life. She doesn’t even talk to Vee who lives in the same house as her. During the main storyline, it’s been 3 years since Hunter's death and Luz is given 3 days before her mom sells the house and moves her and Vee out of Gravesfield. Luz is approached by Gus on the morning of each day to hang out before she moves away for good.

Azura presents as a child-aged version of Luz but acts as a gatekeeper of her deep guilt and trauma. Azura lives in Headspace a place where Luz can escape in her dreams and live out a perfect world full of magic and play. Unlike Omori, Azura is very talkative and outgoing in headspace choosing to lead her friends in all of their day-to-day adventures. During the main storyline, Azura is faced with a mysterious but oddly familiar cryptid in headspace known as “Stranger” that seems to keep her at arm's length.

Hunter/Something:

In the real world, Hunter died during the events of For The Future. After being possessed by Belos and trying to fight back Hunter jumps into a lake and drowns. An injured Flapjack tries to save him but isn’t successful and the both of them disintegrate into floating light. All of Hunter's friends are grief-stricken after this event but Luz specifically blames herself for her involvement with Belos and the fact that she followed Hunter into the forest that day. 3 years later after Luz has suppressed the memory of these events she still finds herself haunted by the hallucinations of what Hunter looks like after he died. This hallucination is known to her as “something” and can be seen behind her when she looks in the mirror.

In Headspace Hunter acts as a safe place for Azura and her friends to wind down and have a picnic. He never joins their adventures and is instead always found nearby safely in the company of flapjack and a full picnic basket. He also gives Azura tons of brotherly advice as she traverses Headspace with her friends healing with things such as getting over fears and managing tasks. The main task Azura and her friends need help remembering is their quest to find Amity who’s gone missing during the main story.

Amity/Stranger:

On the night of Hunter’s death, Amity is the only one who finds out the truth about Luz’s involvement with Belos. Because of her love for Luz, she doesn’t blame Luz at all. The rest of the group all assumed Hunter drowned himself during his possession but since Amity knows about Luz’s guilt she became dilutional in an attempt to justify Luz’s actions. She claims that Luz is a good witch who wouldn’t do something like help Belos. Her Delusions are that “Something” helped Belos and not Luz. The version of something that haunts Amity in her day-to-day life however is not the same something that haunts Luz. After Luz locks herself away amity never got closure about the status of their relationship so She was never able to truly move on. Despite this, she chose to keep Luz’s secret with all of her willpower.

Amity’s presence in Headspace is different from that of the others. She acts as a holder of memories for Luz; because, of the diary she keeps because of this Azura tries to get rid of Amity in order to protect Luz from grief. During the main storyline, the group visits Amity and reminisces on old memories from her diary. Amity ends up seeing an unsettling entry that she doesn’t remember writing that involves Hunter’s death. This shocks her and begins her transformation into a stranger that no one remembers similar to Basil in Omori.

Since headspace is supposed to be a perfect place for Luz to forget about her problems having Amity around as a memory keeper wasn’t an option so she became a “Stranger” to the group. Stranger hinds not only within headspace but within Blackspace a deeper version of headspace where stranger will run and hide from Azura in an attempt to keep her away. Once Azura catches Stranger only then can Luz finally remember the truth about what happened to Hunter.

Vee:

After Hunter’s death, Vee wasn’t ready to go back to the Boiling Isles with the rest of the group and stayed behind with Luz in the human realm. After Luz shuts her out Vee is left to grieve Hunter in her own way. She looked up to Hunter and although they didn’t know each other for that long she considered Lus a sister and Luz considered Hunter a brother so she also thought of Hunter as an older brother figure. She takes the loss hard and ends up falling out of touch with the rest of the group. She starts hanging out with Marsha at first but after a while, she starts falling into the wrong crowd and taking her anger and grief out of the people around her similar to Aubrey from Omori. She especially gives Amity a hard time because she blames her for not being there for Luz and getting her to open up.

In headspace, Vee is as happy and playful as ever always following Azura around and going on adventures, and being helpful. During the main story, Vee is all for helping Azura find Amity until she starts to forget who Amity is over time the longer they go without finding her.

Willow:

Willow was a wreck after the incident. She had very strong romantic feelings for Hunter so his death left her very hurt especially since she was left to assume he died from suicide and not from the possession. She still cared deeply about every one of her old friends but she distanced herself from them for the sake of her own mental health. Gus was the only one who she still let in and even then Gus wasn’t in the know about just how deep her grief ran. She has mostly stayed in the demon realm since Hunter died in the human realm. She only returns to visit Gus when he wants her to hang out. During the events of the main storyline, she comes back to visit Gus and helps him try to reach out to Luz and reconnect with Vee before they have to move away.

In Headspace Willow acts similar to the others in the group by joyfully going on adventures and practicing magic. Her and Gus are often playfully making fun of each other and interacting with each other. Willow was the last one to fully forget who Amity was while they were still looking for her. In Headspace she often takes on a caring roll for the others in the group similar to Hiro in Omori.

Gus:

In the years after the incident Gus chose to try to find the joy in life and live in a way that he believed would honor Hunter by continuing his studies of wild magic and the human realm. He tried to keep in touch with all of his old friends as best as he could but Willow was the only one he still had regular contact with. In the events of the main story, Gus visits Luz’s house and tries to get her to come out of the house as well as trying to get Vee to forgive Amity and stop picking on her similar to Kel in Omori.

In Headspace Gus acts similar to the others in the group by joyfully going on adventures and practicing magic. He and Willow are often playfully making fun of each other and interacting with each other similar to how Kel and Hiro interact in Omori. Gus was the first to start forgetting who Amity was while they were still looking for her often questioning how exactly he knew Amity and why they were friends.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

For Rome - Chapter 2

Summary: When those three days pass, he's back to see you and talk about things most important to him.

Pairing: General Marcus Acasius x F!Reader

Warnings: a description of injuries (I'm not a doctor or do not have any medical education so apologies), angst, some fluff if you squint, a not-defined age-gap. English isn't my first language so apologies for all mistakes.

Words: 4 300

N/A: The story is not really canon, but I still hope you guys will enjoy it ;)

Marcus Acasius never imagined a woman could take up so much space in his thoughts. It was absurd, really. He was a Roman General, a man forged in the fires of war, and yet he felt like a boy—a foolish, inexperienced boy—mesmerized by something he couldn’t shake from his mind.

As he sat in the quiet of his chambers, the world outside his door dimmed by night, his thoughts betrayed him once more. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. The memory of your gentle touch on his scars lingered like a phantom, your soft voice echoing in his mind, and those eyes—those beautiful eyes so full of care—they almost broke him. You made him feel strong, and yet so painfully vulnerable all at once.

Every night, as per your orders, he applied the oil you had given him. The act itself was mundane, yet it felt anything but. The subtle, calming scent reminded him of the peace he had found in your presence. Whether it was the oil itself or the thought of you that brought him relief, he couldn’t be certain. What he did know was that the angry red scars were beginning to fade, the pain that had once been constant now a dull memory. You were skilled, undoubtedly so, and he clung to that explanation for why you haunted his thoughts.

Yes, it was your talent. It had to be.

It couldn’t possibly be you.

He had traveled far and wide, seen beauty in every corner of the empire. He had shared nights with women whose allure could make poets weep. You were lovely, of course—adorable, even if he were forced to describe you. But he was no stranger to beautiful women. Unlike the younger men under his command, he had long since lost the naïve infatuation with a pretty face. He had experienced it all before, knew it well, and yet here he was.

And so, when he summoned one of his men to gather information about you, he told himself it was out of curiosity for your skills, nothing more.

The report was straightforward enough. You were from a lower-class family, though your roots hinted at something more complex. Your father had once been part of an aristocratic lineage, but when he married your mother—a woman of modest means—he was disowned. Together, they built a humble life, known for their generosity and compassion.

The tragedy of their deaths, claimed by illness, had left you alone. But it also explained much about you. Your father’s education had clearly been passed down, and your mother’s kindness was etched into every fiber of your being. It all made sense now—the deft way your hands worked, the calming air you carried, the unwavering patience and joy with which you helped those in need.

He found himself smiling at the thought of you. Even your stubborn refusal to address him with the formality his title demanded brought a strange warmth to his chest. It was improper, yes, but it was honest. It reminded him of how deeply you valued people—not their titles or their rank, just their humanity.

So when the third day finally arrived, Marcus Acasius was more than ready to see you again. He had spent the past two days drowning in reports, orders, and the endless bureaucracy of war, but the thought of you lingered like a quiet undercurrent. Of course, he told himself, this visit was purely about your skills. Your talent for healing was unparalleled, and any admiration he held for you stemmed entirely from professional respect. Or so he insisted.

---

You were exhausted. More so than usual, which was saying something.

Helping people was your calling—it gave you purpose and joy—but the demands were relentless, and lately, sleep had become a luxury you could scarcely afford. Last night, a frantic knock at your door woke you at three in the morning. A small family needed your help; their young son was sick and vomiting, and his parents were in a state of panic.

You had gone to them immediately, carrying your bag of remedies through the cold, quiet streets. After examining the boy, you reassured the worried parents that it was likely something he’d eaten. You gave him a dose of your homemade stomach drops and stayed long enough to see his color return before heading back.

But the day didn’t stop there. As soon as the sun rose, more patients arrived, each with their own ailments and needs. It was nearly nightfall when you finally sat down, the ache in your feet a dull reminder of the hours you’d spent moving from one task to the next.

Your eyes fell on the small bag of coins sitting on your table. The one the general had given you three days ago. It remained untouched, unopened—a symbol of your stubbornness. You had told yourself you didn’t need it, that you could manage without it.

And yet, as your gaze lingered on it, a small pang of disappointment stirred within you.

He hadn’t come back.

You frowned, pressing your lips together as if to stop yourself from admitting the truth. But it was no use. You wanted to see him again.

Who were you kidding? You liked him.

Marcus Acasius was a mystery to you—a man shaped by war and hardship, yet possessing a depth of kindness you hadn’t expected. The way he spoke of his men, the gratitude in his voice when he thanked you, it was like listening to a father speaking of his children. It had been endearing, yes, but it had also made your silly crush on him all the harder to ignore.

Couldn’t he have been just handsome?

But no, he had to be charming too.

And handsome he was. The image of him lingered in your mind—his broad shoulders and strong, weathered hands, his sharp jawline and the lines etched around his eyes from years of experience. His dark brown hair, streaked with just the faintest hints of silver, framed a face that seemed carved by the gods themselves. His piercing gaze, often shadowed with the weight of command, had softened when he looked at you, and the contrast was enough to make your heart race.

He reminded you of a hero from an epic tale, though he carried himself with far more humility. The ruggedness of his features, paired with the quiet strength in his voice, made him nearly impossible to ignore.

And those moments when he smiled? They felt rare, like a secret treasure, and you found yourself wanting to be the cause of it again.

He was older than you, of course, that much was clear. But the years had been kind to him, sculpting his physique and demeanor into something almost otherworldly. He had the physique of a seasoned warrior—broad and powerful, but lean, every muscle honed for purpose rather than vanity. The way his tunic clung to him when he moved was enough to make your cheeks flush just thinking about it.

So, was it foolish to hope he might return? Maybe. But hope was a stubborn thing, and tonight, it clung to you as tenaciously as the exhaustion in your limbs.

And as you sat there, staring at the unopened bag of coins and willing yourself to move, a part of you couldn’t help but glance toward the door.

Almost as if you had summoned him, the soft creak of the door and a quiet knock broke the silence. You stood quickly, brushing your hands on your apron as you approached the door, but the sight on the other side made you freeze.

It was him. The man who had occupied far too many of your thoughts these past days.

“Apologies, my lady. I am late,” Marcus Acasius said, his voice carrying that deep timbre that you hadn’t realized you’d missed. A faint, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. “But it seems that just because I’m off the battlefield doesn’t mean I’m free of its demands.”

The joke was awkward, and yet it disarmed you completely. The tiredness that had weighed on you moments ago seemed to lift as if by magic. You smiled, stepping aside to let him in, your voice softer than you intended. “Don’t apologize, General. I’m just glad you listened to me and came.”

I’m glad you came. The words lingered on the tip of your tongue, but you bit them back, forcing yourself to remain composed.

“And I told you not to call me a lady,” you added playfully as you waved him toward the chair by the hearth.

He chuckled, a sound that warmed the room as much as the firelight. You lit the remaining candles, bathing the space in a soft glow, and poured him a cup of wine. His gaze drifted as he accepted it, landing on the small bag of coins sitting on your table.

“I see I’m as stubborn as you are, my lady,” he said with a raised brow, emphasizing the title with deliberate mischief.

You followed his gaze and sighed, rolling your eyes as you poured yourself a cup of water.

“It’s hard for me to believe you don’t need the funds,” he added, his tone light but firm.

“I don’t take money from my patients,” you replied, your voice tinged with the stubbornness he was quickly coming to recognize. “They come here because they know I don’t expect anything from them.”

He leaned forward slightly, the light catching the curve of his jaw as he spoke. “It wasn’t meant as payment. It was a gesture of thanks.”

His words were gentle, but the glint of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape you. He seemed almost entertained by the pout that had formed on your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh.

Instead, he set his cup aside and began to remove his tunic. You turned instinctively, pretending to busy yourself with your tools, but the sight of his bare chest caught you off guard when you glanced back. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you cursed the warmth that betrayed you.

Marcus raised a brow, catching the faint flush in your face. Adorable, he thought to himself. Absolutely adorable.

You apologized softly for your cold hands as your fingertips brushed against his skin, working methodically to check his healing wounds. You peeled back the bandages carefully, your touch light yet deliberate. Each scar you examined showed clear signs of improvement, and the satisfaction that lit up your face was undeniable.

“I’d like to take the bandages off completely, if that’s alright,” you said, glancing up at him.

His deep voice rumbled with a simple, “Alright,” and you thanked him with a smile so sweet it nearly undid him.

As you revealed more of his healing skin, your excitement grew. The bruises that had once been dark and angry were now fading to muted shades. You pressed lightly against the edges of one to test for tenderness, and though he winced slightly, he barely flinched.

“Forgive me,” you murmured, pulling your hand back quickly. “I needed to see if it was healing properly.”

When you looked up at him again, your expression was so full of joy that it made his chest tighten.

“It means you’ve been following my instructions,” you said with a pleased smile.

“More like orders,” he teased, unable to resist.

You shot him a look, but the playful glint in your eye made him chuckle.

“That oil you made is fascinating,” he admitted, his tone softening. “For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like retching while using medicine.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “The nose is a powerful instrument. Humans are naturally drawn to things that are pleasing, even when it comes to healing.”

He nodded thoughtfully, though he wasn’t sure if it was the oil or you that had been so alluring. No, he told himself firmly. It was the oil. You were just... a curiosity.

Handing him a small bottle, you said, “Three more nights of this, and you should be fine. After that, keep the area dressed for another week to ensure complete healing. And please,” you added, your tone soft but serious, “make sure you rest. Rest is as powerful as any medicine I could make.”

You placed your hand lightly on his freshly dressed ribs, your fingers lingering just a moment too long. When you realized it, you pulled back quickly, your heart racing as if you’d been caught doing something improper.

Marcus noticed, of course. But instead of teasing you, he simply smiled—a quiet, knowing smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “For everything.”

You nodded, your cheeks warm as you turned away, focusing on tidying your supplies. But as you moved, you felt his gaze on you, steady and unwavering.

“Actually…”

The sound of your name on his lips made you freeze. It wasn’t his usual voice—the commanding tone of a general accustomed to giving orders. No, this was different. It was hesitant, almost fragile, like he was about to confess something he wasn’t sure you wanted to hear.

“I came to ask you something. A favor.”

Your heart skipped, the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice sending a ripple of unease through you. You forced a smile, trying to ease the tension that seemed to thicken the air between you. “What is it, General?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze fell to the floor, his hands flexing and releasing as if grappling with the weight of his own words. You stayed quiet, waiting, though every second of his silence felt heavier than the last.

“This will likely be my last campaign for a long time,” he said finally, his voice quiet and measured. “The emperor is preparing to marry, and with any luck, he’ll have his hands too full with his new bride to concern himself with war.”

The faint bitterness in his tone made you smile despite yourself. It was rare to hear him speak so plainly about the emperor, and it felt oddly comforting to know he shared your unspoken frustrations.

“It’s a critical mission,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment before flickering away again. “Not for Rome, but for my men. Their morale is fragile, and I want as many of them to come back as possible. They deserve that much.”

There was a heaviness in his voice that made your chest tighten. You nodded softly, silently urging him to go on.

“What is it you need from me, General?” you asked gently when the silence stretched too long.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly filling the room in a way that made it hard to breathe. Your heart stuttered as he moved within arm’s reach, his broad frame towering yet not imposing. It wasn’t his size or rank that overwhelmed you—it was the way he looked at you, as though searching for an answer he wasn’t sure you could give.

“Of course you’d want to help,” he murmured, his voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver through you. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

The words caught you off guard. Your lips parted to respond, but no sound came. Before you could compose yourself, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

It was such a small gesture, but the tenderness in it left you frozen. You could feel the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin long after he pulled away.

“I want you to come with me,” he said simply.

His words felt like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of your lungs. You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “I’m… I’m not sure I heard you correctly, my Lord.”

“You heard me,” he replied, his tone steady but lined with something raw. “You’re the most talented healer I’ve ever met. You don’t just treat wounds; you give people hope. You make them feel seen, cared for—like they matter. That’s something I’ve never seen in the ranks of the Roman army.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and for a moment, you felt like a child again—small and unsure, standing in the shadow of something far bigger than yourself.

“The medics I take with me,” he continued, his voice quieter now, “they’re soldiers first. They’re efficient, but they’ve seen too much, and it shows. My men—they trust you. They look to you for more than just healing. I want them to have that on the battlefield, too.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “I’m tired,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “So damn tired of burying boys who never got the chance to live. Of hearing mothers wail when they learn their sons won’t come home. Of hearing wives weep for the husbands they’ve lost.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his words seeming to bear down on him. He turned away, walking to the window, his hand resting on the frame as he stared into the darkness outside.

“I’m asking for a lot,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were the only one who could give them what they need.”

His words hung heavy in the air, wrapping around you like a storm cloud.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m just a girl from a low-born family. I mix oils and make stomach drops. I wrap bandages. I’m not…”

“You’re more than that,” he interrupted, his voice rising with conviction. “You’ve done more for them than anyone else has. You’ve given them hope, kindness, a reason to believe in something. Including me.”

Your breath caught at his last words. He turned back to you, his eyes searching yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your chest ache.

Tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. The vulnerability in his face, the rawness in his voice—it was too much.

“My lady…” He stepped closer, his tone soft, almost pleading.

“I’m no one,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I help them because they come to me already half-healed. I don’t do anything special…”

“You do more than you know,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “And I don’t expect miracles. I just want my men to feel cared for. To know there’s someone who sees them as more than soldiers.”

He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I want them to feel like they have something to come back to. And I don’t want to wait until they return to Rome to give them that.”

The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire. You stared at him, his words sinking into your chest like stones, heavy and unrelenting.

“I have people here who depend on me,” you murmured, the words faltering as they left your lips. Your eyes darted anywhere but to his face. How could you look at him, knowing the weight of what he was asking? It felt impossibly heavy, pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“What you ask of me, my Lord, it’s too much…” you trailed off, your voice barely audible. The truth was clawing at your chest, but you didn’t know how to give it words.

You stood abruptly, needing movement, needing something to ground yourself. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Your fingers moved to the jars on your desk, rearranging them out of habit, though they didn’t need fixing. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, crashing into one another with relentless force, refusing to settle.

“I’m more than honored,” you said, though the words felt hollow. They weren’t untrue, but they weren’t enough to explain the tempest inside you.

You paused, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as if it could keep you steady. “Gods, this is why I hate Rome!” The words burst from you, sharp and unguarded, as though ripped from the deepest part of your soul.

The moment they escaped, regret surged through you like a tidal wave. You froze, your breath catching, your chest tightening with panic.

Behind you, you felt his attention shift, his presence suddenly sharper, heavier.

“Do you really hate Rome?” His voice was calm, but the question cut through you, leaving you bare.

You turned slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. Did I say that out loud?

His gaze met yours, unwavering. It wasn’t cold or accusing; it was something worse. Understanding. He saw you, and in that moment, it felt as though he could see everything—your doubts, your fears, your anger, and the tiny flicker of hope you’d long tried to smother.

“I…” you stammered, your throat dry, “Forgive me, General, I have misspoken.” Your words rushed out, desperate to cover the mistake you couldn’t take back.

“You haven’t,” he said softly.

The gentleness in his tone startled you, and when he stepped closer, you instinctively stepped back, your hands gripping the desk tighter.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “it’s not Rome you hate. Perhaps it’s the Rome we have now—the one ruled by men who care nothing for its people.”

Your breath hitched. His words were dangerous. More dangerous than anything you’d dared to think aloud. And yet, they resonated so deeply within you that you couldn’t push them away.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a quiet plea. “Tell me about the Rome you dream of.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. How could you speak of the thoughts you’d buried so deep, even you were afraid to confront them?

When his hand cupped your cheek, the warmth of his touch startled you, grounding you. His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, and for the briefest moment, the noise in your mind stilled.

“My parents dreamed of a Rome that belonged to its people,” you began, your voice trembling. “They dreamed of a place where corruption didn’t rule, where the public had the power to choose their future.”

You paused, the weight of those memories pressing against your chest. You could see your parents so clearly, their faces illuminated by the flicker of the candle light as they whispered of a better world.

“But I don’t think their dream was enough,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “It was… too far away, too focused on what could be. The Rome I dream of needs to start here, now.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. He watched you, his expression open, patient.

“It needs to start with the wars,” you said, your voice growing stronger. “Ending them. No more death, no more pain, no more conquering. We have to stop trying to claim the world when we can’t even take care of the people we already have.”

The words poured out of you now, a torrent you couldn’t hold back.

“There are people starving, suffering, dying right here in Rome. How can we talk about a better future when we’re losing the present?”

Your chest heaved as you finished, your heart pounding against your ribs. For the first time in your life, you had spoken the truth of your dreams aloud, and it felt like tearing open a wound.

“And do you believe that’s possible under Geta and Caracalla?” he asked, his tone gentle but edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“They don’t know how to build,” you said, the anger in your voice surprising even yourself. “All they know is how to destroy. Every day, I see what their vanity has done to the city I love. I try to help, but it’s never enough. I can’t undo the damage they’ve done.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and this time, you didn’t bother to fight them.

“Tell me, General,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anger and despair. “Do you know what it’s like to hear the cries of the dying? To see the fear in someone’s eyes as they realize it’s over? Do you know what it’s like to hold someone’s hand as they take their last breath?”

Your voice cracked, and the sob that followed broke free before you could stop it. Your knees buckled, but before you could fall, his arms were there. Strong, steady, pulling you against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

The warmth of him enveloped you, his steady heartbeat grounding you as your emotions spilled over.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve held the hands of boys who will never grow old. I’ve listened to the wails of mothers, the sobs of wives. It’s why I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“It’s why I need you to help me help them,” he continued, his voice steady, filled with conviction. “Help me build the Rome we both dream of.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and hope. You stared at him, your heart warring with your mind. He believed in you, in your dreams, in a future that felt impossible.

And somehow, against all logic, you believed in him too.

You nodded, the motion small but certain.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to hope—not just for the Rome you dreamed of, but for the man standing before you.

[bubblegumrabbitwriting]

Dashingdon | CoG Demos | CoG Forum

(70k words | last updated: 15/12/24 | Prologue & 70% ch1)

Blink

You were born in a concrete box, forged for one individual purpose and sharpened by experience. You thought you would die there. But against all odds you didn't. You escaped. Thrust into a city of noise and shady undergrounds, concealed beauty and dangerous company. Will you build a new life for yourself, or will you risk it all for the chance to bring everything down? It's your choice operative.

Play as a superpowered assassin with years of experience in the art of exhausting human life as they navigate the multi-levelled, smog-ridden city of New York, aiming to destroy the company that held their leash and maybe become something more than what they were created for.

Features:

Play as male, female or nonbinary.

Fully customizable main character.

5 romance options to choose from or not choose at all.

Forge a new future for yourself or throw it all away for revenge.

Find purpose in a life you have no idea how to navigate.

Romance Options

The information broker: Echo [f]

Supposed best friend of your employer and owner of one of the biggest information networks in all of New York, with connections to every organisation, criminal or otherwise, in the city. A charismatic figure with a soft spot for you, but is it all a mask for something more refined underneath?

The undying memory: Cyril/Cynthia [m/f]

A constant and reoccurring figure from your past, your lives bound together for almost as long as you have been alive, but that all changed after they left you to fend for yourself. Yet there is a pull that drags you towards each other, no matter if you like it or not. Is it fate or just a dependence neither of you can leave behind?

The shadowed stranger: Achille/Aimee/Avril [m/f/nb]

Charming, sly, and elusive. In the past 2 years that you have been navigating the criminal underworld, you have met your fair share of their type, but something is different with them. A glint in their eye so similar to the one you see reflected in the mirror, will they drag it to the surface or convince you to drown in it?

The sober veteran: Salem [f]

Stern and cold, she has been hardened by too many years seeing the darkest sides of the city. In a never-ending war to create a better place, she has learnt to stay steadfast to her beliefs and always trust her instincts. So why does seeing you act give her so much doubt?

The caring silencer: Harper [nb]

Quiet and thoughtful, they approach everything with a gentleness and caring that is as rare to see in the city as a clean pavement. It makes you wonder how they have survived as long as they have, especially with the job they carry. Could a far darker side lie underneath the surface?

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Dentist + Leech Creature Reader

-

"Darling!! Your loving spouse has returned home! And I brought a friend!!"

The wheels of a stationary chair perched by the window side creak beneath the momentum of weight hurled against its backing- Wet footsteps slap against the wooden floor, bent legs staggering to a rise as a ring of keys fall placidly in their assigned bowl. Gurgles rumble deeply in the silhouette's chest, synchronizing with the doctor's hum.

"Oh? Greeting me of your own volition today, are we?" The human shrugs off their coat, tactfully tossing the article of clothing over their right arm as curiosity lures focus to the fuzzy lump swaddled in their grasp.

"You even got out of your chair for me. I'm always happy to see you on your feet, but please- Don't overexert yourself for my sake."

Bending at the knee, the doctor's cheek fits snuggly to their beloved's hip - vacant hand pawing at the trained muscles of their legs.

"These legs... If they were built for this earth, I fear I'd never see you again, my dear. I still remember that first evening we met. You were halfway across the pond by the time I had my socks off."

Lost in the streets of memory lane, quiet hisses snag the dentist from their rose-tinted recollections of that fateful day.

"Moving on." The human adjusts the particularly shaped object on their arm; a black, bead eye peaking out from the hood of their coat.

"We received this little angel this morning. They were meant to teach the children how to brush their teeth, but upon discovering their... unusual brand of beauty, I'm afraid they wouldn't be the best playmate for human children."

The dentist pulls back their coat - fluffy brown ears springing to life as the cloth drifts to the floor. A minature face mask sat beneath the bear's chin, rows of white mounds poking from under its snout.

"Do they remind you of anyone, Dear?"

Puzzled, you inspect at the stuffed toy from another angle - head tilted to one shoulder. It was difficult to point any differences from similar gifts your human had thrust upon you in the past.

"How about now?" The dentist pries the bear's jaws apart using their index and middle fingers. Parted wide, it was easier to see the molded plastics uncentered axis in the poor creature's mouth - plausibly due to the additional growths sprinkled sporadically across the surface of its tongue.

Tooth after tooth jutted from the floor and roof of the bear's mouth, leaving barely any space resembling the fleshy walls underneath. Gazing into the gaping hole in the animal's face, your tongue against one of the many collections of teeth filling your own as you point.

"Mmm...e...?"

"That's right, Love! It reminded me of you! Can you believe they wanted to send them back? Now when I'm at the office, I'll have a little version of you to-"

Snatching the bear from their arms, you creep over to the couch - collapsing by its arm as you curl your larger body around the plush animal, stroking your cheek against its fur affectionately.

"Or- You can have it..."

Where is a camera when you need one?

[tojisun]

i woke up from my sleep so i’m speedrunning this before i forget but vampires and sires and transformations—

of john price, the beast that’s claimed the north as his nest, descending from the stone walls of his palace to dance and flit around this wounded soldier, simon riley, who lived his short life serving the wrong master because why else would he be here in john’s castle, dying, rasping his last breath, while his lord has scurried away like a rat if not for the fact that simon had been cursed by that pest of a master?

no matter. john is here now. he will save the bleeding boy — it’s his gift, after all, because didn’t he save you?

of simon riley waking up with a guttural scream as his cells crash against each other, fighting and tugging, decaying only to be reborn. remade. renewed. everything feels ablaze; like he’s torn open and thrusted into the sun to be torched.

this is no kindness. it is no salvation.

he lunges, his human memories straining against the beastly one that wakens and he snaps his jaw at the demon before him. this monster that his master had told him to kill—

but simon is.

he is weak?

no.

no, he thinks as his knees buckle before crashing onto the ground. this isn’t weakness.

this is subservience.

“hmm,” the vampire hums before him, looking pensive as he watches simon tremble at the weight of his change. “that’s new. i didn’t expect you to be able to move before tomorrow but i should’ve known better, perhaps. you were not exactly any ordinary as a human so of course you would be different like this too.”

as a human—

“what did you do to me?” simon’s words scratch his throat like guttural tears.

the vampire hums before reaching forward to pinch simon’s chin. “why, i saved you, boy.”

of simon wanting to fight because it can’t be — this is a sin. so he jumps, tearing through his own sanity to break the pressure, shaking off the natural call of being obedient to his new lord, but he doesn’t even make it close because—

“my beloved,” john croons as you settle between them with a snarl of your own.

simon’s heard of you, of course — dracula’s bride. the only one cursed with his blood and bestowed with his immortality. the one who have lived almost as long as the beast himself.

the one who—

the one who simon was supposed to save, no matter how late it is.

how it starts when john price takes simon riley as his new bride.

or maybe it starts when simon lunged for his new master only to fail because his nerves know whose blood it is that’s awakened the force in the pit of his stomach.

or maybe it starts when john takes simon as your new playmate.

or maybe it starts when simon finds you and begins to, well, heels.

however it may be, it always starts like this — you sit at the centre of their affection.

[bunbun-mochi]

Broken Melody

Sylus x MC (angst with comfort)

warning: main character death, torture, prison, pregnancy, birth, myth spoilers

word count: 1369, no proofreading

preview: Sylus looked into MC's past after his passing...Slightly based on this

Spoilers: MC saw Sylus' history when their souls were bound, so here's the question, would Sylus see her history as well?

"Look at me... You're not allowed to close your eyes!"

Sylus remembered those words. He remembers everything she says. He remembered kissing her forehead before leaving. It hurts him just as much to leave his beloved.

"Sylus... I cursed your soul..."

She sobbed, he wanted to cradle her face and kiss her one more time.

"I cursed your soul... to never fade away... "

He wanted to come back to her, to hold her, to love her the way she loved him.

"You'll always be tied to me. Forever."

His last remaining soul watched as she gripped the black petal as if her life depended on it before she finalized her curse.

"This is my curse... Only I can...Grant you a true death."

He feels like this is more of a blessing than a curse. He rather die in his lover's arms than die in someone else's arms. At least he's able to see his lover a last time before departing.

As soon as she finished her curse, she took half of his soul and bounded with hers, inheriting his characteristics.

Sylus is confused. Although this happened in his past life, he had long let go of the memory. He is enjoying his second life, a blessed life where he found his beloved again and shared their love together. He is living a blissed life, where he get to hold his lover without any barrier, without having to worry about hurting her with his claws, able to become human for her. So why? Why did this memory come back to him? Why would his mind remind him again of his past life?

The scene slowly changes. He watches her lover, inheriting his horns, tails, and wings, scrambling away from something, someone. He can see in the distance, that arrows pierced through the air. He wanted to scream, he wanted to jump to her, to protect her, but he couldn't move.

That's when he realized, he was living in a nightmare. A nightmare he always wanted to prevent from happening in real life. That's why he always wanted to become stronger. Be the best, be the top. He wanted to give his beloved all she ever wanted and be able to protect her.

And here he is, witnessing this nightmare.

He allowed her to take his life just so he wouldn't kill her but left her alone in this cruel world where she had to fend for herself with no one there to protect her.

He watched her as she was being dragged away. She is bound by ropes and chains. She has bruises and wounds all over her body, covered in blood. He felt his chest tighten, heartbroken at how his beloved was being treated.

"Sylus..."

He heard her whisper as she was dragged away. Her voice sounded partly hopeful partly dejected. Part of her hoped that her lover would come back but part of her knows he is gone.

The scene changed, he saw her in the prison cell. There was water dripping on the corner. Mold grows at all corners of the cell. Only a small window on the top corner where the moon peaks out. The prison is worse than his prison. It looks inhabitable, so small. His beloved sat on the floor and clearly lost a lot of weight. He can practically see bones through her skin. Her eyes, were dark, lost of all lights, as if she long lost the will to live.

He heard footsteps. A group of guards arrived at her prison cell, listing all her sins and her execution date.

He should've killed them. He should've killed them all. None of those humans ever deserved to live.

He looked back to his beloved. As if the time had sped up, she is now caressing her swollen stomach. He saw some lights return to her eyes. Teardrop rolled down her cheek, onto her hand as she carasses her stomach. Only a single word escapes her mouth.

"Sylus..."

Her voice sounded so weak so defeated. Sylus felt his heart shattered.

Then she was dragged away again. He wanted to chase them. He wanted to protect her. But his feet are sealed onto the ground. He wanted to scream but no sounds came out of his mouth.

The scene changed again. He is standing outside the cave. The same cave that was his prison and his home. He saw his beloved frantically flying away while clutching her stomach, trying to protect it as much as she could. A group of soldiers chasing her, throwing weapons at her, trying to hurt her, kill her. It was as if they rallied an entire army just to catch a single person. It was truly laughable.

She was screaming in pain as tears rolled freely down her face. Then she stumbled into the liar, and gently laid herself on the bed, screaming in agony. He wanted to soothe her, to take away her pain. Then he saw it. His beloved birthed their child all by herself.

And he wasn't there for her.

His beloved cradled their baby in her embrace, sobbing and apologizing. He wasn't able to hear her because of the yells and screams from the soldiers outside. Then there was fire. His lair that he once called home, was engulfed in flames. A soft melody sang, the same melody that his beloved sang to him before.

Then a soft voice called...

"Sylus..."

"Sy... Sy... lus..."

"Sylus!"

Sylus flung his eyes open and immediately sat up. He was panting. He couldn't tell if it was his tears or sweat rolled down his cheek. He touched his face and he confirmed that he was indeed crying.

"Sylus?" His beloved was next to him, concerned. "What happened? A bad dream?" She gently rubbed his eyes and cheek, drying his tears. "You're ok, I'm here, darling."

Sylus slowly turned toward his beloved. Her gentle eyes... He saw the eyes in his dream, it lacked light, as if she gave up on living. Now, her eyes are full of light, full of life. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Trying to assure himself that it was only a nightmare.

His beloved drew soothing circles on his back and she gently kissed his cheek and forehead, comforting him. He never felt so vulnerable.

He failed to protect her. He failed to protect their baby. He failed.

"It's ok, darling. I'm here," She whispered, as if she could read his mind. "It's ok, I'm here. That's all it matters."

Yes, that's all it matters.

Sylus took a deep breath. "I'm fine now." He inwardly cringes at how his voice cracks. He used to believe that he won't be able to cry. He is strong enough to hold in his emotions. But tonight, he proved himself wrong. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's ok," she reassured her husband.

They stayed in each other embrace for a while before he finally breaks off. "You should go back to sleep."

"Will you be able to sleep?" She asked, worryingly.

Sylus didn't respond. His beloved smiled, "It's ok. We can read a bit and calm our minds before we go to sleep. Perhaps that way, we will have a better dream." She rolled over and grabbed a children's book. "We can read to our child."

Sylus smiled and nodded. She scooted closer toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, resting on her swollen stomach while she rested her head on her chest.

She reads the book, and the more she reads, the more sleepy she gets. Until she stopped reading, her breaths evened. He smiled to himself and gently lowered his beloved back in the pillows, rearranging the pillows around her head and body, making her more comfortable. He watched her sleep so peacefully. He slowly moved the blanket down, revealing her stomach. He gently kissed her stomach and whispered, "I'll protect both you and your mother."

He failed to protect both of them in his past life, then he shall protect them both in this life.

He settled down beside her, wrapping his arms around her, and holding her close.

Perhaps living is the best way to protect people he loves.

@madam8

[talkingaboutwhatiwant]

Got any cool Nevermore theories?

Using this question as an excuse to continue theorizing/mindless babbling.

"you'll be bones by sunrise" is a yummy little quote from our favorite apathetic bird. While for quite a while I was under the impression that Lenore wouldn't get her specter until the end of the series, but unless the entirety of S2 will consist of the one night, she might get it earlier. I have a hard time believing that the raven will be proven wrong in some capacity, so I see this as us being told that Lenore will get her specter, perhaps the raven's quote directly telling us she'll be a skeleton of some sort.

The passage to the land of the living. I'm not entirely sure why the gang can't just use their spectres to make the journey, maybe they can and they haven't thought about it (especially considering our heroine hasn't gotten hers yet) but nevertheless it seems like a good plot point and the rational way to get to the end.

I also wonder if any students have "recharged" enough to use their spectres, and if that'd help then against the wild hunt. Annabelle is shown in the finale very much so I'm danger, and Lenore wasn't exactly in a position to swoop in and save her.

The Curse

I've seen a lot of people theorizing that the stag is Leo, more specifically his spectre, so most of this ramble is going to be based on that idea. First off, if the stag is Leo's spectre, he likely has to constantly be in that form to keep from being eaten (to go with my assumption that spectres can't be eaten by the creatures running about) so ... how? The deans vaguely put out this idea that they and Nevermore as an academy are the ones that give the students the ability to "unlock" their spectres, but I don't support this idea. It's possible that the academy actually dampens the abilities of spectres, explaining how Theo could retain his for so long. The raven says something about the passage into new life being safe in the past, but also correlating to the creatures starving now, which seems to contradict as we don't know what the creatures eat, besides half-dead humans. Somehow the academy ruined the ecosystem, but only left predators? I don't know. I like to assume that the ecosystem involved the creatures feeding off of the traveling spirits, but not the ones who developed their spectres. The orbs present at the beginning of the series can't ALL be from Nevermore mishaps of past, right? Perhaps the reason Leo even is living as a spectre is he found out something about the deans and fled, perhaps growing enough strength with his spectre to retain it long enough to learn "the good old fashioned way" if you will, how to permanently retain it.

Another Leo theory is that he won the new life (as the deans said he was at the top of his class), and came back as one of these creatures. We're under the impression with the "second chance at life" statement that it means picking up where they left off in a Ride The Cyclone-esque way, but I don't like that idea so I'm choosing not to believe it. Besides my hate for the trope, the history of the dead traveling to the land of the living implies a reincarnation system, otherwise there'd be centuries of immortals to speak of. Perhaps Leo won the second chance, and had the rotten enough luck (perhaps from the "curse" that I don't really believe in but that's a different rant) to come back as one of these nightmarish creatures.

Annabelle and her spectre!!

I have a LOT of feelings about Annabelle and her spectre, so I'm going to try my best to make this readable.

First off, I don't believe that one can have a fake spectre, and while Annabelle had a memory planted that caused her to get hers, there must be enough truth to it. The deans are powerful, but I see spectres as an ancient mechanism, older than the Raven, (Supporting my theory that spirits used to develop their spectres on their own) and impossible to fake. Annabelle was killed before she was to be wed (the only way a lady in white can be) maybe she and Lenore got found out and were killed together, or something happened and they made a suicide pact of sorts (this one I'm not super fond of, but it makes some sense to me so I'm putting it in). It's also possible that in her spectral form, she has a deeper understanding, whether a subconscious thought, feeling, or something else entirely. Her and Lenore's situation is so unique and complex that many things are possible here, we just don't know.

It's important to note that these are loose theories without research, just my mind making connections for entertainment. Let me know if y'all agree, disagree, or have something to add on! Thanks for reading this far

[that-vexaholic-cryptid]

I love the fan creations of Zelink for BOTW/TOTK Link and Zelda, especially the cute domestic stuff.

But personally I want to explore these two with a bit more complexity. These are two people who, realistically, barely know each other and barely know themselves. What they have most in common is an enormous amount of trauma, which also can't be escaped from because it's effects are all around them in what's left of Hyrule. And there aren't many who would be able to counsel them.

The idea of them both jumping into each other's arms is absolutely fun, but I think more realistically these two would have an awful lot to process. Link's memory is still probably fuzzy, and I imagine he struggles with his identity a bit between his past life and post-Calamity. Zelda is only just beginning to blossom as a person, only now being able to actually persue her own interests, plus the poor girl has been fighting for a century and watching her people suffer.

These two have to reconcile with the failures and burdens of the past, who they are now, and who they want to become. That can be a very emotionally messy endeavor. Normally a person would require some processing time alone, but it also can't be ignored that they're uniquely bonded through their experiences.

I feel like in the years between BOTW and TOTK that a good chunk of their relationship was probably describable as "it's complicated" and really only understood by themselves before they'd both be ready to call it romantic, and that's what I'd love to explore.

Zelda still is the Princess, she still has that identity and the burdens and responsibilities that come with it, and now she must balance the reconstruction of Hyrule with the healing of herself - forgiveness, growth, embracing her passions as a person.

Link I personally identify with a lot, and it's my reading of him that he may have had very little idea who he ever was. He subsumed so much himself for the sake of duty that he stopped speaking, but now that duty is over and yet he continues to uphold it. Is it because of the same sense of duty, because he knows nothing else? Would he be something else if he could, as Zelda herself once asked him?

I can see why Nintendo would stay vague and lean more into fairy tale simplicity, but part of why I love this iteration of Zelink so much is because to me both Link and Zelda are imperfect, damaged, and more complex than other iterations in the franchise. They're so human.