#thread | second verse same as the first

[phantomrose96]

Actually I'm so incredibly lucky to have The Silt Verses because it gives me the kind of character dynamics I desperately love and so very rarely find.

I am an ABSOLUTE sucker for characters who go "I will move heaven and earth for you. I will be driven to both great and terrible decisions for your sake because of how I am defined by you" but I do... NOT... care about romance. I Don't Care About Romance. I don't want it. I don't relate. My immersion hits a cliff there. I'm an aromantic Character Enjoyer and I do not care about shipping at all.

So as you can imagine, it's a challenge to find "I will do everything for you" character dynamics which, if not canonically romantic, end up being ships that get treated like canon if you try to talk about the characters in fandom spaces.

I am incredibly drawn to sibling media and I think it's largely because that's the primary way I've found these dynamics and they don't get treated as "come on it's basically a canon romance" by the main chunk of the fandom. I'm an FMA enjoyer, a Gravity Falls enjoyer, an Over The Garden Wall enjoyer--fuck I'm a Supernatural enjoyer, for this reason. Do you know what that's like? When Supernatural gets you because you're so hungry?

And then... The Silt Verses... Filled, FILLED, with these "I will move heaven and earth for you" kinds of dynamics--healthy, unhealthy, as sources of hope and sources of absolute destruction. Of course I'm here for it. Of course I'm clocked in.

But it SHOULD be hopeless for me. I mean the only actual sibling dynamics are just within backstories--Carpenter and her brother Em. Faulkner and his brother Charlie. Hayward has no siblings. Paige's aren't relevant. Faulkner and Carpenter have exactly this intense dynamic I love--same with Paige and Hayward--and then Hayward and Carpenter--and I should be taking the L because this always ends in ships.

But Jon Ware and Muna Hussen--who I owe my life to--very intentionally did not do that. Carpenter is aromantic. She gets to be that canonically. There's never a hint of romantic tension between her and Faulkner. When they call each other brother and sister, it's religious formality first, and then it's an actual found-sibling kind of bond.

Hayward and Paige, in like any other media, would have been a couple. The way they save each other, and lean on each other, and leave their old selves behind to become someone new together. It's obvious. I've seen it a million times. But when Jon Ware got asked in a Q&A about what Paige and Hayward -are- to each other ... look I just need to go with direct quotes to do the answer justice

I think maybe there’s also an implicit question there about whether there’s something romantic going on – maybe I’m reading into it, but that is something that’s on my mind a lot, so I’d love to talk about it more. ... I personally, I don’t like writing fictional characters where the most important moment in their narrative arcs is when they get together with the person they were always meant to get together with. ... And again, I think [give the people what they want] can send you in the wrong direction, one that ends up being essentially flattening – we don’t think, "if these characters hook up, OK, what new opportunities does that give us to explore them, to understand them in greater depth?" ... And after we released maybe one episode of The Silt Verses, I saw a couple of folks online going ‘oh, god, I hope this isn’t going to end with Carpenter and Faulkner hooking up,’. And you go, "oh my god, I hadn’t considered that as a possibility for a second, that’s not who they are and that’s not what the relationship is here" - but of course all of us are primed for it, that enemies-to-lovers thread that is so common. ... Because it was freeing because after Season 1, nobody is expecting or hoping that Hayward gets together with anybody. No-one wants that particularly!

And Shrue and Val come along... each of whom has intense interactions and kinds of relationships with the people they encounter but, still, no romance. And nothing among the high katabasians or the adjudicators. If there WAS any kind of romantic read with Rane toward Faulkner, it does nothing to overshadow what was happening there. I liked someone's likening it to Lady Macbeth and Macbeth. The Thing going on between them can't really be reduced to shipping.

We DO even get the family-related bonds and trauma I usually lean on. Paige with her dad. Faulkner with his dad. Carpenter dealing with the trauma of her Nana and brother. Shrue left in harrowing limbo about the safety of their (maybe non-existent) children and husband.

Anyway I didn't even mean this to be so long. I'm just so blessed and lucky to have character dynamics where they're screaming and sobbing each other's names and no one is pulling the "There's no platonic explanation for this" card. I'm so glad.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi! I was so happy to hear that you've been doing better, scrolling tumblr and seeing my user name only to see you had posted a prompt response (and it was one of mine!) was so wonderful 🩵🩵🩵

for a Wednesday prompt, how about petty!protective! Magnus? Not super specific but I hope you can have fun with it. And nsfw or sfw, wherever your muse takes you

i hope this complies with what you were wanting, just send me another ask if it didn't hit it quite right :)

i did have fun with this and so did Magnus (even if his fingertips are sore)

<3 I hope you enjoy

lumine

in his wake petals fall (this is part of that verse)

Magnus is currently peering down at an assortment of gleaming magical thread.  Each individual spool was woven with care and power, the colors as vivid and vibrant as the materials used to create them.  

Alexander will be attending a funeral in Idris soon.  

One that Magnus will not be allowed to escort Alexander to personally, but one that — with a little effort — he can at least attend in presence. 

Magnus creates delicate loops that form forget-me-nots the same color as his magick on the stark, white silk.  It’s painstakingly time consuming, but by the time he’s pulled the last tug of thread through, Alexander won't be able to reach out his palm for a handshake, pick up a drink or use his stele without seeing reminders of Magnus’ on his cuffs. Red chrysanthemums take shape over the shoulder blades with red and pink camellias dancing on the stiff collar.  

Perhaps it’s a bit too colorful for a nephilim funeral, but Magnus will allow Alexander to cover it with his jacket if need be.  So long as Magnus’ claim is allowed to drape over him.

The needle disappears somewhere as he shakes the shirt out, looking it over with careful and precise care. 

It’s just in time too, Alexander’s still damp from the shower when he walks out, crisp white pants clinging to his long legs.

“I was wondering where my shirt went. I see you decided to decorate.”  Alexander sounds more amused than anything else as he lets Magnus lift the shirt with magic and hold it up to his chest.  His hazel eyes are soft as he looks down, an admiring gleam as his fingers brush over the raised silken texture.

“You’ll wear it?”

“You made it for me, Magnus.  Of course I’ll wear it.” Even as he speaks, Alexander is moving along with the magic, letting it slide the shirt over his arms and holding still as blue wisps button up the front.

“Even if it’s a bit—” Magnus trails off, proud of his work and yet knowing quite well that it’s a bit far past what anyone else would consider ‘too much’. 

“Everyone will be too relieved I only wore a shirt you embroidered and didn’t personally bring you.” Alexander interrupts, shaking his head in amusement as he kisses Magnus’ fingertips.  “Considering I’ve either accidentally or on purpose made a statement at every official Clave function since we’ve gotten together, this much will only be considered a relief.”

Magnus hums and looks critically over the shirt once more, “maybe I should add a few heliotropes—”

“Maybe you should come help me get ready?” Alexander laughs and carefully moves the box of embroidery to the nearby table. “I think that between you crashing my first wedding and being the main participant of the second, everyone knows I belong to you.”

—

This, Alec thinks to himself as he forces a polite smile past his gritted teeth, is what he gets for being optimistic and assuming competency within his own kind.

Apparently neither his wedding, the official announcement sent to all active-duty shadowhunters and politically inclined nephilim or the embroidery on his shirt are enough to completely deter unwanted attention.  

That or he needs to start a second campaign, one that makes it clear he has no desire to add his lineage to the current genepool.

The situation would normally be fine, except it’s exactly the kind of attention Alec promised Magnus he didn’t need to worry about.  Thankfully for the steadily diminishing numbers of their population, Jia interrupts before the need for truly drastic measures unfolds, neatly stepping between Alec and three persistently unobservant nephilim.

“If I convince Aline and Helen to come be your buffer will you please stop threatening your fellow hunters.  By Raziel, we’re already at a funeral Alec.” Her voice is just low enough that without runes only he can hear it and he answers just as quietly. 

“The only reason I haven’t added another body to the pyre is because it might get bloodstains on my shirt.  A shirt that my very magical husband embroidered for me by hand, despite being talented enough to just use magic.” He raises an eyebrow at her pointedly and nods his chin to his shirt, crown of gladioli dipping down to obscure his view.

Jia sighs and Alec swears a shadow of regret passes over her face before she braces herself and grimly shoos the other nephilim away.  Only a few minutes later Helen drags a smirking Aline over to join him. It may be a funeral but it’s also a political commitment, one where families gather over a fading bloodline and try to rekindle long buried alliances. There is very little grieving actually shown or done during moments like this.

“Muqin told us to be your honor guard,” Aline gives him a steady once-over, lingering on the intricate embroidery of his white shirt. “Apparently Magnus is being too subtle?” The doubt in her voice only leads to more laughter as Helen finally notices the flowers on Alec’s shirt, recognizing the meaning for each and every one. 

Forget-me-nots so that alec literally can’t use his hands without being reminded to think about magnus. The pink and red camellias mean both ‘longing for you, desire, affection and also passion, deep/stronger desire’ and red chrysanthemums is the deep connection and love between them.

The gladioli crown (symbolizing honor and remembrance of the person lost) is just something that alec can wear to be respectful while still wearing flowers like a boss. Aka magnus wanted to make him a crown and alec said: make it themed appropriately and i’ll wear it

Aline uses muqin for her mother because she is more formal with jia during shadowhunter events.

Alec hasn’t yet realized that magnus signed all of his work as if he were doing professional display embroidery. Also this is the equivalent of magical bedazzling.  Magnus doesn’t need rhinestones to have alec dripping in glowing magic, he uses thread lol

this is Magnus being petty in a variety of ways. he can't come to this funeral so he's going to make sure Alec and every other person there think of him despite his absence.

alec is completely covered in magnus' magic and unless they demand he strip, this isn't something as simple as wearing jewelry or artifacts steeps in magnus' magic that he can just take off like going through a metal detector and taking off your belt and tieclip.

magnus literally stretches time out with magic so he can get as many flowers as he feels necessary onto alec's shirt and then still doesn't feel like its enough

yes, Magnus signed his name over and over again onto alec's shirt and if that wasn't enough, his magical signature is plastered all over Alec like sales stickers in a store going out of business.

alec didn't even threaten anyone, magic starting sparking off the embroidery like little bolts of lightning and jia booked it over because 'ALEC OUR POPULATION IS DECLINING AND IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO CONTRIBUTE TO BOOSTING IT AT LEAST STOP BEING PART OF THE REASON IT SUFFERS!!'

Aline later -while Alec holds Helen up with one arm and Aline uses his other to twirl them both (Aline's alcohol tolerance is high enough that Magnus would like drinking with her) - my dearest cousin. beloved friend. dear wielder of baby making parts that I neither have nor want myself but might require later on. do you have a moment?

alec to Magnus: aline wants my help making babies for her and Helen. she says it's both queer solidarity and because she thinks i'd make pretty babies and that way they'd at least be half-siblings

magnus: I need about ten drinks to deal with even the thought of this because I have very conflicted feelings

only Magnus would bring out his embroidery kit and use thread magic after like a century of forgetting about it because he wants to make it clear who Alec belongs to

[kinardsevan]

i gotta ask, how much do you love me?

say what, another mini!? i'm in a mood tonight 😂😂😂 also, i've always kinda lived with this idea of these two having a shared playlist where they would send each other music back and forth, so that birthed this idea.

It’s weeks of silence. Both of them looking at their phones eight, ten, twelve times a day—on a good day—to see if the other has said anything. Seeing bubbles form, only to disappear. Staring at each other’s contact information, just waiting for the other break the ice. 

Except, Tommy can’t, because he was the one to break them, and he knows it was the right move. He knows he doesn’t deserve Evan, and he knows that even if he gave in and went back, he’d be setting himself up for failure. So he types and deletes. Types and deletes. Types. Deletes. Struggles to maintain his own strength in his resolve each time he sees Evan’s name on his phone.

For Evan, it’s the abandonment. What’s the point in trying when the answer will remain the same? Which just leads to staring, staring, and more staring. Waiting for a call or text that doesn’t come. Waiting on answers he’s sure he’ll never get. 

. . . 

Six weeks after the break-up, he’s staring at his phone in the middle of a cafe, still staring at the text thread with Tommy. He’s been on three dates in the past week, each more miserable than the last. Both of the guys he’d been out with had been decent enough, but at the end of the night… he felt nothing. And sure, he could argue that maybe it just wasn’t the right person, except for the part where he was pretty sure he’d already found the right person…but he’s not supposed to think that. 

And it’s in that cafe that he hears it. The song coming through the speakers that resonates with what he’s been trying to make the point of for weeks. It sends him down a rabbit hole scroll through the text thread until he finds the Spotify link. 

It was a playlist they’d started barely two weeks into their relationship. Initially, it was a way to connect on songs that they both liked that they wanted to share with the other. There was everything from eighties rock to seventies country, nineties pop/rock and current top forty. But the longer they’d been together, the more the songs on the playlist had turned into something one of them had heard that brought the other to mind, or said something they couldn’t necessarily piece into words. 

Evan scrolls through the playlist. The last one added had been a joke from Tommy—Purple People Eater. He’d sent it as a pick-me-up while Evan was still waiting on the boils on his face to finally go away, and while he’d been mildly offended at the joke, he’d taken it in stride. 

After googling the lyrics, he adds the song playing in the coffee house to the playlist before copying the link. Briefly, a wave of panic surges through him, wondering if Tommy even still has the link to it, let alone bothers to listen to it. He forces a breath out, swapping screens back to the text thread as he waits at the counter for his coffee order. However, as he picks up his cup and glances back down at the screen, he sees the bubble and those three grey dots. But just as always, they’re there, and then they’re gone. 

He huffs as he walks to the door, shoves it open and steps outside. It can’t be a coincidence, right? 

In a fit of confidence, he pastes the link to the playlist into the textbox and hits the blue arrow, sending it through. He slides his phone into his pocket before heading back to the jeep. 

E: Ain’t About You - Huntergirl

Three minutes later, as he’s plugging his phone into the carplay, the bubbles reappear. 

T: ?

Evan stares at the screen for a moment and then huffs, shaking his head. Did Tommy even bother to listen? Does he really need it spelled out for him? Has it really been that easy for him to move on? 

E: The first verse and chorus.  E: Well fuck, the second chorus too. 

The bubbles appear again, and then a blue message.

It’s the link back. When Evan clicks on it, the playlist refreshes with a new song at the bottom. 

T: If I Told You - Darius Rucker T: The first verse and chorus. 

Evan shakes his head, but he taps on the song anyway, and the beat starts coming through his speakers after a moment. He forces himself to sit and listen to the words—that’s the entire point to the reason this game started in the first place—but he’s barely into the chorus before he’s clicking out of the song and scrolling back into the library. He finds the next one—a song Maddie had sent him ages ago, and adds it to the list before shooting the link back in the message. 

E: Lovesick Fool - The Cab E: Second verse, second chorus

. . .

The chat stays quiet enough that he’s able to make the short drive back home, but as he’s riding the elevator back up to the loft, his phone buzzes in his hand again. He’s not sure if Tommy has actually been contemplating an answer or if he’s just been busy doing other things. Their calendars are still linked in the cloud, so he knows the other man is off, and with the rate at which he was responding, he doubts he’s flying at the moment. 

Once he’s in the loft, he links his phone to the bluetooth speaker before opening the playlist and clicking the newest addition. There’s no extra message along with the link, which generally means to listen to the entire song. 

He’s getting to the end of the song when messages start coming in. 

T: It’ll kill me when you don’t T: stop seeing me like I’m a lifetime T: and I’ll just be a goodbye T: when you get so tired of me 

Evan gulps, reading the words as they play through the speakers. His heart is knotting. Somehow the words they’re sending back and forth feel like they’re saying more than whatever they managed to say to each other in the final weeks of their relationship. There’s still so much he wants to say. 

He clicks back into Spotify, clicks on the artist, and picks the next song down, already having the answer. 

E: Trial Run - Jenny Baker E: I mean the whole damn song. But.  E: why does it feel like somebody died     were you moving on this whole time     while I’ve been stuck on the same side      why does it feel like somebody died      Were you moving on this whole time     I may not be the one, but you’re mine E: You’re still mine

He waits for a response, watching for bubbles for a few minutes, and then groans when one doesn’t come through. He’s so frustrated that he wants to scream, or throw his phone, or… something. And so he ends up digging out his mixing bowls and flipping through the current baking book until he finds a recipe he hasn’t made before. 

. . . 

Half an hour later, he’s in the midst of spooning peanut butter chocolate chip cookies onto a baking sheet when there’s a knock at his door. 

“Door’s open,” he calls out, too distracted by the need to stay focused on his task at hand. He’s still so frustrated that if he stops scooping, he’ll end up picking his phone up. 

Another knock sounds, and he huffs. 

“Just let yourself in,” he calls out. “Door’s open!” 

There’s no movement for another few seconds longer, and he’s about to wipe his hands off and go to the door, irritated, but the door finally opens, slowly at first, and then more, and when Evan finally looks up, his eyes fall on Tommy. 

He gulps at the sight of the other man standing across from him, the expression on his own face somber. His eyes are red-rimmed, and Evan opens his mouth to say something, but Tommy lifts his hand and he spots the other man’s phone in his hand. A few seconds later, the bluetooth speaker makes a noise that indicates it’s been connected to. Evan sets down his spoon and wipes his hands down the front of the apron he’s wearing as a song starts to play. It’s not one on the playlist, but he can’t help standing there and listening as Tommy skips to the point he wants to make with the song. 

“you lean in vulnerable  when you’d rather walk away

but when the rubber meets the road and life goes how it goes and we’re not new no more what am I in for? 

if the meteor hit, babe would you get in your car and drive to me to cry with me if I went insane, and didn’t know my name would you stay this side of me, reminding me if I gambled away my money, would you back away? if my jokes weren’t funny, would you laugh? how much do you love me? I gotta ask how much do you love me?”

By the time the chorus ends, Tommy’s hands are trembling at his sides and there are silent tears coming down his face as Evan rounds the counter. He takes Tommy’s phone out of his hand and pulls the apron off over his own head before grabbing the other man’s hands and squeezing them. 

“More than air, baby,” he rasps, lifting a hand to Tommy’s face and brushing away the tears with his thumb. “I’m not- there’s not an end in this for me. You’re not a stop on the way. You are the destination.” 

“Losing you-..” 

Evan lifts his other hand to Tommy’s face and presses his forehead against the other man’s. “You’re not going to. I’m right here with you.” 

Tommy gulps and nods, leaning into him. Evan tilts his head up and kisses his forehead, and then pulls him tightly into a hug, and for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe again as he buries his own face into Tommy’s neck. 

“I meant what I sent,” Tommy murmurs when they finally separate. “I’m broken, Evan, and there’s no easy fix. People leave, and I’ve made peace with that, but I coudn’t-…losing you, I don’t think-..” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Evan counters. “Can you trust me that much? To love you enough to stay?” 

“I don’t know,” Tommy admits softly, even as he leans into Evan’s hands still on his face. “But I’m trying. I’m trying to communicate, and meet you in the middle. And maybe I can get there.” 

Evan nods, finally catching Tommy’s gaze again. 

“Then we talk,” he replies. “A lot, and about everything. Okay?” 

Tommy nods, and Evan leans into him, kissing him soft and quick before pulling him back in. The song starts to play through the speaker again, and Evan lets out a small, quiet laugh as it does, his hands rubbing up and down Tommy’s back as they stand in the middle of his kitchen. 

“That damn playlist,” he murmurs softly. “Think it just got oudone by this song.” 

Tommy smiles against his neck, kissing it softly, but not making any move to part. Evan turns into him after a moment, whispering into his ear. 

“How much do you love me? I gotta ask, how much do you love me?” 

Tommy lifts his head, just enough to brush his nose up against Evan’s. 

“The world over,” he whispers. He leans back, not much more than an inch, just enough room to completely catch eachother’s gaze before Evan leans back in and kisses him, and this time it’s everything they’ve missed in the intervening weeks. Tommy pulls him in tight as Evan’s hand finds its way to his chest, fisting the fabric of Tommy’s shirt, keeping him close until they’re breathless as the song keeps playing in the background. 

[forsaire]

Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words (feel free to interpret however you would like; if not on AO3, can be on Tumblr or FFNET!).

@losersimonriley pretend im a salesman trying to get you to buy my wares. oooohhhh loookkkkk fanfics ✨ angst ✨ fluff ✨ are you looking for a little smut? feel free to peruse, please 😏😈

Most hits: Don't Let Me Go (58,516 hits)

Canon-verse story of Ghost and Soap - with the 141, Vaqueros, and other friends along the way - dig deeper into a seemingly underground trafficking ring that reveals much more than they ever expected. Friends to lovers. Slow burn (for real). Lots of violence and lots of sweetness. Delicious amount of mutual pining and angst that ends with a happy ending. My first baby.

Second most kudos: Please say you love me (846 kudos)

Post MWIII fix-it where Soap didn't die in the tunnel that day but everyone believed he did due to a number of circumstances. Established GhostSoap relation that sees Ghost an empty, angry, shell of a man who has lost his husband. A year later he comes across a photo that shows his husband is very much alive, sporting longer hair and a longer beard, living in London for the past year. But when a frantic Ghost comes face to face with his dead husband again, those stunning blue eyes show no recognition of knowing who Ghost is. Domestic amnesia fic of disgusting sweetness, falling in love again, and a story of true unconditional devotion. Art in each chapter too.

Third most comments: Try again (14 threads?)

Ghost and Soap tried. They tried really fucking hard. But sometimes love isn't enough, and Ghost's heart terrified of losing the only thing that mattered to him eventually turned his fears into a reality. 15 years later they're put on the same team again for an operation and it's obvious the feelings have lingered from all those years ago. Short fic about a relationship that didn't work out but when the universe appears to give them a second chance, Ghost would be a fool to pass it up. Old(er) man yaoi. Imagine Soap as a silver fox. Oooh that's that good shit.

Fourth most bookmarks: A little less gentle (59 bookmarks)

lmao short fic about Ghost and Soap talking about trying new things in bed. Nothing explicit. Mostly about consent, communication, and finding what they are both comfortable with and how they react when something goes wrong.

Fifth most words: Are you warm enough? (2692 words)

When the snow cracks underneath Soap's feet, he is thrown into the depths of a hidden icy lake. After rescuing him from the water, Ghost is desperate to get a freezing Soap somewhere warm. Exactly what you expect. Lone cabin in the snowy mountains. One bed. Sharing body heat. First kiss. *chefs kiss*

Fewest words: Come to bed (536 words)

Silly drabble about Soap playing first person shooter games and an incredulous Ghost who is grumpily trying to get Soap back in bed.

HONOURABLE MENTION because it sadly missed every category

Please be selfish (a rare AleRudy appears)

A story focusing on the three times Alejandro and Rudy slept together before they officially got together, each under different circumstances - nervousness, excitement, relief - and we see how their feelings develop overtime as their lives continue to entangle with one another. Childhood friends to lovers. Rudy has been in love with his best friend for forever. Alejandro seems to be having new feelings. Truly love this one. Proud of it. It just hits the perfect feelings of unrequited to requited love, longing, flirtatiousness, drama, and final acceptance of feelings.

my wares interest anyone? 👉👈🥺 mayhaps?

[houndoftomorrow]

Just a little something, more bittersweet and softer than I normally write. It does take place in the same verse as the rest of my ficlets, however.

Content warnings for past character death, references to SI and attempts, and some cosmic existentialism. Hurt with... I guess it could be counted as comfort. Sort of. Some minimal comfort.

Written from Ximena's point of view.

Ximena sits on the ledge by the river, remembering the last time she'd been here. It had been chance, fate, intuition, her husband's late spirit.... any combination of factors had drawn her here, but regardless, she had been there at just the right time.

At the time, she'd been trying to talk her baby boy down from the ledge– one of the many he'd found himself standing on throughout the years. Bound to the earth by loose threads, and the thought of hurting his loved ones outweighing the weight of himself for the times they walked him down.

Now, she sits on the ledge once again, this time with the intention of spilling him over.

"I went up to the top of the gates the other day," Mel had told her as she'd tapped her nails lightly against the little glass in her hands. It was painted by her own careful hands with the colors of House Talis. "I suppose I wanted one last measure of closure, and to see if... anything at all remained. His- his hammer hadn't been disturbed yet, ashed as it was already."

With that she had held the small urn out to her, and Ximena had barely drawn her hand away from her mouth before she'd clung to it, drawing it close over her heart and hiding it from view in her hands. All that was left... no body, an empty casket, and a slip of paper burned in vigil for all the lost...

And all that was left of her baby, her boy. The Talis line ended as it began, with hammers and dust, all carefully flaked apart to fit into a jar that she could fit into her hands. It's not much bigger than he was a newborn, the first time she'd held him in her arms. It's that thought that brings her to her knees with a sob. Despair chokes her throat from the inside. Threatens to drag her down into the same abyss her son's mind always lurked in.

After, when Mel had withdrawn her arms from around her shoulders, the young woman had sighed and retrieved another jar from the elegant bag she wore at her side– a new addition to her usual look.

"I also have... I wasn't sure what to do with it. It felt wrong, somehow, to dash it without giving him the same level of care. I was never close with him, nor particularly fond of him, all things considered. But he was intrinsic with him. There couldn't be one without the other, and I wished I'd seen that sooner."

Painted with the same care as her boy's, the second urn is a soft purple and smaller. So much smaller, and she'd felt a horrible combination of rage and grief and loss alike at the sight of it. She'd almost been tempted to sling it against a wall, but she couldn't do that to Jayce's memory. Even in his death, she can hear him asking her to forgive Viktor because it was "his fault, too."

Intrinsic, indeed. She knows what Mel meant. So instead, she'd sucked her teeth, dragged her composure together, kicking and screaming, and hugged Mel tight to her. She was going to miss this young woman when she left Piltover.

And now, she's here. On the ledge that held so many memories for her family, good and bad. The wind whispers through her hair, rustling the tall grasses and the leaves of the handful of trees along the bank. She remembers sitting on this very ledge twenty-odd years ago, watching from the campsite as her son and husband swam through the tiny rapids in the river. The water is so clean, here, the air so pure... even moreso than the air of Piltover.

She rubs her thumb across the urn at her side, holding the other to her chest.

"The man you were before it all went wrong... you deserved this much, at least. Clean air. Clean water. No prying eyes full of judgment. This world failed you so terribly for you to feel so wronged that you were willing to cast the whole world away. I hope... I hope wherever you are now, you can find peace. Find a better life. Make better decisions and better mistakes. Human mistakes. Let only the gods be gods."

With that, she opened the second urn and upturned it into the wind, carrying the ashes of his crutch out across the river. The breeze blows harder for just a moment, a soft carress against her hair.

"And Jayce. My son. My baby. My little love since you were born... you always tried to be good for me. I know how much you were hurting. How often you hurt. I know no one ever saw it because you held it on the inside instead of the outside, but I'm so proud of you. You were so strong for so long, and I hope wherever you are now, it's no longer heavy. I hope your life is full of light and joy and all the things you deserved but couldn't keep. I love you. Mama will always love you."

And with that, she upturned the first urn. The wind blew fiercely once more, carrying the ashes on the breeze across the river that he spent so much of his childhood in. She hopes his father is waiting wherever they are to greet him, to sweep him up in his giant arms and hold him like he should have gotten to do one last time. And, despite the hurt in her heart, the mockery of hatred, she hopes Viktor is right by his side. She can't picture them not together.

When she stands to leave hours later, having cried out her grief and sorrow as much as she can manage, she gasps. The sun dips just right on the horizon, casting the sky into shades of gold and amber and lavender and red. A natural phenomenon, one she's seen many tines over, but something about today, about tonight; the colors are a mirror to the ones on the now-empty urns. She smiles. For the first time in weeks, she smiles and it feels small and fragile and real.

"Goodnight, boys. I love you."

And her love is true.

[zeroseuniverse]

Last Song

Word Count: 1K Summary:WinWin sighed, leaning back against the piano bench. “I think about it a lot,” he admitted. “What would’ve happened if we’d held on just a little longer.” Pairing: Winwin X fem reader

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The first time she saw him again, it felt like a song she hadn’t played in years—familiar yet distant, the melody buried somewhere deep in her memory.

WinWin stood across the dimly lit studio, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his expression unreadable. He looked the same—soft eyes, that quiet presence that always felt like gravity—but something about him was different, heavier. Maybe it was the months apart. Maybe it was the way they had left things.

“Wow. This is awkward,” their mutual friend muttered, clapping her hands together with an exaggerated grin. “Okay! So, as you both know, I worked very hard to convince you two to do this. So please, for the sake of music—and my sanity—don’t kill each other.”

She sighed and turned to her. “You’re the best lyricist I know.”

Then to him. “And you, well… you’re WinWin. You guys are magic together.”

Neither of them spoke.

Her friend groaned. “Great. Love the enthusiasm.” She grabbed her bag and walked toward the door, pausing before stepping out. “Just one song. That’s all I ask. Work your magic.”

And then, they were alone.

Silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.

She took a breath, forcing her voice to be steady. “We should get started.”

WinWin nodded, walking toward the keyboard, his fingers grazing the keys lightly. “Yeah.”

And just like that, they fell into old rhythms.

It was easier to work than to talk. Their conversations had always been in melodies and chords, unspoken understanding woven between the lines of every song. Even now, despite everything, their music still fits together effortlessly.

But the words—those were harder.

As the hours passed, the lyrics started forming, threading their way into the melody. And without meaning to, without even trying, the song became about them.

I had you, I lost you, but you still linger in every note.

If I call this a final goodbye… why do I want to rewrite the ending?

She set down her pen, her heartbeat unsteady. She could feel his gaze on her, but she didn’t look up.

“I don’t think this is about Yuna’s project anymore,” WinWin murmured. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight.

She swallowed. “No. It’s not.”

A pause. Then, “Do you regret it?”

She met his eyes, and for the first time that night, the distance between them felt smaller. “Regret what?”

“Us. Walking away.”

Her breath hitched. Because yes—yes, she regretted it in ways she couldn’t put into words. She regretted all the words left unsaid, the late-night conversations that faded into silence, the love that had unraveled even when neither of them wanted it to.

But she also remembered why they had let go.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

WinWin sighed, leaning back against the piano bench. “I think about it a lot,” he admitted. “What would’ve happened if we’d held on just a little longer.”

She closed her eyes. “WinWin…”

“I miss you.” The words were barely a whisper, but they hit her like a chord that resolved after too much tension.

She exhaled shakily, looking down at the half-written lyrics between them. They had started writing a goodbye. But maybe—just maybe—they weren’t finished yet.

Maybe this was their second verse.

She picked up her pen.

And started to write.

The studio was quiet except for the soft scratch of her pen against the paper. WinWin didn’t rush her—he never did. Instead, he watched, waiting, letting the weight of the moment settle between them like the lingering echo of a note left hanging in the air.

She didn’t know what she was writing. Only that she couldn’t stop. The words came as they always had with him—effortlessly, instinctively, as if her heart had been waiting for the right melody to spill them out.

When she finally set the pen down, she hesitated before pushing the notebook toward him.

His fingers brushed against the edge of the paper as he read, his brows pulling together slightly. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but instead, he exhaled softly and picked up his guitar.

A familiar ache spread through her chest as he strummed the first chords, filling the space between them. It was just like before. Like nothing had changed. Like everything had.

He hummed, testing out the words she had just written, fitting them into the melody they had built together.

"If I call this a final goodbye… why do I want to rewrite the ending?"

His voice wrapped around the lyrics gently, delicately, like he was afraid they might break. She closed her eyes, listening, remembering.

The nights they spent in this very studio, laughing over ridiculous lyric ideas. The way he used to hum under his breath when he was working through a melody. The warmth in his gaze when he looked at her—not just as his songwriting partner, but as something more.

A lump formed in her throat. “It sounds…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Honest.”

WinWin looked up at her then, his eyes searching hers. “That’s because it is.”

Her breath caught.

“Do you really want this to be a goodbye?” His voice was steady, but she could hear the quiet plea beneath it. “Because I don’t.”

She felt her pulse in her fingertips, in her throat, in the space between them that was shrinking with every second.

The logical part of her said to be careful. To remember why they had walked away in the first place. But her heart—her heart had never stopped writing songs about him.

She picked up her own guitar, testing out the chords, her voice barely above a whisper as she sang the next line.

"Maybe we were never meant to be over."

WinWin’s lips quirked up at the corners, something hopeful breaking through the hesitation in his eyes. He strummed along, their voices blending in quiet harmony, filling the space that once held only silence.

And in that moment, she knew.

This wasn’t their final goodbye.

This was their comeback love song.

[disappearing-rotting]

Interpretation of "Of My Brothers and the Bear" by Hop Along

Of My Brothers and the Bear is a definitely one of the most vague tracks under their belt. I've seen a couple of interpretations - Childhood fantasies? Past lives? - but it's hard to make any of them fit quite right (at least, to me).

But here's a fun fact: after listening choice Hop Along songs 100 times and have enough mental illness, you may be graced with visions and spectres tangible enough to create a tapestry out of the loose threads, even if the threads probably weren't supposed to be stitched together quite like that.

So, after such an epiphany, I believe that Of My Brothers and the Bear is about violent thoughts and the reactions one may have to them in the society we live in.

Let's take this one step at a time.

For starters, let's take our verses. Both describe violent fantasies our narrator has over those that they feel threatened by, a bear and a stranger. Not only are they bloody, but they also make the narrator feel powerful and in control.

And the town would think me brave

Throw a party in my honor

Mom would paint my face with deer blood

I'd enter like a god

But then the narrator begins to feel a connection with their victim in the scenarios through their further humanization of them.

And the man, he'd blow to heaven

Be among his loves and brethren

In the morning, he'd wake up to find

Himself reborn a bear

Now, the narrator feels guilty for their thoughts. They consider themself to be no better than dirt.

I oughta be the dirt along the ocean floor

So when it drains, I'll float to shore

Notice what they say there. That the only way they should be seen is in the very casualtous event of the ocean draining. They believe that they can only be thought of as a horrible sign of destruction and decay.

The first and second choruses end quite differently. These represent two reactions to this belief held by the narrator. The first chorus, I believe, depicts the narrator's desire to commit suicide.

Now, scathingly, I'll throw the paint along my wall

And fall and faint

Something to note is the use of the word paint. In just the previous section, the narrator says that they "ain't no artist." They are trying to get rid of their "paint," to absolve themself of this beauty. What do you think would truly splatter so scathingly against the wall?

My bones will know just what to do

By the break of dawn, I will be new

Another thing to point out is the weaponry. In the first verse, the narrator imagines shooting the bear. This is then turned onto themself in the chorus.

The same is true in the second chorus. Here, the narrator is now expressing their desire to commit an incredible act of violence to ease their heart.

Now, joyously, I will throw the paint along the mountains

Liberate the blue

And all the seagulls would adore

They won't care for the fish anymore!

A bomb would turn the blue sky grey with smoke and debris, thus "liberating" the blue. The seagulls would have plenty of easy pickings from the carnage left behind.

And now, at the final part of the song, he narrator "wakes up" from these fantasies and tries to forget about them.

I don't recall, it was just a dream

They say this over and over to cover it up, to appear normal while they call their family. But, in the end, the narrator does not hate these violent thoughts.

But if I see a bear, I hope

It might come back to me

A direct callback to the start of the song, the narrator hopes they get into a situation where they might seek these fantasies out again. Because, in the end, it does bring them comfort. They like that feeling, deep down.

And in a society that could actually accept them for these thoughts, they may be able to find a different solution.

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

take delight in the fall

ship: max f/lando norris (LOOK you don't see it now but I SWEAR IT'LL HAPPEN) rating: T tags: angst, badmouthing the 2019 mclaren (like i even go there), references to in-patient mental health programs

a/n: here have more dizzy on the comedown verse while i struggle with insane writer's block for EVERYTHING else i'm working on. Title from Dizzy on the Comedown by Turnover, of course.

The car's shit.

It's all Max can think when he stumbles out of it, after the first day of pre-season testing. It feels like a wild horse, feels like there's never going to be any way he can tame it. Could blame it on himself, lack of experience, but Carlos looks equally annoyed about it, the look on his face impassive and dull.

"We'll talk about it, yeah?" Zak says, at some point. Claps them both on the back and herds them back towards the McLaren motorhome.

There's not a lot that he knows to talk about. Still getting used to it, getting used to this. Listens, with his lower lip caught between his teeth as Carlos rips the car to shreds. Is thankful, at least, that Carlos knows what he wants. Thinks, not for the first time, that it would be better Lando than him. Despite the fact that they've followed the same trajectory, sometimes he feels woefully underprepared.

Carlos pulls him aside later, claps him on the back and drags him to get a coffee. Max gets a tea instead, lets it sit and steep while he looks at Carlos. Opens his mouth, closes it again, feels so incredibly stupid, out of his depth, like nothing he's going to say is going to matter.

"You are needing to be more honest, yes?" Carlos tells him, and Max swallows around the lump in his throat. Nods. "They are being listening. You just must be talking."

It's a little easier then, maybe, to talk a little shit about the car, laughing about it, how it doesn't feel manufactured with either of them in mind. Like they tried to make it fast, and stumbled over their own feet.

They're getting up to go. Back to their respective hotel rooms, to get onto their respective flights. The last few days they have at home before the season starts, before they have to lock back into sim timings. Until they have to claw back whatever data they can from the cars to figure out what upgrades are needed.

Carlos reaches out, slaps him on the back, face friendly and open. "I am sorry about your Lando. He is okay, yes?"

It makes Max freeze in his tracks, nausea flip in his stomach. Thinks about unanswered texts, bitterness bursting on the back of his tongue. Thinks about the fact that all his updates have come from Cisca, Adam, Lando's siblings. The fact that his text message thread with Lando's gone unanswered since Lando texted him about the program release date.

Since he'd had to text Lando and tell him he'd be at the season opener in Melbourne that same day.

Max doesn't really think he's felt a silence so icy.

"Yeah, he's doing great, mate. Getting better every day." Forces a smile, but knows it feels hollow and haunted.

His phone lights up with a text, and then another, as he climbs into the car, tips his head back against the headrest, lets out a sigh. It feels like the weight of the day just sits heavier. It's easy to find himself hating the distance. Misses his parents, misses his siblings, misses Lando. Still can't stop himself from feeling like an imposter in the team. Can't stop himself from the churning guilt, curdling thick and cloying on the back of his tongue.

Sometimes, he thinks it never should've been him. Thinks Lando's got more talent in one finger than he's ever had in his life. Knows that everyone would fight him on it, but it's hard to see the other side.

Can't help but feel like he'd always been McLaren's second choice, despite the fact that it'd been him sitting in an office with Zak Brown and Andrea Stella while Lando had been in the press pen.

Miss you, buddy

Car's shit, if it helps at all

He sends the texts even though he's fairly certain they won't get answered, that they'll just fall into the glacial void between them. Thinks about texting Lando's mum again, and doesn't. Just glances at the good luck text message that he'd gotten from her, and swallows down the tears he can feel welling in his throat.

All of it feels so bittersweet.

Hope you're doing alright.

Can't wait to see you again

The texts, of course, go unanswered, and Max can feel his heart sinking in his chest. Wishes that he could at least be faced with something accusatory, with rage, with something more than the radio silence.

[elodiah]

1-2-3-4-5 Fic Game

Thanks for the tags @mirilyawrites , @andthekitchensinkao3 , and @lokimobius!

Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words (feel free to interpret however you would like; if not on AO3, can be on Tumblr or FFNET, etc!).

The above are the actual rules, for anyone who wants to play. HOWEVER, I’m gonna be contrary and do an inverse 1-2-3-4-5, taking my bottom results, and the fic with the most words for the last bit. I’m tired of the same kinda fics I list in these games, so let’s mix it up…

Least hits:

Reset (143 hits)

Red Dwarf/Loki crossover (the epitome of niche, so not surprising! 🤣🫣). My silly explanation as to how we ended up with nano-Rimmer gone and holo-Rimmer back following Series 8… yes, the TVA get involved, namely Agent Mobius and Mr Laufeyson. 🤭

Second least kudos:

Revived: Part I (35 kudos)

The first part of the 3-part conclusion of Revival-verse. All three parts are not popular in general, in terms of stats, but they’re nothing but plotless sap that wraps up a series, so understandable.

Third least comments:

Runaway (3 comment threads)

This fic was published Day 25 for Hurtcember… in other words, Christmas Day. As a result, it got severely overlooked IMO, which is a shame because it’s a rare “Mobius emotional whump/worried and caring Loki” story from me. Only 3,500 words, if you want to check it out… 🥺

Fourth least bookmarks:

Lost and Found (5 bookmarks)

Another (very mild) Mobius emotional whump fic; just a quiet, chill conversation between a pre-relationship Lokius in Revival-verse. Really loved writing this one.

Fifth least words:

Lullaby of You (1,179 words)

One of my most successful fics in terms of feedback. Loki falls asleep around Mobius all the time, but what does it take for Mobius to do the same? A kinkmeme prompt fill.

Most words:

Reach (15,669 words)

My only two crossover fics bookend this post! That’s kinda cool. 😎 This is my Loki/Star Wars crossover, post-canon for Loki, and follows moments from Obi-Wan’s life. LokiWan friendship with Lokius fragments throughout.

Sorry for anyone who’s been tagged a hundred times already, but anyway… @kcscribbler , @blackbirdofasgard , @in-my-loki-feels , @distracteddream , @insomniaflarrow , @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

[edennill-archived]

Analysis/thoughts on Finrod's Duel with Sauron in the Finrod Rock Opera:

(I take the English translation of the lyrics from here — it's the 11th song)

Sauron, classically makes the first move, and in a very Sauron-typical manner. "How dare you come here — the world is dark and horrible — loyalty doesn't exist — et cetera as nauseum". I just really want to know what has he got against Fëanor specifically ("Into the world has come a curse, whose name is Fëanor!") He's the only person mentioned by name in the fragment too.

(I'm also fascinated by the costuming choices in the version I usually watch — the newest one? — that seemingly have Sauron steal Morgoth's fashion style. The crown specifically, it's even got three jewels. I know Morgoth doesn't really have much focus in this version, so they may have wanted to use the visual, but still. As for the rest, it's a very standard phobso-influenced design, ginger hair and all. Someone has definitely been on Tumblr, or at least very active on Pinterest.)

Finrod's first response starts off frustratingly vague, in my opinion, and at the same time, mixes together too many images in one stanza. As for "The poison of lies is harsh/But in this world there is no poison greater than love" — I don't think Finrod would say that, not the second part at least. Oh, well, Amarië — but Finrod is not a Romantic, and his view of what Love is would be far wider.

Then we get to the good stuff, however. "The crossbow has been twined with ivy/Harpstrings replaced the bowstring/Blossoms will turn the bloody trail white/The sound of a song will replace curses..." There is a definite echo of "swords into plowshares" with this one that feels at least semi-conscious — and thus makes me wonder... the biblical passage where that comes from is a strongly eschatological one, and I wonder if this does not imply Finrod is now singing about his "dream" or vision.

Well, Sauron's only reply to that is to say: It's too late, "the thread has been twisted too far and too terribly" and denounce Finrod's ideas as "a pitful likeness of the Creator's original designs". (By the way, Sauron is one of the characters to reference Eru most often here (that is two times), only he never calls him by that name. I don't know what to make of that)

Finrod's second verse: "Where there is no oblivion/Runes weave over the stone/And the strings of the lyre/Do not speak of the power of time/Behind me, the youth of the unmarred world has risen like the dawn/et cetera" and "But darkness and slander/Have vanished, like a dream/Such is the law/As long as the firmament is full of imperishable light". I'm quoting in full because my thoughts basically boil down to: this is a lot of words, and I'm not sure what they all mean in this arrangement, or what they call back to — although I think you can interpret them in accordance with my vague ideas about his previous lines. Lastly, Finrod seems to invoke the Day of Valinor in an explicit attempt to match powers with Sauron.

(Also, the phrase "i struny liry" is just honey on the tongue when set to music, I don't know why)

Enter Sauron with "Strength in this world belongs only to the one/who will doubtlessly break the shackles of slavery." Given later context, it seems pretty clear this is to refer to a general promise of "freedom", not to Morgoth and Sauron merely. Which — I don't think is far off from how they would like to be seen, but I wonder what gave the writers this intuition. I don't think the theme is particularly outright expressed in the book, is it? Hmm, or could it be an idea from the Black Book of Arda (which I'm pretty sure goes down that path), or a reaction thereto... I'm never sure just how much influence I should assume the 90s/00s Russian fandom madness (wank and wars included) had on local works. Concluded with "I am free to do whatever I want to you."

Finrod: "My choice is made/And fate is in the power of Eru" — direct refutal, great. "Both light and shadows/Are gifts in his hands." — He would not freaking say that, unless it's supposed to translate into "Your power is not innate either", that I can get behind. And the famous "I do not believe in endless losses." — people have written full essays on that so I will remain silent. Of course Finrod speaks of eucatastrophe though 😊.

Then we get to one of my favourite exchanges. Sauron (after an obligatory segue into how he sees in Finrod a fear that befits only cowards and slaves, because he's like that) calls out Finrod for being "guilty before the Creator". And my darling, dearest Finrod (oopsie, this was meant to be a serious post — I'm afraid I've gotten too deep into blorbo territory) immediately has a riposte: "But the greater guilt is on the one, who in a dark hour, and with open eyes, taught us pride."

Which naturally does not really make him innocent of the blood-guilt, but as a "And you're the one asking about it?" it works very well. Sauron's comeback is "That was done to set you free" which is lame and contradictory with his just preceding attempt to guilt Finrod and I love this. I feel like this inconsistency is something that Tolkien would have agreed with very well in terms of "how evil works" — again, I feel like the people behind this are so strongly either hit or miss in terms of themes that I wonder if the text wasn't written by more than one person.

Finrod tells Sauron that he may at most kill him, Sauron is... enraged and, it seems, instigated, and then we have one of Finrod's best moments in the show, in which he genuinely feels like he almost pities his opponent for wasting himself like that, especially with the right intonation on the part of the actor. "First answer me/Why does the dark throne/So draw your eyes, o Sauron?/As if the dead glitter of crowns/Will save one who was not born?" indeed

As for: "If by such is Light defended, Darkness will triumph" — I hate Sauron for that insult; even more since it's "kicking a fallen opponent" — but it works. He would say that.

And of course he finishes off with "—and me with it!" because Dark Lords are nothing if not preoccupied with self. It's childish really, when not sung in a strong voice — but that's the point, or should be.

[echoes-of-elsewhere]

A new urban legend - what do you think?

The Curator’s Ledger: Entry 11B

Subject: Toothsong Phenomenon (Confirmed Case File – Testimony Appended)

Status: Unresolved. Frequency: Low. Spread: Musical.

“Not all music is written. Some arrives. And it wants to be remembered.”

I came across this letter folded inside a dental hygiene pamphlet left in the waiting room of a private clinic in Devon. The paper was unmarked on first glance, and the attached pen used to write it had no ink. Yet the words are there, their lines subtly etched, pressed deep into the paper as if by an intense deep need from within the author to tell their story – the only way, I suspect, they could defy the condition their affliction imposed.

Its author is unnamed. I leave it in their voice.

Toothsong (Statement Begins)

At first, I mistook it for tinnitus – just a faint, mid-pitch hum, not unpleasant, that came and went, particularly at night. But it wasn't mere static, for static lacks rhythm, and this hum possessed a distinct, unsettling beat.

About a week later, I woke up to feel something small and hard beneath my pillow. Instinctively, I sat up and spat—bloody saliva—realizing one of my back molars was gone. Yet, there was no socket, no pain. When I checked the mirror, the tooth was still inexplicably present: smooth, white, and slightly too white.

I assumed it was a dream, a confusion with an old filling memory, anxiety, or some such thing, until it happened again. Another tooth gone during the same dreamless sleep, the hum now noticeably stronger. I found the second tooth on the floor by the bed, but when I turned to retrieve my phone to photograph it, it had vanished.

My dentist, after a thorough examination, assured me I was fine, even complimenting my enamel.

Soon, I found myself humming unconsciously, an unfamiliar melody I didn’t recognize. I’d catch myself in the car, or walking to the shop, always the same tune, always note-perfect. I tried to record it once on my phone, but the playback remained stubbornly blank – silence. My lips moved, I knew, but no sound emerged from the recording.

By the fifth tooth, I’d stopped attempting to voice my experience. My friends at first thought I was winding them up. Then one gave me a number of a clinical psychologist. I laughed it off, and said typical anxiety dreams.

That’s when I stumbled upon the forum: an obscure, fragmented subthread buried deep within a sleep disorder site, where the term "Toothsong" appeared. No clear origin, just scattered posts. One, however, stood out:

“If you lose more than seven, it finishes. And once the song finishes, something starts singing back.”

Seven. The number resonated, sticking in my mind, not merely as a quantity, but because it felt unsettlingly... plausible.

I tried everything – wearing mouthguards, sleeping upright – but nothing helped.

On night I lost my sixth tooth, I wrote this verse in my notebook without knowing why:

If Toothsong plays, do not reply,

Or hum it back, or question why.

When harmony aligns with bone,

Your thoughts won’t ever be your own.

I possess no memory of writing or learning it, yet an unsettling certainty compels me to believe it is true.

Last night, the seventh tooth emerged – a canine. I held it in my hand, feeling it pulse like a trapped insect, before I hurled it out the window.

The melody is complete now, playing whenever I’m still. When I brush my teeth, I can feel them humming back, vibrating softly against the bristles.

I am leaving this here as a warning, perhaps even a map.

Someone on the thread said that if you stop humming, the song forgets you. You can trick it into thinking you were never part of the chorus. Some even claim dental trauma works—a pulled tooth, something deliberately broken, severs the link. Others say that’s how it gets in properly.

I no longer know what’s true, only this:

My teeth are no longer mine.

And they are listening.

—[Redacted]

Addendum (Curator’s Hand):

I’ve since located two further mentions of Toothsong, both buried in unrelated documents. One was handwritten in the margin of a 1983 pamphlet on orthodontic prayer. The other was spoken softly, by a man during a tooth extraction, just before he died. He said:

“I bit into the tune. It bit back.”

If any readers find similar cases—particularly in music therapy wards, or among dental students who whistle in their sleep—please forward them. What is the purpose, what do they want?

[lpanne]

My Cross Stitch Journey

I think i've been cross-stitching for over 25 years at this point and i just wanted to chart my journey and make a couple of notes about the latest step i've taken (no longer caring about the back being perfectly neat). I'm not saying everyone's journey needs to be like mine, but i just want to share somethings that i've only discovered in the last year as i'm wondering if i just missed it being commonly available knowledge or if my sharing what i've learned will be helpful to others.

So the rest of this post below the read more will be about ways to make stitches look neater, but will lead to a messier back.

Again i want to preface this with you can have beautiful cross stitch pieces without doing any of the things i'm about to discuss. This is meant more as an explanation of why stitches get wonky sometimes even when you have figured out getting your threads to lay flat and stitching all in the same direction.

First, I learned that once you finish a stitch, the next place you bring your needle up through can have a huge impact on neatness and the ability to stitches to fill in areas next to previously stitched sections.

So in the above picture i have drawn a completed cross stitch where the top arm started on the upper left and went back down into the cloth on the lower right. So if i'm going to start a new stitch i want to start in one of the green holes or if i had to yellow. Not red. If you bring your needle up through one of the red holes it will make this completed stitch's top arm elongate and lead to messiness. It is especially bad in you go for the bottom far right hole. Also if you are going to stitch around this second with a second color getting your needle through a hole with an elongated arm can sometime be an issue.

Also, i only highlighted the closets holes, but if you are going to start a stitch further away think about what direction you are pulling your thread and will it be passing under the cloth near the red or green holes.

Second, I realized that making sure your top stitch all are stitched in the same way is very important. I don't mean having all your stitches having the top arm being upper left to lower right verse upper right to lower left (that is important too, but i feel like that information was one of the first things i was told). I mean that in a section try to maintain for the top arm upper left to lower right and don't mix in lower right to upper left. This can pull the stitches in a weird way and can make them look messy (if you are looking super closely). See below for an illustration. The numbers are the order of steps the needle took in and out of the cloth.

In this illustration i only drew one of the arms as it was easier to see, but caring this much is only super important for the top arm. Also to call back to my earlier point in the bottom half going from step 2 to step 3 would be having the needle going into one of the red holes i outlined in the first diagram which again can lead to some elongation of stitches.

Sometimes i don't follow these suggestions but i am more aware of these issues, and i am watching for times when i ignore them and i try to mitigate the issues like the example below.

So what do i do in patterns that have an outer line of stitches like my kyubey pattern? i really like the danish method of stitching (stitching a row of arms in one direction and then going back to the start of the row with the crossing arms); however, this leaves you at the beginning of where you were stitching. So i came up with this method to be able to still kinda danish stitch but end your thread at the other end of the row. (The colored lines are the thread on the back side of the cloth.) This is a very niche solution but it is helpful in some instances like the above example.

you will see that i'm doing something i said not to do above. I am mitigating the issues though by having the top arm being the one that is following the suggestions i wrote above. Not following the first suggestion on the bottom arm can make stitching around that area a little harder but it won't look as weird as having the top arm being elongated.

[needcurse]

➥        * 𝙱𝚄𝙵𝙵𝚈 𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂   , 🧷 . . . this whole thing is all about death. you think you're different 'cause you might be the next slayer ? death is what a slayer breathes, what a slayer dreams about when she sleeps. death is what a slayer lives.

             ▍  note:   my buffy is primarily headcanon-based and i don't mess with the comics. while i take a lot of my characterization from seasons 1-5 i have taken liberties when it comes to the origins of "the slayer" as well as buffy's ascension as an angel post her second death and then her subsequent fall when she is resurrected again. so basically what i'm saying is, don't assume things about my characterization. i'm making this post to get ahead of that since i'm excited to introduce my take on buffy! i also have chosen to make buffy chicana and that will play a large part in my portrayal of her as a girl who is originally from east los angeles.

        ♡  i write buffy strictly after high school and am only really interested in threads where she is in university already as well as beyond that. she had to deal with enough weirdness while underaged in canon so i won't be doing that here.

➥ DOSSIER.

full name: benicia ana summers ( better known as "buffy" ) aliases / titles: b, nici, nicia, the slayer, the chosen one, she who hangs out a lot in cemeteries, the fallen one, santa muerte, la luz del universo, alma del angél, nuestra señora de entierro, la sibila age: 19-25 depending on the verse birthplace: los angeles, california current residence: sunnydale, california gender: cis female ( she / her ) sexuality: bisexual ethnicity: latina ( first gen from mexico ) species: enhanced human birthday: january 19th occupation: defender against the darkness, savior of humanity even if it doesn't pay well, basically a supernatural detective zodiac: capricorn sun, moon in cancer, gemini rising

➥ APPEARANCE.

hair: honey blonde ( dyed ), dark brown ( natural ) eyes: warm brown, amber in the sunlight. height: 5’4” / 162 cm body type: below average height but strong, she has an acrobat's build and is lean and fit due to the nature of her work, she was once a figure skater and still maintains that same bearing and appearance of an athlete at that caliber. notable features... mainly post second resurrection: the scarred ridges along her shoulder blades where her wings once grew, every now and then she still grows an odd feather, she always faintly smells of rose water and burning myrrh, her skin has a certain effulgent quality to it; even in the dark she may have the faint outline of halo of light around her.

➥ ASSOCIATED MOTIFS.

the sacred heart, fraying angel wings, the crucifix, la catrina, mantillas, the tragic heroine, pyrrhic victory, the broken halo, the cycle of katabasis, the figure of the prophetess

➥ HISTORY.

     i am assuming most people know the basics about buffy's character but for the uninitiated ! buffy is the "chosen-one" of prophecy;

♡   ❛  into every generation, there is a chosen one. one girl in all the world. she alone will wield the strength and skill to stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. ❜

she was called to be the slayer in 1996 at fifteen years old. originally living in east los angeles, her family had to move due to an incident involving a gang of vampires at her high school at the time she relocated to sunnydale with her mother, upon moving they find out that the town itself is a hellmouth. essentially a nexus for supernatural activity. thus buffy's guardianship over sunnydale begins until it's eventually destruction in 2003.

     before coming to sunnydale buffy operated independently and alone. initially upon her arrival she wants nothing more than to hang up her mantle as the slayer and return to her normal life. she eventually does embrace her place in the prophecy but this time with the assistance of her mentor/watcher, giles and her friends xander and willow who are referred to unofficially as, "the scooby gang."

➥ DIVERGENCES. ( angelic lineage of the slayers )

first death & slayer lineage: over the course of the series buffy perishes twice in battle. the first time is in season one finale while facing the master. the perishes while preventing him from bringing about what is essentially vampire armageddon. as according to my blog canon buffy's first death does not quite stick. she never makes it to heaven but rather dithers in limbo. still it is enough to begin to enliven the celestial blood within her as slayer's a descendants of fallen angel turned demon. it makes her connection to the line of slayers before her stronger and she does begin hear them in a faint chorus within her mind.

second death & ascension: buffy effectively martyrs herself when she makes the ultimate sacrifice of giving her life in exchange for her sister dawn's. not all slayers necessary become angels upon their death but given the nature of buffy's death and her already awakened bloodline she is granted wings for all that she has endured.

falling & subsequent resurrection: she doesn't fall out of her own fault but it doesn't matter. being called back to life is a sin in itself and willow forcibly taking buffy from heaven is as good as damning her forever. she digs herself out of her grave with her wings in a state of ruin. she sheds feathers for weeks following her revival and even months after the fact they still grow out of her skin bent and ravaged. the pain is immense but she plucks them immediately each time they emerge.

duality explored: while i think buffy post-season 5 is handed absolutely abysmally on the show i do think her draw to act rashly in an effort to "feel something" is actually fairly accurate to how she conducts herself following her stint in heaven. the mortal world does feel every bit like hell when compared to the bliss and relief she felt after finally dying, she has to constantly remind herself that this is now her reality again and the contentment she had for that fleeting time is over. she will never return to any state of salvation ever again no matter how good or justly she conducts herself.

➥ ABILITIES.

enhanced physical capabilities: like all slayers buffy has heightened physical strength and agility. she can perform feats that someone of her size probably shouldn't but she is a very unconventional fighter because of that. in her training she has used various weapons and has a degree of mastery in them all but largely she favors axes, scythes, and the occasional crossbow... she also likes the romantic nature of swordplay but often it doesn't serve the kind of combat she is getting into. she is an incredibly acrobatic fighter and nimble making her defense just as impressive as her offensive maneuvers.

heightened senses: slayers possessed a heightened awareness of their surroundings, allowing them, with experience, to know the position of an attacker and fight them even without sight. however, buffy is slow to develop the slayer power to sense supernatural activity. as the chosen one should be able to sense a vampire or demon even when disguised. later in life, it is a skill she hones in on but she still typically relies on gut feeling over her slayer perception to suss out potential enemies. she also is able to see in the dark as it aids her in the hunt of nocturnal creatures although her sight is obviously nowhere near as good as a vampire's.

prophecy or death-sense: prophecy is something slayers are plagued with in the form of dreams that give glimpses into potential futures. these visions tend to surround death and are used as forewarning before tragedy unfolds. the function of this precognition is to better ensure the slayer's survival and warn against certain doom. still, there are times that these bursts of prophecy have nothing to do with death. they are vastly driven by emotion and buffy has seen her loved ones deceive her before the events itself occur as well as her lover losing his soul. soooo i think it's safe to say that there is a through line between love and death when it comes to this ability.

➥ VERSES.

the vampire diaries: essentially this verse follows canon pretty closely since the lore between the two shows fit fairly neatly together... which is probably because tvd borrows heavily from buffy and is somewhat of its spiritual successor. the key difference is instead of moving to sunnydale after getting kicked out of her last school buffy and her mother move from los angeles to mystic falls, virginia. i don't think it's a stretch to say that mystic falls essentially functions as an east coast hellmouth. between the long history of witch lineages originating there as well as the salvatore legacy it makes sense that a slayer would be drawn to such a supernatural hub. besides that she attends school around the same time the main cast does and eventually goes off to whitmore college too.

pjo / roman mythology: a roman daughter of victoria, buffy was once her mother's greatest champion and then eventually became her greatest shame. prophesied to the save the world and the gods from certain ruin this destiny is quickly cut short when buffy dies at sixteen. when she fights her way out of the underworld back to her mother's side she is spurned and her wings are ripped from her back. it is eros who takes pity on the loveless child, becoming her patron but it comes at the cost of heart ( doomed to only love the dead and never the living ) to this day she is treated as a fugitive of the underworld. she is constantly pursued by lemures attempting to drag her back beneath the earth for judgement.

shadowhunters: a ward of the los angeles institute in the late 90s to early 2000s. often referred to as the most promising shadowhunter of her age. i don't have all the details for this verse nailed down. honestly i did give up on reading the dark artifices after the first book because it was all over the place so my knowledge on the LA shadowhunter scene will be largely vibes and headcanons based. i do think buffy is in higher possession of angel's blood than the average shadowhunter but i'm not trying to have her eclipse clary's storyline in any way. the abilities this heightened concentration of blood has on her gives her the gift of prophecy though. also faith is her parabatai because i say so <3

castlevania: primarily netflix castlevania nocturne-based. in the late 1700s buffy's family is living in what was then known as new spain (mexico). this verse is pretty trigger-heavy given the nature of colonization but that is central to noctune's storyline and i won't be shying away from the violence the spaniards wrought on the indigenous populations. never to glorify but it is a reality that cannot be swept under the rug when talking about this time period. buffy herself is mixed indigenous (aztec) and spanish. during this time period this status, as well as her fairer complexion, would allow her some social mobility. it is something she uses to get in the room with members of high society and track down spanish vampires who are targeting mexican woman as a food source. these crimes go largely unnoticed because these women aren't white and it is solely buffy that seeks justice for them. her hunts have earned her somewhat of a folkhero status but also has put a very large target on her back.

apoc/tlou: TBA

dark academia: TBA

gothic horror: TBA

[specsthespectraldragon]

Ranking The Future Is Wild animals based on whether I think my cat could fight them, a thread.

1) Shagrats

I think she would simply climb onto their back and become part of the herd. They're warm, she's cold. They go where vegetation is, meaning she can find small wildlife to eat. And she would be able to warn them about Snowstalkers.

Rank: Glorious Throne

2) Snowstalkers

I don't think she'd have anything to do with an adult. Frankly, an adult wouldn't have anything to do with her- at that size, she's just not really a meal. But here's the thing. The reason I drafted this post is because of her reaction to the BABY snowstalkers. And yeah, they're still BIGGER than her. But they're babies. I don't think they know that. She could take them.

Rank: Fuck Them Kids

3) Gannet Whales

This is birds. I know what my cat's oral microbiome is like. If it came down to it, they would die in a few weeks. But I don't think she'd ever get close enough to bite them because she has eaten so much worse than the Gannet Whale anti-predator defense. Predigested fish will only stop her because she's taking the time to snack.

Rank: Vending Machine

4) Cryptiles

She would be eating those bad boys like they eat brine flies. And probably also the brine flies. Those poor bastards would be going the way of the Stephens Island when.

Rank: Cromch

5) Gryken

They're about the size of a cat, and have similar advantages. I think this one is technically a toss-up.

Rank: Could Go Either Way

6) Scrofas

No. Absolutely not. Have You Ever Met A Pig.

Rank: 30-50 Feral Hogs

7) Carakillers

I think she would die, but if she got one good scratch off, the bird would too. And I think she'd get one scratch or bite in on them.

Rank: No Victor

8) Babukari

She wouldn't fight them. This is a housecat. She is designed to appeal to weird monkeys, and these are less intelligent than humans. She would have them hand-feeding her minnows within the week. If they ever evolved into human scale societies their descendents would worship her as a god.

Rank: Apotheosis

9) Grassland Rattlebacks

I don't think she wins this one, but no way the grassland rattleback even realizes what's going on. She just tries to beat the shit out of it and it's going ":)" the whole time.

Rank: Infinite Jest

10) Desert Rattlebacks

Second verse, same as the first. This one would be able to tell what was going on, but wouldn't really care much more. Maybe the baby would, but no way she'd get that close to a baby rattleback.

Rank: Finite Jest

11) Spynx

These is snacks. She'd be digging up the poor blind birds and eating them like popcorn. They can only hope that she can't find them underground.

Rank: Tasty and Portable

12) Deathgleaners

I think she could physically kill one of them. The problem is that bats are very full of diseases, and the turbo murder bats from the future probably have forms of rabies beyond our imagination. She wins the battle, but not the war.

Rank: De-lyssas

[doug-meat]

parts of the npmd soundtrack that scratch my brain perfectly (act one)

this soundtrack is so good. this is a long post so its all under the cut Part two coming soon. also i alternate between chara names and actor names idk why i do that. i hope this is even slightly comprehensible

HIGH SCHOOL IS KILLING ME

the little grace note in the piano bit in the last line of the piano melody before richie starts singing in (i hope this makes Sense)

jon's voice for real . just through this whole show

"a thread" and "i'm scared" happening at the same time

the violins(??) coming in when ruth starts singing

richie and ruth's harmonies during "the weight has got me sweating" bit

the "and i can survive it for only so long" harmonies

steph's "shit"

the way steph says "couldn't fuckin' study"

FOR THE CLASS OF TWENTY TWENTY WURN

agh Agh AGH!

the whispered "i'm so fuckin' dead"s underneath steph and pete's dialogue

steph and pete's repeated "my melody"s

the howling

the second delayed vocal line underneath the last bit of the last chorus

LITERAL MONSTER

the "HUH" at the start

the guitar riff motif

the little guitar squeal right before pete starts singing

the way pete says locker

richie's little riff on "seduce her"

the chorus harmonies

everyone knows how he BANGS!

the "and we pray and we pray harmonies"

you better you better!

kims voice in the he roars part <3

the harmonies in this song in general

will branners voice in this song SO GOOD

the "HUH HUH"s behind max's i roar bit

max's "don't need no one to tell me" verse UGH so good

NO ONE'S GONNA STOP ME!

max's harmonies on kind, size and rise

I WILL CLAIM WHAT IS MINE!

COOL AS I THINK I AM

the piano motif Can you tell i love motifs

i bet this song'll suck!

oo woah oo woah oh Oh

when the violins come in especially their little BA DA DUMS after "princess leia told me"

what if i were King of the hill!

the drums kicking in after the one oowoahoowoahoh oh

ensemble coming in

the little growl on the second "i'm as cool as she thinks i am"

THEN AGAIN I'M DERANGED

she's the brawn i'm the brains!

the electric guitar kicking in

IF I CAN FINALLY BE COOL I WILL KNOW THAT I'M NOT A LOSER

I'M THE RULER!!!!!!

DIRTY GIRL

the synth and drums

the way max says behave and be-betray me

baaaabe I'mma love ya all night lOOOooooong

THE LIKE MORE SYNTH KICKING IN HALFWAY THROUGH THE FIRST CHORUS UGH SO GOOD

the way grace says classroom

you want me cant be skipping skewl!

grace's "be-behayveee" UGH <3

THE GROWL ON "on your knees pray along"

the chorus harmonies <3

I DONT CARE ABOUT YOU!

the bridge harmonies

AA AAAGH!!

i'm a i'm a i'm a good girl!

WHO ON OCCASION GETS DIRTY!!!!

I WONT CAAARE ABOUT YOU!

BULLY THE BULLY

the snaps coming in

we'll make him shit his pants!

the riff on that line ^^

the jager-man??????

what's our budget?

the growl on "he's just a nerd in disguise"

stephie gonna lure him in with her charm

yeah?

JAGER GONNA JAGER OUT!

chorus harmonies!

standing for the nerdy the prudy!

WE'RE GONNA CUT OFF HIS NIPS!

AAAAHAaaAaaahh

the guitar bits in the back

we're gonna keep the beans cool! that whole sequence

BEAN SCHOOL? EXCELLENT!

THESE CHORUS HARMONIES ESP STEPHS

pete's and our problem's solved

richie's and the school can evolve

AND THE SCHOOL CAAAAN EVOLVE!!!

ugh jon and joey sound so good on the "we're gonna get the jock pleading"

the last guitar note

BURY THE BULLY

oh god she's snapping again...

this is a lot!!!

the whole hack all his limbs off bit

YOU WANT ME TO FILM THIS?

tape him up after dousing with bleach!

the chorus harmonies. every bit of these choruses i cant even isolate its everything

steph's little "bury bully line up stories NEVER HAUNT ME!"

i just cut off his nips

GRACE TELLING RUTH TO GIVE HER MAX'S NIPS

GO GO NIGHTHAWKS

the way ruth says shiny

IT'S LIKE THE START OF A NEW YEAR!

jon's higher range <3

jon's harmony on "and now i don't eat all by myself"

the trumpets behind the chorus

all the squawks

the HUH after who knew footballs a team game

corey's voice sounds so good on the "or hit u with a saturated towel"

the no more bully ball harmonies

the HUH! after no more bully ball

We're all givin the butt slaps YEAH HEAH!

the way jason sings cause we care <3

AND NOW I CAN PEE ALL BY MYSELF!!!!

the overlapping vocals coming together for "in hatchetfield high school"

N! I! G! H! T! AWK AWK! KSSSS!

NIGHT! HAWKS! NIGHT! HAWKS! NIGHT! HAWKS! FLY!

FUCK YOU CLIVESDALE GO GET FUCKED YOURE FUCKIN LOSERS AND WE'LL KILL YOU (KILL YOUR ASS)

fuuuuck you cliiivesdale gooo get fuuucked

the watch us fly harmonies

NIGHT! HAWKS! FLY! AWK AWK!

NERDY PRUDES MUST DIE (my fave song in the soundtrack be warned)

the "watch these nerds run for their lives" guitar riff before max sings

will branners voice augh

the little synthy ba duh duh duhs in the back

the BAMS! after every line in verses

the way max says "hallway safe" and "break you"

ugh the guitar kicking in and the double BUM BUM for the second verse

YA BITCH!

WOAH UH OAHHH

SHOULDA JOINED THE SMOKE CLUB YA NERDY PRUDE

the whole chorus

the watch those nerds run for their lives melody Ugh loved it in axe man loved it here

YOU PUSHED ME OFF THE EEEDGE

the way he says crusade

and youre too weak to be enSLAAAAVED

the drums AUAUDUAAUAU

CLEANSING OF YOUR KIND!!!!

the way he says anti socialites

the entire repeat after me bit. its actually incredible i cant just isolate one part of it its so good

the ensemble kicking in

IIIIM NOT A LOOOSERRRR

But you have lost. Everything.

THE HATCHET TOWN MOTIF

UGH I LOVE THIS SONG. THE NMT MOTIF

[walkdreams]

❛❛ she appears in weird shapes and strange forms, now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness

loosely based on the orphic myths, melinöe is a goddess of ghosts, nightmares & madness. she is known as the formless one for her shapeshifting abilities, the propitiated one by those who pray she does not visit them at night with her train of revengeful ghosts, and also as a crossroads deity, capable of infiltrating any realm so long as the sun is down. she is the second-born daughter of hades & persephone, stolen at birth by echidna at the start of the gigantomachy, and who remains estranged after discovering this.

her domain is in the river of wailing, where she offers an alternative option to the souls who were not given proper burial, endured a violent death, and/or did not have the toll to pay the ferryman. rather than spend the hundred years wandering in the banks of the river styx, they're given the chance to join her retinue in a nightly exodus to haunt in her name. melinöe herself often pays personal visits to the sleeping, invading and manipulating the dreams laid out by morpheus by taking the shape of their worst nightmares.

✧ headcanons ✧ visuals ✧ threads

☁️ . . . VERSES

✧ main : aligned primarily with greek myth canon, but can be applied to various settings & fantasy crossovers. she can be the entity associated with whatever boogeyman or nightmare figure applies. the background here is that melinöe was born formless ( thus difficult to identify ), so echidna stole her away to raise as her own, shaped her into the frightful and formidable deity she is currently, and used her as a force against house hades during the gigantomachy. after discovering that she wasn't echidna's daughter ( default is that hekate unearthed this ), she turned against the gigantes, but remained estranged to house hades all the same. although she offers passage of out hades, the unknown catch is that with each exit out of the underworld, a spirit will lose more of their memory until they become a shade with no sense of identity or purpose apart from serving the phantom queen. ✧ supergiant's hades : canon-divergent. same background here applies until i get through the full playthrough, but this is the primary verse where i will play around with mel being more anti-heroine skewed. she was the one who unleashed kronus, the titan of time ( and her grandfather ) who takes hades hostage. after discovering her true parentage, she begrudgingly agrees to train with hekate and save her father ( as a debt she feels she owes, not out of love ). [alt. adjacent verse] slaying the titan of time ultimately opens up some crossover plots where she's the new time anchor capable of traveling across timelines in the multiverse. ✧ dragon age : my favorite verse for her !! she's the formless one ( aka the last surviving forbidden one after da:i ) which i'm establishing to be a fear demon, and more specifically the nightmare demon in inquisition who commands all demons in alignment with corypheus. she was once a spirit of hope who absorbed the fears of thedas, but over time this corrupted her and turned her into the first fear demon, essentially a mirror of whatever horror plagues the collective. at this time she's a nightmare demon who primarily embodies with the blight because that's the most prevalent existential dread, but being the formless one means she can evolve to encapsulate something else. ✧ sandman / supernatural / comic villain : when morpheus first created the dreaming, he also created a formless dream who was meant to serve as a swiss army knife of sorts, encompassing whatever ideation proved most convenient for his running and expansion of the realm. eventually, melinöe became the first and most dangerous nightmare in morpheus' arsenal, especially after learning dreamers leave empty vessels in the waking world. she'd come to possess a few of these bodies and encountered some ghosts whom she assisted in doing the same. as a result, morpheus was forced to imprison her deep inside his nightmare box to prevent a rift between realms, but after his death and daniel's ascension, she manages to escape through the weakened wards and is now seeking to turn the waking world into her own realm of living nightmares by turning unwary sleepers into possessed shadow monsters.

☁️ . . . DOSSIER

name. melinöe epithets. the formless one, phantom queen, dark-mind, propitiation-minded pronouns. she/they (non-binary, female presenting) age. immortal pantheon. hellenistic polytheism etymology. chthonic goddess sexuality. pansexual alignment. chaotic evil / neutral relations. hades (father), persephone (mother), echidna (false mother), zagreus (brother), makaria (sister), aya akazawa ( sister), hekate (mentor), morpheus (🔪) height. 5'7" build. she will usually present herself as a nebulous shadow with only her eyes as a discernible feature, but her base form is lithe and toned. she has a white phantom forearm (left) that she keeps gloved. it's very bright, the only heavenly thing about her, but it is also translucent and exposes her ethereal skeleton. hair. tar black, floating around chaotically like tentacles. think eris from sinbad. eyes. varies. they could be translucent in the dark, a cloudy grey and rotted, black, yellow like spider guts, or burning pits distinguishing markers. spiders skittering in swarms, dogs barking at night, radio silence, a sudden drop in temperature, a dark face in the back of your eyelids, the sound of mourning cries in another room scents. burning sage, saffron, grave dirt

☁️ . . . ABILITIES / SKILLSET

* shape-shfting. less focused on concrete shapes than obscure and terrifying figures; however, this ability is also very much reflective of her environment and the person she is haunting. if their worst nightmare involves another person, she will embody that shape. * dimensional travel. a very stealthy ghoul! there is nowhere you can hide if it's night and you are sleeping without protection. that's the in miss boogey woman needs to find you. however, she can also travel the axis mundi aka "the crossroads" between realms in the greek pantheon without restrictions and take others through those roads so long as they accompany her throughout. otherwise, they could get stuck in limbo there. (in her alt. sg hades verse she'll ultimately be able to travel the multiverse this way) * possession. again, without protective measures or if someone is frightened enough to slip past the defense of their will, she and/or one of her ghosts can possess them and live within the confines of their mind like a parasite. * combat skills. while stunning or deceiving enemies through visions and torturous encounters is her go-to method, melinöe is also a very capable fighter. you can consider her more of a rogue. she's a dual wielder and her weapons are usually a pair of crescent shaped sickles. * magic phantom arm. allows her to shoot blasts of burning ectoplasm and cast simple entropy spells. it'll usually be gloved which dampens the effect, but when it isn't, and given enough time to boot it, she can nuke something.

☁️ . . . RESTRICTIONS

* sensitivity to sunlight. she is incapable of being in the sun without extensive damage. it won't kill her, but she will be in agony and incapacitated, and hella pissed if she escapes. rooms with bright lights are also very annoying, she'll find a way to shut them off or dim them to scare someone, but also for her own comfort. * protective tokens & practices. salt rings or salt along thresholds will keep her and her ghosts barred from entering a home, but melinöe may still be able to sneak in from a sleeping mind within that home, unless you have protective bells that will stir when she's near and wake them before she's found her way through. protective crystals and sage may also keep her from finding someone or dampen/cleanse her influence, but won't stop her from entering a room. * combat. without her abilities at her disposal, she's more vulnerable to being overcome in combat. she won't be easy to take down, as she is fast and very precise, but in terms of the damage that she can take before being subdued, this is low and her weakest point.