#twisting the knife the whole damn book

[just-another-lover-of-stories]

The perfect opening. "You're too far away and far too late to stop this tragedy"

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 7

On a personal level this week has been a very mixed bag but I know that if nothing else got me, this show got me. It's gonna come in clutch for me every time, spider bites and potential hauntings be damned.

I. Love. It. Here.

Will I ever not take psychic damage from the expression Tongrak makes when Mahasamut tells him that he cares about him? The answer is no. It's wonderful and devastating every time.

"How would you rate me out of 10?" Mahasamut asks while Tongrak's face plots teasing and mischief.

Opening a safe shouldn't look so much like staring down the gallows but here we are. Not being able to see how Tongrak's hands were shaking in a screenshot is a blessing.

The panic and terror on this man's face when he saw the read receipt on his phone is something I never want to see again. My hatred for Rak's piece of shit sperm donor is murderous and profound. How actually fucking dare he put this look on his child's face I'm going to kill him with my bare hands.

Peat's acting is so genuinely good that it hurts me. Tongrak was trembling so much that he was struggling to put the phone away and when he gets back to his room, he practically tries to crawl into Mahasamut's skin to hide and feel safe. Look at him, he looks so tiny and scared and I want to cry.

Let us take a break from the sad with this supremely horny shot of Mook unzipping Vivi's dress. Everyone say thank you.

And pour one out for our girl, as is now a weekly custom. Vivi my girly is dying CONFESS TO HER AND MAKE OUT ABOUT IT.

"I'm not going to the event! >:(" Yes you are, mi alma, look at your face when Mook threatens to quit.

Not pictured: One (1) resigned sigh

The grumpiest kitten in the whole venue.

Tongrak: *complaining* Mahasamut: *heart eyes*

My favorite moment of the face journey Tongrak goes on when he realizes just how good Mahasamut looks and that he will be Perceived and decides to mess up his hair about it. The grumpy kitten is a jealous jellyfish.

It's the fact that Tongrak looks surprised that his fans like his books and have consumed his entire body of work. I'M GOING TO SOB.

The smile is polite and professional but the eyes are sparkly. He genuinely enjoys interacting with his fans.

The proud husband smile means everything to me.

THE LOOK OF ABSOLUTE LOATHING AND DISGUST! INCREDIBLE PHENOMENAL OUTSTANDING.

IF YA'LL THINK I'M NOT GONNA MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS MAN YOU'RE SO FUCKING WRONG

If I have to have this demonic nasty hell witch on my screen, at least I get to watch her face make this expression after Tongrak calls her out for imitating him because he got it right on the money and she knows it.

Tongrak and the visceral hatred in his eyes said play me another waltz I'm tired of dancing to this one.

God love you, but you look so tired.

This entire scene was more brutal to watch than the fight outside of Tongrak's house. It was obvious that something more was going on from how calmly he was speaking and how non-responsive he became toward the end of it, but look at his hands. Look at how tightly they're clenched. Maintaining his composure while Prin stuck that knife in his wounds and twisted it as viciously as she could cost him, and it would be obvious even if we hadn't already seen them fight.

Tongrak, you're my fighter. He still looks tired because he is, but he also looks like the imperious ice prince he's had to be to survive. Then the utterly dismissive way he turns and walks out and cuts eye contact?

We can barely see Nouel's smile but it's so clearly saying "bruh that's cringe".

He's not just my fighter. He's Mahasamut's fighter, too.

Do ya'll remember how Tongrak was acting when he first brought Mahasamut to live with him and Vivi was teasing him?

Look how far they've come.

I can't quite articulate how, but the way they look at each other has changed, and I don't just mean because they're being lovey in front of Vivi and Mook. There's this undercurrent of sweetness that wasn't there before, even in private. That scene way back in episode 3 where Tongrak told Mahasamut to ask him to stay on the island which had so much softness and fondness to it did not have that same something that's now present.

I'm gonna leave ya'll with that and then go take more screenshots so I can properly scream about Mahasamut. And let me know if you wanna be tagged in these weekly writeups!

[wordsrequired]

now let me speak for a second, there’s some moments, lines you can twist to fit your narrative and there’s some moments you can’t.

yes cassian offered elain a knife but azriel didn’t just offer her a knife. now lemme explain it for dummies.

we’re in a battle, you need a weapon to defend yourself and I offer you:

1. one of my knifes, we’re in a battle and you need to defend yourself, here take this random knife and be safe.

2. my most prized possession, in 500 hundred years, all my life I haven’t let anyone touch this knife, NEVER gave it to anyone. you’re the first person in my whole life I ever gave it too, that has ever touched it. my friends, my brothers people I was raised with were gawking from this action.

now you’re gonna admit you can’t actually tell the difference between these two situations? the first one is an action you can do for everyone, people you don’t know, your friends. you’re gonna lend them a weapon to defend themselves in a battle. the second one is an action you never did for anyone before this X person, it has MEANING.

“Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade. Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

the author included that part with a motive, with purpose, to make that moment more special than just handing someone a weapon. and then she poetically described that moment between them. “light and dark” something you use as inspiration for the fanfiction you have built in your head. light and dark? that’s elriel, in the actual book. there’s no room left for interpretation on that scene. if you want to pretend to be stupid, to be in denial then you do you. but that happened and that’s a canon elriel moment. damn it sjm even put it in a coloring book for people who can’t read, she gave you some fanart of that, stop embarrassing yourselves. just theorize on some other argument like a black dress doesn’t look good on her or she can’t have a baby with wings, that suits you better. no need to give your two cents on iconic moments. discuss the two lines y’all have in the book smh. are your ships that boring that you have to spend day and night, invested and theorizing on another couple. like y’all think more about nitpicking any elriel moment then saying anything about your faves. i mean I get it they actually have scenes and the others are nonexistent in the canon material but y’all are fans at this point.

[kay-jaye]

aziraphale is pretty sure attempting to sneak a demon into heaven is a bad idea.

forget the fact that he’s the supreme archangel. forget the fact that the second coming is not going at all according to plan—his plan…the ineffable plan? forget the fact that he and crowley haven’t had a moment alone that wasn’t interrupted by muriel or maggie or nina or a legion of demons or the end of the world.

forget the fact that crowley hasn’t taken those wretched sunglasses off since…

it’s definitely a bad idea.

crowley is wearing a cream-colored suit over one of those turtlenecks with a gold version of his usual scarf, saying something about heavenly bees, but whatever joke he’s trying to make falls flat because all aziraphale can think is, i could appoint you to be an angel, you could come back to heaven, and isn’t that the pinnacle of cruel irony?

he understands why the disguise is necessary; it’s the not-so-subtle rub-in-the-face from a bitter demon squeezing his heart into a fist. it’s the prick of unease in the back of his mind that something isn’t quite right, the floor is at an odd angle, that book belongs on a different shelf. at the same time, it’s the you’re gorgeous he’s longed to return since before the beginning, sitting behind clenched teeth every day for 6,000 years. and it’s the realization that this was not what he imagined at all.

“this the one?” crowley asks, flipping through a file laid out on michael’s desk. “supreme archangel, and they’re still keeping secrets from you, huh?”

aziraphale would appreciate it if crowley would refrain from certain reminders. “yes, that’s it.” he looks around the pillar he’s taken to leaning against, waiting for the inevitable repercussion of being caught in the act. his suit is newer, sharper, grayer, but at this rate, all the worrying his thumbs have been doing to the fabric of the jacket is bound to have him looking his normal self. he supposes crowley sees something similarly foreign whenever he looks at him.

“wait, these are—”

“i know.”

crowley’s frown deepens as he rummages through the papers and documents and photos that aziraphale spent so long staring at, debating if coming back to beg crowley for help was worth the knife wounding his pride, and whether crowley would simply twist it instead and tell him to fuck off.

(he did, at first.)

too many things on the tip of his tongue—another apology, a frustrated yell, the heavy memory of crowley.

“you were right,” he settles with a sigh.

the demon pauses, considers him, then closes the vanilla folder, dragging the projected holograms back into the file. aziraphale braces for an “i told you so” or the self-deprecating laughter that’s made an increased appearance in wake of his leaving. the damn sunglasses render his expression unreadable, a book aziraphale regarded himself as an expert on, but now he isn’t so sure he’d ever gotten the words right to begin with.

then crowley is smiling at him. no sneer, no malice. crowley’s smile is small, two parts sad and muted expectations, and aziraphale feels like he’s being offered something important, more than a title, more than a job, more than the opportunity to fix the unfixable, though he certainly tried, and he’ll be damned before he lets it go. it’s still angry, but it’s so much realer than anything aziraphale has felt up here for months, and aziraphale knows. he knows they need to talk, and even if they’re just as irreparable as heaven and the whole system, he knows which one he’ll be devoted to mending.

“can i get that in dance form?”

and suddenly aziraphale knows what it is to soar without wings.

he doesn’t get the chance to respond before michael’s approaching voice sends him into a panic. aziraphale hopes the click of heels on white porcelain tile will drown out the sound of their own shuffling as he lunges for crowley, who just manages to grab the file they came for, and pulls him around the pillar.

there aren’t many good hiding places in heaven. why would there be? it’s supposed to reflect truth and dispel lies. the good thing about being an archangel, however, is the ability to alter heaven’s layout, although minutely. you want a desk? there. you want to lengthen the hallway from uriel’s office to yours? done. you want a slightly darker corridor leading into the wall a few feet to the left of michael’s desk? aziraphale does.

he almost shushes crowley’s quiet yelp of surprise when he frantically presses the demon into the alcove out of sight, and aziraphale feels the punched-out exhale more than he actually hears it.

it’s deja vu. they’re back in tadfield manor except crowley’s holding a folder containing plans for judgment day trapped between them, and aziraphale’s the one with his hands clutching lapels like they might leave with another stinging don’t bother. the moment is dangerously loaded because fuck, aziraphale has no idea where crowley’s sunglasses got thrown in his haste, and crowley’s looking at him, really looking at him, without dark lenses to hide the way his eyes flicker down or the split-second fear that flashes across them.

aziraphale is crushing their chests together, and crowley is caving under him, and jesus isn’t here yet, but there wouldn’t have been room for him anyway.

“angel,” crowley breathes, and aziraphale knows it’s a slip of the tongue because crowley hasn’t called him that since they last parted ways.

aziraphale’s mind is a constant loop of yellow, yellow, yellow, and it takes every ounce of remaining self-control in his body not to lean forward and do what he should’ve done months ago. he doesn’t have quite enough left to pull back though, so he’s stuck on the verge of never knowing how to ask for what he wants, always too good at backtracking for their own safety, afraid to do it now because he really thought last time was the last time, and he doesn’t know if crowley can take another rejection.

aziraphale doesn’t know if he can either.

any sound of michael has disappeared.

aziraphale reckons this is the part where he’s supposed to say something like, “i’m not nice. nice is a four-letter word.” aziraphale reckons crowley might even agree with him. he doesn’t feel nice; all these millennia of you go too fast for me, crowley, and i don’t even like you.

their noses bump as crowley shifts his head. “aziraphale,” he says. it makes the angel want to cry. “‘s alright.”

so crowley’s catching the bullet this time, and that’s all it takes for aziraphale’s grip to loosen. he steps back—all too familiar a motion—and watches the demon smooth himself out.

“crowley, i—”

“nah,” he interrupts, waving the file in his hands. “talk later, remember?”

aziraphale relaxes, wonders what miracle gave him this and who performed it, wonders which stars aligned and whether crowley knew about them. the angel nods.

neither speaks again until the elevator doors are closing and the angel disguise has fallen away.

crowley, in all of his too-tight pants and infinite patience, doesn’t even look at aziraphale when he says, “dance later, too.”

[king-of-a-kingless-world]

oy yoo joonghyuk, your looking kinda rough there. you good blud?

ok i really like this because i feel like previously the comic had an issue with making me care about yjh regressions. like theyd say they happened but didnt show it in a way that made me actually care but like with this now i understand and i can care about the pain his character went through more rather than just 'oh yeah the regressions happened hes sad about that but your not gonna get to see why and any of the pain he went through'

WHAT FHE FUCK WHY DOES IT HAVE A MOUTH. WHAT FHE HELL NKOOOOOO I DONT LIKE THIS

oh gohd. i. i dont like this.

YEAH. YA SHOULDVE. ok so i didnt take screenshots for a while but i think its really funny she got eaten. i dont like her. i know she tried her best and was going through a tough time but when your a parent trying your best isnt enough. you are raising a human being obviously your not going to be perfect but being a bad parent and trying to excuse it with 'i tried my best' is crazy. any other situation trying your best will always be enough because thats all you can do but a parent should do more than their best. i just. ugh. i think shes a very interesting and compelling character and a very realistic and human one at that but if she was real id want to fist fight her.

YAH KILL HIS ASS. her only saving grace in my eyes. the only thing ill ever say she did right. but then she went and put dokjas traumatic childhood on blast to the whole world while he was still a kid without his permission so i still dont like her 😋

honestly outside of writing the book and not getting dokja away from the abuse eairlier she was actually an amazing mom, she taught him many important things and even here always taught him the right lesson. BUT WHY THE FUCK YOU WRITE THAT DAMN BOOK-

also she basically abandoned him in a sense so hate her for that too ✌️

WHAT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS. ok most big twists i was already spoiled for but- ARE YOU TELLING ME DOKJA WAS THE ONE TO ACTUALLY KILL HIM?!??!!? OHHHHHH OH MY GOD. ok thats gonna fuck up his psyche to remember that but good for him yes kill that dude. also more points for her your slightly less of a shitty mom in my eyes you took the fall for him thats wonderful thats good parenting there (not the murder the being willing to take the fall in this situation)

thats actually insane because that means there was a reason behind the book. the book was to make sure no one ever thought it was dokja. i mean i dont think anyone wouldve suspected that so still she prob didnt need to write it but. THAT MEANS THERE WAS A REASON FOR THE BOOK. MY WHOLE ARGUMENT HAS BEEN THROWN OUT THE WINDOW I LOVE BEING PROVEN WRONG OHHH THIS IS AMAZING AND CRAZY. i still have my annoyances with her parenting but like. +50 parent points for this you go girl AND YOU GO DOKJA MURDER HIS ASS

oh. LMAO. DUMB ASS WAY TO DIE FUCKER. HAHAHAH DOKJA DIDNT EVEN MURDER HIM THIS DUMBASS SLIPPED AND FELL ONTO THE KNIFE AS DOKJA WAS HOLDING IT LMAOOOOOOOOOO THATS SO HILARIOUS. FUCKING IDIOT. so neither of them actually killed him thats hilarious thats so fucking funny pathetic death for a pathetic man.

ok but objectively letting him die was the good choice. like. mf deserved it.

[universaln0b0dy]

Fantasy (Twist v.s reader)

Summary: You have been made fun off by the magical people for a while, so you hse your ghost Camera to keep you company, but what if this turns into an obsession?

Note: credit to @fungifanart for the idea: https://www.tumblr.com/fungifanart/739605109692055552/to-all-of-the-twst-fandom-headcanoning-about-how?source=share

It was their idea and I am only writing it, with a bit of original sprinkles. (Also I am sorry if the reader is a bit to emotional)

Angst

"Duh, of course you can't help. Without magic you are kinda useless in this situation."

It hurt, they might have only said it because they wanted to be honest, but it hurt. You clench your fists and take a deep breath. "Don't let their comments get to you, they mean well." You think to yourself. But you know it doesn't help.

"You can't even do magic, what makes you think you can help in this situation?"

You always thought you needed to tough it out, grow a thicker skin or something, hide your vulnerability. You sit on your bed in Ramshackle playing around with your ghost camera. Hadn't you already proven you weren't useless?

There is a knock, it chimes through the whole of Ramshackle. You weren't expecting anyone, but it never stopped them from coming. Hastily you run down the stairs almost losing your footing in the process, but you catch yourself. You always catch yourself.

"Oh, hello Ace." You exclaim with the same smug smile you always had on your face. The orange haired male stood in front of you, you could see Deuce behind him. "Hey Prefect, we wanted to ask if you could come help us study in the library?" He was leaning against the door frame you shrug along with nodding to the side.

"Yeah, of course."

Before you can prepare yourself Ace starts dragging you towards the school building. You could remember when all of this started. Ace had said: "Damn prefect, you are slow." And grabbed your arm.

After this everyone in your friend group just dragged you around, even Jack, who you thought was the gentlest, personality wise, out of all of them.

In the library, Ace, Deuce and you try to study. The books are heavy and you were forced to carry all of them to the table you and your friends chose to sit at. "Hey Prefect, do you know what happened in the valley of thorns 100 years ago?" Deuce suddenly asks. You are taken aback, ready to answer, until Deuce smacks his hand against his face as if he just remembered something important.

"Sorry, I always forget how useless you are when it comes to studying. You know nothing about this place after all."

The word useless circles around in your brain, shouting it over and over again. You are useless. You are useless. You are useless. You are useless. You are useless. You are useless. You are useless. Over and over again your brain shoves those words down your throat and your lips twitch slightly in the corners, ready to frown. It doesn't help that Ace is laughing.

You hear Riddle rather than seeing him. "What is all this noise about? Don't you know there are rules in the library?" After you had helped him with his Overblot he had shown himself to be incredibly kind and understanding, sometimes.

"Sorry dormhead, Deuce just asked the prefect a question about our worlds history, wich they of course can't answer." Riddle shakes his head. "It's truly a pity someone like that was able to become a dorm head."

You turn out of the conversation. Even Riddle? Even Riddle would throw stuff against you? It was as if someone had rammed a knife into your stomach and was starting to twirl it around. Your heartbeat went fast and you felt uncomfortably warm, anxiety was mixing into your the whole thing.

Why the heck where you so damn emotional? They always said stuff like that, why are you still sad about it? You bite your lip, looking over to the clock on the wall.

"I don't feel to good, I think I will take a break." You mutter as you stand up. You wanted to leave before they could shatter you more. "My sevens, prefect! Not only are you bodily weak but also have a weak immune system." Ace laughs out.

It was as if something was cracking in you, slowly crumbling down. The wall you hid behind that had said: "They are only joking/mean well." Had completely broken down. You wondered why it had happened now. You had handled everything thrown at you with grace for half a year now. Why couldn't it just have stayed that way?

All the emotions you had hid and looked away now came washing over you like a tsunami. "I will take my leave, see you tomorrow!" You exclaim before fleeing out of the room. You were running out of the school as if you could run away from your emotions that way.

You close the door to Ramshackle behind you and lean against it, slowly sliding towards the ground, trying to calm your beating heart. There were tears in your eyes. Mindlessly you grab your ghost camera. "At least in those pictures they look like they would care."

It was like a silent wish, you wanted to hold onto the few good memories you had and then there was a flash. "Oi, prefect are you okay?" Ace stood in front of you, he looked like a sepia version of his real version, just that this one was.... friendlier.

"No, I just had a really harsh day. I kinda want to cry." You sniffles wiping your eyes. "Kinda ridiculous."

The photograph Ace sits down next to you and pats your shoulder brotherly. "I don't think its ridiculous, you have been strong for a while know. I think it's okay if you cry." Tears start to run down your face. Those were the words you so desperately wanted to hear, and words that the real Ace would never say.

You looked at the ghost camera. Would Deuce also be as nice as Ace. You couldn't even finish the thought as he stood in front of you, the same Sepia town over him.

"Prefect! What happened?" You look at Ace who gives you an encouraging nod and you vent the story to them. They are kind and understanding, patting your back in a comforting manner here and there.

After half an hour you smile. "Thank you guys." You stand up after having vented everything felt so mich better and Photo Ace and Deuce where much nicer than the real ones.

"I'll go try to fix the table." You mutter. Ace suddenly grins. "Let me help! You went through a lot today and with magic everything is easier." You sigh, letting him do what he wanted, you weren't sure if it would even work. After all he was just the product of a photograph and a tiny fraction of your imagination. To your suprise Ace fixes the table in under a minute and Deuce was helping with a chair. You smiled, maybe someone had heard your desperate wishes and decided to grant them.

The next day, you wake up, feeling more happier than ever. Photo-Ace and Deuce where back in your Camera, but you couldn't help but already miss them.

Grim sat in the kitchen munching on his tuna. He hadn't seen the photograph versions of anyone and you wanted it to stay that way.

You had class with Epel and Jack today. Both of them were pretty silent for the most part until Epel passed you a note. "Could you fo something useful for once and pass this over to Jack?" You sigh heavily before doing as you were told.

Later in the lesson, you feel something hit ths back of your head. Small paper balls hit the floor. You turn around, only to see a student whose name you didn't know smirk.

"Oi, Prefect, what is someone as weak as you doing in this lesson?" He snarls. You role your eyes, with the anxiety gone you feel a bit of confidence. "Don't you have better stuff to do? Like focusing on the lesson?" You mutter.

The students around you giggle. "Oh ho ho! Is the itty bitty prefect trying to stand up for themselves?" One of your eyes twitches. "Can't you just-" You can't finish the sentence.

"[Name] if you think you are so smart that you can talk through my lesson, you can gladly explain the answer to what I just asked." Everyone is laughing even Jack and Epel, the latter snarling: "They are so stupid."

There it was again, that pit in your stomach that was filling itself with anxiety.

At lunch you look to a space to sit at. Jack laughs, slapping your shoulder. Usually you would have laughed with him, but this time he did if so hard he knocked your lunch tray out of your hand. "Sevens, human can't you be more careful?" Sebek complains. You grit your teeth, hoping Jack would apologise to you, but he just sits down ignoring your presence. Okay, not really ignoring you.

"Sebek calm down, they are just to weak to handle a slight shoulder slap." You look at the food on the floor. You didn't have the money to buy another one, otherwise you would come short for the rest of the week. You clench your fist, couldn't Jack at least have apologised? You again sigh, cleaning up the stains, before leaving, back into Ramshackle.

You just wanted some support, any would do, even that of a photograph. You pull out one with Jack. "I wished you had apologised to me." The camera lights up and there is Jack with the sepia filter, his ears hanging low.

"I am sorry for hitting you." You smile. "I forgive you." You spend a bit of time with the photoph Jack, before deciding to also add Epel and the others to your little photograph circle.

You couldn't help but laugh, for the fist time you felt comfortable in the squad. Of course they were still ruff and made jokes, but the sepia versions of them were just nicer. You felt yourself growing addicted to that feeling. Until you heard Grim enter the dorm. Hastily you call back the illusions, who had helped you with homework, repairs and more.

"Hello Henchman!" Grim smiled at you. He was still nice, you wouldn't need a photograph version off him, but he was too good friends with the others and it irked you. He never stood up for you.

You sigh. "I will go to bed early tonight."

In your room you look at the ghost camera. Maybe you could just call on one of them one more time? You smile a sleepover would be fun. You imagine Ace and Deuce. Not knowing from now on everything would go downhill

.

.

.

One week later.

The changes were subtle not noticable to the naked eye, but you changed out with your "friends" less and less, trying to spend as much time with the photo versions of them as possible.

On the second week you started confusing your friends with their real life versions, asking about event that never happened. You reduces your talk to the bare minimum.

Near the end of the third week, the real versions started to notice you weren't there anymore. You had grown addicted to that small little fantasy of yours and you would rather sleep than stay awake. The fantasies versions were such good friends, you guys would go to Sam's shop occasionally during moments no one was outside.

Sam was the first to notice. He had only read about the effects of a ghost camera in books, but he could tell. The version of Epel you were talking to wasn't the real one. Your eyes had a weird far away look to them, as if you were on drugs. He reported it to Crewel on the fourth week, but it was late.

You had stopped leaving Ramshackle all together. Grim was scared of you, you grew weirdly possessive of the ghost camera, everyone could tell it was harming you, sucking the life force out of you. But there was something else. The more of your time you spend with them the realer they got. There was no sepia filter on them anymore, you couldn't tell who was who anymore.

Your real friends tright finding an explanation, but they couldn't wrap their head around the idea it might he their fault. One day, near the fith week Crowley came to visit in order to forcefully take the ghost camera away from you, but you only sat there on your bed. You hadn't eaten in a few days. The ghost camera versions of your friends trying their best to nurse you back to health. You couldn't even fight Crowley as he took away the camera.

Everyone had the hope that you would return back to normal, your friends continued to joke, in hopes you would become like before. But once you taste the sweetness of the fantasy, you didn't want that bland taste of the real life.

There was no prefect anymore, just an empty shell.

Crowley inspected the ghost camera later. The ghost camera was heavier than before and another thing, its photos seemed to jump out of its container.

You had given your soul for something that wasn't real.

I could have let this end with the reader ending in a psych ward, but I didn't want to lace this on too heavy- I hope you enjoyed reading this, or at least had a good cringe....

(And no I am not crying, someone's cutting onions)

[beanghostprincess]

Trans buggy is my lifeblood and I am SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HER TOO and I'm feral I'm shaking the bars of my cage FUCK I LOVE WOMEN

Like. Yes. Absolutely, Shanks and Buggy have little bits and pieces of ALL their parents, specifically Ray and Roger but No Adult Was Safe From Their Assimilated Found Family, Alright?

Shanks does this one movement when he's showing off and being SILLY about it that he picked up from Oden. Buggy uses chopsticks more easily than forks and spoons, which is mind boggling to those who know her and how clutzy she is.

Crocus was the KING of unexpected and frankly terrifying threats, something Buggy learned like a damned religion. Shanks got his penchant for Gay Uncle On Holiday clothes and patterns from him.

A lot of Shanks' attacks and swordplay was taught to him by Roger and Rayleigh, so his style is a mix of their own with a TWIST that's all him. Buggy wasn't as interested in swordsmanship, but she certainly isn't a novice at it. The forms and katas to her are meditative, and she can't really sit still for normal meditation ((AuDHD Buggy my beloved)) so THIS is her way of grounding. Her knife fighting is also derived from Ray's style, with quick, devasting blow that focus more on backlash damage, Haki and agility.

Buggy and Shanks both have Roger's grin, and when Rayleigh sees them, grown and side by side and beaming and greeting him so warmly, part of him breaks and heals and splinters and oozes love. He of course will not show weakness and instead teases them, as is his love language.

Also consider Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims. Stuff's normal at first until they give the kids some children's books. Cue "what is a dad? What is a mom?" questions. The adults answer them, and the kids simply nod before wandering off again.

Then, a few hours later, Buggy feels a tiny hand tug-tug at her pants. It's two little dark haired tykes, big saffron and violet eyes staring up at her. She blinks. "What's up, munchkins?"

"Mother, we want a snack and fathers are busy."

"Oh. Yeah, sure thing, sweeties, let me ju- WAITWHAT-?!"

Shanks is frothing, seething, crying in the window like a Victorian woman betrayed when he gets word that Buggy and the other two have "sons". He then proposes they have a baby too, to be fair.

Then the kids call him uncle or father twice removed and he is suddenly living his best life wdym he's gonna be the BEST uncle ever, hey kids wanna go harass people-?

Buggy is BEYOND flustered but she's also.... really flattered? Shanks wants a baby? With HER?? Like a real, whole ass baby. Wow. And she already has two sons! Maybe. Her little Birdie seems a tad unphased by the concept of gender anyway, so she won't push. She has two kids. And Shanks wants a third. Wow. Wow~ ♡

And then Crocodile has to go and ruin it by suggesting the kids stay with "auntie Al" for the weekend, while the guys see if they can get that baby idea rolling~

Buggy proceeds to blush so hard she's STEAMING and promptly faints.

I FUCKING LOVE WOMEN TOO!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMING THIS EVERYWHERE I GO!!!!!!!!!

Both of them having traits of all their parents and role models and keeping them with them forever,, When Rayleigh sees them again he's so fond of their little gestures and :(( He loves them so so much.

Also, the whole thing about Cross Guild adopting the Seraphims is just so so cute. And them calling Buggy 'mom'??????? Crying and sobbing, idk. Cute family that is not dysfunctional but pretty much not normal my beloved.

Honestly, Buggy as a mom just feels so right. But especially as an adoptive mom, you know? She just keeps seeing outcasts and understanding them so well and wanting to take care of them. Tbh, Shanks and Buggy should just,, Find a kid in a treasure chest and keep the baby.

[crowsintheforest]

2024 is now over, for better and for worse. it's been a hell of a year: switching careers, leaving the academy, going back to uni in a fully different field, getting a fulltime job that I start on Monday, starting up my goodreads account again--

all of which means it's time for my annual top 10 of things that I enjoyed the very most out of the whole year! unfortunately I'd been using cohost to keep track of my weekly media usage, and well, that site went a lil bit kaput. hopefully 2025 I do a better job of keeping track of these sorts of things.

without further ado, thoughts etc. under the cut.

end of year top 10 tag

yatagarasu: the raven does not choose its master (pierrot): out of this whole list, if you only experience one thing, it should be this. a court drama set in the fantasy world of the yatagarasu, giant three-legged ravens who can also take human form, the first cour follows two interlocking stories: yukiya, a young man who's the adoptive son of a rural lord roped into serving the crown prince, and asebi, one of the four women in the running to become the prince's new wife. it's got twists and turns, a fully realized world, and spectacular character and plot. highly recommended.

alan wake 2: night springs dlc (remedy entertainment): yes, yes, I put aw2 on my top 10 last year, but see, this is THREE alan wake dlcs in one! which is chock full of remedy's wild-ass ideas, from rose the waitress's uh....unique take on mr. scratch (matthew poretta's line readings are best of the year), to the bonkers story starring Actual Real Life Actor Shawn Ashmore that needs to be experienced. also, makes me think that maybe integrated universes aren't totally lost? didn't think that was possible. also, one of the best bops of the year with the theme song. speaking of which...

brat (charli xcx): is it the best album of the year? no. is it my favorite? probably yes that's why it's here. "sympathy is a knife" is my favorite song of the year

worlds beyond number: this beat out dimension 20 for my favorite actual play of the year, and it wasn't even close. I adore this podcast so very much. come for the longform storytelling of "the wizard, the witch, and the wild one," stay for the balls-to-the-wall chaos of "space cram."

tidal creatures (seanan mcguire): middlegame is one of my favorite books of all time, and the third book in the series feels like a return to form, overlapping a murder mystery, the weirdos you meet around college campuses, and multiple mythologies around the moon. good stuff.

dandadan (tatsu yukimoto, anime production by science saru): just a few things in dandadan: aliens! ghosts! demons! kaiju! sex comedy! jumanji! true love! giant robots! ranma 1/2! and teenagers falling in love and making friends! the manga slaps, science saru is doing impeccable work on the anime, and I cannot WAIT for more.

dragon age the veilguard (bioware): this game feels like coming home to a warm bath after a really long and not always successful bathroom renovation, if that makes sense? sure, it's not top 5 bioware games, but it does have a strong plot, fun characters, combat that surprised me in not sucking horribly, and one of the best act 3s in bioware. also the best boys of 2024: assan the griffin and manfred the skeleton.

star trek: lower decks (paramount+): what an ending to lwd, my favorite modern trek crew, and it's not even close. cerritos strong.

witch hat atelier (shirohama kamome): these girls have done nothing wrong in their lives, I love the magic system almost as much as I love the gorgeous detail on the artwork, and I fear for when the anime comes out and the internet gets another Sad White Haired Anime Teacher Man to moon over.

genshin impact (hoyoverse): yes I'm just as mad as you that the weeb video game is on this list. damn you hoyo for making a game this good. anyways I gotta go get primos to try to pull mavuika now so bye

[emmg]

The Suckerpunch-that-doesn't-really-get-into-the-whole-gist-of-Suckerpunch Raphael x Tav AU I rambled about the other day lmfao. Originally tossed onto ao3, but I've decided it's gonna hang out here instead, on my silly lil tumblr, since I likely won't be continuing it.

Psychoanalytic therapy in Avernus with Dr Raphael. They chat, they fuck, they gossip about Freud, Lacan, and Faust. Shit is weird, shit veers more closely to psychological horror, nothing makes sense, all lines are blurred. I guess this can be considered part of kinktober lol

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

It's very hot in Avernus. It always is.

She hesitates, her fingers resting just shy of the cup of tea Raphael has placed before her. It steams faintly, a burnished liquid that doesn't smell like anything she knows. Raphael is gracious. Raphael is a good host. But she never drinks the tea. 

His claws tap in that rhythm of his, a soft clippity-clap, clippity-clap, like the measured hooves of a steed on marble, punctuated by the occasional clank as his talons strike the edge of the chair. When he flips a page, though, the sound shifts, the tap softening into a velvet hush, parchment brushing against parchment. It isn’t a book, no, not a book—a file, a neat stack of yellowed papers tied with a silk ribbon.

“My dear,” Raphael’s voice lilts, “I do so abhor the boorishness of our little rituals, but... well, your past transgressions have made my attention ever so necessary.” 

There’s a silence in the air, pregnant with unspoken threat. She swallows and nods, her throat suddenly dry. “Of course.” 

“Wonderful,” Raphael beams, too wide, too perfect, his fanged smile catching the light. With a flourish, he places the file down and reaches instead for a small, ornate box, its mahogany surface twisted with carved, snarling faces. He drags his chair closer, the legs scraping across the stone like a knife on bone. 

There’s a stain on his crisp, white lab coat—a smear of tea—and before she knows it, her hand moves, absentmindedly reaching to wipe it off. His tail—long, sinuous, and idle just moments ago—rises, curling through the air. It coils around her wrist, hot against her skin, gently but unforgivingly guiding her hand away. 

"I am ever so grateful for your attentions," he purrs, the sound rich and decadent, making her pulse stutter. His tail releases her wrist but lingers in the air, a constant, looming presence. "But now... now is not the time for such... ministrations." 

He presents the box as though it holds the most precious of treasures, lifting the lid with reverence. Inside, the same contents as always—but today, there's something new. 

“Ah, yes. I know, I know," Raphael sighs, "They make you stumble, don’t they? But you must take them. You must.” His voice takes on a sing-song lilt as his claws hover above the items. “The Quetiapine should help with the... complications. Yes, a little more tired perhaps, but..." His hand slides along her jaw. "At least my little mouse won't go tumbling off the balcony and into the Blood War below, hmm?" 

She should be used to it by now, but something about the ritual is always deeply, deeply wrong. Inside, the same familiar pieces: a soul coin, pulsing faintly with the trapped whispers of damned souls; a potion of healing, glistening a sickly red. And... something else. 

An iridescent white feather, gleaming like a fragment of moonlight. 

Raphael watches her closely, amusement flickering in his eyes as he plucks the feather from the box with his free hand, twirling it lazily between his fingers. "A feather of a Couatl," he muses, brushing it against her nose. She giggles. He does it again. The sounds escapes once more. He smiles. "Purification for the soul. Something to balance the EPS from the Haloperidol, yes?" His voice dips lower. "We wouldn't want those hands of yours trembling, now, would we?” 

He places the box into his lap, freeing his hands. Then, with the gentlest pressure, he tilts her chin down, guiding her face to meet his, and his voice—oh, how it curls into her like smoke, seductive, insidious—whispers softly without saying anything at all.

Without waiting for a response—because he never needs to—he uncorks the vial. 

It smells like cherries and flowers that should never bloom. He tilts it to her lips, slow, careful, and the liquid flows down her throat in a sickly wave, pooling, filling her insides with its awful warmth. She tries to choke it back, but he drags her head just right, fingers trailing her neck as it slides down. His thumb gathers the moisture from her lips, and for a moment—just a moment—he lingers there. 

"I am so sorry the Quetiapine makes you sluggish," he sighs, wiping her mouth as if consoling a child. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re still the prettiest mouse, even when you cannot answer." His breath fans her face, intimate, too close. "I do like it, sometimes. Yes, I do like it when you do not protest." 

Next comes the soul coin.

"Open," he commands and she does. 

The instant it is placed onto her tongue it begins to melt, sweet and hot and coppery. The metallic taste spreads until she winces.

"My deepest apologies," Raphael says and he sounds sincere. He taps her chin lightly, making sure the coin, or what remains of it, slides fully down. "The Haloperidol does leave you stumbling through your own body, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, little mouse. I’ll always catch you when you fall. Or watch you crawl." 

The feather, already in his hand, is used to tickle her nose. He drags it slowly across her face—her nose, her cheekbones, her collarbone—the sensation light, maddening, every stroke like the ghost of a breath too intimate to bear.

She giggles, ticklish. He does it again. She giggles harder. The feather lingers, just below her throat, before he pulls it back, his hand quivering, a faint tremble that she can’t tell if it’s his or hers.

He sighs, a long, drawn-out sound of disappointment, before dipping it into her tea. The liquid darkens as the feather begins to dissolve, swirling in the cup like ink spilling into water. 

"A little anticholinergic," Raphael explains, blowing at the rising steam. "Though I fear it may dry out your mouth." Only once he's satisfied it isn't too hot does he offer it to her. “But no matter, no matter. I will lend you my tongue.” 

Ah, how generous.

She drinks and she smiles.

Raphael taps his knee, says, "I do believe it's time for our session now."

She rises, stepping lightly, and perches on the edge of his lap. But of course, that’s not enough for him. His hands, quick and nimble, pull her closer, and she feels the slither of his tail wrapping around her waist, tightening. His arms bracket her in, caging her in that familiar way as he turns them both toward the table. 

There’s a quiet click—his glasses appear on the tip of his nose, balanced just so, a caricature of professionalism. He leans over her shoulder, close enough that his breath grazes her neck, and with a smooth motion, pulls a fountain pen from the pocket of his white coat. It gleams in his hand, ready, poised.

Her eyes drop to the file in front of them, her very own, its pages spread wide, waiting. At the top, in bold, angry red, the word CONTRACT stares back at her, shouting in her mind, louder than it should be, pulsing, like it’s alive. She can almost hear it screaming. She swallows, hard.

"Ah," Raphael sighs, and he almost sounds genuine, pained, “if only you had delivered the crown to me. If only you had been... cooperative. We wouldn’t be here, would we, darling? In this... predicament.” 

"But you look so much better without it," she murmurs, trying to sound playful, her fingers drifting up to squeeze his wrist, as though that could somehow anchor her, as though charm might save her now. Her smile feels plastic, stretched too thin over something broken. 

Raphael doesn’t even glance at her; she doesn't need to see it to know it. His smile is gone, she no longer feels it against her skin, replaced with that cold, clinical focus as the pen scratches across the paper. Scribble, scribble, the ink bleeding into the fibers, leaving marks that feel like scars. Diagnosis by possession.

She frowns, feeling the word crawl over her skin, but he’s already moving on. The pen dances in his hand like it knows more than she does. 

"How have you been feeling?" he asks. 

“Well,” she answers, her voice automatic, rehearsed, puppet-like. “So well. You’ve been so good to me.” 

He sighs against her skin, the sound dragging out, heavy, almost mournful, but laced with something twisted. His forehead rests on her shoulder, the weight of his body sinking into her, holding her there. Too long, far too long. “But you have not been good to me,” he whispers, the words sliding from his lips like a confession, or a curse. “No, no, no... you haven’t been good at all.” 

She doesn't answer. A shadow on the wall seems to wail, voiceless, twisting.

"Gouging out your eye, replacing it, prying that tadpole from your skull—so messy, wasn’t it? But I did it for you. I did it for us. I’ve given you a nice private room, haven’t I? Making sure those delicate hands of yours never have to scrub the floors, keeping you soft, so you can play your little lute, sing your little songs. What more do you want?" 

"I want to leave," she says immediately.

“Leave?” he repeats, incredulous, as though the word itself is some sort of tragic joke. His tail coils tighter around her waist. "But, darling," he sighs, "then you would have to catch a bus." His voice dips into a condescending whisper. “And it is so very hard to get a ticket in Avernus. You see, Zariel—bless her little tyrant heart—hasn’t exactly been keeping up the infrastructure. Not much of a road system, I’m afraid.” He clicks his tongue, a mock gesture of sympathy. “No roads, or worse, very bad ones. Potholes the size of balors—where are the taxes going? You might find yourself stuck in a river of lava. Or, heavens forbid, your wheel might get caught... rolling over a lemure.” 

His glasses slip down to the edge of his nose, the shimmer of fire from the pits below casting shadows across his face, giving his devilish features a grotesque refinement. He taps the pen once more, each strike on the paper like the sound of hoofbeats in her mind. "What a foolish thing to ask," he muses, the nib of his pen sliding across the page with furious strokes. His hand moves faster, more erratic now, as if he's trying to contain something wild within the ink. The paper beneath his hand bleeds with scratches, jagged letters forming in crooked rows. 

She reads; he doesn't conceal any of it.

"Loss of power triggers delusions of grandeur. Rebellion against authority—a defensive response. The tadpole incident… ah, yes." His lips curl into a smile, soft, sympathetic, but wrong. "The prying, the pulling, the cutting it free from your mind—" Raphael laughs, the sound disjointed, manic. "Messy, yes. But necessary, my dear. The tadpole, a symbol of your repressed fears. It wanted to control you, but I stopped it, didn’t I? I saved you." 

His fingers twitch, scratching out more words, rewriting the diagnosis over and over again. Nothing is stable. Nothing is true. Nothing is enough. 

"Psychotic features with delusional attachments—episodic, of course," he mutters, eyes flitting over her as if she’s a textbook entry, a collection of symptoms wrapped in skin. "Do you hear the Absolute in your sleep, even now? I imagine you do. Auditory hallucinations. Residual effects of the mindflayer influence. So very classic." 

She can feel the pages piling up around her—his frantic rewriting, his endless annotations. And yet, somehow, none of it sticks. He erases, rewrites, diagnoses her again and again, each time more chaotic, more unhinged, as if he’s chasing some perfect version of her illness, a disorder that’s just out of reach. 

"Delusions of escape," he whispers, leaning in close now, his breath hot against her cheek, his words sharp. "You think you can leave, but that’s part of the pathology. You see? It’s all in your head, little mouse. You can’t go anywhere." 

Then, he falls into silence.

She stares at the wall, but her focus falters, slipping, her attention drifting to the shadow cast on the stone. It’s growing—no, it’s changing, becoming more obscene, more brazen. It moves in ways shadows shouldn’t move, mocking her. One hand raises, flipping her off, but at the same time, another beckons her closer. She blinks, tries to shake it off, but it watches, always watching. 

And Raphael—he waits.  

What did the Crown of Karsus look like? It was... regal, yes, but she can’t quite grasp it. 

Raphael's hands begin to move, slowly at first, a creeping exploration. They glide over her own, his fingers lacing through hers, bizarrely tender. Then, they wander—slipping from her hands to her thighs. Higher. Find the hem of her shirt. Slide beneath it. His fingers splay out, counting her ribs, before retreating. 

"You know," he says and he sounds entirely too calm, "there’s a psychosexual theory that suggests memories can be unlocked through physical therapy." 

"Oh?" she breathes, her voice barely more than a sigh, caught between disbelief and the warmth spreading inside her. There’s a heat building in her belly, creeping up her spine, making her limbs feel heavy and weightless at the same time. 

"Perhaps we can unlock these memories of yours together. Perhaps we can find where you stashed the crown yet."

His fingers find her middle, slipping deftly beneath her waistband, and she doesn’t resist as he undoes the laces of her pants. There’s no hesitation in his touch now—just intent, freeing her from the confines of fabric. He pulls her panties aside, his fingers slipping beneath, and when he touches her, it’s with a deliberate slowness that makes her heart pound. 

"Freud, Jung, even Lacan—they all understood the subconscious holds more power than we give it credit for. Memories, desires, shame, power... all tangled together in the mind’s darkest corners." 

She clenches her thighs tight, but his other hand grips her knee, forcing her open. She exhales sharply, surrendering with a shaky breath. His fingers swirl over her slick skin, coaxing her wetness before he thrusts inside her, dragging painfully slow. Her breath catches at the sight of his claws, though they don't hurt—just a reminder of his control. His fingers curl deep, his thumb pressing against her clit, teasing in circles. The wet, obscene sounds—squelch, squelch, squelch—echo in her ears. Her panties keep tangling in his movements, and with a low curse, he shreds them, yanking out to flick her clit before plunging back in, this time with three fingers. The stretch burns, almost too much, and a rough moan escapes her as her head falls back onto his shoulder.

“Freud, dear Sigmund, would have quite the field day with you, I think,” Raphael muses. “He’d chalk all of this up to repressed desire, probably blame your id for hiding that crown away." His hand retreats, showing her how thoroughly she stained him before generously returning and she begins rocking her hips, fucking herself on his fingers. "After all, wasn’t everything about sex to him? It’s either that or an unresolved fixation on your father.” 

She can feel him hardening beneath her, the press of his cock against her back becoming unmistakable. He pushes her down against him, his fingers curling deeper, coaxing more slickness from her until it begins to pool between her thighs, the rhythmic squelching only fueling her need. 

Again, he pulls away, pushing her forward as he reaches leisurely for his tea. His fingers, glistening with her juices, dip into the cup. “Mmm,” he murmurs, swirling the liquid slowly, “I do believe this needs a bit of honey.” He takes a slow sip, savoring the taste, as he rests his chin on her shoulder. Only when he’s done, setting the cup aside, does he return to her cunt, plunging his fingers back inside without warning. 

“Jung—Carl Gustav—would have loved to dig into your shadow self. All those dark little urges you keep tucked away. Perhaps the crown represents your anima, the part of yourself you’re afraid to let out, afraid to confront.” He clicks his tongue, feigning concern. “Such a shame, really. Jung would probably have a lengthy dialogue about integrating that shadow, about owning it, about becoming whole... but where’s the fun in that, hmm?”

Raphael shoves her up just enough to free his cock, the thick, hard length slipping between her slick folds the moment she drops back down. He doesn’t push inside—just lets it grind between her swollen lips, hot and teasing. He starts rocking her back and forth, the friction building with every slow, torturous thrust, while his fingers keep pumping deep inside her, dragging against her walls. She reaches down to rub her clit, and each time her fingers graze his cock, he groans into her shoulder, the sound rough, hungry, and desperate for more. 

“And then, there’s Lacan,” he adds, almost offhandedly. His fingers slip out of her soaked cunt, where they’d been guiding her touch to match his relentless thrusts. She whines at the sudden emptiness, needy, but he shoves them against her lips. She parts instantly, sucking them clean, breathing hard as he traces the sharp edge of her teeth. "He’d tell you the crown is a symbolic lack, something you desire but can never truly possess. A constant reminder of the gap between your desires and reality. That sense of never quite being complete. A real tragedy, wouldn’t you say?” 

With his hand no longer sticky, he urges her off. She drops to her knees without hesitation, turning as he spreads his legs and pulls her between them. His cock is already standing at attention, the tip slick with precum, and he grabs the back of her neck, pushing her down. She starts slow, teasing him, dragging her tongue along his shaft, coating it with thick saliva. She circles the leaking head, tracing that ridge underneath that always sends a shiver through him. Maybe, just maybe, she can make him come like this—without having to choke on him. But he’s not having it. He lets out a low “tut-tut” before shoving his cock fully down her throat. Her eyes water instantly, her jaw aching as she takes in his girth, but she keeps sucking, cheeks hollowing with every bob of her head. Her hums vibrate around him, spit leaking from the corners of her mouth as her lips begin to crack. 

Sometimes, he grips her head tight, holding her still, stopping her rhythm just to fuck her face, thrusting deep and hard while filth tumbles from his lips. The salty taste coats her tongue as he keeps pounding into her, her nose pressing too close to his base, his coarse pubic hair scratching against her face. She almost can’t breathe, choking slightly as he fills her mouth. The taste of him is thick—musk, sweat, the raw scent of a long day, pungent but not unpleasant. 

Other times, he grows lazy, letting her take over, moaning low as she works him. When her pace slows and her mouth tires, he doesn’t mind—he makes her pump him, forcing her hand into the mix. Eventually, she lets it drift lower, cupping him as his groans fill the room. 

Raphael lets out a satisfied sigh, his hips jerking upward as the head of his cock pushes past her molars, making her gag. "But me? I like to think I’m offering you a more... practical therapy session," he murmurs, his hand gently caressing her head. He brushes her hair back, keeping it from sticking to her face or getting caught in the wet mess of saliva and precum coating her chin. "No need for all the psychobabble when a little physical exploration can do the trick."

He comes with a deep groan, no warning, spilling hot and thick down her throat in heavy spurts. She’s forced to swallow, choking as the flood overwhelms her—too hot, too much, too fast. His seed fills her mouth, almost too abundant to manage, and for a moment, she feels it threatening to rise up her nose before she finally gulps it all down, struggling to keep up with every pulse. 

“Good girl,” he praises, tapping her cheek as she finally pulls away. The last strands of saliva stretch and snap between them as she exhales heavily. She stays on the floor, still panting, trying to catch her breath, while he calmly tucks his cock back into his pants. 

"Pass the file, dear," he says, his tone returning to its academic neutrality. She retrieves the gilded instrument that always rests on the table, handing it to him. He goes nowhere without it. 

With the calm precision of a surgeon, he takes it from her, inspecting the edge of his claw with meticulous attention. "I’ve noticed this one’s been making you uncomfortable," he mutters, as if he’s discussing a minor inconvenience, not the clawed fingers that had just been inside her, threatening to shred her to ribbons. He runs the file over the sharp point, dulling it with a few decisive strokes. The scrape-scrape-scrape fills the silence, like bones grinding together. 

Then, without looking up, he shifts his focus to the jagged edge of his left horn, still absentmindedly filing away. Those horns, spiraling black and gleaming, twist out of his skull like a grotesque crown. Why does he have need of another? He’s smoothing the imperfection on the tip as though this bizarre grooming ritual is the most natural conclusion to their encounter. As though filing his claws and horns after coming down her throat is just another part of their everyday routine. 

Wait, she thinks. It is. It actually is.

“What are you doing next Tuesday?” he asks, his voice airy. 

“Nothing,” she replies, her voice hollow, automatic. Of course, the answer is always nothing. 

"How fortunate," Raphael croons, his lips curling into a smile that’s a tad too wide. "Would you accompany me to dinner with that sex fiend of a bedlamite? I’m afraid I completely forgot I’d accepted his invitation." 

Her mouth twitches. "Which one?" 

"The bore. Sigmund."

She swipes her tongue along her lips, tasting the faint, drying remnants of him still lingering there. There’s something obscene about how natural it feels to be talking like this while cleaning his cum off her mouth. 

"Will Faust be there?" she asks, more out of boredom than genuine interest. Her tongue flicks over her lips again, chasing the last trace of warmth. 

“Heavens no,” he answers, the words slipping out a little too quickly, like he’s trying to cover something up. "That would imply Mephistopheles would attend, and we all know how insufferable he can be." His laugh is hollow, the sound of a man trying too hard to seem unaffected. "I do not need Daddy Dearest there for Siggy to psychoanalyze us in real time." 

She chuckles softly. "Pity. Faust is good company." 

Raphael cocks his head, still lazily running the file along the edge of his horn, his eyes sparkling with that unsettling blend of amusement and calculation. She notices the wretched stains on his white coat—her stains—and it makes her stomach twist in an odd mix of disgust and something else she can’t name. Arousal. Desire. Self-hatred. He catches her noticing and smirks, not breaking the rhythm of his grating, scraping sound. 

"I suppose we could pay Faust another visit. Ask after Marguerite. I hear suicide suits her." 

"Oh, no, no," she interjects, her tone sharpened to a razor’s edge. "Let's not, Raphael. I’m not as gullible as you seem to think. I know exactly why you like her." Her eyes narrow, glaring at him as she shakes her head. "Last time, you let her drone on endlessly about angels and music, about how they could 'lift the soul' and 'uncover hidden memories.' It was like being slowly smothered with a velvet pillow." 

She rests her hands on his knees, gazing up at him. "She tried to play all friendly, showing off her jewels, talking about how precious they were. And then, wouldn’t you know it? She starts hinting that maybe I have something just as special. The crown, of course." She tries to shake off his touch when he laughs, when he reaches to pet her face. "I don’t remember where it is, Raphael, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. Just like I did last time."

"My dear," Raphael murmurs, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, "you cannot fault a man for trying alternative therapies when even clozapine has failed you so spectacularly." 

The file screeches across his horn one last time, the sound reverberating in her skull. "There," he says, satisfied, inspecting his work. "Much better." He tosses the file aside with a casual flick of his wrist. "Now then. Shall we continue our session?" 

"I suppose," she agrees, slowly rising. "Let me get a glass of water?"

"Of course, little mouse," he replies, his tone syrupy sweet, almost mockingly polite. His tail snaps playfully at her ass as she walks away, moving toward the curtain that separates the room from his private sanctum, where she knows he keeps liquor older than her memories—but also fresh, ever-cool water, the kind that tastes like a drowning. Exactly what she needs. 

The moment she pushes past the curtain, it’s like the world turns inside out. The fluorescent lights above her blaze unnaturally bright, searing her eyes with their cold, sterile glow. She blinks once, twice, but the light only intensifies, burning her retinas like the afterglow of some unforgiving nightmare. Her hands fly to her face, pressing against her eyes to blot out the brightness, but it feels like the light has already scorched its way inside her skull. 

"There, there," comes a voice, too soft, too soothing, like a whisper in the back of her mind. "Haloperidol does occasionally cause photosensitivity. Poor mouse, always getting hit with the side effects, aren't you? Why don't you sit down?" 

Hands guide her—strong, insistent—and she finds herself pushed down onto a sofa. Her head spins, her eyes still aching from the light as she rubs them, trying to make sense of the world around her. 

When she looks up, Raphael is sitting next to her. Not the Raphael from the balcony, not the devil in his infernal, seductive form, but Raphael in his human guise, the doctor. His pristine lab coat is now spotless, free of the stains from their earlier encounter. A nametag gleams on his chest, the letters swimming before her eyes. She tries to read the last name, but it refuses to take shape, morphing and shifting until all she can see is Raphael, Raphael, Raphael.

She does hate how he switches between faces.

Her gaze drifts to the diplomas hanging on the wall. There, too, his name appears in the same relentless repetition. Raphael, printed in delicate black ink, stretches and warps across the certificates like a spreading disease.

Raphael tilts his head slightly, brushing back his perfectly styled hair. There are no horns now, nothing to snag on. He looks so human it’s almost laughable. She wonders how many fall for it. He offers her a cup of tea, the porcelain delicate in his hands, his fingers too clean, too poised. 

"I’ve adjusted the light for you, Tav," he says softly, his voice almost too gentle. His smile is indulgent, wide, the kind of smile that stretches too far across his handsome, tanned face. The light above them dims, and with it, the room seems to settle into a false sense of comfort. 

"Thank you," she replies, her voice flat. Now that the light has softened, her eyes drift to the shadow on the wall behind him. It moves strangely, just as before—dark and obscene—but this time, it’s unmistakably Raphael’s, no longer pretending to be human. She watches it carefully as it twists and contorts, one hand flipping her off just like before, the other gesturing like a devil’s lure. And then the tail appears, swaying in the background with irritation, flicking back and forth like an animal growing impatient. 

He notices her staring and chuckles softly, his hand gently brushing her shoulder. His glasses slide further down his nose. "Oh, don’t mind that. Shadows have a life of their own, you know. Especially in places like this. At any rate, I believe we are done for today." 

It is unbecoming, perhaps, but he's done it so many times that she barely notices it.

Raphael’s fingers glide through her hair, as if the act of braiding is something sacred, an intimate ritual that binds them. His touch is precise, too precise, each motion measured and exact, tugging the strands into place with a tightness that makes her scalp sting. He hums softly under his breath, the sound vibrating through her, a sick lullaby of sorts. The ache spreads, not just in her scalp but deeper, into her bones, her mind. She knows this—too well, knows what comes next. 

"Up, up, little mouse," he murmurs softly, his breath warm against her ear as he finishes with the braid, the weight of it pulling down against her skull. It’s a command more than a request, spoken with the lazy authority of someone who has said these words far too many times. She obeys without thinking, without hesitation, rising to her feet as he guides her, his fingers lingering, brushing her neck as he finishes adjusting the final loose strands. 

He leans closer, the heat of his breath on her ear as he whispers the rhyme, he always gives her a rhyme when they are done. 

"Marguerite and jewels, so fine and bright, She treasures them close, though lost in the night. Her memory’s gone, like a fleeting thought, But still, she brags about things she forgot. Shining gems, a hollow boast, Lost to the one who needs them most."

Raphael's hand, firm but deceptively gentle, leads her back through the halls, his tail flicking behind him in idle sways on the wall. The air is heavy with the fading echo of his hoofbeats—click clank, click clank—the strange rhythm growing fainter with each step until he disappears, leaving her at the doorway of the common room. 

The shadow lingers a beat too long before chasing after its master.

[asha-mage]

WoT Musings: S2 Episode 3

GETTING CHILLS

This is one of my favorite sequences in TGH, one of my favorite Nynaeve moments, hell probably one of my favorite series moments, and I want them to nail it so bad.

Looks like the first test is going to be about Nynaeve loosing her father and mother. Makes sense since she never faced Aginor and Balthamel in the show. The choice was about letting go of the desire to persue revenge and fight, to choose being Aes Sedai over that.

Interesting choice to make the new 'Wisdom' Natti Cauthon instead of figment tyrant. It makes what's happening cut a little harder.

'How is Rand. is he happy?' FUCKING OUCH

Offfffffffff. On one hand they don't have a whole episode to commit to this bit, so their having to use shorthand hand.....but DAMN is that some knife twisting. I dig it though. Instead of a tyrant Nynaeve could fight off, it's something she can't fix because of her own block, her anger and fear. She has to choose between cold empty comfort for a dying man....and going back to seek the power to do actual good. Very very clever.

OHHHHHHHHH THAT THIRD TRIAL DO HAVE THOUGHTS

THE SOUTHERN TWANG ON THAT SENCHAN VOICE IS WOOF

Bye Uno! I would feel bad, but I'm afraid you're a funny bit part that's an easy sacrificial lamb here. It was gonna be you or Masema, and he's got problems to cause Perrin latter, so it's you!

I am really really REALLY digging the mix of Dynastic China and Versailles Era France in Cairhien's design in the show.

I am going to need SO MANY FICS of Logain and Rand fucking nasty during that garden scene you have NO IDEA

Asmodean is a going to be a good teacher to Rand solely because Logain is going to set the bar so fucking low.

Lanfear putting forward this chill cool innkeeper lady persona in Cairhien only to invade Rand's dreams to show off the true depths of her crazy where it's safe to do so, and ALSO to trick Rand into burning down her inn and thus leave him feeling guilt ridden/indebted to her is SO ON BRAND

Elayne and Egwene's friendship is already making me So Happy. I can't wait till we get Elayne and Nynaeve road trip shenanigans later on in the series.

Nynaeve's Acceptatron test is something I am going to have to sit with. I really really like the fact that just like in the books she let the arch fade away the first time, and I really like that once again it was HER that forced it to come back by channeling, something she wasn't supposed to be able to do in the test at all. The important part of this choice in the book is that it's Nynaeve DECIDING to go back, to claim the power she needs to protect those she loves, choosing that over paradise. The show's choice to instead demonstrate that such a paradise would be empty and fleeting if she DID choose it, is....one I am going to have to chew on.

Overall the show continues it's trend of adapting the core of the books, while changing the details to better suit the new medium, and I'm board with that.

[sirpuddingcup]

Before I get into it

SPOILERS FOR THE END AND THE DEATH VOLUME 3

Holy shit this book is great! It genuinely is everything I wanted and more. Volume 3 ties everything up so well that even though I knew the plot outline already just from lore it had me gripped from cover to cover. An emotional and bloody ending to the to the galaxy spanning series.

First off I really enjoyed getting the little updates on what some of the other players are doing while it all goes down. Bobby G and his endless strategy meetings as he tries to figure out how to get to Terra. Lorgar pulling a jonestown as he arrogantly misinterprets prophecies. Perturabo wallowing in self pity as he destroys his room like an angry teenager (the image of him pouting in his broken chair as the room lies devastated around him gives me life). Finally Eldrad and the others arguing over shoulda woulda coulda as they realize this is way worse than they thought. It was nice to check in with everyone before we dive into the trauma of it all.

Speaking of trauma let's talk about the black rage! We see sanguineous's mangled corpse in the lupercal court as the psychic shock sends the entire ninth legion (minus Zephon) into a berserk rage. I really can't think of a better word for it than traumatic. After all they've been through together during the siege to have the blood angels turn into actual monsters against their will is just twisting the knife for the loyalists. From Rans desperate fight for survival against a man he idolizes to Amit waking up dazed and confused at the end of a trail of corpses ("why do the bodys end here?" "That's as far as you got" kills me), it's safe to say nobody is having a good time.

Scratch that you know who is having a pretty good time? Rogal Dorn. Fresh out of the desert of endless boredom Rogal finally gets to let loose a little as he fights his way to Valdor. I love their dynamic and I wish we got more of them hanging out("damn you!"(frustrated) "damn you too."(affectionate)).

We check in with Fo and the genocide crew which ends predictably. I saw him completing the Terminus sanction then getting killed trying to escape a mile away. I did not see him making a fucking clone body and replace Xanthus! I love me a devious old scientist causing problems on purpose! I really hope he comes back in a big way.

The library crew didn't do a whole lot other than Ariman being a creepy magic man. It is buck wild that the archivist turned out to be Lilean Chase at the beginning of her career she goes on to found the fucking Cognitae so get it girl I guess.

The did my boy Loken so dirty in the end but fuck me was it good. They planted seeds earlier on talking about how a demon is made, a reaction in the warp to a traumatic event in real space, how in the warp effect can come before cause. But fuck me I wasn't expecting this. After the dust settles and Loken almost convinces Abaddon to give reconciliation a chance Erebus (fuck Erebus) stabs him in the back dooming the galaxy to endless civil war. And why did he do this? Because Samus is the man beside you, Samus right behind you, Samus is the guy she told you not to worry about, look out it's fucking Samus! The abrupt murder of Loken gives birth to the Demon Samus kicking all of this shit into motion. It truly is all Erebus's fault.

I saved the best for last. The showdown on the vengeful spirit. This is where Horus really gets tho shine. I haven't loved his character like this since the first couple of books. He's a fucking mess and I love it this is the man who's daddy issues burned the galaxy to the ground, and as someone who has a difficult relationship with my father fuck me I get it. Dan Abnet is so good at making fights feel intimate, Horus isn't a one dimensional avatar of evil hes a son confronting his abusive father. Horus doesn't want to kill his father he wants to be better than him, and not just stronger but a better person. He needs the Emperor to acknowledge that he had hurt Horus. Horus loved his father and wanted to reach out him on an emotional level so badly, but the Emperor was simply no longer able to do that. When the Emperor purged himself of the infant god the dark king his kindness and empathy went with it ( going on to create the star child). This emperor is nothing but power and cold fury. He enters the room having already written Horus off as dead. It's such a tragedy from top to bottom because we know from Malcador in his all knowing position on the golden throne, that there is a version of this confrontation where they both walk out alive. That does not happen.

The actual physical fight is nothing to write home about besides the fact that different people see it happening in different ways Dusk sees it as a clumsy slugfest between two lumbering giants while LE2 saw it as the greatest display of skill he had ever seen. In truth it was both. The psychic battle had them tossing each other across time and space and fighting through the sites of each other's greatest sins. They use the settings to try and undermine each other emotionally holy shit. Then the do the next logical step AND HAVE A FUCKING TAROT DECK YU-GI-OH DUEL! I need an imperial tarot card game right now GW take my fucking money. It ends with the cards predicting the fall of cadia (the despoiler unlocking the silver door) and the emperor loses. It has become obvious by this point that the Emperor can't beat Horus. Horus outclasses him in every way but Horus doesn't want to kill his father he wants acknowledgement. So what we get is several desperate attempts by the emperor and several others to fight back as Horus beats his father bloody. But nothing works until Oll and John show up having magically teleported much closer than they ment to. They stand right in front of Horus. Horus is bemused at best giving John just enough time to use the word he learned from the tower of Babel directly in Horus's smug face. The resulting blast nearly kills everyone in the room, but it's the first thing so far to actually damage Horus. While her recovers John makes a run for it but Oll goes to the Emperor gives him the athame (stone knife used to commit the first murder) and tries to wake him up. Only for Horus to wake up first and turn poor Oll to a fine red mist.

Finally Horus stands there triumphant and who is there but his own favorite son Loken. Loken is the only one who tries to reason with Horus to make him see the the chaos gods are using and manipulating him. It was a great touch to frame Horus pov in 2nd person as if someone is telling Horus his thoughts. Loken convinces Horus that he's not really in control anymore and the only way Horus can take back control is to give up the power that the gods gave him. The moment he does back on Terra Keeler uses the power of millions of praying souls to relight the astronomicon and and give the Emperor a font of power to tap into. The emperor rises as if from the dead. Horus at first tries to pull the power back but the gods hold onto it as punishment for spurning them. Then Horus looks at the Emperor empowered as an avatar of humanities faith and he finally understands. The gods panic and try to force their power back into him and Horus begs his father to kill him now while he can resist. Then it happens a father murders his son. The emperor tells Horus "I forgive you and I'll wait for you". Excuse me Dan Abnet what exactly does that mean? Horus returned? Ghost Horus? Reincarnated? What the fuck? From there it's mostly just wrapping up they teleport home and we get the last gasp of Malcador as they place the Emperor on the golden throne.

If you read this thank you this was mostly for me because I needed an outlet for my feelings and I don't want to bother my friends to much with Warhammer. It's been a wild ride and I can't wait to see where it goes from here (especially the third Bequin book).

[agirlandherquill]

the losing fight - fenley's thoughts

all right i caved in and did it, i wrote the bonus chapter - even if i still have 12 chapters left to write and this one's going at the end of the book, it was so worth writing i really enjoyed coming up with this one!

His fingers shook, he could barely control himself, his shadows were screaming, his temples were throbbing, he could barely think. He had made a mistake in catching her, he had made a mistake in allowing himself to trip, and even worse, a mistake in not moving the moment she hit the wall. 

He could not bring himself to let her go. His hands disobeyed him. His body disobeyed him. He, who relied so desperately on self-control, had none of it. Not while he held her. 

What was she thinking, jumping at me? What was I thinking, catching her? 

He could not move, he did not know what he would do if he did, so he stayed still, as still as he possibly could. He had no control over himself, except for his stillness. He would be a statue if it meant he seemed in control of himself. Edeva could not see his struggle, she could not know - not if he had no explanation for her, or himself.

“Fenley?” 

Please don’t say anything else. Please, Edeva, please. He willed himself to be still.

“Fen?” The touch at his shoulder made his heart twist, he felt sick, he wanted to flinch but that would be the opposite of stillness, it took everything he had to force himself not to react to her touch. 

“You’re shaking.”

I know. Martja damn me all the way to the deepest fires and swallow me whole. I know. I can’t make it stop. I can’t make it stop. 

He inhaled sharply, the worry in her voice made him feel worse, so much worse. I have to give her an answer, stop her worrying.

But what could he say to make everything seem all right?

“I’d rather not drop you.”

Imbecile. Blathering idiot. What sort of excuse is that? I would never drop her, unless I wanted to. I’ve got her. She knows I’ve got her. He cursed at himself, Not another word Fenley. Not. Another. Word.

Whether she believed him or not he didn’t know, there was a trace of a teasing smile on her lips that he found hard to ignore. “You’re going to lose, if you don’t do something, you don’t lose fights Fenley.” 

He forced his eyes away from her smile, looking her in the eye. It was a perfectly true, perfectly normal statement but it weighed on him heavily. 

“…I’ll win next time.”

Next time. Why did I say next time? He wished he could reach for his knife and cut out his tongue, swallow it, destroy it, but that would mean letting go of her. He did not want to do that. 

Fenley did not want to put space between himself and her.

The realisation floored him completely, it robbed him of his logic, his sense, and instead of doing what was right, what was sensible, and letting her go, putting her back down, he shifted his weight, ensured she was at a reasonable height and pressed his head to hers. He watched her eyes the entire time, gaging her reaction. She barely had one. She was almost as still as he was. 

There was confusion in her eyes, a lot of it, and it pained him that he could not help her any more than he could help himself. The look between them was so strong it made his chest hurt. 

He didn’t know what it was, what it meant, what she wanted, all the not knowing drove him insane, it tested his limits, pushed his restraint and tested how far he could push himself to stay still, to keep holding her, and holding himself against her.

Her head was so warm the feeling made him want to shiver. 

If I move my arm, I could touch her face, tilt her chin, if I move I could - No. No. I could do nothing. I will do nothing. This, holding us like this, is enough - it’s too far - it’s not enough. 

A squeeze at his shoulder dragged him out of thoughts. “Fenley?”

He did not trust himself to talk, humming his acknowledgement was the best he could do.

“I can’t feel my feet.”

Her feet? He was confused, his fingers twitched, altering the grip on her thighs when it hit him. Her feet were going numb because he was holding her up, he had been holding her up for far too long. 

“Right.” His voice was painfully hoarse as though he had been choked from the inside out, it hurt him to hear it, and it hurt him even more to realise what he had done, what position he had put the both of them in. 

He could not let go of her fast enough. Too fast. The shock in her eyes twisted his insides, he had to force himself away, to put his back to her and clench his fists so tightly that the joints ached. 

What have I done? His jaw tensed. What could I have done? 

So much. Too much. Too little. 

Fenley growled under his breath. 

Something like that could never again, the consequences would be too great, and the rewards - the rewards weren’t worth thinking of, no matter how badly he wanted to.

What could happen never would. Not as long as his heart beat in his body. 

[butterflydm]

wot reread: the gathering storm (prologue - chapter 6)

spoilers through the gathering storm.

Okay, here we go. Ready to head into the last three books. My own memory of reading these books should not necessarily be trusted, lol, as I have learned with my reread as a whole and how different many of my opinions & beliefs are from what they were before. Some things were confirmed for me (yep, Tuon was a huge waste of potential) but other things were contradicted (nope, Mat is not a Bad Friend like he gets represented by much of fandom, but has been incredibly loyal throughout the series, even after Rand kinda starts being an asshole to him). So this will be interesting for me, to see how much I may have remembered or forgotten.

1. So this first section of the prologue seems mostly about setting up the Bad Vibes that are coming with the Last Battle. A farmer in the Borderlands sees strange clouds, has a vision, and decides it’s time to turn his scythe into a weapon (along with other people around him). I assume this is Rand being unwittingly ta’veren at people en masse, inspiring them to head north to help with the Last Battle (though that begs... several questions).

2. *sigh* Once again, we are all about being inside the slavers’ heads and not caring about the slaves. Next PoV section is a sul’dam. I am just... tired of sul’dam at this point. Okay, anyway, they’re freaking out because their damane have been shielded by Rand. This is apparently an extension of Rand’s ending scene in KoD, from the PoV of one of the sul’dam of that battle, because she talks about Rand losing his hand and then “picking it up like a glove”. I’m gonna try to get past my now-instinctive annoyance with all things Seanchan and see if I can figure out the purpose of this scene.

3. “The promise of freedom might be part of some scheme” seems like such a twisted line to put into the mouth of a slaver, just saying. “Freedom” for her but not for the women that she views as tools and pets.

4. Again it is so frustrating that Nynaeve doesn’t spill the sul’dam secret here, just like it was frustrating at the end of Knife of Dreams! She wants to heal the injured damane, she hates that Rand is sending them back into slavery, so why is she giving a helping hand to the Seanchan Empire by not spilling the damn sul’dam secret to the Dragon Reborn? And the sul’dam likely wouldn’t even believe her, at least not now, so it’s not like the actual scene would change that much! (but Rand would believe her and then maybe he would have some options) Jordan was stacking the deck as hard in favor of the Seanchan as possible and he also just HATED anyone sharing useful information with Rand ever, at any time.

5. Yeah, this scene was definitely written by Jordan because I’m getting just as pissed off about Rand’s storyline as I was at the end of Knife of Dreams, lol. I feel like I could have guessed this scene was by Jordan even if I didn’t already know, because I am so annoyed at Nynaeve carrying around the Idiot Ball of protesting against Rand’s decision but not giving him any reasons to make a different one, even though SHE KNOWS THINGS that he doesn’t know. This is definitely Jordan’s CoT/KoD energy. Just. Talk to Rand. About the actionable information that you have! Rather than refusing because Women Only Talk About Important Things To Women and Men Only Talk About Important Things To Men. I am hitting you with a pillow in my head, Nynaeve. Please know that.

6. ...what the actual fuck. Rand is completely letting the Seanchan off the hook for being terrible and blaming everything on Semirhage (”I rest more easily, now”). What the fuck? They are still SLAVERS, Rand. Anyway, he talks here about how he MUST have peace which... I’ve talked about this before but giving Rand this attitude kinda completely nullifies any plot need for Mat to marry Tuon. Rand is already prepared to roll over for the Seanchan, with no need for a marriage tie to convince him. The Mat-Tuon marriage is just so completely pointless in every possible way, because Rand was willing to bend regardless and ready to hand Tuon the keys to the kingdom, essentially.

7. ...have I mentioned recently that I really hate the direction that Jordan decided to go with the Seanchan in CoT & KoD? Man, it was such an intense and interesting storyline with fascinating (though horrific) throughlines all the way through Winter’s Heart, and then Jordan salted the cake instead of using sugar and now the whole storyline is just... inedible and deserves nothing but being tossed in the trash.

8. On the plus side, the sul’dam doesn’t think about the male a’dam even once, so it’s possible that Semirhage actually DID duplicate them herself and Rand was able to confiscate her entire stash, leaving none for Slaver Overlord back in Ebou Dar. On the minus side... everything else in this scene.

9. Oh, it’s Tylee. Perrin’s slaver BFF and the person that he sold 200+ women to. If you’ll recall from Knife of Dreams, he’s chill that she’s a slaver because she was nice to him personally and helped him out, so he didn’t care about what she might be doing to anyone else because slavery is just too hard to fight, y’all. Perrin Aybara: moral integrity of swiss cheese. Anyway, it’s been two weeks, Tylee’s missing her BFF and hoping she doesn’t have to face him across a battlefield later on; echoes of Mat & Tuon lol. Oh, yeah, and the hauntings that Elayne & her people were experiencing in Knife of Dreams (I think) are affecting the Seanchan now too. It is a little funny that, because of when they landed, Tylee & lots of the Seanchan just think that the Westlands is a place where food rots really really quickly, not knowing that it’s the Dark One’s touch.

10. Oh, nice the Seanchan army gets attacked by Trollocs! Sweet move by the Dark One. I approve. This is like when the gholam killed Tylin. I can’t imagine why I would possibly be upset that the invading slaver army is getting killed off by the ‘bad guys’. Theory time: before Jordan decided to go all-in on alliances, turning the Seanchan army into chaos makes sense as to where he was potentially planning to go with them, at least for me? We’ve seen the results of a complete breakdown of society among the Aiel, and seeing that begin among the Seanchan as a result of the sul’dam secret being openly revealed would have a great deal of sense as a plotline, and it would have taken them out of the equation so that Rand wasn’t fighting battles on two fronts. There’s not really any need for the Seanchan troops to bolster the Westland troops in the Last Battle -- the Dark One literally only has as many people/Shadowspawn fighting on its side as the author decides. That’s a completely flexible number.

idk idk, it’s hard to say where Jordan was planning to go with the plotline originally except it feels like he radically changed his mind between Winter’s Heart and Crossroads of Twilight.

11. Checking in with Graendal. Let’s see... her deal was that she was sowing chaos by sending very bad orders to Ituralde by pretending they were from his king, and then Moridin snatched her up and said she had to work for him now. This section essentially works as a catch-up on the Plot Thus Far from the Forsaken’s point of view. Okay, the purpose of the Forsaken gathering is that Mesaana and Demandred want to rescue Semirhage from Rand. Demandred seems to care more about getting to Lews Therin/Rand than actually saving Semirhage, though. Anyway, Moridin is pissed off (his hand hurts lol) and tells them that they are absolutely NOT to rescue Semirhage under any circumstances. After Mesaana and Demandred leave, he lets Graendal know that Rand is going to Arad Doman and that she must make certain that he does not establish peace there (but don’t hurt him or kill him).

12. Oh, nice, Ituralde pulled a reverse Trojan Horse on the Seanchan army that was going after him. (this is the... northern front of the Seanchan? The northwestern front?) Though, honestly, it’s almost frustrating to see him still doing so well when I know his PASSIONATE AND SINCERE DEFENSE OF HIS HOME ends up getting cut off at the knees because We Must Ally With The Slavers At All Costs. I bet if someone told Ituralde about the sul’dam secret, he’d have been able to do something useful with it.

13. Sanderson gets rid of the first of many dangling plot threads by having Faile unceremoniously kill Masema rather than dragging that story out any longer. Good for her, etc. Done and dusted. I do have to laugh a little bit about Faile telling everyone not to tell Perrin, because Perrin can sell two hundred women into slavery but isn’t willing to kill a man who has created a murderous cult (despite being fully willing to kill people at other times). I mean, that does track with how he behaved in the last few books.

14. And now we are out of the prologue and into the main story, starting with a Rand PoV. We pick up with him in Arad Doman, where he can feel that Aviendha is getting closer. I find it... somewhat sad that this section here is the first time we’ve really gotten Rand thinking in depth on the bonding, at least from what I recall. Elayne bonded Rand with the three of them back in Winter’s Heart and we NEVER got Rand’s emotional reaction to that (or his emotional reaction to sleeping with Elayne!). He notes their worry and thinks that he can’t regret letting them bond him, even though he should. And he thinks about how he’s ‘using’ Min here, which is a very interesting tie-in (for me) to his regrets about ‘using’ Mat back in The Fires of Heaven (Min has sometimes superficially felt like “a Mat that Rand is allowed to sleep with” at times, in terms of how she’s been treated in the story -- lots of knives, has protested they aren’t a hero, treated as an emotional connection to Rand’s past, though that feels a lot more honest for Mat than Min). In terms of the “Min forcing herself into a pleasing mold for Rand” watch, we learn that she’s recently taken to bathing with lavender soaps. Rand notes that he finds it somewhat odd that Min dresses up her trousers & shirts with lace... which is hilarious, because she’s literally only doing it for him and his internal thought on it is “???”. Hey, Min. Maybe if you. Maybe if you had a conversation with Rand about your relationship, you’d find out that he liked you just fine the way you were, before you started making yourself miserable and dolling yourself up for him every day. Just a thought.

15. It’s so hilarious that Min manages to sound jealous when talking about how Rand is thinking about Semirhage, the Forsaken who is currently his prisoner. She’s got a gift. “You’re thinking about her again.” I would have respected Min so much more as a character if she’d just shanked Semirhage herself and then dealt with the fallout of how that affected her relationship with Rand. Honestly, what is the point of all her hidden knives if NOT to kill someone unexpectedly. But Min is very much a reactive/passive character when it comes to plot beats, so she just worries uselessly instead and damsels around the place.

16. He takes a moment to think about Elayne and what he can sense of her emotions from this far away -- he thinks that she’s relieved, which makes him hope that she’s won the throne, or closer to it. Okay, at this point in time, Rand is thinking about how he needs to make a truce with the Seanchan for the Last Battle but “after that, the Light could burn them all”. So Rand isn’t currently operating under any kind of belief at this point that the Seanchan aren’t worth fighting. He actually.. and I’m curious if this is from Jordan’s notes or if this bit was pre-written or if it’s all Sanderson, because I don’t think Jordan ever has Rand think about this clearly in the earlier books, but here it’s clear that the reason Rand believes full-bore that he MUST have peace with the Seanchan is because of what the ‘Finn told him (honestly, between this and Mat’s marriage prophecy, the ‘Finn carried a lot of water for the Seanchan -- I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that 'Finn, some of whom wear human skin, are fans of slavers, lol). That does make his choice here more understandable -- Rand has been prophecy-obsessed for books -- but it still means that Mat’s marriage is completely pointless from a narrative or tactical standpoint, lol. I wonder if that’s why Jordan decided to go for a ~romance~ angle for Mat? Because he realized that he’d voided out the narrative and tactical reasons, but the prophecy was already out there in the text, so he kinda had to figure out a new angle?

17. Hey. Hey, Min. You also know the sul’dam secret. You’ve been hanging out with Rand since Lord of Chaos and banging him since A Crown of Swords, and are really the one person who has most intimately witnessed how incredibly difficult this entire war against the Seanchan has been for him and how he’s failed at trying to stop them... could you maybe give him some useful information between all the sex? Maybe take a break from telling Rand’s secrets to Cadsuane and tell the Seanchan’s secrets to Rand instead. Just a thought.

18. Next up is Egwene, and serving Elaida this night at dinner. Ah, the first sentence is a reminder of all the corporal punishment that happens at the White Tower. And we can’t even blame this on Elaida, because the White Tower was like this before, and back twenty years ago in New Spring. And the Wise Ones are like this too. This was very much a Jordan thing (likely carried over from how he ‘learned’ at the Citadel). Note that even Egwene doesn’t think that beating your students is actually a bad thing in any way. She sees herself still crying when she gets beaten as a personal weakness that she needs to train out of herself, but thinks that Silviana is just ~doing her duty~ when she beats people to the point of tears.

19. Egwene is doing her best to point out the dissent and cracks that already exist in the Tower as a result of Elaida’s leadership, and feels like she’s getting through to people. Egwene is still getting forkroot every day, and almost always has two Red Ajah Sisters as ~guards~, specifically Katerine and Barasine, it sounds like, who are part of the group who captured her originally. Egwene has also been doing what she can to remind the Tower of Elaida’s ‘failures’ (like not successfully capturing Rand, and the failure of her force that was sent to subdue to the Black Tower). We also learn that the Dark One’s touch is increasing here too, with hallways shifting locations and now an actual tapestry changing to be more violent and bloody. Egwene has learned the wisdom of not stretching herself too thin - “ You scrubbed a floor clean by first picking a single spot and getting to work”.

20. As Egwene is arriving Elaida’s quarters, a ‘haunted’ Gray Sister is leaving. Is this the ‘ferret’ sent from Salidar who got commandered by the Black Ajah hunters and blackmailed into honeytrapping Elaida?

21. lol, the Amrylin’s quarters that Egwene imagines that Siuan must have had sound way more ~spy-focused~ than I remember Siuan’s quarters actually being. She had the one box that was set to destroy important papers if anyone else opened it, I think, and then just simple furnishings for the rest.

22. Egwene being certain that she would have taken Green (which is also the Ajah she pretended to be in Cairhien) -- honestly, would not pick that Ajah for her and it really feels like it’s left-over from Jordan basically deciding that Green is the Liking Men Ajah and Red is the Hating Men Ajah and everyone else is chopped liver, lol. Egwene just does not vibe Green for me at all! Brown for love of learning, White for finding legal loopholes, or Blue for ~vibes~ and dedicating herself to a cause all seem like they would suit her better. But she wants to marry the man she’d like to take as a Warder so... Green it is.

23. Oh, yeah, the Gray sister is Meidani, and Egwene recognizes her name as belonging to one of the ‘ferrets’, and Egwene is here to be Elaida’s server at her dinner date with poor Meidani, who deserved better than being blackmailed into spending time with Elaida. Egwene notes that Meidani looks terrified! (does Elaida not notice Meidani’s fear because she’s self-centered or does she enjoy it because she’s sadistic? the question of the hour. Ah, soon answered. She’s enjoying Meidani’s fear).

24. When Meidani mentions that some Sisters are worrying over the Seanchan (a worry that Elaida dismisses), we get a vivid reminder from Egwene’s memories of how hellish her experience with the Seanchan was and how monstrous they are to women who can channel -- she STILL gets PTSD flashbacks from her time in the collar and has not-too-deeply-buried trauma from it. I genuinely wish I could go back in time and get Jordan to answer some pointed questions about what the POINT of all this was? It’s so weird to me that the ‘boys’ and the ‘girls’ are being given such RADICALLY different vibes in their respective Seanchan-related interactions, starting in Crossroads of Twilight (Mat’s vibes with them are pretty horror-based in Winter’s Heart). Was it meant to be a critique on how so-called ‘good’ people are actually sometimes willing to support evil as long as the evil doesn’t hit close enough to home? But the evil SHOULD have been hitting close enough to home, at least for Rand and Mat, because Mat and Rand both care deeply about specific women who can channel! Mat grew up with Egwene & Nynaeve; he had a whole book about becoming friends with Elayne; he knows that his little sister can channel! Rand is literally IN LOVE with two women who can channel! Just... ???

25. Egwene blames Elaida here for everything that’s gone wrong and... eh. Elaida IS a bad leader but she was put into place as an unwitting puppet by the Black Ajah (so she foils/mirrors both Egwene and Rand -- Rand worries a lot in the early books that he will be turned into a puppet, and Egwene was raised to Amyrlin Seat with the intention of being used as a puppet), so removing Elaida might help a bit, but removing the Black Ajah would help more.

26. I like Egwene’s moment with Meidani here a lot -- she reassures her, gives her something solid to stand on to give her a bit of courage, validates the trauma that Meidani has undergone during her time back in the White Tower. This is a really good little moment here, that shows Egwene as a genuinely good leader. And I also like Egwene using deep breathing to help herself calm her own anger.

27. Serving Elaida at dinner has changed Egwene’s focus -- it’s more important (in her PoV) to keep her attention on holding the Tower together rather than removing Elaida from power, as she believes that Elaida will overreach and remove herself from power. I mean, again... I kinda gotta give Egwene an “eh” on this analysis too. Elaida has been able to force a LOT of things into being that go against Tower custom, so I’m not so sure as Egwene is that she would eventually just go ‘too far’ and get pulled down by the Hall.

28. It’s interesting to me that Rand laughing in the box during Lord of Chaos was meant to mark an internal ‘breaking’ point for him & LTT but Egwene laughing while being beaten is meant to mark an internal ‘breakthrough’ (in a positive way). Honestly not sure what it means in the narrative tbh. It’s positioned here as Egwene finally understanding what embracing pain means (as the Aiel say to do).

29. We go from Egwene Thinking Like An Aiel (TM) to an Aviendha chapter. Aw, it’s sweet that Aviendha is trying to see the Domani refugees from Elayne’s perspective and not just her own. We also once again here have the vibe of Rand-Elayne-Aviendha being one complete relationship (with Rand-Min being a completely separate relationship). That’s really the vibe that Rafe needs to break down in order to make the four-person relationship not feel like a harem. Because here, Aviendha thinks about how she plans to marry Rand with Elayne and doesn’t spare a single thought for Min (and why would she, tbh? she’s met Min ONCE). But it’s just so weird that there’s a narrative expectation that Aviendha and Elayne need to be close and be first-sisters in order to both be with Rand, but Min can do whatever and is never touched by the limits or cultural rules that bind other people or even by Rand’s own protectiveness. Min doesn’t need to be Aviendha’s first-sister; Min doesn’t fall under the category of “avoid her to protect her”. That contributes both to the harem vibes of Min being a completely separate relationship, and also to the vibes of Min being a plot device instead of a character that other people might actually interact with and have expectations about.

30. Honestly, this whole song-and-dance about how Aviendha can’t approach Rand until she ~earns honor~ just feels kinda silly. Rand, Aviendha, Elayne, and Min all CONFESSED THEIR LOVE and BONDED. She is INSIDE HIS HEAD. It’s just plain silly that she’s been moved into Rand’s plotline and proceeds to completely avoid him (and equally silly that Rand just passively allows Aviendha to avoid him while having sex with Min every night... sadly, it’s completely in character for Min to jealously hoard Rand. So far, Min has had one moment of selflessness in this entire relationship and, even then, she ended up being the person who has benefited the most from bonding Rand). This is a place where I do think that Jordan might have written things differently, simply because it makes zero sense to send Rand, Aviendha, & Min all to Arad Doman if it’s not to actually forge together that specific neglected side of the relationship. Aviendha and Min should be bonding! Rand and Aviendha should be spending time together (including sex! Aviendha doesn’t have hang-ups about sex before marriage and now things are good with Elayne, so it should be go time). Aviendha going to the place where Rand is only to not hang out with Rand at all is... just a bizarre narrative choice (especially when we get to The Event later on; at that point it’s ridiculous that Aviendha wouldn’t come running).

31. Okay, as the Aiel approach the place where Rand is, Amys... sort of grills Aviendha, and we get this weird “Min will be easy to work with/we will reach accommodation” conversation where they feel more like they’re going to be business partners than sharing in a romantic relationship with the same person. Again, yeah, it’s just so weird that Min exists in this odd bubble all on her own. Aviendha believed that she and Elayne NEEDED to be first-sisters in order to share Rand, but Min is just... idk, going to be over there somewhere, I guess. I do like Aviendha’s semi-annoyed thoughts that she loves Rand because of HER choice, not because of Min’s viewing. This is a major reason why I like Aviendha’s relationship with Rand more than Min’s with Rand. Min-Rand (and, of course, Mat-Tuon) is very much “prophecy first and then force the love to happen by brainwashing yourself into it because you don’t think you have a choice” and I’m... not into that vibe, essentially.

32. I like the actual tone and vibe of Aviendha’s PoV here -- I just feel like it should have been followed up with actual Rand-Aviendha interactions in this book. This PoV itself actually vibes really well with Egwene’s last PoV and I definitely see why they decided to place them next to each other.

33. Oh, hey, @markantonys - I’m at your boy’s first PoV chapter in this book! lol, anyway, Gawyn is watching some of the... rebels’ army? It sounds like. I’m pretty sure he has zero clue that Egwene has been captured by the White Tower. Pretty sure he’s on an information diet. Gawyn does know that the general he’s faced against here is Gareth Bryne. Gawyn is struggling with his duty. Gawyn really is... he kinda is one of the purest examples of someone who is actually faced with what we’re constantly told Rand is bringing to everyone everywhere -- the emotional turmoil and chaos amid breaking old ties and forging new ones. Because Gawyn thinks here that Bryne ‘should’ be with Elayne in Caemlyn, then immediately asks himself, well, where should I be?

34. This actually continues the theme from Egwene through Aviendha and now to Gawyn -- so far, we’ve had a series of characters considering themselves, their duty, their honor, and their strengths. Questioning the foundations of what they know about themselves. Egwene ‘finds’ herself through embracing pain and dedicating herself to her duty; Aviendha wonders why the Wise Ones treat her as if she has no honor; Gawyn thinks here -- he wasn’t certain he had duty, or honor, left to him.

35. Anyway, I’m glad that Gawyn has slowed down enough to give himself a chance to actually, um. Think. His duty is to Elayne and Egwene, he thinks here, so why is he on the side that is opposed to them? SUCH a good question, Gawyn. He’s thinking through why Elaida might have put him here, outside the city, when his Younglings can’t possibly actually make a dent in the rebels’ army. The gears in his head are turning! Genuinely, I am very pleased, lol. Will of the Amrylin or not, this was a deathtrap. Argh, no, after all that thinking and questioning, he rides back to his camp. GAWYN. YOU WERE SO CLOSE.

36. Rand next. “What he wanted no longer mattered.” Hmm. Rand is thinking about this in the context of how he is constantly surrounded by Aes Sedai these days but. Hmm. Rand thinks about Mat, as you do, and is given a vision of Mat dicing. Rand hopes that they will be reunited soon. I am stabbing the narrative with shearing scissors.

37. So, Rand is currently hanging out with Bashere. Whose wife was almost killed recently. And who then agreed to talk to a mysterious person because his wife almost died. I’m just putting that out there.

38. I genuinely loved Rand’s conversation with Harine here. It felt like it had give-and-take, though we can see how Rand is definitely on the edge of exhaustion and impatient, and it’s nice to have a Sea Folk character who is actually having a conversation with someone instead of just trying to browbeat them. He asks her how the Atha’an Miere handle men who can channel and then (when he finds out that, unsurprisingly, it’s a death sentence, either immediate or somewhat lingering) tries to talk to her about saidin being clean now and how that means that the way people treat male channelers needs to be changed. Literally! Why did it take so long for any conversations about this to happen in the books? Why was Rand just lazing around for two books post-cleansing when he could have been doing PR like this? Again, yeah, I really like this conversation! He believes he’s going to die at Shayol Ghul, so he’s not doing this for himself. He’s doing this for the other men who are like him, and all the ones who will follow. This is a really good moment. And we can see the turmoil (and the LTT memories!) in Rand in this moment, as he tries to convince her that saidin is clean and that more men don’t need to die to protect the world (just him). And it feels like we’re really getting into his head so far, re: LTT’s memories and him thinking about the bonding earlier.

39. Literally this chapter of Rand’s PoV has been TUGGING at my HEARTSTRINGS. Rand worrying that his death will lead to destruction and turmoil among the nations because he’s strung them so tightly together! Regretting that he didn’t help the world during the last breaking because he was so consumed by what he’d done and his grief and guilt over Ilyena! Rand worried about men who can channel still facing hatred and death sentences! Rand talking with Elza (lol) and Corele about the taint being gone and yet people not acting as if it is and Corele being frank and honest but also KIND with him. And we ARE still on theme from the previous three chapters -- duty is heavier than a mountain. Rand thinks here about how duty binds him as tightly as prophecy does. And Rand’s thoughts here on wanting to leave the world a better place very much echo Egwene’s thoughts on how she wants to focus on holding the White Tower together and rebuilding it rather than being arrow-focused on bringing down Elaida. Your duty is to the future and not the past.

40. I don’t care about Semirhage’s interrogation by Cadsuane because Semirhage should have just been killed at the end of Knife of Dreams. Things in the section that I DO care about -- how is Merise and Narishma’s relationship as Aes Sedai & bonded Asha’man going? Oooh, Cadsuane feels like Merise is ~flaunting~ having an Asha’man Warder. Going well, then? Seems to be going well enough.

41. See, I do like Ituralde’s PoV sections but... they should have been Mat’s. MAT should be the main general/soldier PoV that we see. Mat should never have been yeeted off into the Seanchan storyline; it’s just been so ill-fitting and annoying, and Jordan had to introduce a new PoV character just to give us the “war sucks” kind of storyline that Mat’s memories and situation were literally invented to give us. Mat just... every time he leaves a storyline, he leaves such big holes that require MULTIPLE people to try to patch up and fill. When he left Rand, he needed to be replaced by both Bashere and Min. When he left Elayne, there was a whole completely random army and ~dashing commander~ who showed up who had never been mentioned before to fill the spot in her plotline that would have been better suited to Mat & the Band. And Mat should have been the general fighting AGAINST the Seanchan and coming up with clever tactics against them, not the court jester capering for the slaver overlord’s disdainful amusement. Endless, ENDLESS sighs over the direction that Jordan decided to go with Mat’s plotline.

42. “Abandoning ones’ homeland to invaders... well, Ituralde couldn’t do that. Not even if the fight was impossible to win.” Honor and duty, even onto death. The theme continues. The note here, “the ravens had begun” (their work of eating the carrion of the battlefield) - perhaps is the reason that Jordan decided to make the Seanchan’s main symbol the same as the Shadow’s - the Prince of Ravens is the prince of the butcher’s bill after a battle (which possibly also leads into another name). 

(to borrow the question Gawyn asked himself -- where is YOUR honor, Mat? where is your duty? It’s not in the arms of the woman who invaded your homeland, despises your friends, would enslave your family. Cords of duty and prophecy but, while in Rand’s case, both prophecy and duty drag him towards Shayol Ghul, in Mat’s case, they each pull in opposite directions. Duty, loyalty, and honor say that he should be by Rand’s side during the Last Battle. Prophecy demands he abandon his homeland to allow it to be ripped apart by the ravens. So, Mat, why does your prophecy ask that you abandon duty, loyalty and honor... and why do you allow yourself to follow that prophecy when it tells you to sacrifice everything to the blood-soaked avatar of war and death? where is your duty, Mat Cauthon?)

43. lol, I feel like this bit here with Leane and Egwene is Sanderson poking at one of Jordan’s oddities/kinks -- “Odd, how a novice to be instructed could be beaten but a prisoner to be interrogated could not.” IT REALLY IS, Sanderson. It really is. (I mean, it could be Jordan poking fun at himself but. It kinda vibes like someone else) Anyway, the Weird Relocations caused by the Dark One are increasing. That’s the main thing in this section.

Notes for this section: it’s confirmed in Sanderson’s retrospective that the first two parts of the prologue -- the farmer and the sul’dam -- were written by Jordan.

[the-bottom-of-the-abyss]

beautiful lies

Cross posted on AO3. On a Starfield kick lately and thinking of making a continuation that is multi-chaptered and has a happy ending.

Per the title, this was inspired by Beautiful Lies by Birdy. But there are a few songs that are perfect for listening to when reading:

Beautiful Lies - Birdy Wonderful Life - Smith & Burrows Not About Angles - Birdy I Guess - Mitski

SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE GAME!

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

“Goodnight gumdrop. Try not to stay up too late, alright?”

“No promises, dad.”

Ren leaned against a doorframe, watching her husband tuck Cora in, attempting to be strong and keep a soft smile on her face. The latter wasn’t difficult; watching the father and daughter interact always sent gentle pangs to her heart, though now they were tainted with a bittersweet helplessness. 

Sam's fingers lingered in Cora's hair, his kiss on her forehead held a desperation to etch this moment into his memory. “I love you, Cora. Don’t you ever forget that.” 

“I love you too, Dad.”

Cora lurched up from where she was lying to throw her arms around her dad and hugged him tight. The scene, once a source of warmth, now felt like a cruel twist of the knife, and Ren couldn't shake the haunting doubt that whispered in her mind. Ren found herself second-guessing, no, triple-guessing why they were about to go through with this. This reality was enough, for Ren at least. 

Ren could feel the sorrow attempting to claw out of her throat, but she pushed it down, not wanting to break down just yet. 

“Night, Ren!” Cora said, pulling away from her dad. 

Ren kneeled next to Cora’s bed and looked into those big, bright eyes. Only a year before did Ren meet the two people that would change her life for the better, but she was irreversibly entangled.

“Night, kiddo,” Ren told her, brushing a stray curl aside. “Thank you for being the best copilot a captain could ask for.” 

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Ren weakly replied. “Yeah, you were.” She managed a strained smile and kissed Cora's forehead.

A family was all Ren ever wanted. And now…

Sam rose from the bed, helping Ren stand. Ren looked at Cora for a final time, attempting to imprint every detail. Sure, she’d see a version of her again but not her Cora. Not the Cora that asked her so sweetly for a small space for books on her ship and Ren built her a whole damn library in a cargo hold. Not the Cora that so fiercely stood up for what she believed was right. Not the Cora who effortlessly claimed a piece of Ren's heart

Sam led them both out of Cora’s room within the ship and shut her door. Only then did Ren let the tears fall freely. He didn’t say anything, but Ren felt Sam’s thumb rub circles on her hand in comfort while he directed them to their room on a separate floor.

In the hallway, Ren's steps echoed a somber rhythm as she followed Sam to their room. The weight of the moment pressed on her shoulders, the heaviness of impending loss settling in. They walked in silence, a silence that spoke volumes, carrying the unspoken grief that lingered in the air.

Once inside, Ren relinquished any semblance of composure. A guttural sob, raw and wretched, clawed its way out of her mouth. She clutched Sam's jacket in both trembling hands, as if the fabric could anchor her in a reality that seemed to unravel with each passing moment. Her tears stained the fabric as she cried into his chest.

His arms enfolded her in a protective embrace. Gentle hands rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Darlin’,” he whispered, sounding at a loss at the sight of her breakdown. Ren didn’t cry often, normally choosing to bury her emotions down deep, but this? She couldn’t bury this feeling, no matter how much she’d like to. She had finally attained everything she longed for – friends, a family – and now, it unraveled before her like a cruel joke. She already lost her best friend days ago to The Hunter and now she has to lose her family too.

But what cut the deepest was the realization that this was their choice, a conscious decision to traverse this path of heartbreak.

“Tell me, Sam,” she pleaded through her sobs, voice strained. “Tell me we don’t have to do this.” 

His response was a gentle whisper. "You know we have to," he murmured, his lips pressing a tender kiss on her temple. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of inevitability, each syllable driving home the painful truth that they were architects of their own agony.

And the worst part was that she knew he was right. They had to do this. They couldn’t just ignore the Unity. This is what Constellation was about, the exploration, being pioneers of the unknown.

She pulled away and cupped his face with both hands, looking at those blue eyes that drew her in from the very first day. The heartbreak she was feeling was reflected in his eyes, and the decision seemed to physically weigh on him. Ren couldn’t imagine being reborn and Sam not knowing her, not remembering what they had been through, how much love blossomed between them. She couldn't fathom a Sam who didn't recall their first kiss outside The Hitching Post or the blissful moments as a family, exploring with Cora – experiences neither Ren nor Sam had the chance to live in their own childhoods.

“Promise me something,” she whispered. 

“Anything,” he assured her.

“Promise me we’ll see each other again.”

Sam’s eyes closed, pain etching across his face, and a solitary tear escaped. He turned his face, pressing a tender kiss on one of the palms cradling him, not answering her. 

“Lie to me, Sam,” Ren pleaded desperately as he looked at her again. “Please, just pretend for tonight.”

A beat passed and Ren held her breath, needing to hear the words.

“We’ll see each other again, Ren. I promise.” 

A broken promise never felt so sweet. 

“Okay,” Ren whispered through a watery smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

Sam nodded a silent agreement that hung heavy with the weight of the inevitable. He pulled her into a desperation-soaked kiss, both of them ignoring the tears and shaking hands. Sam guided her to lay on their bed and he climbed on top of her, the weight of him anchoring her in the moment. 

Ren removed his hat and tossed it over the side of the bed, threading her hands in his hair, taking time to remember what it felt like between her fingers, each strand a fragile thread connecting her to this reality that was slipping away from her.

It seemed like Sam was on a mission to imprint every inch of her with kisses, a desperate attempt to etch their intimacy into their memory, trailing kisses and bites down her neck, across her collarbones. Layers were removed with trembling fingers and desperate hands. 

When he pushed into her, it felt final somehow, an act laden with the weight of farewell. Ren couldn’t help the tears that fell as he pushed inside her again and again, mirroring the unspoken grief that Sam couldn't conceal either, evidenced by the wetness that dripped onto her chest every so often.

The pleasure was intense, as it always was, but alongside it was the accompanying grief that this would be the last time she was this close with her husband, her chosen partner for life. When they finished, they did it together, hands intertwined, and lips pressed together in a desperate embrace, the room bearing witness to the culmination of their love and sorrow.

Sam rolled off of her, and as they laid side by side, he faced her, his fingers tracing the leaf tattoo on the side of her face with a tenderness that echoed the fragility of the moment.

“You know,” he said, voice scratchy with an underlying sadness, “we’ll meet another version of each other. I wonder what that will be like.”

Ren, staring into his eyes, couldn't bring herself to utter the brutal truth she had learned from The Emissary: Ren died in almost every universe. This one was an anomaly. Perhaps it was a selfish choice, but she couldn't bear to inflict the agony she carried on him. What purpose would it serve to reveal that he was destined to witness his wife's death in his arms, over and over again

The room, once filled with the echoes of their shared passion, now housed a silence, a quiet acknowledgment of the inevitability of their journey. And in that moment, as they lay side by side, Ren stared into his eyes and though about their love, a love destined to repeat its tragic cycle in countless universes. Whether it was traveling to the Unity or death, was tragedy the only thing waiting for them?

“I’ll never stop looking for you,” Ren whispered, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone in a tender caress. “I’ll look for you in every sunrise, on every planet, in every breath of fresh air.”

Sam, his hand over hers, held onto the fleeting warmth of her touch. “And I will always look for you, darlin’. Maybe… maybe the universe will do right by us, let us find each other again.”

“Maybe,” she echoed, the word leaving her lips like a fragile prayer, though she couldn't find belief in her own words. “Maybe the universe will be kind.”

“I love you, Ren.”

“And I love you, Sam.”

[symphonyofmalice]

Episode 9 (2.2)

Reactions to "Do you know what it means to be loved by death"

"Setting aside certain events" Louis is really brushing aside the death of his daughter/sister like that, huh? (Which I think is intentional)

God, Armand and Louis being cuddly and giggly on the couch, speaking in unison. It's cute, it's genuine. But it's also (knowing the plot and having a decent idea of where they intend to take it) such a performance of what Armand wants their relationship to be and has deliberately crafted.

Armand's look when Daniel says "keep selling it".

Again, the romantic music swelling over Louis and Armand's first meeting. The events aren't false, but the whole mood is this carefully made narrative on Armand's part.

Did they plan the glove mistake in season 1 as a clue to Armand's false identity, or are they just retconning it now in season 2? Maybe it's cynical of me, but I'm assuming it's a retcon.

Santiago is that bitch and I love it.

"All from our 150 year repertoire" so it is all Nicolas plays, updated and retooled.

The woodcutter in the last play (and thus the only real one) has sone Nicolas resemblance I'm just saying

"This is an english-only performance" the cruelty, the turning of it into all part of the show, is perfect.

You're damn right there's poignant violin

Louis and Claudia's very different facial expressions are so good

"After Danton was guillotined" Wikipedia tells me that's 1794 which is a little late compared to the books.

They call him Maitre

Ok the "Fuck off!" salute is funny (assuming the subtitles aren't lying to me).

Ok I guess it took the theater for the show to grow on me because I love all these new characters. Sam the new playwright!

Roget mentions Lestat could be "sleeping" does he know about the vampirism?

The guilt trip of telling Louis to let whoever did this fester

I've seen too much meta to not read into the Alice/Armand scene. It's well acted.

Lol, Louis falling asleep in Sanitago's performance is what kicks off their dislike, excellent. It still would have been nice for Louis to call him a buffoon.

The ludicrous gore is silly. I get how it can be fun, but it just makes me think of how much blood they're wasting. (I'm not the kind of person amused by food fights as a kid either).

Claudia loving the troupe adds such a knife twist

1556? That can't be right. Even with the show's timeline, they had kept Lestat's origin while moving up his meeting with Louis

NICKI ITS MY BOY NICOLAS LOOK AT HIM

[arlmy07]

I need to manga-up

So season 5 bsd amine

yEAh spoilers incoming and this is gonna be LONG

WHERE DO I START TF

like, forget everything that happens in season five and let's just focus on everything that happens in season five

BSD is already very full of plot twists, very well done plot twists...but then we get to season five and BAM

Silly little murder story, adorable little Ranpo and then BOOM

Wait so this isn't about the silly little murder?? Yeah, no.

Like yeah, the end of s3 made it obvious that "the Rats" was gonna be something Big and then we got big hints to the Decay of Angels in ADA/Ranpo/Fukuzawa Backstory but it was Bigger?? Than I thought???

There's literally so much going on but it all fits even if you can't exactly tell how some times

And I ABSOLUTELY LOVE how we start to get Fyodor and Dazai and then the whole show seems to revolve around the two of them and then Ranpo and Kamui (later revealed to be Fukuchi dun dun) basically going:

Haha! You thought you won, but I was one step ahead of you!

Oh no. Foiled again. It is so terribly sad that I didn't prepare for this with...Countermeasures! *countermeasures ensue*

Oh no. You were one step ahead of my step ahead... It is so terribly sad that I didn't prepare for this with...Countermeasures! *countermeasures ensue*

YOU THOUGHT! I ALSO PREPARED FOR THE CHANCE THAT YOU WOULD BE ONE STEP AHEAD OF ME BEING ONE STEP AHEAD HA HA HA

YEAH WELL I PREPARED FOR THE CHANCE THAT YOU'D BE ONE STEP AHEAD OF ME BEING ONE STEP AHEAD OF YOU BEING ONE STEP AHEAD OF ME HA HA HA HA

And so on and so forth

AND THE PLOT ONLY THICKENS FROM THERE???!!!!!!!!!!!!

Each episode just peels back layer after layer in this whole Decay of Angels vs Armed Detective Agency storyline they got going on

And then...we get a hint in ep59...because we all know Atsushi, there's no way he'd hesitate to stop the Evil Plot™ So why'd he hesitate after being told of Fukuchi's true motive?? HMMM???

Ep60, things are coming to a head, (Bra-chan and Aya are so adorable!! He wanna be her protective papa), the loose ends are being gathered together so they can be tied up in a neat little bow and then...

the bow is actually a knife ouchie

Aya, deciding to basically jump to her death to save the world

Fukuzawa and Fukuchi fighting

Dazai Uno Reverse Card Fyodor hahaha

BRAM HAS LEGS AND THEY'RE PRETTY AND HE JUST WANTS TO PROTECT AYA SDFUVAIEVBIUASBDICAUS

Ranpo waking Atsushi and then just...falling over, poor baby

Again Dazai (And Chuuya!!) Uno Reverse Card Fyodor

Fukuzawa and Fukuchi 😫😫😫😫 "The moment I saw the look on my friend's face..." 😫😫😫😫 Them going through their past in Poe's book 😫😫😫😫

Dazai, the helicopter, Fyodor, Nikolai...😭😭

😫😫😫😫 Fukuchi and Fukuzawa and their little baby selves adufhasiduvvbcasuhdc

Everything being revealed as Fukuchi's elaborate scheme to create world peace 😫😫😫😫

"My life, or the Detective Agency." Fukuchi really said: it's me or the kids babe

AND THEN HE WAS ALREADY PREPARED FOR FUKUZAWA TO NOT GO THROUGH WITH IT AND HE ASKED TERUKO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 WHY WOULD YOU ASK YOUR DAUGHTER TO DO THAT SIR

"Fukuzawa....are you there?" 😭😭😭😭

Fukuzawa stop crying you're making me cry too

When Fukuzawa gets the One Order from Ranpo, he looks like he's aged a hundred years noooo 😭😭 And he can't break it or else he's killing off Fukuchi's dream with him 😭😭😭😭

WHAT DO YOU MEAN TWO HOURS LATER!!!!!! I do like Aku's new fit though, very on point

To sum it all up....damn I'm obsessed