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s1e1lar · 2 months ago

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“The Hollow Watchers” | various Creepypasta x youtuber!reader

a/n: now that im out of my depression slump writing is back in session!!

Wc: 6,691

CW: female reader, uncomfortable social situations, blood, feeling of being watched, panic attack, throwing up, and overall creepiness

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

The hallway felt endless, a stretched corridor lined with stained wallpaper and aged wood that creaked under their footsteps. Despite the clutter and chaos of the weapon room they'd just left behind, this part of the mansion was cleaner—more cared for. The kind of place someone went to think.

You still held the charm in your hand, the tiny ankh warm even through your palm. Every now and then, you’d glance at it, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Pestilence. That word clung to your mind like smoke. You didn’t know what it meant—not yet—but the weight of it, the scythe, EJ’s nod… it all meant something.

Toby walked beside you, still buzzing with excitement.

“You have no idea how rare that is,” he was saying. “Like, I’ve only seen something like that once, and it wasn’t good. But, like, in a cool ‘end-of-the-world’ kind of way.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. His cheeks were still scarred, that signature ticking echoing faintly with each jittery movement. But despite the chaos of his energy, you could tell he wasn’t just rambling to fill silence. He was watching you carefully—filing you away, just as you were doing with him.

EJ, as always, walked in complete silence. His hands were tucked neatly behind his back, his steps measured. You couldn’t tell if he was deep in thought or just listening.

The hall opened up ahead, tall double doors already cracked ajar. Warm light spilled from the space beyond, flickering like firelight and casting soft shadows on the floor. You could hear voices—low at first, then clearer.

And unmistakably… Jeff.

“I’m just saying,” he was saying, his voice irritatingly smug, “you see the way she walks? Bet she'd make real good—”

“You finish that sentence, I break your fingers.”

The new voice was cool. Calm. But beneath it was steel—like if you blinked wrong, it’d snap your spine in half.

You stopped.

Your eyes flicked to the speaker, and for a second, your brain stuttered. The man—no, the presence—looked like Toby. Same height. Same frame. But that was where the similarities ended.

A dark gas mask obscured the lower half of his face, worn and scratched but well-kept. His goggles, unlike Toby’s blinding orange ones, were the classic clear kind—pushed up onto his head, revealing sharp, inhumanly bright eyes that practically glowed atomic green. His hoodie was a deep, dusty blue, faded with time but clean, with the hood slouched against his back. A tan satchel hung from his side, heavy with unseen contents.

But what truly caught your attention was the symbol.

Stamped into the sleeve of his hoodie near his shoulder, barely faded, was a circle with an X drawn through it.

You froze.

You’d seen that before. Everywhere. Spray-painted on alley walls, carved into benches, scratched into metal poles near the outskirts of town. You always thought it was some weird graffiti tag, maybe from a rebellious art kid or a gang without imagination.

But now you knew better.

That symbol had meaning here.

The man in the mask turned as the group entered, his gaze snapping to yours the second you stepped through the doorway. And those green eyes—unnatural, sharp, electric—locked with yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

Jeff, for once, had gone silent. He didn’t meet your gaze. He didn’t smile. Not now.

“Eyes up here, princess,” the masked man said—this time to Jeff, who shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

The room was vast—an enormous library that seemed to stretch both up and outward forever. Towering shelves lined the walls, heavy with old books, ancient tomes, and strange objects you couldn’t begin to name. But in the center of the room was something unexpected: a massive sunken conversation pit, circular, with deep couches and mismatched cushions scattered about. A fire roared quietly in the center, the light licking up.

It felt like a strange blend of eerie and… lived-in.

You felt EJ stop beside you, and you mirrored him instinctively.

“Library,” he said plainly. “Most meetings happen here. Most arguments too.”

Toby muttered a quiet “he’s not wrong” under his breath, his eyes darting between you and the masked figure.

You turned to EJ, voice low. “…Who’s that?”

EJ didn’t even blink.

“That’s Cody.”

Cody.

You filed the name away immediately.

Just like all the others.

Toby was already halfway down the steps into the sunken pit by the time you'd processed the room. He practically threw himself onto one of the couches, limbs flopping every which way like a scarecrow with too much caffeine.

"I call this one!" he announced, laying dramatically across the cushions with his arms behind his head. "Couch privileges. Seniority, baby."

You lingered near the edge of the conversation pit, arms still stiff at your sides. Despite the soft flicker of the fire, the room didn’t feel warm—not to you. Maybe it was the pressure of too many unknowns, too many killers sitting in a room like it was some twisted little family reunion.

Then, from behind, a gentle but firm tap between your shoulder blades. EJ’s gloved finger.

A nonverbal, "Move."

You scowled slightly but obeyed, your boots thudding softly down the stairs. You headed toward the couch without letting your eyes drift too long on anyone—especially not Jeff, who was now sprawled in a different corner with that smug grin starting to reappear. He hadn’t said anything since Cody stepped in, but you could feel the weight of his stare like a mosquito whining too close to your ear.

Just as you were about to sit, the hairs on your neck stood up.

Footsteps.

Two sets. Heavy and unhurried.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was—you felt it.

Cold, sharp, dangerous.

They stepped into the room with the kind of silence that made your fight-or-flight reflex scream. Your gut twisted.

The man in the porcelain mask came first, dressed in the same Carhartt jacket from the mall—the one that had barely rippled when a hatchet was thrown. His mask was unnerving: completely featureless save for its empty eyes, like staring into a void.

Beside him was the one in the mustard hoodie, the ski mask stretched over his face like an insult. Two glowing red dots where his eyes should be, and a red downturned mouth painted in the shape of a permanent, cartoonish frown.

You could handle Toby.

These two? You didn’t even know their names, and yet your body already cataloged every muscle twitch, every inch of distance between you and them.

You clenched your fist so tightly you felt your nails press crescents into your palm, the ache keeping you grounded. For half a second, your body wanted to move. Kick. Strike. Put both these guys down hard.

Instead… you sat. Directly between EJ and Cody.

Cody barely looked at you as you settled, but you could feel his presence nonetheless—calm, silent, calculating. Unlike Toby, who radiated chaotic energy, Cody was stone. Still. The kind of still that made people nervous.

Your eyes flicked toward EJ. He sat closest to the steps that led out of the pit, arms crossed as if this whole thing was routine.

Good, you thought. If things go bad, that’s the exit. He’s my way out.

Then, without fully turning your head, you scoped the windows to your left. Tall. Thin. But they lined the wall directly behind you, opposite the door. Sunlight streamed in just enough to let you imagine it—grabbing a chair, a bookend, hell, even the scythe if you had to, and smashing your way out. Running through the woods barefoot if it came to it.

You were already planning.

Always planning.

And while your cereal still sat untouched somewhere in the kitchen, cold and soggy by now… this? This felt like survival again.

And you were good at survival.

The two masked men sat across from you in unison, like synchronized predators watching their prey from across the flame. The fire between you danced lazily, crackling with a low pop every now and then, casting deep shadows across their faceless visages. Despite how out of place it felt, the fire somehow didn’t fill the room with smoke. Just warmth. Controlled. Engineered.

You blinked at the flames, then up.

How the hell was there a fire pit in the middle of a damn library?

Your eyes scanned the towering shelves that surrounded the sunken pit like the ribs of some great beast, and eventually caught sight of an open skylight far above. A soft beam of late afternoon light trickled in through it. You almost relaxed—

Until you noticed eyes staring back.

Not just any eyes.

One was stark white with a pinprick of black in the center. The other? Pitch black with a swirling white spiral. No lids. No blinking. Just… watching.

"What the fu—"

You barely had time to gasp before a figure began descending—gracefully, almost theatrically—on a pair of thick, black-and-white acrobatic silks. If the situation hadn’t been straight out of a nightmare, you might have laughed at how absurd it was. But your heart was in your throat.

He dropped lower.

Slow, deliberate, inhuman.

And then he landed lightly just beside the fire pit. Not with a thud. With a whisper.

Your breath hitched.

He was completely monochrome. Like someone had dragged him from an old film reel and dumped him into reality. His skin was so pale it bordered on translucent, stretched thin over a tall, almost skeletal frame. His hair was wild, jet black, and shot in every direction like he’d electrocuted himself and liked it. A grotesque grin split his face unnaturally wide, exposing rows of jagged, yellowed teeth that didn’t belong in a human mouth.

His smile extended too far, impossibly so, as if the corners of his mouth had been pulled by invisible strings.

You froze, caught in the predator's gaze.

He wore a Victorian-style clown outfit, striped black and white from the puffy shoulders down to the oversized, pointed shoes. The ruffled collar bobbed slightly as he tilted his head, and even the gloves on his long fingers followed that antique harlequin pattern.

You stared.

He stared back.

Unblinking.

The fire between you popped, and you flinched.

“You got a name, pretty thing?” the creature asked, his voice a strange mix of melodic and grating. It scratched at your ears like a record just out of tune but still trying to hum a lullaby.

No one moved.

Toby leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Oh, great. Now he’s here.” His voice was flat. Almost tired.

EJ didn’t react at all. Cody shifted subtly beside you, not out of fear, but readiness. You could feel it, like static coiling under his skin.

“Y/N,” you answered finally, your voice steadier than you expected.

The monochrome figure placed a hand over his heart and gave a bow so deep and formal it seemed mocking.

“Pleasure.”

Then his smile widened somehow—impossibly.

“You can call me Jack.”

Jeff burst into uncontrollable laughter, nearly doubling over in his seat across the fire pit.

“Are you serious?” he wheezed, slapping his knee. “No one told her about Jack? Oh, this is gonna be good—”

You tuned him out.

It was easier that way. His voice felt like nails on a chalkboard dragging through your spine at this point. Instead, you focused on the others. The ones who hadn't made a show of themselves yet. You needed to start piecing things together—how they moved, who they watched, who they didn't. Their power dynamics.

And then you felt it—just the faintest pressure on your thigh.

You flinched and looked down.

EJ, silent as ever beside you, was dragging the edge of his index finger along the fabric of your pants. His movements were small and methodical, letters forming with precision, the tiniest indent pressing against your skin as he wrote:

S-A-L-L-Y

You furrowed your brow and looked up.

And there she was.

You hadn't even seen her enter.

She was sitting on the floor just a few feet away from Jack, her tiny frame partially obscured by a low shelf. Pale—deathly pale, almost grey—her skin looked like porcelain pulled too tight over bones. Her wide, dark brown eyes were glossy and too big for her face, staring blankly at the fire as if it held the secrets to the universe.

Her hair was long and brown, straight but messily tangled at the ends, falling past her shoulders in jagged strands. She wore a faded pink dress that looked like it belonged to another decade, tattered at the hem and smeared with something too dark to be dirt.

Blood.

Her bare feet were tucked underneath her, toes curling against the plush rug, and in her small arms she held a teddy bear—worn, but oddly pristine. No blood. No dirt. Just a soft, faded brown bear clutched so tightly to her chest you wondered if it had grown there.

Around her, a faint glow pulsed—soft and cold. Like moonlight after a snowstorm.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of her. She was beautiful and broken and terrifying all at once. A child frozen in time—maybe literally—and the kind of quiet that carried weight. Not innocence. Not anymore.

Jack gave a little flourish with his arms as if presenting her on a game show.

“And that would be our darling little Sally.” His voice dripped with mock affection, but his eyes flicked to her with something else. Caution.

Jeff had stopped laughing.

Toby let out a soft hum, rocking back and forth in his seat like he was trying to match the rhythm of the flames.

You leaned toward EJ slightly, your voice low.

“What’s her deal?”

He traced out a single word against your thigh: D-E-A-D

You swallowed hard.

Sally blinked slowly and, as if sensing your question, turned to look directly at you. No smile. No frown. Just… eyes.

She raised her bear a little higher, nuzzled her face into it, then whispered something. You couldn’t hear it. But whatever it was, the air around her shifted.

You looked away.

And caught Jack’s eyes again—still fixed on you. Still smiling.

God, always smiling.

You’re still reeling from the last five minutes when you feel a subtle shift beside you.

Ben is there now—how he got in without you noticing, you have no idea. He’s perched on the ledge of the sunken conversation pit, legs casually dangling over the edge, resting against the back of the couch you’re sitting on. He’s slouched like he doesn’t have a care in the world, the sharp glow of his Nintendo Switch casting little colored flickers across his blank, pale face. The shell gleaming like it had been bought yesterday. Stickers covered the back—some cute, some chaotic. One was a low-res pixelated skull, another was a suspiciously realistic eyeball, and the rest… were better not stared at for too long.

He didn’t even look up, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he pressed furiously at the buttons. A faint 8-bit melody leaked from the speakers—something unnervingly cheerful.

He doesn’t look at you. Just chews his bottom lip and keeps tapping buttons like the world around him is a game he already beat.

You’re about to shift away—just a little—when you feel it again.

EJ’s glove.

Slow. Controlled. Tracing a name into your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s higher now. Closer to your hip. The butterflies that had settled start clawing their way back up, but they’re tangled with something worse this time. Your stomach flips, cold sweat prickling the back of your neck.

You glance down.

C-L-O-C-K-W-O-R-K.

Longer name. More space. His finger trails the last curve of the "K" with a subtle press before he pulls his hand away like nothing happened.

You swallow hard.

And then you see her.

She’s leaning against the far shelf of the library like she’s been there the whole time, half in shadow, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded across a flannel-clad chest.

Clockwork.

The name sticks in your head like gum on concrete.

There’s a literal clock embedded in her right eye socket—real, ticking, alive. Its hands twitch subtly, gears clicking just loud enough to be heard under the crackle of the fire. The skin around it is torn and tight, a patchwork of bruises, faded blood, and stitches that look like they were sewn by someone angry and impatient.

Her other eye—still intact—is sharp. Bright green, or maybe hazel, depending on how the firelight hits it. And it’s locked directly on you.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just… studies you.

You feel like a bug under glass.

Scars lace her face—across her mouth, down her chin, jagged and ugly in that "don't ask what happened" kind of way. Her hair’s pulled into a messy ponytail, but strands stick out in every direction like they’ve given up fighting gravity. She wears a dark green flannel, black tee underneath, ripped jeans, and beat-up combat boots.

If Frankenstein built a soldier, she’d be it.

Her expression doesn’t shift when you meet her eyes. There’s no friendliness there—but no hate, either. Just a quiet, burning awareness. Like she’s thinking: How fast can you run? How hard can you hit? And how long before I have to find out for myself?

You don’t look away.

And for a moment, just a flicker, one side of her stitched-up mouth quirks upward.

Not a smile. Not quite. But close enough to make your spine tighten.

Ben, without glancing up, lets out a low, bored snort.

"You're gonna die playing staring contests like that. Clock's never lost one."

You keep your gaze forward, pulse thudding as the tension in the room grows thick and crackling. You don’t even realize you’ve leaned slightly toward EJ until you feel the edge of his coat brush your arm.

Before you can say a word, Jack explodes with theatrical flair from where he’s now hanging half-over the back of the couch:

“WELL THEN!” he drawls, all manic energy and glee.

“Now that the gang’s all here… shall we begin our adorable little house meeting?”

Jeff groans somewhere behind you, his voice sharp and too loud.

“Ughhh, not this again. Who even made this a thing?”

“Probably Cody,” Toby chirps from the other side of the pit, flopped upside down on one of the seats like it’s a trampoline.

“He loves boring serious people shit.”

You barely hear them.

Because you can feel the presence again.

Them.

You stiffen slightly. Turn your head.

The two men from the mall—porcelain mask, and mustard hoodie with the ski mask and red markings. They still sit across from you, flames dancing between you and them, flickering light bouncing off their unnatural stillness.

There’s something about them that makes your instincts scream. Not loud like Toby. Not unsettling like Jack. Not clinical like EJ.

They’re deadly.

Even sitting still, saying nothing, they radiate a cold finality. Like if you breathed wrong, they’d put you down without a second thought.

Your hands tighten into fists.

Your knee bounces once, ready to launch toward the massive windows on your left. Easy escape, you think. One good kick, you could be through the glass. Maybe not clean—but free.

You flick your eyes to the stairs, to EJ’s shoulder beside you.

You’re not stuck. Not really.

But you are, for now, trapped in a den of monsters.

And every single one of them just started watching you like you're part of the collection now.

As soon as EJ prepares to speak, the room goes unnervingly silent. The tension thickens, like the air’s been sucked out of the room, and all eyes shift toward you. You feel it—the change. You’re no longer just an observer, a bystander to their madness. You’re one of them now, in some twisted way.

EJ clears his throat, breaking the silence with his usual, monotone voice.

“Obviously, not everyone’s here, but you all should spread the word just fine. Y/N is joining us. She won’t be living here full-time, but she’ll definitely be sleeping in her room tonight. Her first mission is on Halloween, in a couple of weeks. Before then, she’ll come around occasionally for details and training.”

The room seems to stir at this, mutters spreading like wildfire. You feel the weight of their judgment in every quiet exchange, the whispers skittering through the room like cold wind.

Then Toby, always with his tic, speaks up. His stutter barely masks the excitement in his voice.

“She g-got Pestilence.”

For a second, everything stops. Then, the room erupts.

Ben’s face lights up with a twisted kind of amusement. His fingers stop twitching on the buttons of his Nintendo Switch, eyes wide in something that looks like respect—or maybe a little fear. Jack, leaning forward from his seat, grins so wide you can see every sharp, jagged tooth in his mouth. His eyes gleam with curiosity. Cody, his expression always neutral, allows himself a small, approving nod.

But the rest of them? They don’t seem as pleased.

The room fills with shouting, voices cutting through the air with anger and disbelief. Sally’s small figure barely moves, but her eyes, dark and deep as an ocean, never leave you. Porcelain Mask, one of the men you saw at the mall, snarls under his breath.

“Pestilence? That’s who we’re taking in?”

You don’t catch the rest of his words, but you can feel the mockery in his tone. They’re questioning you, judging you already.

Before the argument can go any further, there's a sudden pop behind Ben. It’s so sudden, it almost makes you jump, but you’re quick to spin around. There, standing just between the shelves, is Nina. She steps forward with a casual, almost careless grace, her eyes studying you with mild interest.

“Woah, that’s impressive, newbie,” she says, her voice a mix of disbelief and casual curiosity.

The way she says it—half-sarcastic, half-amused—makes you feel like you’re still on some kind of test, something she’s been watching unfold for a while. She gives a small chuckle, but her eyes remain sharp, calculating.

The room, once buzzing with confusion, quiets again, and the conversation shifts toward you, like everyone’s just waiting for your reaction. You can feel the pressure of their gazes on you, each of them sizing you up, dissecting you from the inside out.

EJ’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Enough,” he says firmly. “The fact that she got Pestilence means she’s got potential. Whether you like it or not, she’s part of this now.”

His words land heavy, like a stamp of finality. No more arguments. This is happening. And you're caught in the middle of it, tangled up in something far darker than you can understand.

The others shift in their seats, still grumbling under their breath, but it's clear that whatever protests were brewing are now muted.

Clockwork, eyes never leaving you, doesn't speak. But you can feel the weight of her gaze, intense, as if she’s dissecting every part of you. The same goes for Ben, still too focused on his Switch but giving you the occasional glance, the look of someone trying to gauge if you're an ally or a threat.

You’re part of this now.

Whether you want to be or not.

And as much as you’d like to bolt, escape from this twisted house of horrors, you know one thing—you’re trapped. With no clear way out, no answers, and no idea what the hell you’re supposed to do next.

And just when you think you can breathe, Nina tosses out her last line, casually but pointedly,

“Guess we’ll see how well you handle your first Halloween.”

Her words echo in the space between you and the others, another cold reminder of what you’ve signed up for.

The tension in the room is palpable, suffocating. You feel it rising within you, a pit of raw frustration threatening to break free. You can’t help it—every single person here, their faces, their voices, the way they look at you like they own you, like you're nothing more than an experiment or a tool—it makes something inside of you snap.

EJ senses it too. He moves quickly, his hand pressing against your arm, a subtle reminder to ground yourself. But the touch does little to calm you. Instead, it ignites something darker within you, and as you try to swallow the words building up in your throat, they spill out before you can stop them.

“You think you're all so special, don't you?” You hear yourself say, the words sharp and venomous. “You, Toby, with your stupid stutter and your incessant tics. You think you’re funny, but really, you’re just pathetic.”

Toby’s face flickers with shock. His eyes dart nervously, a quick flash of hurt before the usual mask of arrogance falls back into place.

“And you, Ben? You think your little video games and your sad attempts at normalcy make you any less twisted? You’re not ‘innocent,’ you’re just a child hiding behind a screen, pretending this is all a game.”

Ben flinches, but doesn’t respond. He turns back to his Nintendo Switch, fingers stiffening on the buttons, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

Your gaze lands on Jack next, and the sneer that curls your lips surprises even you.

“You? Jack? What are you, the resident clown?” Your voice drips with disgust. You hide behind that freaky smile, but we all know you’re just as messed up as the rest of them.”

Jack’s grin widens, but there’s a flicker of something—guilt? Shame? You can’t be sure, but it makes him hesitate for just a moment.

“And you, Jeff...” You finally turn to the man who stands farthest to you now, his imposing presence shifting as you glare at him. “Don’t even get me started on you. You’re all high and mighty, wearing that ridiculous hoodie like you’re some kind of god. What’s under there, huh?” You take a step forward. “Scared of what you really look like?”

Jeff’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes narrow, the gaze sharp enough to pierce through you. He opens his mouth, but you don’t wait for him to speak.

With every word, your heart races faster, your breaths becoming more erratic, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles turn white. It feels like all of the rage, the confusion, the helplessness you’ve been holding inside for so long is coming out all at once. You don’t even care anymore. You just want them to feel it, to know how much they’ve pushed you, how much they’ve hurt you.

“You’re all monsters.” The words slip out like acid, burning with the truth you don’t want to face. “And I don’t know why the hell I’m even here, why you thought I could ever be part of this.”

EJ’s hand tightens on your arm, trying to anchor you, but your emotions have taken over. You stand abruptly, the movement sharp, as if your legs have a mind of their own. Without even thinking, you start to walk toward Porcelain Mask and Ski Mask, the two men from the mall, the ones who wanted to kill you then.

Your vision blurs with fury as you march toward them, ready to do whatever it takes to make them feel something—anything. But before you can reach them, you feel a strong pull on your arm. Cody is standing, his grip tight on your shoulder, forcing you to stop.

“That’s enough.” His voice is low, but there’s an undeniable authority in it. The words cut through your hysteria, and for a second, your vision sharpens, and you realize where you are.

You try to jerk away from his grasp, but Cody doesn’t let go. He pulls you back gently, but firmly, keeping you at a distance from the others, and his eyes are locked on yours, intense, unwavering.

“Calm down.” His voice is colder now, like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’re not going to get anything by provoking them like this. It won’t help you. It’s not your fight. Not yet.”

You look at him, chest heaving, body still on edge, but the words start to settle in. The anger, while still burning inside you, loses some of its power. You're still trembling, but now you’re more aware of the situation. You’re not alone in this mess, and maybe—just maybe—this is the moment you need to choose your next move wisely.

Cody doesn’t release his hold right away. He keeps his hand on your shoulder, steady and unwavering, as the rest of the group looks on, some with curiosity, some with confusion. You’re all silent for a beat, the room frozen in an awkward stillness.

EJ’s voice cuts through again, more composed than before, though the edge of his authority still lingers.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s continue. Halloween’s coming up, and you all know what that means.” He pauses, glancing at you briefly, his fingers still gently pressed to your thigh. “Y/N’s mission starts then. Get ready.”

The rest of the group falls quiet again, but the weight of the moment isn’t lost on anyone. You’re no longer just the new girl—you’re one of them now, and that means learning to walk their dangerous line.

The room slowly empties, the buzz of conversation fading into the distant echoes of the mansion. It feels like a weight lifts off your shoulders, but the tension in your chest remains, taut and ready to snap again at any moment. EJ gives a final nod, his voice cool as he calls out, “Get some rest, everyone. We’ll reconvene later.”

No one dares argue. They all shuffle out, some lingering to give you strange looks, but the majority seem eager to retreat to whatever dark corners they call home in this place. You watch them go, feeling the burn of their glares lingering like a heavy cloud, then turn back to EJ, who’s already stepping toward the door. Cody follows, his gait slow and deliberate as he waits for you to catch up.

“Let’s go,” EJ mutters, his hand gesturing toward the hallway. You follow them silently, not saying a word. Every footstep echoes in the vast, unsettling quiet of the mansion.

Cody doesn’t say anything for a while, until you reach a door at the end of another long hallway, the sound of your shoes tapping against the cold floor loud in the stillness. When you stop at the threshold, he reaches into his tan satchel, pulling out a small, sleek cellphone. He glances at it for a second before handing it to you.

“Here. Boss man wanted me to swap out your sim card.” He then gestures toward the small, vibrant keychain attached to your keys that’s now dangling in his hand. It’s clear from the look in his eyes that he’s a little amused, but there’s no denying the slightly strange mix of something almost sentimental about the charms attached to it.

Your fingers curl around your keys instinctively, but a bitter taste rises in your mouth. You barely stop yourself from snapping at him. “You damaged my phone? Took my stuff?” Your voice cracks slightly. “You didn’t have the right to mess with it.”

Cody shrugs, his expression unbothered. “ He said to make sure you didn’t have anything traceable on it. If it helps, I got you a new one, so you can stop whining.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, but as you take the new phone, your eyes flick over the screen. The moment you unlock it, a flood of names and numbers start to populate the contact list. You don’t even need to check to know what it is—it’s a list of residents.

You immediately scroll through it, seeing names that make your stomach tighten. They’re all here—people you’ve seen, people you haven’t fully met, the people who are part of this mansion, this life you’re unwillingly caught up in. But there’s something about it all that gnaws at your mind. How long have they all been watching you?

Cody leans against the wall casually, watching you as you scroll through the list, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s the matter, huh? You’re starting to realize the weight of all this?”

You look up at him, biting back a retort. You don't need to explain yourself to him. Instead, you focus on the strange flood of feelings running through you. This new phone, a fresh start but with an unsettling layer of control behind it. The numbers, the faces, all linked to a life that you don’t know if you can ever escape.

Cody’s eyes flick to the phone again, his voice breaking the silence. “Don't worry, the list will make things a bit easier for you. You’ll want to know who’s who in this place sooner or later.”

His tone shifts, a little darker. “And if you’re smart, you’ll learn to rely on your resources.”

The implication is obvious. It’s not just about survival. It’s about playing the game. But you know that already. You feel it—the instinct to protect yourself, to build some kind of power where you can. And with this phone, these numbers, you're one step closer to gaining some control.

“Right.” You mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around the new phone, a cold feeling settling in your gut. There’s nothing left for you to do but accept the situation, at least for now.

Cody gives you a brief, almost careless nod as he steps aside, gesturing toward the door. “Your room’s in there. Boss said you’ll sleep here tonight. But don’t get used to it. We’re all going to be moving around soon enough.”

You look at the door for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You don’t feel like you belong here. Not yet. But you have to. For now, this place is your reality. You can either accept it and survive, or rebel and risk everything. Neither option is comfortable.

With one last glance at Cody and EJ, you step through the door, the weight of the situation bearing down on you. The phone feels heavy in your hand, the names and numbers blurring together as your mind spins.

The mansion is silent behind you. But you know it's far from peaceful. It’s a cage, and you’re its newest occupant.

And now you have to figure out how to break out—without getting broken first.

You step into the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft, hollow sound. It’s a surprisingly large space, especially considering where you are. The bed is neatly made, a thick, plush blanket covering it, but it’s the attached bathroom that catches your attention first. You let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief.

"At least I won't have to share," you mutter under your breath, feeling a slight sense of comfort that’s quickly overshadowed by the unease gnawing at the back of your mind.

You glance around, the feeling of being watched creeping over you. You swallow hard, nerves on edge. The furniture in the room is simple but functional—nothing too fancy, nothing out of the ordinary. But that’s the problem. Everything about this place feels like it’s been designed to keep you off-balance, to keep you questioning what’s real, what’s normal.

The room feels too clean, too quiet, and the silence presses against your ears like an invisible weight.

With slow, deliberate steps, you start another walkthrough of the space. Your eyes scan every corner, every shadow, looking for anything that might give you a sense of control in this claustrophobic space. You tug open the closet, inspecting it for anything out of place. It’s barren. Just clothes—simple, almost plain, hanging from hangers.

But then your gaze shifts, scanning the walls, the shelves, the light fixtures. You press your fingertips to the corners of the ceiling, searching for hidden cameras, hidden microphones—anything that could be lurking just out of sight. The paranoia builds, tightening around your chest, but there’s nothing.

Nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’re just being paranoid. You have to be. But still, the feeling of being trapped, of being watched, won’t leave. It feels like the walls are closing in on you.

Your phone pings, breaking the tension in the room.

You pull it from your pocket, almost relieved to have something to focus on. The message is from your roommate.

Hey, where are you? 4:32pm

Are you okay? 7:05pm

You stare at the message for a moment. You’re supposed to be with her. You’re supposed to be back home, in your apartment, far away from this nightmare.

But you can’t go back. Not yet. Not until you figure out what’s going on here—why they’re keeping you, what they want from you.

You sit down heavily on the bed, fingers trembling as you type a response, the words feeling hollow and fake even as you send them.

I’m fine.

I’ll be back tomorrow night. Don’t worry. 7:06pm

But as soon as the message is sent, a wave of dread washes over you. The weight of the situation finally hits you, crushing down on your chest. Your heart begins to race, the blood in your veins turning to ice.

You try to take a deep breath, but your lungs betray you. It’s like there’s not enough air. The walls feel like they’re getting smaller, closer, pressing in until you can’t breathe, can’t think.

You tear at the bedding, throwing the blanket off the bed in frustration. The soft fabric tangles around your fingers as you claw at your skin, trying to escape the feeling of suffocation. You can feel the panic rising—its sharp claws digging into your throat, making it harder and harder to stay calm.

Your mind races. There’s no escape. There’s no way out of this. You’re stuck here, and no one can help you.

The tears start to fall then, hot and fast. You can’t stop them. You feel them running down your face, your chest shaking with the force of it.

But somehow, you don’t scream. Instead, you stand, feeling the weight of your own body. Your legs are weak, and everything feels like it’s spinning around you.

Without thinking, you turn and rush to the bathroom, your stomach churning as the panic takes over. You barely make it before you’re retching, bile burning in your throat, and everything comes up in a messy, violent rush.

You clutch the edge of the sink, gasping for breath, the cold porcelain grounding you, but it doesn’t make the feeling go away. It doesn’t make the anxiety stop gnawing at your insides.

Slowly, shakily, you pull yourself away from the sink. You turn the shower on, running the water as hot as it’ll go, steam billowing up around you. You step into the stream of water, letting it hit your skin, letting the heat sear through you.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, the water scalding against your skin, and yet it doesn’t seem to be enough. Nothing feels enough.

Eventually, the panic fades, the adrenaline seeping out of your bones. The shaking doesn’t stop, but the worst of it passes.

After a long while, you turn off the water. You wrap yourself in a towel, thanking the heavens above you found one in the cabinet below the sink, but the exhaustion is undeniable. Your limbs feel heavy, like lead. You stand there for a moment, staring at your reflection in the fogged mirror, before you gather enough energy to make your way back to the bed.

The bedding is still tossed aside, but you pull it back over yourself, curling into the warmth, the weight of it heavy and comforting.

You close your eyes, not able to fight the exhaustion any longer. You don’t even care that the bed is still cold, or that you’re wrapped up in a mess of blankets.

For once, you don’t care.

You just need to sleep.

#creepypasta #slenderman #fanfic #slenderverse #ticci toby #slender mansion #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #laughing jack #nina the killer #ben drowned #x virus #clockwork #creepypasta x y/n #various x reader #x reader

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lov3-lik3-ghosts · 8 months ago

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hiii, I was wondering if you could write something with Enoch? Maybe angst to fluff? If not that’s okie!! I hope you’re well <3

Twines Of Fire Ignite Us. Lover, Our Love’s Immortal

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!reader.

Summary: Your mates heart belongs to her… right?

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Use of Y/n. Soulmate!au. Reader has the ability to see souls and entwine them in harmful ways, this has nothing to do with soulmates. Ankh: Ancient Egyptian symbol representing internal life (according to google); also a subtle representation of Enoch’s peculiarity. Twine of Fire: A symbol representing a subtle indication of the readers infernal rage and peculiarity.

Format: Drabble.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Note: I hope you’re well too, lovely!

| mother m-list

The ankh branding your wrist burns when he looks at her.

You’ve scratched it red raw under your scrutiny and marred it with the lashes of your jealousy over the months. Your family would have forever become victims to a social massacre if anyone ever caught glimpse of the monstrosity it had become; you count yourself lucky to be in a loop, where the day resets and things don’t matter.

Her red hair flows down her back in a river of ocherous that catches the sunlight just right and your eyes are drawn to his, watching her as though she’d made the world good again.

All of you screams he’s yours. That your souls are tied eternally. That his mark is embedded in your very skin; that yours is embedded in his.

You turn away.

Out of sight, out of mind.

••

They sit together at supper, as it’s always been. His seat is closer to hers than you’d be comfortable with but your opinion in the matter runs naught.

Your seat is opposite to his, directly facing everything they do. So much for out of sight.

Enoch’s as stoned faced as ever to her bright eyes and it’s not something that should strike envy green through you but it paints there anyway.

Olive will forever be the soothe after his burn, a soft to his unsated harshness. You will always be the gasoline to the bitter fire roaring in him. You will always be an angry soul, charged with bonfires of stubbornness.

He reaches for the bread roll too far for her to get herself and places it on the edge of her plate without her asking. The cuff of his shirt shifts and reveals the violet flamed twine bracketing his skin, unique and bold as the glow orbing in your abdomen. It disappears under his sleeve as quick as it peeked.

You don’t lose track of their interaction, storing it in the mental box of all the reasons it’ll always be Enoch and Olive and never Enoch and Y/n. They knew each other senseless.

Your mark twinges.

••

It’s been four weeks when he approaches you.

The days in the loop blend into a flurry indecipherable, slowing them and flying them through somehow at once. You’ve taken to tracking the days on an old calendar kept in the children’s home since you joined Loop Peregrine, a tally mark on each day despite the dates not matching up.

You’ve been here for two months now. You’ve talked to Enoch twice.

Three if you count now.

He can’t feel the spidery tingle beneath his skin that you can in his presence, the one that webs you to him in more ways than it should. Girls have always been more sensitive to soulmate related symptoms, blessed (cursed) with more instinctual insight.

You hate the way his soul flares an iridescent outline of blue hues around you, serving another reminder he’ll never be yours that only you can see. Another taunt from fates cruel truths.

The curve of his accent is something you didn’t realise you missed until he opened his mouth. “You're awful at being discreet, you know that?”

“Sorry?” It’s the most you can force yourself to say.

Enoch approaches at a different angle. “You stare. Why?”

Faking nonchalance, you shrug. “I don't stare.”

It only takes a raise of a brow to crumble a large enough portion of your facade. Stone faced or not, you would always be able to read him like a book split open — perks of peculiarities.

“You do.” He bites. “And not just at anything, at anytime. Always at me, always with Olive. Is there an issue you have with us?”

The question hits too close to home. Your reaction spiels out of you quicker than you can cage it, curling at your lip and snarling out of you. “Is there an issue I have with my mate breathing down the neck of another woman? No, of course not, O’Connor. Who could ever find an issue with that?”

Enoch’s face drops.

Realisation hits you like a freight train. You feel the colour drain from you, leaving you unsteady where you stand.

“You’re not my mate.” He strains. “You can’t be. I would’ve known, I would've known from the second I saw you.” There’s a desperation caving his expression, a plea to his eyes that pierces you.

A part of you aches at that, the part that understands lost time and blind eyes, the part that pieces together that you’ve deceived him but it’s overridden by stubborn fear. A mate so infatuated with another he couldn’t see the signs isn’t a mate that could ever love you whole.

“Well, you didn’t.” You can’t stop the bite of your voice.

He pauses, staring into you. It’s the longest interaction you’ve had with him and it sets you alight in all the wrong ways. Despair replaces desperation, written in the way he stumbles a step back from you.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Am I not good enough for the almighty hollow survivor?” You watch a bridled rage harden him.

You and him are one split in two, anger lies in the cores of all you are and seeps its way into everything. Now is no exception.

You can’t help but scoff. “I’m not the one in love with someone else.”

Enoch sneers. “Who’s in love with someone else?”

“Are you joking?” A sick lick of humour curls at you. “You can’t be that much of an asshole that you’d lead Olive on.”

“Olive?” Your fingers twitch to gnaw at the ankh, raging infernal at the thought of him thinking of her. The disconcertment in his eyes stops you.

You look at him, really look at him. Really listen to him, really think things through.

“Me and Olive are nothing that you think we are.”

The brief touches that seemed so intimate, the knowing what the other wanted before they had the chance to say, all the time spent together, day in and day out.

“When you’re stuck living the copy of the day before you learn to know who you’re stuck with.”

You’d never thought about it past your mark and his, past soulmates. You’d never had to, flitting between lives and loops too often to make connections.

“But me and Olive are friends. We’ve never been more than that and we never would be more than that.”

You almost feel stupid for making assumptions but the image they create is too entwined for you to have seen through.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” It’s your way of offering an apology.

Enoch pursues his lips. “We’re mates.” Cold fingers circle your wrist, pressed light against his symbol. He doesn’t look away as you shiver and gasp. You watch the navy of his soul quiver. “You could never intrude.”

You take his words for what they are, an acceptance of peace.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my works to be translated or reposted on this site or otherwise!

#thanks anon!#enoch o’connor x fem!reader #enoch o’connor x reader #enoch o'connor #mphfpc #mphfpc x reader #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #x fem!reader #olive elephanta

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kind-of-a-chaos-witch · 24 days ago

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⛤ PROTECTION ⛤

A simple candle spell and house ward pouch.

Associations with protection:

~ Herbs:

Angelica

Bay leaves

Birch

Cayenne pepper

Cedar tree

Frankincense

Garden sage

Lavender

Mint

Mugwort

Nettles

Rosemary

Thyme

White sage (Closed practice)

~ Crystals:

Amethyst

Black obsidian

Black tourmaline

Hematite

Selenite

Smoky quartz

Tigers eye

~ Oils:

Cedarwood

Cinnamon

Eucalyptus

Frankincense

Juniper

Lavender

Olive

Peppermint

Rosemary

Sage

Tea tree

~ Symbols:

Algiz

Ankh

Evil eye (Nazar)

Hecate’s wheel

Lotus

Pentagram/Pentacle

Tree of life

⛤ Simple Spell ⛤

You Will Need:

~ A black or white candle.

~ Something to carve with.

~ A piece of paper and pen.

~ A fire safe bowl or plate to place the candle in.

1. Cleanse yourself, tools and space.

2. Get a black or white candle, and carve a protective symbol into it.

3. It is optional to anoint the candle with protective oils or herbs. This can be done by rubbing the oil towards yourself onto the candle, and rolling it through your selected herbs. (Rub away from yourself to banish, rub towards to protect.)

4. Write your intention on the paper. This can include “Keep (Name of people in household, including pets) safe from harm or negativity.” Draw symbols of protection over it.

5. Fold it towards yourself, while thinking of your intention.

6. Place the paper underneath the candle. You can use the wax to seal it to the bottom, then use the wax to seal the candle to it.

7. Light the candle, and infuse it with your intention. “I am protected, I am safe. No negativity or harm can hurt me or my family.” Visualise the flame burning away any negativity around you.

8. Ground yourself: Light some incense, have a warm drink, be in nature, take a deep breath.

⛤ Simple House Ward ⛤

You Will Need:

~ A pouch.

~ Protective herbs and crystals.

~ A bay leaf, or paper and pen to write on.

1. Place your herbs inside your pouch, while thinking about the protective properties of each.

2. Write on a bay leaf or paper “My house is protected from negative energy” Or “Banish negativity”.

3. Fold away from you if using paper, keep whole if using bay leaf.

4. Place your crystals inside the pouch, while channeling protectiveness.

5. Hang on a doorway or window of your house if possible. If not, carry it with you.

6. Ground yourself: eat something pleasant, be in nature, take a bath, take a few deep breaths.

#witch #spirituality #witchcraft #beginner witch #grimoire #chaos witch #witch community #witchblr #protection spell #protection ward

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ankhmutes · 2 years ago

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A Charming Journey Home (SOA) chapter 6

Minors, please do NOT interact with this work. Sorry. The fun filth is under the cut, as always. Thank you for encouraging me and following with me on this journey. As all journeys must, they come to an end. At least, for now. This is the end of a Charming Journey Home.

“Let’s take her back to the club. Gemma can help.” Chibs said as he leaned into his burner phone. Tig kept his arms around you, encouraging your deep breaths. “Gemma? Yeah- we got a package coming your way. She’s okay but- the prospects got her jeep.”

“I gotta stay- finish the shift. Can someone just pick me up?” you found yourself asking, not wanting to face what might happen. You wanted to wrap yourself up in the safety that was your boys. “Filip, Alex– please??” you found yourself asking, never quite having used their actual names until now. It was almost like breaking an sacrament.

Things were put in motion and the night was a blur to you. You didn’t quite wake up or come back fully to yourself until you were driving up to T&M, seeing Gemma outside broke you slightly- you always had a soft spot for the matriarch.

“Gem.”

“Darling girl.” she whispered, holding you in her embrace for a moment, while Chibs and Tig looked around, making sure the compound was all clear. It was almost unnecessary, but you welcomed the action.

“I heard everything.” she said succinctly as she guided you back into the clubhouse, your boys walking past you with a slight embrace, off to see Clay and make plans. You let out a long sigh and nodded. “I bet you want the kids- I sent juice over to make sure they’re okay.” you thanked Gemma for her thoughtfulness, and she was succinct with her parting words, shooting you a knowing look "Bad shit happens to greedy whores." You took a few hours to yourself to relax and put everything to rights. You didn’t want to scare your parents or the kids with more stories about the Sons, or any of that club stuff. But somehow, you felt like everything was kind of on repeat, it was as if Connie was back.

Connor.

You hadn’t thought about him in months. Now it was almost as if you were back in Ireland. You allowed yourself to relax into the couch, your arms around the twins, your oldest leaning into your legs from his seat at your feet, the faint beeping sounds of his game system keeping you faintly tied to this world. You knew they understood the gravity of the situation, but at the same time you felt safer here in the clubhouse than out there.

“Bedtime, let’s go.” you found yourself saying as you blinked up at the clock. The kids silently obeyed you, trotting off to a room that Gemma had claimed for you and the kids, you put them to bed efficiently and once they were asleep, you went back out.

You couldn’t help yourself. You had to know what was going on. You had promised yourself you’d stay detached, but you had to know. Your space had been invaded, and you wanted to know what you were up against. Standing up tall, or at least as tall as you could with your petite frame, you moved confidently towards Chibs’s room. He was more likely to be straight with you, you had a feeling that Tig would try to protect you more, but Chibs, he had been through Ireland as well, and you knew he would understand.

“Chibs?” you asked, knocking on the door. You didn’t want to walk in on him if he had a girl with him, even if the thought made you twitch slightly. You heard him moving around, and then he opened the door to you.

“Okay, what?” he asked, a brow lifted in a knowing gesture. You moved past him, turning to face him and he shut the door.

“So what’s gonna happen now?”

“We gotta some work t’ do.” Chibs said in a slight huff, smirking as he sat himself heavily down on the bed. “There’s some stuff gonna go down this weekend… thanks t’ ya friend. Amanda pissed off some people, that’s what. She took herself down there and sold herself to another club.”

“What?” you said with a startled expression on your face. It couldn’t be Amanda, that sold the Sons out to that club, but at the same time……

It was Amanda. It was a shit thing she’d do, she’d wanted to be part of the club so long and they had denied her for so long. You fell back on the bed, your hands over your eyes as you tried to think but you couldn’t. All you could do was keep your eyes closed, your mind spinning from Chibs to Amanda, and back to Chibs and Tig. You listened to Chibs outline what Amanda had done, and how it had fucked everything up. Thanks to you, though, the Sons would be able to salvage something of their operation. Chibs’s hand slid up and down your thigh as you listened to him, your head still spinning but for different reasons. His hands felt so good, solid, and calming. He grounded you, and kept you from going into a tailspin, freaking out six ways to sunday.

“Don’t stop.” you found yourself murmuring, his hand stilling slightly up at the crux of your thighs, where the thick denim felt like nothing, you could feel his warm hand burning into your leaky slit.

“Darlin’ say the word.”

“Filip.” you whispered, arching your back to him.

He moved quick as lightning, hands moving quickly to remove your jeans, everything below your waist disappearing as if you had only to think of it, and it would happen.

His rough mouth slid over your moist heat. You could feel the warm slick of his tongue prodding through your wet folds, licking up every drop you produced, and your thighs held still, your breathing grew hoarse.

“Filip, please.”

“Please what, Lass?”

“Don’t stop.” you whined as Chibs coaxed orgasm after orgasm from you, your legs trembling and stomach contorting with each spasm of pleasure that shot through your body. You could see stars, and you floated along the edge, and then you felt his warm heat nudging at your thighs.

“Y’ need this, princess?” his voice coaxed, his face coming up to yours, his mouth inches from yours as you could feel the heat burning you through.

“Why you askin’ I told you not to stop.” You said with a half-laugh, catching your breath long enough for him to laugh sightly as he leaned forward, filling you up to the hilt with his thick cock. You felt filled up and complete, as if something had slid in place.

It didn’t last long, with the man above you, filling you and his movements were slow and sure, but you knew he would do this again- and again- and again, as long as you would allow him. He was your Filip, and you had welcomed him with open arms. You turned slightly, his rough kisses sliding from your mouth down to your neck, his mouth working your throat and back up, until you couldn’t help it anymore. You sobbed out his name, wrapping your legs around his waist and forcing him further up inside you, squeezing his cock with the immense wave of pleasure that you felt each time he moved inside you.

“Stop being a fucking tease, and fuck me.”

“Ah–!” you heard your name, strangled out as he slid out of you, hot come spilling at your entrance. He plowed through you, his hands at your shoulders, holding you close to him. Your heartbeats slowed, and your breathing grew more even.

You and Chibs cleaned up, you looking at yourself critically in the mirror, wondering if it would leave a mark, or not, but you didn’t care. The small bruise would be easy to explain away. You opened the door, and laughed at Tig, who was lounging at the door.

“Private party?” he asked with a slight pout.

“I saw Venus eyeing you earlier.” you said with grin, winking at Tig. “I know you’ve been chasing that for awhile. I figured– she’s a good gal, and I think you need a shot at that alone.” Chibs moved behind you, closing the door and latching it. “Filip, he’s done a good job of making sure I’m okay. He’s got my lucky charms.”

“Well, you know who to call when he can’t perform.” Tig winked saucily at you, kissing you on the mouth, tasting the warm heat that Chibs had imprinted on you with his rough kisses hours earlier. You and Chibs followed Tig back into the clubhouse public area, listening to the croweaters twittering over the recruits, and you sat with Gemma at the bar, listening to Gemma and Jax, your kids sleeping in Gemma and Clay's room close by as the members relaxed in the living quarters of the clubhouse in the late hours of the night.

You were home, you realized with a jolt as Chibs went behind the bar and poured you a shot of whiskey, with a can of coke fizzing open. Your heart grew three times its size at the moment your eyes met your man’s over the whiskey.

You were fucking, finally, home.

#Ankhmutes writes something #A Charming Journey Home #sons of anarchy fanfiction #chibs imagine #chibs x reader #Tig x reader #Tig x venus mention #filip telford #chibs telford #tig trager #soa #Ankh writes something

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akhret · 7 months ago

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Djehuty

Offerings

Water, (red) wine, whiskey, bourbon, milk, beer, coffee, orange juice.

Meat, bread, honey, fruits, vegetables, nuts, cinnamon, chocolate, caramel, butterscotch, cakes and other sweets. Herbs, as well, whether you’re cooking with them or for others reasons.

Frankincense and myrrh, lavender, eucalyptus, chamomile, and citrus smells are great for incense, candles, essential oils, or perfume.

Writing utensils (pens and quills), paper, journals, a calendar. He’ll even take wax seals, too. Notes from school or work.

Any medication you’re on. Science or medical equipment.

Imagery of him- including statues, drawings, printed pictures. Ibis, baboon or moon imagery.

As well as maat and the ankh

Devotional Acts

Meditation and yoga to practice mindfulness and to help yourself feel more balanced. Shadow work can also be a great devotional act or going to therapy. Positive affirmations can even be a good devotional act to help you feel more confident.

Learn and study. As a god of knowledge, he loves to see people thrive. He wants you to be eager to learn about anything. Write about it afterwards, take notes. You can even read- even if it’s “brain junk,” there’s still wisdom to be found within the pages. Start learning a new language if you wish or even make one up! Learn pieces of wisdom or look at sebayts.

Experiment! He’s a god of science, so SAFELY practice some science experiments (cooking is a science, too.) Experiment with different learning styles to find what best suits you! Experiment with magic- even if it’s like learning a new spell or manifestation.

Creative acts like cooking, writing, drawing, or even find a new hobby!. Just bring something to life.

Signs

Ibises or ibis imagery- this can include imagery appearing on your Etsy randomly, or on your Pinterest, or other forms of social media; along with baboon imagery. You could also see this with the shed tree, as it was a scared symbol to Djehuty.

Being drawn to the moon. You may see an increase in moon imagery as well. You may have feelings of wanting to sit outside and look at the moon.

You may feel a call to want to learn or craft. You could feel the urge to randomly pick up a new language one day or to start writing.

You may see that justice is coming to you. He crafted and reinforced the laws of maat, so you could even feel a sense of justice.

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jotun-philosopher · 1 year ago

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Discworld/Good Omens parallels ramble

Exactly what it says on the tin! These are some fun little Discworld/Good Omens parallels that my brain picked up on at various times (usually 3 a.m. or thereabouts... Thanks, mum, for the persistent insomnia...)

Mild-to-moderate spoilers for Wyrd Sisters, Lords And Ladies, Men At Arms and Carpe Jugulum below the cut.

In A Life With Footnotes, the official biography of Terry Pratchett, Rob Wilkins mentions that when he was in school, a young Pterry wrote for English class a story (sadly lost to the mists of time) about orcs attacking a vicarage in full Jane-Austen-spoof fashion. Now, given how the Whickber Street Shopkeepers' Ball turned out, it seems reasonable to assume one of two things: a) this story was not a factor under consideration when writing S2 and the parallel is an ineffably delightful coincidence (a bit unlikely) b) this story *was* an inspiring factor in the writing of S2, and the nod to Pterry happened to work really well with the plot (seems a bit more likely). Either way, the parallel is there and giving me all of the warm fuzzies <3

There's an idea in Discworld, forming a significant part of the moral backbone of the series, that's very succinctly summed up by Granny Weatherwax in Carpe Jugulum: "[S]in [...] is when you treat people like things. Including yourself." This is absolutely at the core of what's wrong with Heaven and Hell and God and Satan in Good Omens; the leadership and culture of both organisations/cults treat everyone -- angels, demons and humans alike -- as disposable things to be used and toyed with and discarded or destroyed if they start having the temerity to be imperfect or form opinions or thoughts of their own.

There're two characters in Discworld who parallel Aziraphale surprisingly strongly: Magrat Garlick (of the Lancre witches) and Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. -*Magrat is viewed as a bit of a soft, soppy 'wet hen' by the other witches, but she is still a witch, with all that that implies. She also has at least one scene in every book in which she appears where she does something extremely badass and witchy; for example, turning an ancient wooden door back into a tree, or (very pertinently to GO) delivering a literally iron-clad punch to the face of a villain who's mentally torturing her with her own insecurities. Likewise, Aziraphale seems to mostly be viewed as a bit dull and wimpy by the other angels we see (though Magrat still has the genuine respect of her witchy peers) but he is still an angel -- a Principality -- with all the powers, steadfast guardianship and bloody-minded stubbornness of that rank. The Metatrash might not be vulnerable to iron in the same way as Discworld elves, but you can bet that his attempt to break Aziraphale and bring him into line is going to backfire just as spectacularly! *For the parallel between Aziraphale and Captain (well, Corporal, at this point in the Discworld timeline) Carrot, the novel I have in mind is Men At Arms. At one point, Vimes is being held at crossbow-point by a villain, and has a bout of internal monologuing about how, if someone has you at their mercy, you'd better hope they're evil, because that way they'll take time to gloat and mock you so you'll have an opportunity to think of a way out; a good man will kill you with barely a word. Carrot does exactly that at the climax of the plot, putting his sword through the villain and the stone pillar behind said villain without saying a thing. Now, Aziraphale might not quite have Carrot's 'incorruptible pure pureness' tendencies, but he is -- for all his flaws -- a good person. If he knows that something needs to be done to prevent an evil outcome, he will DO it without hesitation. He knows how to use a sword, too, and if That Frickin' Elevator Smile Of Tranquil Fury is any indication, the Metatrash is in far deeper doodoo than he realises! Related to the above, The Smile also reminds me of the old adage, "beware the fury of a patient man." (Well, man-shaped being in this case...) Very appropriate for our careful, thoughtful angel -- it would not surprise me (much) if Metatron were to depart the plot of S3 with a flaming sword pinning him to one of Heaven's columns (probably won't happen, but I can dream, eh?)

Hope you enjoyed reading all that :D

#good omens #good omens meta #discworld #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #granny weatherwax #magrat garlick #captain carrot #carrot ironfoundersson #terry pratchett #sir terry pratchett #pterry #gnu terry pratchett

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adriwatchestoku · 5 months ago

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Gavv ep 3

Kamen Rider buddy is here! Say hi to Kamen Rider buddy.

Shouma just taking being called a monster and not bothering to say otherwise is so heartbreaking

As is him deciding to leave Sachika because he's a "monster"

okay the gothic lolita twins are neat

"are snacks really that important to him" it's shouma

SHOUMA BE CAREFUL. FOOD DOESN'T TASTE BETTER IF IT'S BEEN ON THE GROUND!

OH FUCK

OH SHIT

BE OKAY MY CHILD. PLEASE BE OKAY

ah he's starving. get child food. he makes little minions if you get him snacks

I can't wait for Sachika to show back up. She's in the opening sequence. I know she's coming back

it's great having an unknown factor to your gender and being bisexual because I can say I'm gay for Glotta and it's just as true as me saying I'm gay for Date Akira from OOO.

I mean I know his mom taught him how to use chopsticks but still. it's so funny to put Shouma next to Ankh.

I know Shouma and Ankh probably will never meet (even beyond the Heisei/Reiwa divide because fuck that movie) but they also shouldn't if they could

I want seaweed bento…

Oh god this is going to make me as hungry as Kabuto does

Shouma makes all the humans around him want to take care of him. Baby

baby that can lift more than ten men can at once

welp seeing that woman ain't good

I'm loving social media having such a presence in Gavv. And it's being written by someone who actually knows how to use it, instead of this weird "kids these days" writing

okay and I'm loving that hanto is like "hey look a kamen rider" and doesn't really know which one is which. going off just what he knows!

oh that's a good question. What will you do when you find the granute?

Ah.

Welp. Sorry, Shouma, your good nature and naive need to help is being taken advantage of.

Well done. Get out of there

Hi Sachika!!!

Hanto has hired her three times already? Damn

"I want to repay the guy who kept me off the streets" ah. Yeah.

This is a rough lesson for Shouma to learn.

I'm loving these little guys so much. When they're obviously just a prop they're so adorable

oh now that's brilliant, to use fake money like that.

Oh that's how the little guys are made! We've just seen them wiggle away before.

Hi new little dude, please keep Shouma safe

These little dudes are so cute.

the shredded clothing when the granute transformed… it's the little touches

it's so fascinating hearing hanto's thought process because he has so little to work with but he's trying so hard

yeah the guy they have for main riders in Reiwa is a lot more acrobatic than Takaiwa generally was. It's nifty to see the differences in suit actors like this

I wonder if any of the motw will take Shouma up on the "stop eating dark confections" thing. I'd like that.

um. who are you. Hanto and Shouma were having a moment. Go away

i don't like the immediate "i must study you"

what's so important about the red gavv? is it something only shouma has?

alright, well. That's another episode down.

#kamen rider gavv #episode recap

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kabutoden · 5 months ago

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rigel's punk card art series! hes a gulper eel :) more info under cut

Rigel is crazy into the band MISFITSH, along with it’s lead singer Minatao Oshoko. Minatao is a female oarfish who plays guitar and writes MISFITSH’s songs. Rigel and Ankh are from different parts of the deepsea, but they met in Dawning Bay and started dating. Rigel initially had a hard time fitting in, as many people were scared of his face. However, punks and goths weren’t even daunted by his appearance! He loves how the community accepts him and how looking scary can be something to take pride in, so he dresses punk to fit in! His favorite MISFITSH lyrics is: can’t you see/the shark that lives inside of me/thrashing wildly just to get free/LET ME SWIM FREE!!

Rigel’s personal art is about how much he loves his girlfriend(the anglerfish Hex), self-acceptance and self-expression, community and kindness. He works evenings at his parents low-vision daycare.

collage by me!

#so many free images here. LMAO #you dont need to know anything idk #card game #tideturf

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the-otherwise-occupied · 3 months ago

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Cud

And so it was that Harry Potter, Nobby Nobbs, and Legolas found themselves in the Cantina.

(Yes, really. And if you think that was painful to read, imagine what it was like to write.)

Harry was a bit apprehensive.

Give him a muggle pub any day. Drunken Muggles had the capacity to become fantastically dangerous when they set their minds to it, but at least it was a straightforward kind of dangerous. Drunken wizards, on the other hand, tended to get a bit more... complicated. Not that Harry couldn't deal with complicated – god knows he'd seen his fair share of complicated – but he was not an idiot. This was someone else's complicated, and he didn't know the rules.

Or the other players, for that matter, Harry thought. He was sitting at a table with someone who claimed to be an elf, and something that claimed to be a human, and he didn't really believe either of them. Harry privately suspected that the former was part veela. The latter, he hypothesized, might be part tomato-lentil soup.

Legolas reclined lazily on his chair. He, unlike Harry, was completely at ease. He was, in fact, that special kind of at ease that can only be achieved by trained monks, and people who have been to several plains of existence and had proven to be very nearly the most deadly thing in all of them. There was plenty to be wary of in this tavern, he was sure, but he doubted that there was anything he couldn't contend with.

The bespectacled boy to his left, he thought with an amused smile, embodied a possible exception. He'd proven, rather surprisingly, to be quite capable when pressed. Legolas was fairly confident that this would not be an issue, however. The boy seemed genuinely amiable, even protective. A bit tense, perhaps, but that was not only understandable but wise. It was refreshing to see a genuinely competent human who wasn't secreting overconfidence from every pore.

Legolas looked over at the third member of their party. He was one of those rare creatures whose very existence raised the deepest of philosophical questions, but the elf had decided to forgo grilling him. He just seemed so helpless. Legolas was truly bewildered as to how an individual with such an obvious absence of survival skills and apparent lack of natural defenses and could have possibly stayed alive for as long as this one had.

The man in question, in sharp contrast to the elf, had started his day in a quiet state of abject terror.

Nobby Nobbs was a two-time winner of the popular 'So You Think You Can Ugly?' and had been ranked in the top ten of the city-wide 'Ankh-Morpork's Ugliest People' catalogue for eight years running now. And as Nobby always proudly pointed out, that had become quite an achievement since the goblins moved in.

Most people don't think of being ugly as a positive thing, but it had certain advantages. People were less likely to grab you when they weren't sure of what exactly it was that they were grabbing, anatomically speaking. Nobby was well aware of how many times his life had been spared simply by virtue of the fact that he was Nobby.

In this city, though, Nobby was pretty certain that he didn't qualify as Top Ten material. He wasn't even sure he was top ten in this section of the bar. He felt insecure and unprotected. He felt lost and threatened. He also felt a primal, desperate desire to not mention that he was a copper in this really quite lovely establishment, sir.

There'd already been a few close calls. Just a few moments before a couple of, er, people, probably, had invited him to their game of Pin the Knife on the Nobby. Nobby had graciously declined, but they had insisted. Ultimately his two companions declined for him – rather spectacularly – and his day had been improving dramatically ever since.

Nobby's friends were, to be honest, several classes above him, but that was exactly the kind of companionship that he was used to. The first one was clearly an elf, which was Bad, and this elf was currently lounging on an iron chair and showing every sign of comfort, which was Very Bad. It did seem that this elf liked Nobby, though, so that was alright for now.

His other companion was probably the wizard who won the contest for World's Tiniest Staff. Even before Nobby had witnessed his abilities in action he'd decided that this was clearly a man who felt no need to overcompensate. Like, at all.

"Did you see those guys??" asked Nobby disbelievingly. "Did you see 'em??"

"Briefly," Harry smirked.

"That one bloke was all covered in fur!" he gushed. "'Cept for his bum! An' you could see his bum onna count of him wearin' it on his face!"

Harry snorted; Legolas chuckled. The elf said, "We saw them, Nobby. Though to be honest I was less interested in his facial features than I was his arm," he said with a significant look at Harry.

"I'll say! Nobby agreed enthusiastically. It was made of metal!"

"Yes," Legolas agreed, not taking his eyes off Harry. "Emphasis on 'was.'"

Harry looked embarrassed. "It was just a disarming spell," he explained. "I use it all the time. I've never seen it behave quite so… literally before. There must have been some kind of weapon built in to it."

The elf nodded. That, at least, made sense. The sheer quantity of weaponry that had sprung forth, tearing free from beneath the creature’s clothing had been quite impressive. The poor thing had been left very nearly naked. The incident with the arm was unfortunate, perhaps, but he almost certainly deserved it. And anyways, it wasn't every day that you got to see someone flatulate the words 'not again'.

"D'you know what I was thinkin' when I first saw 'im? D'you know what I was thinkin'? I looked right at 'im an' thought: Imma call him Bumface," Nobby proclaimed proudly.

Legolas winced. Harry dropped his head to his hands and said, "We know, Nobby. You were thinking out loud."

"That's what got you in trouble in the first place," Legolas explained, yet again in awe that Nobby had apparently lived to see puberty.

"Was I?" asked Nobby, undaunted. "Didn't notice. Now the other guy, I'll call him... I'll call him…"

"Nearly Noseless Nick," asserted Harry automatically.

Nobby laughed maniacally. "Yeah! Even more so now that 'e's had a go at it!" he said, nudging the elf with his elbow.

"I think I need a drink," said Legolas.

Nobby, after some spirited yelling and arm waving, eventually procured what transpired to be a remarkably uninformative menu. They ordered drinks at random.

"Hey Legolas," said Harry with a sidelong glance. "Aren't you a little tall for an elf?"

Legolas sighed. The elf wasn't sure exactly who or what his friends were, but he wasn't particularly worried about it. The same could not be said, apparently, for the boy. This was not the first question of its kind, and the novelty of it was wearing off.

"No, Harry," replied Legolas tiredly, "though you're above average for a hobbit."

"A what?"

"Never mind."

Their drinks arrived. Legolas's was green, and tasted salty and alcoholic. Harry's was hot, syrupy, and translucent. Nobby's was red and purple, and went untouched due to the thing floating in it. A quick word with the waiter had confirmed that it was indeed, supposed to be there. A quick word with the waiter had confirmed not confirmed whether or not it was alive. Nobby ordered something else.

"It isn't right," he muttered. "Nothin' should have both tentacles and fur. It's unnatural." The others were not inclined to disagree.

Nobby's second drink came, and turned out to be filtered water. He decided that it was fine, if a little exotic for his taste.

They'd been sipping their drinks in silence for a while when Harry noticed Legolas staring intently at a section of the wall. He leaned in to the table, trying to catch the elf's eye. Failing, he spoke up.

"Uh, Legolas?" Harry asked, after a moment. "What are you staring at?"

When the elf replied a moment later he did so without breaking his gaze. "Nothing at all. Tell me, Harry, do you know where we are?"

"I thought you knew," he said casually. "I'd been meaning to ask you, actually."

"I see. And how did you arrive?"

"Oh, well I…" Harry stopped and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, I'm not sure, now that you mention it," he said, suddenly feeling slightly stupid and very disturbed.

"I assumed so. And you, Nobby?"

"Oh, I woke up under that table."

The other two stared at him.

"And you did not find this odd?" asked Legolas carefully.

He stared at them blankly.

"Does that happen to you a lot?" asked Harry slowly.

"What, me wakin' up on the floor? Twice a week. Igor says it's good for your back."

They kept staring.

Sensing this wasn't enough, he added, "Wakin' up under the table was weird, I guess… Igor says that's bad for my head, unless I wear my helmet…"

The elf's expression changed from one of concern to one of fascination. "I think Harry's question was referring to our location, geographically," he said carefully.

"Oh! Well why didn't you say so. I'd've told you from the start that I dunno nuffin 'bout jeogriffy," said Nobby dismissively.

More staring.

"I'm no good at maffs," he added.

"…Right," said Harry impatiently." Let's try this again. How exactly did you get here?"

Nobby looked at him oddly*. "Well I don't know, obviously. What'd be the point in wakin' up in a pub you 'aven't been to afore if you remembered how you got there? That'd make no sense at all, would it."

(*Though it should be said that this was pretty much the only way that Nobby could look at anything.)

Harry opened his mouth to reply, and closed it when he realized that he had nothing to say. The elf shook his head. Sometimes when Nobby's words filtered into your brain it felt like a square peg trying to insert itself into, well, your brain.

The elf gathered his thoughts and turned to his companions. "So how did you know that we were together, the three of us? Why did you trust me? Because you did, didn't you. Right from the start. Do you know me any better than you know anyone else in this strange place? I, for one, certainly haven't met either of you before this day."

The other two remained silent.

"Well, I don't know either," said the elf. "And," he added, turning back to the wall, "I'm staring at nothing. Nothing at all."

Harry followed his gaze and saw it.

Nobby however, had stopped listening. "Hey!" he shouted, "Where's my drink gone? Someone nicked my drink!"

"Your water is in your hand, Nobby," said Harry without taking his eyes off the wall.

"No, the other one! The one wot looked like noodles with a wig on!"

Harry looked at the table where the questionable beverage had once been. There was nothing there. About a cup's worth of it.

"I… don't think anyone nicked it," said Harry, nudging Legolas under the table.

Legolas moved his gaze from the wall to the table and stared at it for a long moment. He was sensing… something.

Finally he looked directly at Harry and said, "I agree with Harry. The waiter must have taken it when you expressed your disgust."

"I don't remember hi-"

"You're probably just remembering wrong," Harry said firmly.

Nobby grumbled something under his breath something about waiters stealing drinks. Then more audibly he said, "Well at least the bloody music's stopped." And indeed it had.

Legolas and Harry scanned their surroundings. There were considerably less of them than there had been twenty minutes ago.

The elf was troubled. What he sensed from the nothingness was much more earthy than he would have expected. There were overtones of magic, to be sure, but it was predominantly physical or emotional, and almost completely mundane. Like a weight in his stomach, but not. It was frustrating. He could feel the shape of it, but it was just out of reach.

"Hey Legolas," said Nobby.

The elf ignored him and concentrated. He clenched his teeth. He almost had it.

"Hey Legolas," Nobby repeated. "Where's Harry gotten to?"

He looked at Harry's place at the table. It wasn't there.

The elf closed his eyes.

"I think he's gone," the elf replied quietly.

"Gone?" Nobby asked. "Like, to the toilets?"

The elf looked at him intently for a moment.

"…Yes," he replied eventually.

Nobby looked at the elf strangely*. Something in the way the elf had said the word 'gone' scared him a little.

(*He could do that, too.)

Legolas gritted his teeth. It was on the tip of his tongue.

"Did he say how long he'll be? D'you think he'd mind if I finished his drink?" Nobby asked hopefully.

Legolas unclenched his teeth. "Definitely not," the elf said with absolute certainty. He clenched them again. So close now.

"It's just that his drink might get cold, I wouldn't want him to have to drink a cold... whatever this is," he said, drink already in hand, "Practic'lly doin' him a favor!"

Legolas disregarded him. He clenched and unclenched his teeth. Clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched…

And then he understood. It really had been on the tip of his tongue.

It was a taste.

The elf slowly leaned back into his chair, suddenly feeling very heavy.

And then the Harry's drink was on the table, right where he had left it, almost as if Nobby hadn't touched it at all. Nobby, who was, in fact, gone.

Legolas bowed his head sadly.

He'd been alive for thousands of years, and encountered magics of countless types and kinds. This one wasn't evil, he knew, just a little unfortunate at times. And anyways, there was nothing he nor his friends could have done. It was over long before they had met.

The elf sat in silence for a time. You cannot delay the inevitable, but there was no reason to rush to it. He savored his salted drink for a a few more moments.

Finally, with a sigh, Legolas raised his glass to the empty bar, and held it up for a slow heartbeat.

"To friends, ever fleeting; to stories, ever told; and to you, my Baku beast-friend, and your belly."

He drained his cup. Then, somberly, he stood and walked to the door.

He took a breath and left the cantina.

And then he was gone.

---

The Baku rolled over, belched, and chewed contentedly. Nightmares were the stuff of dreams, he always said, but one does get tired of all the chaos. Stories were a nice change every once in a while.

#Fanfic #harry potter #lotr #terry pratchett #discworld #short story

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raayllum · 1 year ago

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Key to His Heart Theory: Shot Through the Heart, and You're (S5) to Blame

Intro

So a little over a year ago (since usually I think about things meta wise for at least a good month before writing them down), I wrote a meta about why I thought the Key of Aaravos might hold a quasar diamond, specifically Aaravos' missing chest piece. His heart, if you will.

At the time, I thought it was a very strong contender for what the cube might be, even if it didn't necessarily give us a clear depiction on what it might be used for, and was again operating under the assumption the cube itself is something Aaravos even wants back or needs (which is assumption still, at this point).

It made sense loosely with some of the new information we'd gleaned about the cube from S4 (mostly the Callum pawn intro with its bright flashing light, the emphasis on hearts in the narrative with Ezran's speech, the 4x04 flashbacks) and was likewise built upon a previous meta regarding the series' use of Egyptian mythology (Thoth and Ibis being present somewhat in Callum's arc, the main trio's parallels to another Egyptian myth trio, Aaravos' mirror and mirrors as objects of divination, and potential matching symbolism with the ankh).

The Key to His Heart theory was also built on previous seasons — largely the Magma Titan plot line, and Avizandum being stabbed in the heart — in addition to Aaravos' chest piece, seemingly, being notably absent, which seemed indicative of certain lines from the short stories, particularly Rayla (S4's Dear Callum), but we'll talk more about these later:

Please don’t let this hurt too much. But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me! Always.

If you're interested in this theory and want to know about it, I recommend reading the two metas I've linked above, as the rest of this won't really be delving too much into what I've already written about, and talking about how season five has given more potential evidence.

With that out of the way, let's get into it in rough order of "most to least" likely:

Season Five

TDP Reflections

Whereas hearts weren't mentioned too much in the short stories leading up to S4, they became a reoccurring motif every TDP reflection story going into S5.

Fools. They might as well have held their own hearts, beating and bloody, in the palms of their hands. Kim’dael knew that if she showed them her heart—or something convincingly like it—the Sunfire elves would do exactly what she wanted them to do.

“Rayla,” she said, meeting Redfeather’s gaze. “My name is Rayla. And I’m going home.” Redfeather sighed. “Oh, you bleeding heart.”

“They balk at shadows, then.” Aditi pulled a slip of white-hot metal from the forge and turned to place it upon a gilded anvil. “I see your heart—and I am not afraid.”

It stared up at him. Ezran felt a coldness twist its way around his heart. It took his lungs, too, and for a long moment he could not breathe, could not feel anything but an unfamiliar anger so potent it seized the whole of him, inside and out.

Viren staggers backwards, his last breath shuddering through the blade. His white robes turn red at his heart. Something in Soren’s own chest shatters along old cracks, but he cannot look away.

“You are stronger than this. All storms end!” Rex rumbled a snort through flared nostrils. “What lies at its heart?”

He wept for his city, his people, and the darkness struck deep into their hearts.

While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall. Yet at the heart of the story is a single, simple truth…A star fell from the sky.

From where Kim’dael stood, she could only see the brilliant aura of its magic. For a moment, it was as though the queen’s heart overflowed with light.

Now, some of this is undeniably because a heart is a short hand for emotion and one of our most useful metaphors for communicating a variety of emotion. However, I did think it was particularly interesting / eye catching that these lines tended to overlap with the series' growing light and darkness motif and emphasis on wounds/scars (to the point we have a 5x02 episode titled "Old Wounds" that refers to both Viren's past and Callum and Rayla's healing relationship).

But by far the one that struck me the most, and seemed the most reminiscent of how Aaravos's (literal?) wound manifests is this paragraph from Claudia's short story:

Lissa had left her years ago, but the space she had owned in Claudia’s heart remained. It was a dark place now, hard and hateful, its edges raw as a wound that had forgotten to heal.

Mountains had crumbled and left in their wake a vast new sea. It was as though the land had been dealt a great wound and bled a hundred years. Terror washed across the remnants of humanity like a wave: What power could fell mountains? Turn all the world dark, and bleed a sea from stones?

—Ripples (pre-S5)

As well as Aaravos' clear desire to have revenge over the Startouch elves for something that seems to go beyond the resentment over just being banished:

I have not seen the stars in centuries. But when I see them again—when the stars are forced to look upon me, their dark brother—they will know how I have waited. And when everything they have built lies shattered, I will savor their fall from the sky. For I have been patient.

—Patience (pre-S4)

We don't know yet if we are going to get more TDP reflections going into S6 or S7, but given the way the previous stories emphasize the heart as both a symbolic idea (a darkened, hollowed out heart) and a literal entity you can hold in your hands... It's clear there's something going on symbolism else, otherwise why be so consistent? But enough of the reflections, for now.

Time to talk about S5 itself.

Laurelion

Previously, I thought the cube in the intro (a literal glow toy, as Rayla identified back in 1x05) already had similar properties to the star-glow effect in the title intro back at S4.

At the time, this was more of a guess. Most of the Star magic we'd seen at that point we weren't able to fully identify as such, it seemed a bit more magenta in colour, and while there was a parallel in the bright flash of light upon releasing Sir Sparklepuff, there's also a bright flash when the prison is actually made. It's just a good short hand for a crescendo of magical power, you know? We didn't know if quasar diamonds were even going to be white, besides the one presumably in Aaravos' chest concept art wise.

And yet — it still felt like something to me. Then S5 with Laurelion came along.

The Death of the Immortal

K: "And though undying, took last breath, immortal Laurelion was no more." C: That's good, right? I mean when someone "was no more," that's — that's dead, yeah? K: It's a bit confusing, but that is the clearest implication. Though it is somewhat odd they call them undying and immortal. C: Well, that doesn't sound so immortal? Laurelion "was no more". K: Right. C: But how? How did they...? K: Right here. "White as the star's heart it pierced, ivory draconic brought death's bite known ever forth as Novablade." C: It's a sword.

There's a few noteworthy things about this whole exchange:

The poem has to be relevant eventually, otherwise why include it at all when you easily could've just had Kazi and Callum stumble across the sword period?

It confirms that the heart of a star is something that can be pierced, presumably removed, and white, which I think is the biggest "hell yeah" to the 4x04 intro

There is no reason to point out the contradictions in the poem itself unless A) the sword doesn't work the way we think it does and/or B) we are going to find out why the "undying and immortal" thing matters — and they make sure to emphasize the contradictions quite a bit as well, so they definitely want us to notice

If Laurelion died, and Aaravos took his place, that would explain how Laurelion — identity wise — could die while the same person under a new name could also remain alive / immortal

We learn in Rayla's pre-S5 short story that Ghosts don't often keep their real names, and take a new one as the final severance of their bond with their old community. For all extents and purposes, Aaravos was Ghosted (banished) from his community as well. Taking a new name would make sense

"That must've been when [Harrow] fell." "Fell? Fell! He didn't fall, Rayla, he didn't trip and fall on the ground — he got killed!" (2x08)

There's more speculation here regarding the actual sword and draconic ivory, but that is another post for another day that other smart people have made if you are interested. For now let's just focus on the heart.

We know Laurelion had a heart; we know it got stabbed with the Novablade, leaving Laurelion both no more (i.e. dead) and yet immortal / undying. We know that Arc 2 in particular has had an emphasis on losing your sense of self and identity ("I was his puppet" / "We can't save everyone, Soren" / "But I'm not evil. It's me" / all of Viren's dream visions). We know that a Star's heart is white. We know that Aaravos seemingly used to have one, and now it's either missing or impermanent, only visible sometimes.

(Putting a pin in the second image cause we'll roll back around to it in the counter evidence section.)

We know his chest centrepiece glowed when he was imprisoned, and we know it was seemingly gone when he got banished. We know something about the Key of Aaravos was able to reveal his treachery.

I'm not saying any of this is for sure connected, but it does make you think, at least a little?

That, and it'd play into another bit of potential interesting foreshadowing / symbolism we got in s5 with

Viren Heart Theory

This is another theory I've discussed in more detail elsewhere, so I'm going to link to it here, but it wouldn't feel right to not talk about it at least a little here. Basically the theory is that Viren used his own blood / a piece of his heart, or possibly the whole thing, and the relic staff in order to save Soren when he was a young child.

This is largely due to Viren's spotlight turning red after he begs to be able to save Soren, and cinched by Kpp'Ar pointing specifically at Viren's heart only for Viren to deflect and start talking about Soren's case specifically. Whatever he did seemed to make him more 'powerful,' but at a great personal cost ("In the name of love you may perform acts that are so unforgivable, you will never forgive yourself") and something he finds the need to justify ("I had to do something! I had to save him! I had no choice!").

If Viren did this, it also adds another layer to Viren's sentiment of "Harrow's death breaks my heart" being well, half-hearted, in addition to Soren literally stabbing illusion Viren in the heart in 3x09. Viren mutilated his heart for his son's life, stopped being able to properly express love to said son, and then Soren stabbed his father right in the place that presumably saved him as a child. Ouch.

It seems likely that one of the reasons Aaravos was able to prey so aptly on Viren's desire for importance and attention — to Matter — was because Aaravos might've tried and failed earlier on to get the Startouch elves to listen to him pre-banishment. Being ignored, exiled, and disempowered is something he can relate to, and something he doesn't mind taking advantage of when it suits him.

However, if this combination could save someone Viren loved, it makes me wonder if Aaravos did something similar to likewise try (and fail?) to save someone he loved, too. It's either that or the Startouch elves just completely ripped it out, so... I guess we'll have to see?

But yeah — if Viren did it, then I'm expecting it's more likely that Aaravos did it, too. That is all.

The Pawn Intros

But Dragons, you say, didn't we already talk about the Callum pawn intro?

And to that I say yes, but — thanks to a promo S6 picture of Aaravos crying, we know something else very important about said intros that we didn't know before: they take place at the Sea of the Cast Out.

The sky, the mountains... the fact we know, thanks to the statues in 5x09, that this is likely where Aaravos' grief — his wound, if you will — began to bleed and take root, leading to his thousands of years of seeking vengeance and using just about anything or anyone he could. This is, presumably, where his chess game started... and where it is, symbolically at least, going to end.

Okay, so it's the Sea of the Cast Out — why does that matter?

Well, we know the Sea of the Cast Out is a site of literal trauma for Aaravos. We know, thanks to the statues of Aaravos and the Merciful One, that it plays into the same reaching motif we see Viren participate in quite a few times, both in his intro and in other places/relationships (most notably Sarai, Harrow, and Terry).

The Sea of the Cast Out is also, perhaps more importantly for this theory's purposes, near Elarion. What little we do know about the city beyond it being an important place for humans and dark magic ties it repeatedly to nature through The Midnight Star poem:

Elarion, trembling seed, lay down to earth in icy night, and in the cold her roots took hold defying winter’s deathly bite. Elarion, fading bloom, afraid to wilt and dim and die, [...] Elarion, dying husk, did wilt and whimper in the dark [...] Elarion, black-eyed child, her twisted roots spread deep and far,

as well as a tale about the Flowers of Elarion, precious blooms that could soothe the senses and turned to dust come morning—flowers that were left as "a fair exchange of beloved for beloved" (Tales of Xadia). Put a pin that Exchange idea because I swear we're gonna come back to it but not in the usual way you might be expecting, or at least not entirely.

And we have good reason to believe this nature motif is tied to Aaravos' current imprisonment as well, given how present flower imagery is for his mirror.

So the Sea of the Cast Out and Elarion seem to be the two places we know of thus far that are not only the most important to Aaravos, but the most instrumental to his banishment. It would not surprise me if either Aaravos got involved in what would become Elarion either because he was banished, or it was what he was banished over, or if discovering the truth of what happened there is likewise why the Archdragons were partially like "Yeah, we gotta lock this guy up" (now that they knew he posed a serious threat). The fact that Elarion is referred to as a child (everything with "blood of a child,"), black-eyed (which denotes dark magic), and winter's "deathly bite" ("White as the star's heart it pierced, / ivory draconic brought death's bite") just all ties together nicely in being related even if we're not totally sure how.

But Aaravos having his chest piece removed by force / as punishment in addition to being cast out by the Startouch elves, or him taking it out himself and giving it to someone who was lost... There's a lot of roads to get here as to why this stuff all seems connected if the Key is indeed his chest piece, which offers up both a power up, a sad tragic backstory, some baller symbolism, and some nice double meanings as to what it is key wise.

As the Key works in the moment, it doesn't seem like it's something that would be very useful to a primal mage, as other than pretty easily identifiable gemstones they wouldn't be using much the key identifies. However, the function of the Key being able to categorize and sort magical creatures and plants from each other is something that is very useful if you're a dark mage and need to shore up your ingredients list.

If the Key has Aaravos' chest piece in it, there are two main prongs this offers:

It may have been instrumental in helping humans discover dark magic, hence the "Elarion, searing white" and could also be the Gift the poem speaks of. Aaravos removed it himself (love makes you weak?), gave it to his chosen human, chosen human died, and he was locked out of Startouch realm as a combined result. This offers the clearest connection between why Aaravos' mirror has the nature motif and why Aaravos is crying in the beginning of 6x01.

It was removed by the Startouch elves and lost/hidden, forcing Aaravos to be away from his old home until he could find it again. This is the clearest explanation as to why the Key might be relevant on a plot level. It could give him the power up he needs to get out of his prison and barring that, it's what he needs to wreck havoc and gain access to the Startouch elves to get revenge on them

It also allows what we learn of the cube in 2x06 to have multiple meanings:

The Key is revealed in an episode called The Heart of a Titan. We're led to assume that this is just the Magma Titan, and you could perhaps make an argument the dual meaning (just like how Breaking the Seal refers to the letter and the titan's chest) refers to Harrow or Callum's capacity to love. But, given that one of Aaravos' most prominent mythic comparisons is to Prometheus, a literal Titan, well...

"It unlocks something of great power in Xadia" would work equally well if it's a Key literally made from Aaravos, not just to Aaravos. And the past 2 seasons in particular have emphasized over and over again just how powerful and dangerous he is

The salvation and destruction motif that is inherent in the key, ("I just have a feeling this key thing can help me" / "It's the key of Aaravos, no good will come of it") as keys are linked to chains and freedom with the ability to lock and unlock, is rampant in 2x06, as Viren states that Xadia and the Magma Titan "held both the promise of our salvation and threat of our destruction." This goes double for Sarai sacrificing her life to save Viren

And to round back to Viren and his intro, I don't think it's a coincidence that

is one of the first things Aaravos ever says to Viren, particularly when trying to earn Viren's trust. (Nor that Aaravos considers that Zubeia and co. "betrayed" him when "he would lower his guard," just before the imprisonment.) And while Aaravos gains Viren's trust as a political ally here first, it's also clear that he's actually primarily preying upon Viren's deepest emotional desires here as well: to be listened to. To matter.

Viren wasn't listened to by the monarchs around him (Harrow). He wanted to be important (to them). He wanted to matter.

"It is everything to me, to know that I matter. It's all I ever wanted."

Aaravos: Search your heart. There is something you want very badly. (2x09) Zubeia: He was able to give them something they wanted very badly. (4x04)

And that's what Aaravos offered him, with power and knowledge just being the bait. (If you're interested in more detailed thoughts on this aspect of Viren / their dynamic, check out this meta here.)

More to the point, I do lean towards the Key's plot purposes being 1) a power-up that may be needed for him to get out of his mirror and 2) something that likewise allows him to see the other Startouch elves again. After all, the Silvergrove gave each elf a similar kind of key:

But y'know what, let's talk about Rayla now, because

The Missing Piece of Your Heart

As stated earlier, Rayla's letter has a consistent metaphor when it comes to family and loss:

I remember how I felt when my parents left me to join the Dragonguard, like PART OF MY HEART WAS MISSING and I would never feel right again. I thought I hated them when they did that to me. In the beginning, it felt so big and terrible—like raging despair—but, overtime, it became a soft, sweet ache—a reminder of that missing part of my heart. [...] Please don’t let this hurt too much. But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me! Always.

This struck me as interesting when the letter first came out, as it was a departure from most of Rayla's previous heart motif ("My heart for Xadia") and even the one attributed to her one half of her parents ("My heart goes out with this one"). Why have the motif suddenly switch up when it would've worked just as well, or been doubly romantic + a Ruthari parallel, to just have it be the whole heart?

Then season four came out, and I understood, because, well...

Upon her return, Rayla brings back that "missing piece" of "Callum's heart". It's a painful restoration and doesn't run entirely smooth, but in season five in particular we see him be much more like his older, happier self once he's let himself love her again, and how steadfast he is in said love ("To love is simply know this...").

But, in a moment that could've been exclusively about Rayla, nor did it need for Stella's connection to the Star arcanum to be this prominent in the same moment, they choose to likewise highlight Rayla 'bringing home' the missing piece of Aaravos' heart, too.

This symbolism is also consistent with how the key is introduced in the first place, i.e. first thought of because Rayla's drawing in Callum's sketchbook (another gift from Harrow) reminds Callum of it, and her ultimately being the one to retrieve it even once things at the Banther Lodge take a turn towards the south.

Furthermore, we do have reason to believe that Rayla is indeed the 'Key to Callum' in a sense, particularly after 5x08. Just like how a key can both lock and unlock — give freedom or entrapment — Rayla symbolizes a great deal of duality in Callum's life, including but not limited to:

Leading him to primal magic (1x03, 5x08) and dark magic (2x07, 5x08)

Light ("No one can control you or make your choices for you" / Ray of light) and dark ("But the second you see that elf girl in pain, you completely lost yourself" / "Stay safe, and stay in the light. Don't look for me")

Being routinely emphasized in Callum's arc with Aaravos, especially in S4

"Now you're back. That's kind of good, and it's kind of bad" / "You have to hold pain and love in your heart at the same time" / "And when she came back, I was so happy, and so mad at the same time"

Salvation ("Rayla saves people [...] that's what makes her a hero") and destruction (being willing to die / do dark magic for her)

The Ocean arcanum realization being both positive and negative, just as the poem itself takes on a different shape across the season in regards to how Callum views her and how he views himself while being motivated by his love for her / Ezran

“Wow. So [the berries] look identical, but they might kill you or they might save you,” Callum said. “Exactly. Just like me…” Rayla smiled.

—Book One: Sky novelization

If you're interested in a more specific meta on this dichotomy, I recommend this meta written pre-s4 and this more recent one about 5x08 specifically.

I've written before about Rayla have a weird consistency with the cube as well, particularly in her being the primary carrier of its foreshadowing for most of arc 1, with Callum only really doing so in 1x04 and having Rayla pick up the slack the rest of the time:

"It's a toy, a piece from a children's game" (1x04) as well as "It's a glow toy" (1x05) are now literally true as the cube is 1) involved in Aaravos' game and 2) literally glows a bright flashing light circa the 4x04 intro.

"Are you practicing magic or are you losing to Bait at a game of rolly-cubes?" (2x07 right after Callum calls it a key) came to pass, somewhat if not outright, it seems, in 5x08. Callum practices two different magics, Rayla is literal bait in exchange for the glow-toad, and the episode ends with Callum being worried he's potentially losing Aaravos' 'game' so to speak — that he's made himself more vulnerable to the Startouch elf's control.

Two lines of hers regarding the cube that have not yet come to pass are "This doesn't end well for you" (1x05) and "I hope it was worth it to you, putting everyone's lives in danger" (1x04) but I expect that we'll get them soon enough.

Rayla's 'tether' to a the cube does, of course, loop back into the Flowers of Elarion tale, in which there was a fair exchange of beloved for beloved. If the Key does indeed hold Aaravos' heart (and that is still a very big If), whether it would include an actual exchange is still debatable, but it seems inevitable that she would at least play a part. (If you're interested in more thoughts on Rayla + the cube, check out this meta pre-s4.)

Where the game motif gets the most interesting, I think, is where it intersects with the idea Aaravos mentions in 2x09 regarding, "Those who fail tests of love are simple animals," and one of the TDP short stories in particular having one very interesting tidbit:

“My behavior is—?” “—unusual,” Corvus repeated, nodding. “Very unusual. Ever since you started challenging me to all these little games.” Soren squirmed. His pauldrons clanked as his shoulders slumped. “They aren’t games. They’re tests. Ugh…I’m really messing this up.”

Since Rayla is going to have her "My heart for Xadia" undeniably tested, it would make sense if Callum and Aaravos' hearts came into play too, don't you think?

Other Misc Symbolism / Oddities

Last but not least, we have our odds and ends that didn't fit in the other sections, but I thought may be worthwhile to mention anyway.

For starters, we have screencaps (most notably in 3x06) where you can see a visible dip in Aaravos' tiddies chest that indicates something was removed, and it's not just an artificial darkness.

We have Aaravos touching a fist to his heart twice before he bows and indicates that Callum is going to "play" into his hands (remember that game motif?).

We have this shot, which is the exact kind of thing that "crew makes sure the Ocean and Moon runes are most prominently on display in Callum's dark magic dreams to foreshadow him doing dark magic in S5 Ocean for his Moonshadow gf 3 seasons later" would absolutely do and think they're So Funny about. "No gem for star magic" except the one you're unknowingly holding in your hand, am I right?

Finally, we have precedent that dark magic can 'darken' your heart both in show when Amaya passes the light trial ("A human that is pure of heart") and in the graphic novels with Claudia ("Your heart is not yet darkened") which allows her to see the map to a unicorn (The Puzzle House).

@self-spaghettification also noted that the bright white flash of the star in the 'o' of Aaravos' name in the Arc 2 intro momentarily looks like and makes the shape of the Nova Blade, which is also very cool.

Honourable mention to Rayla going "it's a piece from a children's game" and Ezran going "you said each of the archdragons had a piece of the puzzle" and the Orphan Queen and Jailer presumably working together to trap Aaravos. I think about that shit every day.

Evidence to the Contrary / Alternatives

But like I said at the start, there are plenty of alternatives or feasible pitfalls to consider. This theory resides on a few assumptions after all, that may not be true, such as Aaravos not actually needing the key for anything other than as a lure for Callum, it could purely have something to do with the Nova Blade and nothing to do with the prison, or even have something to do with the nature of magic itself, capable of great good as well as great evil.

His chest piece could've always been more immaterial and dark magic has just darkened it rather than it being removed. Aaravos may have stabbed Laurelion in order to use that heart diamond to partially make the Relic Staff he passed onto Ziard, or Aaravos' chest piece could be in the staff itself, and the cube is something else entirely.

Conclusion

In the end, as we go forward into S6 all the above is more less my personal bet as to where I think we really could go in terms of answering a lot of these questions we've had for a few seasons now. I hope you enjoyed reading the theory and considering (and possibly subscribing to) it, as well as getting your own thoughts stimulated. If any of the above happens I will cry for days and no matter what, I am deeply intrigued to see where S6 takes Aaravos' backstory and, of course, his cube. Luckily:

#tdp #the dragon prince #tdp aaravos #key to his heart theory #tdp meta #analysis series #aaravos

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