#source: Evil Dead Rise

[inkbagel]

I love Lloyd in dragons rising. He’ll just start talking to his two kids like “my mother left me and my dad was an evil overlord I had to kill to save the world. Also all my friends are missing and presumed dead I haven’t been able to sleep in months I’m a conduit for the source dragons whatever that means and I’m constantly having panic attacks but all that’s okay!!!! In fact I’m doing great!!!! How are you two are you comfortable living here?” And then he faints in front of them and they just stare at him like

I also love how he’s not even the main character of this season but still has the most mc energy out of anyone

[shuaflix]

elf in crime

❝ article 5, section 2, clause 27 of the christmas elf guidebook states that elves must kiss underneath the mistletoe. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee chan x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, humor, fantasy, friends (coworkers?) to lovers au

SUMMARY ▸ by some twist of fate, you and chan are partnered to deliver presents on christmas eve. although this sounds like the premise of a nightmare for most of the elves in your department, you're determined to successfully get through the night (with hopefully no hidden feelings rising to the surface).

PLAYLIST ▸ darl+ing (holiday ver.) by seventeen • last kiss by the boyz • sleigh ride by the ronettes

WORD COUNT ▸ 1,234 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hiii jess @the-boy-meets-evil i'm your secret santa! >:) <3 ty @camandemstudios for hosting !! sending love for the holidays and hope this drabble brings you some joy ! also chan in the santa beard was too silly i couldn't resist

A LOST ART IN MODERN HOME DESIGN, YOU REALIZED, WAS THE FIREPLACE. 

As a Delivery Elf of the Present Distribution Task Force, you were assigned to distribute Santa’s Christmas gifts to all of the children in your designated district. This year, however, your department was so understaffed (partially due to the recent elf strikes) that your usual team of five had been cut down to three—and, of course, your other team member was down with a nasty case of Elfluenza, so you were now delivering presents with Lee Chan. 

This posed a threat for two reasons: the first reason being you and the second reason being Lee Chan. 

One could describe your dynamic as destructive, perhaps even catastrophic. It was the reason why Choi Seungcheol, your department head, moved Chan to a different team about four times in the past two years. Miraculously, you ended up being paired with him tonight despite all odds. Lee Seokmin, who was really a Toy Maker but ended up volunteering to keep track of all elves out on deliveries, choked up immediately once he saw you and Chan heading out, but unfortunately the poor guy couldn’t get many words out before Boo Seungkwan started hounding him over not following professional workplace attire (the pointy hat). 

For the most part, the night had gone surprisingly smooth until you got to your very last house. In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up for everything to go well without a hitch. Your partner was Chan, after all. 

The issue at hand was that you were currently on the roof, standing right next to the chimney, and Lee Chan was grumbling as he crawled out from the opening. Apparently, the fireplace was blocked off, so there was no way in through the chimney. Tradition was dead.

With a scowl and a face covered in decade-old soot, Chan complained, “Why have a chimney—why have a fireplace—if you’re not gonna let it serve its intended purpose?” 

You knew that Chan deeply believed the intended purpose of a fireplace was to roast marshmallows, not a source of heat, so you changed the subject. 

“We’ll have to find another way in.” You peered over the edge of the roof. “Window?”

“Breaking and entering is a serious offense, Y/N.”

“We’re elves. You think going through the chimney isn’t a felony?”

Being an elf, you possessed a special magic that allowed you to unlock any door or window (although this was only permitted on Christmas Eve). Doors were tricky, though; the creaking from the worn out hinges was always a risk and most people had cameras or alarms on their front doors. Windows were the safer option if there was no chimney, but you still felt uneasy about that. 

The human house was a battlefield. 

“Article 3, Section 34, Clause 84 of the Christmas Elf Guidebook,” Chan started in a whisper as the two of you crouched beside one of the windows along the side of the house. “In the case of an inaccessible chimney, Delivery Elves are to use Elfpedia on their smart devices to look up the floor plans—”

“Okay, we don’t have time for all that,” you interjected, waving him off with a single hand motion. To be frank, it had been a long night and you were itching to get home and watch a cheesy Hallmark Christmas romcom. After a glimpse through the blinds of the window closest to you, Dumb (you) suggested, “Let’s just go through this one,” and Dumber (Chan) conceded. 

Getting the window open wasn’t difficult aside from the several moments where you two froze after it creaked a little too loudly. Chan gripped your arm, preparing to bolt if someone started coming downstairs, but to your relief, the house stayed quiet. 

“Nice,” you started in a low voice, “now help me get in.”

Chan bent down and cupped his hands to help hoist your foot up. You hauled yourself inside and waited for your partner-in-crime to follow suit. He, on the other hand, struggled to climb through the window as gracefully as you did, which resulted in him losing his balance and falling to the wooden floor. 

You winced as the crash resounded throughout the house. Again, the two of you froze for several long minutes before it felt safe to become animate again.

Although your voice was hardly audible, the way you grabbed Chan’s arm was enough to show that you were pissed. “You almost blew it!” 

But he wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking up at the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the top of the window frame, right where you two entered from. 

“You know,” he mumbled, and your heart felt like it was beating a hundred times faster when you saw the faint blush dust his cheeks. “Article 5, Section 2, Clause 27 of the Christmas Elf Guidebook states that elves must kiss underneath the mistletoe.” 

Your pulse raced. Kiss Chan? Kiss Lee Chan? How could you possibly kiss your close friend slash coworker? (Even though you often fantasized about it whenever you felt a touch too vulnerable around him, but that was beside the point.) You were here to deliver presents, that was all. In and out. None of this nonsense. 

But something warm stirred in your heart, and you couldn’t help but think that it would be pretty nice kissing Chan. 

The elf even failed to mention the several exceptions to that clause, which included both parties consenting to the kiss and that the rule didn’t apply in human homes. And Chan, who had the guidebook memorized at this point (for God knows what reason), surely wouldn’t have brought up the clause if he knew it didn’t apply to this situation. Did that mean he truly wanted to kiss you? 

“Why do you even have that memorized?” Your laugh came out more like a nervous breath. “You know that clause doesn’t apply here, right?” 

He shrugged, grinning. “Mistletoe is mistletoe—clause or not.”

Mustering up the minimal courage you had, you rose up on your toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It was awkward at first, a little shy, but then you were consumed with the need to give into the longing that had been festering inside you for a while now. Chan’s eyes dropped to your lips once you pulled away, but then he cupped your cheek and brought you back for a longer, sweeter kiss that made you feel like putty in his hold. 

The moment was cut short by the sound of an impatient reindeer’s hoof slamming against the rooftop. It was loud enough for you to hear but thankfully not loud enough to wake up the residents. The reindeer must have been getting hungry after you two left the sleigh unattended for far too long. You and Chan pulled away from each other with wide eyes, the tender moment melting into a state of anxiety when you realized you needed to get going already. 

He ran a hand through his hair, flustered. “Continue this later?”

“Yes, please,” you admitted with sudden shyness growing in your chest. “Alright, give me the presents so we can leave.”

“Y/N.”

“Oh, we can watch a movie together when we get back, or—”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

When you turned back to look at him, Chan looked terribly stressed. “We left the presents on the roof.”

[scary-grace]

PARIAH - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, Spinner POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

part i part ii part iii

Not far now, Midoriya said the last time they stopped to catch their breath, but the woods seem to go on endlessly, and Spinner feels as though he’s been running for even longer. He’s no stranger to fleeing for his life. In one way and another he’s been doing it since he was born. But he’s never run for someone else’s life before. Never before has someone else’s survival hung in the balance of his heavy footsteps through the snow and the breaths of air so cold it sears his lungs. Spinner is the weakest of them, with the least to offer, closer to dead weight than a valuable ally. But in this moment, he’s the only one who can save Shigaraki’s life.

They came to this village six months ago, and for six months, life was quiet. The villagers were wary of strangers, of course, particularly strangers like Spinner and his friends, but for once, they all managed to keep their heads down. Toga made friends among the maidens in the village, while Twice made himself useful., and Dabi did them the favor of putting out fires rather than starting them. Spinner helped where he could, but mostly he watched Shigaraki. The evil that haunted Shigaraki had done so all his life, but it had only attempted a fatal strike when their backs were turned, and when they fled with the city in flames behind them, Spinner swore he would never allow such a thing to happen again.

Spinner kept a careful watch, but it didn’t matter. The affliction came again, weakening Shigaraki to the point where he could barely rise from his bed, and worse, it began to spread through the village. The villagers blamed Shigaraki and came to punish him, but they were too late. Spinner’s best friend died before his eyes three nights past, and the villagers buried him in an iron coffin before the sun could rise.

Or at least, Spinner had thought Shigaraki was dead. On the first day, he believed the muffled screams issuing from the graveyard were the manifestation of his own guilty conscience. But on the second day, the others heard them, too, and although the villagers believed they had locked away the source of the affliction, it continued to spread. The priest came to the graveyard, heard the screams, and ordered Shigaraki exhumed. Fool that he is, Spinner thought they meant to help him.

Then he and everyone else saw the ash stake in the priest’s hand, sharpened to a deadly point. It was an error to bury him whole, the priest said. This will quiet him forevermore.

They could not reason with him. No logic could overcome the priest’s certainty, nor the absolute faith the villagers had in him. It did not matter that Shigaraki had not left the house since falling ill. It did not matter that the coffin had been locked shut, nor that the surface above the grave was undisturbed. The priest and his followers buried Spinner’s best friend alive, and now they mean to dig him up and stake him through the heart.

Spinner hung back as Dabi and Toga and Twice argued. He’s worthless at arguing, just as he is at everything else, but as he stood at the edges of the conversation, someone caught his hand and drew him away. When Spinner looked down, he found Midoriya Izuku looking up at him. The strangest child in the village, known for daydreaming so vividly and so often that he falls into potholes at least twice a week, wore a determined look that shocked Spinner in its ferocity. You cannot stop the priest, he said. Only the witch can do that.

Every rural village has its superstitions, and this village has the witch – never seen, never spoken to, always blamed for blighted crops, missing livestock, and bouts of ill fortune. It is said that the witch is monstrous, raised by wolves and lies with them, too, an enemy of all that is holy. But when the affliction struck, not a single villager placed the blame on the witch. And when Midoriya Izuku spoke of her, he did so without fear.

He bade Spinner follow him, running across the bridge over the stream and down the sole path into the northern woods, and although Spinner questions the wisdom of challenging a mundane evil with a supernatural one, he has no other choice. He swore to protect Shigaraki, just as the others did, but he’s the one who failed. The witch will drive a hard bargain for her help, and Spinner will take it. What happens to Spinner doesn’t matter. Better by far that Shigaraki survives.

Not far now, Midoriya said, but each twist and turn in the path reveals only further twist and turns ahead. When Midoriya stops again to catch his breath, Spinner’s patience snaps. “There is no time. We must hurry.”

“The ground froze hard these past nights,” Midoriya gasps, “and they buried him deep. We have time. After this I will not need to stop again.”

“You had better not, or I will leave you here and find the witch myself.” Spinner says that, only to feel his nerves turn to water at the thought. “How do you know she will help?”

“I don’t know what she can do,” Midoriya says, and Spinner’s heart sinks further. “But I know that when the priest ordered me to kill a wolf-dog pup from my dog’s last litter, she came down from the woods to take it away.”

He straightens and picks up the pace, and Spinner chases after him, questions upon questions queued up on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve seen her?”

“Not – not really,” Midoriya admits as they careen around a corner. “She wore a veil over her face, and dressed all in white. But her voice sounded ordinary. Not as a monster’s voice should, or I think not. If she is not one, I have never heard a monster speak.”

Spinner has. It’s unmistakable – not just a hearing or a feeling, but a knowing, a terror beyond thought and reason. “I had to cross the bridge to bring her the pup,” Midoriya continues. “She would not cross to me, but when I gave it to her, she promised to raise it well.”

Spinner knew Midoriya was naïve, but this is ridiculous. “Did it not occur to you that she would lie? Monsters know only how to deceive.”

“She didn’t lie,” Midoriya says sharply. “I know when someone lies to me. She wouldn’t have hurt my pup. She –”

He stops talking, and stops running, too. Spinner fails to stop in time and bowls him over from the back, and as he picks himself up, he sees what caused Midoriya to balk. The path continues still further into the woods. But a wolf sits sentinel in the middle of it, blocking the way.

No, not a wolf. Spinner has seen wolves, more than his share of them, far more than he would have wished to. This is – “A wolf-dog?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says, his voice trembling with something like awe. “Mine.”

The wolf-dog’s ears prick upwards, and its tufted tail wags, scattering long-dead leaves away from the path. All at once it rises to its feet, turns, and lopes away, but only as far as the next bend in the path. There it turns and looks at them. Waits for them. “She wants us to follow,” Midoriya says, and he does so. Spinner follows, too, wondering who exactly Midoriya meant by she.

The wolf-dog keeps a brisk pace as the path, lined on either side with thick brambles, narrows such that Spinner and Midoriya must walk single-file. There are strange lights tucked away within them, emitting a pink glow that Spinner can classify neither as unholy nor divine. The wolf-dog rounds one turn in the path after another, and only when Spinner has thoroughly lost his sense of direction does it come to a stop. They’ve stopped at the edge of a large clearing, ringed in yet more of the odd pink lights. Within the clearing, there is a fence, its posts laden with wildflowers — the same flowers that climb the walls of the small cottage in the center.

It looks like something out of a children’s story. Not at all somewhere that a witch with the power to challenge the priest should live. Midoriya starts forward eagerly, and Spinner seizes his arm. “No. Even sweet things can be a trap.”

The wolf-dog noses the iron gate, and it swings open. “You want to save your friend, don’t you?” Midoriya asks. “She’s the only one who can help you. And you were wrong. She didn’t hurt my dog.”

Spinner is not at all convinced that it’s the same dog. It seems more likely the product of Midoriya’s wishful thinking. “I don’t like your friend,” Midoriya continues. “He frightens me, and everyone else. But he shouldn’t die for our fear. If you won’t go in, I will.”

Spinner is a coward. He knows he is. But even in his cowardice, he cannot allow this — a child taking the risk that belongs to him. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm and shoulders past him, past the wolf-dog, through the iron gate and along the path through the witch’s garden to the cottage’s front door. He knocks hard enough to bruise his knuckles. “Witch! I am here on a matter most urgent. Come out, or –”

“There’s no need to shout,” a perfectly ordinary voice says from behind him, and Spinner’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m right here.”

Spinner wheels around, and there you are. There you have been sitting the entire time, concealed from view of the path behind your flower-entangled fence, dressed all in white just as Midoriya described and blending in with the snow. Just as Midoriya described, your face is veiled. All around you in the snow, wolf-dogs sit and sprawl, some ancient and grey-muzzled, others with the gangly clumsiness of pups. White roses are scattered around you, and even as you harken to Spinner, your fingers continue to weave them deftly into a crown.

“I thought I might have visitors today,” you say. “What are your names?”

“I don’t share my name with strangers,” Spinner growls, in the same moment as Midoriya blurts his out. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“The point of sharing names is to remove the designation of strangers,” you say mildly. Your veil is not quite opaque; Spinner sees your lips move beneath it. “I cannot blame you for your caution, but you mentioned an urgent matter. What brings you to my door?”

“The village,” Spinner says, biting down on the desire to curse its name. “It has been struck by –”

He runs out of words. He and the others have been careful in their description of it, for fear of being called insane. Even a village with such superstitions as witches is too skeptical to believe in – “Vampires,” Midoriya announces. He’s apparently abandoned caution; he’s crouched in the snow at the edge of the path, petting the wolf-dog he believes was his. “Each night more wake with bites, and not long after they fall desperately ill.”

“Are they drained of blood?” you ask. “Or is their skin simply rotting?”

“They haven’t been drained,” Midoriya says, frowning. “But the bites –”

“My friend was drained,” Spinner says, and you look to him. “He grew weak. He could not eat or drink, and visions tormented him at the end — or what we thought was the end –”

“They buried him,” you say, and Spinner nods. “But people continue to fall sick, and they believe your friend is the cause, so they intend to exhume him and put an end to him properly this time. Am I incorrect?”

Spinner can barely believe his ears. “How do you know?”

“Fear strips away reason. It comforts them to think that killing your friend will end their misery, and their desire for comfort only serves the greater threat.” Your hands work more quickly, plaiting the crown together. “You’ve come to me for help. What is it you wish me to do?”

“Stop the priest,” Spinner says. You tilt your head, studying him. “Prove my friend’s innocence.”

“That is within my power,” you say. You add a few more flowers to the crown, set it upon your head, and rise to your feet. “Is there time?”

“When we left they had already started digging,” Spinner says uselessly. “What price do you ask for your help?”

“None,” you say. You brush past Spinner, slipping into the house and emerging seconds later with a small satchel slung across your body. White deerskin with silver fastenings — not at all what Spinner would expect a forest-dwelling witch to possess. “We must travel with haste.”

“Yes. Have you horses?”

You shake your head, then raise one hand to your mouth and whistle, high and wavering. Within moments, Spinner hears the sound of heavy footfalls, and the shape that moves within the trees is so monstrously large that even Midoriya is scared up from the ground and closer to Spinner. “What is that thing?”

A wolf. Not a wolf-dog, but a true wolf, hulking and enormous, standing taller than Spinner at the shoulder. It dwarfs you as you approach it, but you approach without fear, and it lowers itself to the ground so you can speak quietly in its ear. You use no language Spinner can understand, but it is not the language of the demon, and in your ordinary voice it does little more than raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is a friend of mine, who has agreed to aid us,” you say, straightening up. You throw one leg over the wolf’s back and climb up, seating yourself just behind its head. “If time is as short as you say, it is not wise to hesitate.”

Spinner climbs up first, followed by Midoriya. “Keep low until we leave the trees behind,” you order, “and hang on.”

Midoriya promptly grabs hold of Spinner, but Spinner has no easy recourse. “To you? It’s not proper.”

“Would you rather be proper or survive the journey back to the village?” you ask impatiently, and Spinner secures his arms around your waist, his face miserably red. “Hold on.”

You whisper something else to the wolf, and it lurches into motion with such violence that Spinner tightens his grip in terror. He learns instantly why you ordered them to lower their heads — at the speed at which the wolf moves, a collision of their heads with a branch would result in decapitation. Spinner can’t watch the trees speeding past without feeling ill, so he shuts his eyes only to feel sicker. Opening them, keeping them fixed between your shoulder blades, is the only solution. That, and occupying his mind with something other than how inappropriate it is to hold you this closely.

You feel human. Spinner’s taken women in his arms before, human women of his own will and vampire women against it, and while the unholy attraction of the undead is absent from you, there is something undefinably strange about your presence. Perhaps all witches are thus. You have yet to do anything more witchlike than speak to wolves and live deep in the woods, and once again, Spinner begins to doubt. Who are you to challenge the priest, to counter the village’s faith in him? How could you save Shigaraki, when Dabi and Twice and Toga could not?

The wolf breaks through the tree line, and you sit up quickly. Spinner does the same, although it makes the ride significantly bumpier. Out of the woods, it’s easier to gauge the wolf’s true speed. It barrels down the hillside, as fast as any horse, and ignores the bridge in favor of leaping across the stream in a single bound. At the apex of its flight, Spinner feels you startle, then flinch, a sharp gasp exiting your lips. It’s as if you’ve been shot or stabbed, and for a moment, you go completely limp, your grip on the wolf’s mane relaxing. Only Spinner’s arms around you keep you from slipping sideways into the water – but then the wolf’s paws touch land, and you straighten up again. Spinner would think it his imagination if not for the audible catch in your breathing.

When the wolf reaches the graveyard, Spinner’s own breath catches in horror: Shigaraki’s coffin has been raised up from the earth, its lock shattered and its lid shoved aside. Between the coffin and the priest stand Toga and Dabi and Twice, and before Spinner can call out to tell them help has arrived, villagers seize his friends and drag them out of the way. The priest approaches, stake held high, and a shaking hand rises from the coffin in a weak attempt to forestall him. Shigaraki is alive, and awake – awake just in time for Spinner to watch him die.

“Wait,” he tries to call, but his voice shakes so badly that he can barely raise it above a whisper. “He isn’t –”

“Father Torino!” you call out, your voice strident and strong, and the priest stops in his tracks. He turns towards the sound of your voice and flinches as he beholds the wolf, and you and Spinner and Midoriya on its back. The villagers cower, and Dabi and the others seize the opportunity to get free and return to guard the casket — but they, too look wary. “Is it now the custom of the Church to murder innocent men by hand after burying them alive has failed to do the job?”

“This is no man, but an abomination,” the priest growls. He is a small man, and old, but neither matters when righteous fury animates him. “It is the custom of the Church to carry out God’s will and remove such things from the face of His earth.”

“If this man’s death is God’s will and not your own, then it can wait a few moments more.” You slide down easily from the wolf’s back and start forward across the graveyard, the villagers scattering from your path. “I will examine him, and prove his innocence or his guilt.”

The priest does not challenge your ability to do so, and a small measure of hope is turned loose in Spinner’s mind. He slides down from the wolf’s back as well, much less gracefully than you did, and seizes the back of Midoriya’s coat to prevent him from going face-first into the snow when he does the same. Ahead of him, you confront Dabi. “Stand aside. Let me see him.”

“What, so you can kill him?”

“Do you see a stake in my hands?” You spread them out, revealing them empty. Spinner notices for the first time the silver rings on your middle fingers, and the web of silver chains extending from them to connect to a matching bracelet around your wrist. “I only wish to examine him.”

“She can help,” Midoriya says, and Dabi’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her help.”

Dabi looks to Spinner. Spinner nods, and Dabi stands aside, allowing you to approach the coffin.

Spinner does the same, and what he sees fills him with a guilt so powerful that it nearly strikes him dead on the spot. As terrible as Shigaraki looked when they believed him dead, he looks worse now. Paler, sicker, more haunted than before. Blood stains his fingernails — what’s left of them, at least. Spinner imagines his best friend clawing at the lid of the iron coffin, desperate to get free, and nearly vomits at the thought.

Shigaraki is barely conscious, barely breathing, as you come close. Spinner was unsure of what to expect from you, but your first act strikes him as completely incongruous — you lift the crown of white roses from your head and settle it on Shigaraki’s. Shigaraki doesn’t stir, and on the other side of the coffin, the priest’s shoulders stiffen. “That proves nothing.”

“White roses are anathema to vampires. They teach you that in your book of demons,” you say. You unclasp one bracelet from around your wrist, slide one ring from your finger. “They speak of silver, too.”

You lift Shigaraki’s hand and slide the ring onto his finger. His hands are larger than yours, yet so skeletal that the ring fits easily. As does the bracelet, when you snap it shut. Once again, Shigaraki does not stir. The priest scoffs. “You expect me to believe that’s real silver?”

“I expect you to ask yourself what reason I among all others would have to collude with this affliction,” you say. You of all others? Spinner sees his confusion writ large on Toga’s face, on Dabi’s and on Twice’s. “But if it will satisfy you, I will ask someone else. Who here has something silver?”

It’s silent. Midoriya disappears into the crowd, then comes back pulling his mother. “Mother. Mother, show her — you have some –”

The woman clutches at her necklace, as though she expects you to rip it from her throat. “You will have it back unharmed,” you promise in that ordinary voice. Spinner no longer doubts that you are no monster; rather, you seem so human that he doubts your ability to help at all. “Either you will help to protect your village from a grave threat, or you will save an innocent man’s life. To save one life is to save the world entire.”

“Cease such pagan nonsense in my presence,” the priest snaps. “Even if he is no vampire, he has forfeited his right to life by bringing the affliction upon our village.”

You ignore him, and after a moment, so does Midoriya’s mother. She unclasps her necklace, and Midoriya places it in your hand. You hold it for a moment, then set it down in the hollow of Shigaraki’s throat. He does not move beyond the rise and fall of his chest. “Odd,” you remark. “A vampire should flinch from such things.”

The priest doesn’t answer. You gesture for Spinner to come closer, to stand alongside Dabi and the others. “Bite marks,” you say, and Spinner startles along with the rest of them. “Where were they?”

“He had many,” Toga says. She tended to Shigaraki most closely, and took his apparent death nearly as hard as Spinner did. “On his throat. His chest. Both wrists and ankles.”

“Were there others?” you ask. Toga shakes her head, and you raise your voice, addressing the crowd in the graveyard. “In the legends, a true vampire’s body bears no bite marks. The transformation erases them. Is it not so?”

The crowd mumbles assent, and Spinner wonders if this is why Midoriya insisted on summoning you. The priest’s frothing rage looks particularly mad when contrasted to your calmness. You look to the priest next. “Is it not so, Father Torino?”

“In tales and in history.” The priest speaks through gritted teeth. “Let us examine him. I — what are you doing?”

“My eyes must be clear,” you say, and you lift your veil.

Half the village recoils, but when you fold it back, Spinner sees nothing out of the ordinary about your face. There is no mad light in your eyes, no distorted sneer on your mouth, no dark magic writhing visibly beneath your skin. There is an odd pallor to you, but nothing more. You turn back to face the priest — the priest, who did not flinch. “Let us examine him.”

Shigaraki does not react to your touch, but when the priest reaches in to grasp his arm and haul his wrist into the light, he shrinks back. “You see?” the priest demands. “He recoils from a man of God –”

“A man who was about to drive a stake through his heart. I’d recoil, too.” You have Shigaraki’s other hand, holding it carefully, and you turn it to expose his wrist to the light. “Look, Father. Those resemble bite marks to me. And here –”

You lift the wrist that Shigaraki pulled away from the priest. “More bite marks. Just as the maiden said.”

Shigaraki’s mouth opens, and the voice that issues from it is hoarse from three days of screaming. “Spinner –”

Spinner hurries forward, and without a word, you shift your examinations to Shigaraki’s ankles. “I’m here,” Spinner tells Shigaraki. “I’m sorry.”

Shigaraki shakes his head. “What’s — happening?”

“Midoriya took me to see the witch. She came back with us to help.”

“Witch?” Shigaraki rasps. “Doesn’t sound like a witch.”

“Her voice is wrong,” Toga agrees quietly. “I don’t know what she is.”

“You do not need to know. She is unclean, and those who fear God should stay far from her and her accursed woods,” the priest says. “And you, Shigaraki — you fear death a great deal for a man who does not fear God.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes flutter shut. He seems to have exhausted his strength, and Spinner finds himself watching the rise and fall of Shigaraki’s chest, fixated on the smallest motions. He kept this same vigil before, three nights ago, dreading every new second until the motion stuttered and stopped — or rather continued, so imperceptibly that everyone believed him dead. Whether you’re a witch or not, you are an effective counter to the priest, but what happens after you spare Shigaraki’s life? His affliction will not fade, and the evil that stalks him will not relent. Has Spinner saved Shigaraki’s life only to consign him to a slow, agonizing death?

Spinner’s thoughts are interrupted when your hand appears in his field of vision, parting the buttons on Shigaraki’s shirt to expose the bite marks directly over his heart. The priest grasps Shigaraki’s jaw and turns his head roughly to one side, revealing the bite marks on his throat as well.

Spinner remembers the first time he beheld the evidence of Shigaraki’s affliction. Shigaraki had kept it from them as long as possible, but one by one, they saw things that could not be explained, heard things in the night that could not be dismissed. They knew too much to find safety in ignorance, but they could not protect themselves if they did not know the truth, and so Shigaraki shared what he knew of the evil that had clung to him since childhood. They doubted him at first, but he must have expected it. Spinner will never forget the shiver of disgust that tore through him at the sight of the marks on Shigaraki’s throat – and how it grew ever worse with each set of marks he revealed.

The reminder alone of what Shigaraki suffers fills Spinner with disgust. He cannot imagine experiencing it and surviving with his mind intact, and yet Shigaraki has survived. And he will survive this, too. Faced with all the evidence you have revealed, the priest cannot kill Shigaraki now.

“Are you satisfied?” you ask, when the priest fails to respond. “This man is not the source of the affliction. He is its victim, as much as any of the others who have fallen ill.”

“Perhaps,” the priest says – and he raises his stake. “I’d rather be sure.”

Before he can bring it down, you seize it. Dabi does the same, and so does Spinner, while Toga and Twice throw themselves across the coffin to shield Shigaraki. “Careful,” you say to the priest. Your grip tightens, and Spinner feels the fire-hardened stake buckle slightly. “If you kill this man now, it will be murder, and your list of sins is not so short as to allow for the addition of one more.”

It’s a long moment before the priest releases the stake, and when he does, it splinters to pieces. Perhaps it was Dabi’s grip that shattered it; your hand is too small. “If you wish to save him, begone with him,” the priest says. “He is barred from the village until his affliction is cured. If it can be cured.”

Spinner’s heart sinks, but once again, you remain calm. “I will cure it,” you say. “I will take him with me, if he will go.”

“No,” Twice says at once. “He stays with us.”

“Let her take him,” Midoriya’s mother urges. Spinner thought she would have fled, but then again, her silver necklace still rests against Shigaraki’s throat. “The others will come for him tonight, and kill you to get to him, no matter what the priest says. It is safer to let him go.”

“We should come with him,” Toga says. You shake your head. “Why not?”

“The forest is unkind at night. I cannot shield your minds and heal his at the same time.” You look regretful, and ill at ease. “Stay here for the night, and visit in the morning. My friends will guide you to me.”

The wolves and wolf-dogs. Spinner remembers the rumor that you were raised by them, that you lay with them, and feels a surge of distaste — not for you, but for those who would start such rumors and spread them. “It’s Shigaraki’s choice,” he says. He looks down into the coffin at Shigaraki, at his pale face and bloody hands, swathed in silver with a crown of flowers on his head. “Do you wish to go with her?”

“Spinner.” Shigaraki’s voice is little more than a whisper. Spinner leans close. “Can she do as she promises?”

There seems to be nothing magical about you at all. Spinner doubts you can do anything — but he does not doubt that Shigaraki will be safer in the heart of the forest tonight than anywhere else. He nods. “I can’t face him tonight. Not like this,” Shigaraki says. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” the priest says. His disgust is etched deeply into his wrinkled face, and as he transfers his gaze from Shigaraki to you, it only grows. “As the filthy beast you rode in on has fled, I have no idea how you expect to remove him from my sight. Do you honestly think someone will lend you a horse?”

“I have no need of one.” You nudge Spinner to one side and lift the necklace up from Shigaraki’s throat, handing it back to Midoriya’s mother. Then you lift one of Shigaraki’s arms, looping it around your neck, and he expends what appears to be his last measure of strength to lift up the other. “I can walk.”

You can’t mean to carry him. Even half dead, half-starved, Shigaraki is bigger than you are. But as Spinner watches in horrified fascination, you slide one hand behind his best friend’s head and the other beneath his bent knees, and you lift Shigaraki from the coffin as though he weighs nothing at all.

Shigaraki slumps against your shoulder, barely conscious once more, and the crowd of villagers parts before you again. Your voice, still ordinary, carries not even a hint of strain when you speak to Spinner. “Come visit at first light,” you say. “No harm will come to him while he is with me.”

Dabi’s hand comes down on your shoulder, just as Toga grasps your elbow. “Swear it.”

You incline your head, and Spinner sees a web of faint scars across your brow. “I swear it by my blood.”

You set off walking at an easy pace, as though you aren’t carrying a grown man in your arms the way a lord might carry a maiden. Dabi’s voice is low in Spinner’s ear. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“Her kind don’t do favors,” Twice says. “What did you give her?”

“Nothing,” Spinner says. “She took nothing.”

“Except Tomura,” Toga says grimly. “In the morning we’ll take him back.”

“Damn right,” Twice says, ignoring the look the priest gives him. “We’ve tried everything but witches to heal him. Maybe she will fix him.”

“What’s wrong with him isn’t inside. It’s out there somewhere,” Dabi says. “Whatever she fixes, it won’t last.”

Dabi’s right, as much as it burns Spinner to admit it. All Spinner’s done in retrieving the witch is buy Shigaraki a little more time. One night where the villagers can’t come for him, howling for his blood the same way the evil that stalks him lusts for it. Spinner’s best friend has spent so many nights in misery and pain. If the best Spinner can do is secure for Shigaraki one night of relative peace, he’d have paid all you asked for and more.

But you asked for nothing. Spinner watches you approach the bridge, still walking smoothly with Shigaraki cradled in your arms, and wonders why.

part ii ->

[butmakeitgayblog]

MBFW First Kiss snippet for Clexaweek

~~~~~~~~

The dorm bed they share is barely big enough for one, nestled tight against the wall and tucked under a single poorly hung shelf that Lexa can't seem to stop knocking her head against every time she goes to leave. 

It's a dilemma they both take as a sign that she really just… shouldn't do that anymore. 

"This is so fucking stupid, I don't even need to know this."

The groaned complaint makes her smile.

"According to the requirements of your degree, you do actually."

"Don't sass me. Who made up those requirements? Hm? Who?"

Marking her place on the page with a tiny dot of lime green highlighter, Lexa turns her gaze to the petulant frown staring at her from roughly fifteen inches away.

She eyes the way Clarke has dramatically collapsed against the evil calculus textbook in question, cheek smooshed against the pages and arms flung out above her head to dangle off the foot of the bed.

Lexa's heart trips over itself.

She finds that's been happening more and more in the recent weeks since this friendship had blossomed and subsequently taken over every facet of her life. Since this girl came crashing in out of nowhere; as if plucked from the very stars and sent right to her, to become the source of every one of Lexa's smiles.

Since she'd blazed into existence, and lit up the world with a brightness that somehow outdid the sun.

It's a feeling that's becoming harder to shake off.

"Clarke, we've been studying for… fifteen minutes," Lexa laughs after reaching over and lifting the dead weight of Clarke's wrist enough to check her watch. "Have you even gotten past the first page of the chapter?"

Clarke's head twists to bury her face further into the crease of the spine of her splayed open textbook as she answers a muffled, "No."

Pinching her lips together to smother yet another smile that threatens to double in size, Lexa clears her throat and pointedly readjusts to get more comfortable and resume her own assigned reading. 

She's barely gotten her train of thought back into the flow of Chaucer's affinity for iambic pentameter when the sound of rustling papers breaks the silence, and the overwhelming feeling of a certain pair of eyes boring into the side of her head steals her concentration.

It's feeling she's been getting quite familiar with as of late.

Lexa bites the inside of her cheek.

"You're staring."

Clarke flips onto her back and makes a show of getting comfortable.

When Lexa chances a glance at the eyes still watching her, Clarke doesn't look away.

"So?"

“So," Lexa draws out in half-hearted huff that does nothing to curb the heat rising to her cheeks. "It's distracting.”

Clarke's head lulls toward Lexa.

“Well… You're distracting,” she murmurs, lashes hanging low and eyes soft enough to make Lexa ache.

Lexa bites her lips and tries in vain to tame the wild burst of butterflies that take flight in the softest parts of her belly, willing them to behave themselves for once when she's around this girl.

She shuffles onto her side, careful not to dislodge the other occupant crammed into the postage stamp sized mattress, and rests her head on her palm. Forced to lounge half leaning over the pretty face of her friend splayed in a halo of fanned out blonde hair, the new position gives Lexa the most wonderful kind of vantage point.

“You're the one who's distracting. I'm not doing anything, I'm just studying,” she says through a poorly concealed smile. “How could I possibly be the distracting one?”

Clarke sighs and gives a grave shake of her head.

“You're always distracting.”

It's said so drearily, Lexa has no choice but to laugh and shift closer.

“Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And what about me is so distracting?”

Clarke's face somehow grows softer. More quiet in its calm. Notes of nervous twitching along the corners of the lazy grin of her mouth as she lays there, face so close Lexa can see every flit of emotion that washes over her.

"Your nose," she finally says, seeming to delight in Lexa's surprised scoff.

"My nose?"

"Mhm. You have this little bump. Right," Clarke hums as she reaches up and traces along the bridge with a delicate fingertip, "here... I like it."

Lexa wills herself to keep still as her eyes fall closed in a slow blink. The tickling touch feels electric against her skin, long after its fallen away. It curls across the heated peaks of her ears and down her spine, to land in a syrupy warm pool in her belly.

Something brave and foolish and distinctly helium-based takes up residence in Lexa's chest as she reaches out as well, and drifts her own fingertip along Clarke's chin.

"I like your chin."

Clarke tuts. "That's ridiculous."

"I'm kind of obsessed with your chin," Lexa argues right back without thinking, feeling her stomach tighten with embarrassment at the way Clarke's teeth clamp around her bottom lip.

She drops her hand back to the bed.

Blue eyes sparkle in the low afternoon sunlight the spills through the dorm's only window as they trace every curve and line of Lexa's face in the silence.

"I like your cheekbones," Clarke finally says in a soft, shy murmur.

She seems to hesitate for a moment before leaning up, dusting a kiss to the high apple of Lexa's cheek, and then the other.

Every muscle of Lexa's body sings with a joyful riot of nerves and a deadly feeling of hope. Not knowing exactly what any of this means... but unwilling to stop.

She adjusts again, closer, shifting herself to lay more snug along the length of Clarke's side.

"I like your beauty mark," she forces out on what little oxygen her lungs will allow her.

She swallows against the dryness of her throat and she traces the mark with her fingertip. More terrified than she's ever felt in her life, she leans and presses a lingering kiss to the dot above Clarke's lip.

Lexa's heart pounds and the butterflies in her belly continue their flight as she pulls back slowly. The edges of Clarke's pupils have pressed out in deep inky pools, leaving nothing but the thinnest halo of blue. Her smile is quiet, softened in a flutter of lashes and panting breath, and it's place is this look.

This look that Lexa can't place, too scared to give it a name, as it hits her like a silk-tipped arrow.

But in the thrill of the moment, oh, how that look sets her skin on fire.

She can't help but return Clarke's smile with a weak one of her own, and feels a hand slip against her cheek; a palm cupping her jaw.

A thumb brushing a lazy strokes over the corner of her mouth.

"I like the one you have here too," Clarke whispers, sweeping over and over the spot again.

Time stands still, surely the very earth halting on its axis, as they stare and stare and dangle breathlessly on this precipice that Lexa feels she's been running toward since this woman crashed into existence.

And what a wonderful existence it is when Clarke's gaze flits between Lexa's own, and the path of her thumb blazing over the bow of her lip.

Clarke holds Lexa steady through her trembling as she leans up and replaces her thumb with a soft brush of her lips, and Lexa… Lexa feels like she's floating.

Her smile stretches so wide she knows she must look every bit a fool, lightheaded and giddy in the euphoria of this moment and this girl as her heart beats out the rhythm of a hummingbird's wing.

It's pure instinct that has her swaying into the touch, to let her eyes and lips fall closed around the supple give of Clarke's bottom lip. She sighs against Clarke's mouth, so enamored with the feel that in years to come she would never quite be able to say if they stay there, connected, for hours or mere seconds.

All she knows with absolute certain is that when Clarke inches away, it's entirely too soon.

Where Lexa feels as though her lungs have collapsed — have given up on any semblance of functioning — Clarke settles back against the bed in a rush of breath, her face flaming a particularly lovely shade of pink. Her chest rises and falls so fast Lexa wonders how her friend isn't equally as dizzy. Wonders if Clarke feels just as spun out as she does.

Nails scratch soothingly against Lexa's arm where Clarke still holds her, tangled into each other and keeping her close.

"You're shaking."

Lexa tucks back a curl of blonde hair behind a very likeable ear, feeling so many emotions in the rush of this insanity, helpless to stop the way she mirrors Clarke's smile.

"So are you…"

Lips a few shades redder than they were a few minutes before slide into a Cheshire grin.

"Well, I have an insanely beautiful girl sorta laying on top of me," Clarke says as she slips her arm around Lexa's waist and pulls her more firmly against her. "I kind of think that's to be expected..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[snakeflower-cottage]

One Lord, Two Horns: Why I don’t need God

The Devil has two horns, but they are not the same. One curves, gnarled and bent like the root of a hawthorn, like a snake frozen mid-coil. The other is sharp and upright, rising like a poplar toward the sky. They are not merely decoration, they are symbols. Signs of his nature, and of what he teaches.

One is the crooked horn of baneful virtue: blasting, illness, storms, shapeshifting, the art of concealment, and night-flight. The other is the straight horn of blessing virtue: herblore, healing, divination, blessing, the averting of malevolence.

This isn’t modern symbolism. It runs deep in the witch-traditions of Europe, and in the Devil’s role as teacher, not of morality, but of power.

In early modern French and Flemish witch trials, the Devil frequently appears as a horned man who instructs the witch in both maleficium and benevolent magic. In the 1610 trial of Jeanne Harvilliers in Beauvais, Jeanne said the Devil gave her powders to heal as well as harm. She cured fevers, she withered crops. He taught her both. (Norman Cohn, Europe’s Inner Demons) Similarly, in Lorraine, depositions from the 1580s describe witches gathering around a horned figure who presided over rites involving both “potions that restore health” and “rites to summon sickness and death.” (Éva Pócs, Between the Living and the Dead)

The crooked horn belongs to the path against the sun, the path walked at night, against the grain, backward over the threshold. It is the crooked staff of the village witch, the twisted briar they harvest from for tormenting poppets. It speaks to the part of witchcraft that transgresses, that inverts, that takes.

The upright horn belongs to the path with the sun, the hand that gives, heals, blesses. The open hand that offers bread, lifts sickness, eases the restless dead. This is not exclusive to the holy powers of God and angels, it’s simply the other side of the same coin.

You see this dual role even in the cunning folk of England, many of whom called the Devil their master or the man in black. In the 1665 trial of John Walsh of Dorset, he spoke of a black spirit who taught him to find lost things, to speak charms over the sick, and to hex thieves. The spirit had horns and cloven feet. One hand offered help, the other harm. (Emma Wilby, Cunning Folk and Familiar Spirits)

In folklore, horned spirits straddle both sides of the hedge. Puck, Robin Goodfellow, and Herne can bless your hearth or lead you astray. They wear horns because they are wild, not because they are evil. And wildness is both the sharp tooth and the gentle paw.

The Devil’s horns are not symmetrical because witchcraft is not symmetrical. It is not pure. It is not kind. It is not wicked. It is a crooked path we walk, lantern in one hand, thorn in the other. And the Devil, in his hidden ways, bears that duality in his body.

This is why I don’t look to God, or saints, or any bright-winged spirits for the blessing work. I don’t need to, The Devil gives both. He does not ask me to divide my heart between good and evil, light and dark. He offers the whole, blight and balm, curse and cure. When I heal, I call on the same crooked-footed one who helps me hex. When I bless, it’s with the hand that has known baneful work too. There’s no need to purify the source.

To ask God for the healing and the Devil for the hurting would be to pretend the world is split down the middle, when every witch knows deep down it spirals. The crooked horn and the upright horn curve from the same brow. The same spirit walks with me in illness and in ease, in wrath and in mercy. He is whole, and so my magic is whole.

I do not serve a divided master.

[codenamesazanka]

tbh, 'saving' the villains in bnha feels a lot more like exorcism. (but worse.) There's a nearly-inhuman evil that's threatening to destroy everything; it turns out that this evil arose from some great human tragedy that occurred in the past; 'saving' is solely saving the heart, the spirit, the soul - by reminding the villain of things like family, love, friendship, giving them a moment of clarity; then the villain dies for good and leaves the world in peace, because it's too late to address or repair the tragedy, too late to ever make them part of the world again; and the living are left with a bittersweet sense of 'gee, that sure was sad' and 'if only the tragedy didn't occur/things were different', but there's nothing to do except 'I won't forget them'.

And like those are fine - in a story about lingering spirits and exorcism. I'm thinking like Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service, Dandadan, the new Gegege no Kitaro movie. The dangerous and destructive spirits in those stories often have been terribly wronged by social injustice that they rise from the dead full of rage and seeking indiscriminate vengeance. No duh these spirits have to be stopped, and they are, by the main characters. They're sometimes stopped by a fight, yeah, but also by appeasing the wounded soul by treating them as human again - particularly when these main characters aren't actually exorcists, nor are people who have anything to do with the grudge, just people who stumbled upon this cursed scenario but feel the need to help out of human compassion.

The thing is - when the spirits disappear into air, it's fine because they were dead all along. There's nothing else to do except move on. I don't think it's fine at all for the Villains of HeroAca to kill themselves or die - basically saying there's no place for them in the world anymore (because the heroes aren't willing to create one) so they need to also move on to the next.

It's fine for the heroic characters of exorcism stories just simply say 'I won't forget' and just feel sad about the tragedy they just discovered. Simply being there as witness. They aren't official/legal guardians of society, not like the Pro-Heroes of HeroAcaLand. They have no obligation or duty they signed up for. Meanwhile, pro-Heroes do. they should be addressing societal injustice head-on, looking for the causes of tragedies that create villains and preventing them; should've been doing that all along, or at the very least realize that during the final act (and not afterwards - and barely at that.) failing to do so means they failed in the final battle, and so didn't actually win, and especially not be called "greatest heroes."

"Supernatural Evil is created from much more mundane but just as soul-crushing evil, and it is a profound tragedy, and we gotta deal with this concentrated accumulation of hatred, pain, resentment, usually by righting a wrong/destroying the source of mundane evil/giving the spirit peace." Great! but because bnha is not a ghost exorcism story and the protags are explicitly heroes who are supposed to save people (and also have a degree of control over whether tragedy occurs in the society they preside over), it's not even a good and satisfying ghost exorcism story

[ghilliedubh]

Loki: Child of the Wind and the Witch

Finding aspects of Loki in Finno-Ugric myth

(This is from an article I wrote on my blog in 2022, I have more thoughts on this now that I may write about later such as Loki's connection with traps, rivers and fishing!)

I noticed in the poem Haustlöng that Loki is both referred to as “Fárbauta mög”, son of Fárbauti, and as “barn Öglis”, child of the eagle in stanza 12. We know that he is the son of Fárbauti, a giant who many see as connected to lightning, but let’s look at Hræsvelgur for a bit. Hræsvelgur is “a giant in the shape of an eagle”, the source of all wind and, according to Snorri, is located at the northernmost point of the world. His wing beats send winds over mankind.

Then said Hárr: "That I am well able to tell thee. At the northward end of heaven sits the giant called Hræsvelgr: he has the plumes of an eagle, and when he stretches his wings for flight, then the wind rises from under his wings, as is here said:

Hræsvelgr hight he | who sits at heaven's ending,

Giant in eagle's coat;

From his wings, they say, | the wind cometh

All men-folk over."

- Prose Edda, chapter 18

In stanza 50 of the Völuspá there is mentioned a tawny eagle who screeches and tears up corpses, "...ari hlakkar; slítr nái niðfölur...". To me this sounds like Hræsvelgr, it fits one interpretation of his name at least (corpse-gobbler) .

Let’s now think about the name Fárbauti. Fár means danger or destruction, and in Icelandic a common use of the word is in “Fárviðri” meaning dangerous weather. “Bauti” comes from “bauta”, which means to strike/hit and has the same origin as the word “beat”. As said before, many people interpret his name to mean “dangerous striker” and connect him to lightning, but what if these “dangerous beats” were wing beats that sent forth dangerous weather? If Fárbauti is a kenning for Hræsvelgur, this would explain why Loki is referred to as “the child of the eagle”.

But what about Loki’s mother? Laufey is often translated as “leafy island”, but the Icelandic etymological dictionary suggests a connection to the Finnish underworld goddess Louhi, sometimes conflated with Loviatar.

Her name Nál is also translated as “needle” but the Icelandic Etymological Dictionary suggests it may also be related to the obscure goddess Nehalennia, as well as being connected to the latin word necāre which means "to kill", especially by methods such as poisoning or starvation. The dictionary also makes a suggests a connection to the dwarven names Náli, Náinn and Nár which are likely related to the word nár meaning "corpse" or "dead". If Laufey is related to Loviatar then this origin would definitely be very fitting.

In Finnish mythology Loviatar is impregnated by the wind, which would tie her to Laufey if Fárbauti is indeed Hræsvelgur, the source of wind/stormy weather.

On the fields of sin and sorrow;

Turned her back upon the East-wind,

To the source of stormy weather,

To the chilling winds of morning.

— Kalevala, Rune XLV, from the translation by John Martin Crawford

I also read in this article that a part of Mari (a Finno-Ugric people in Russia) spiritual practices is a ritual where young women make love to the wind. This is all I know and haven't yet found more information on it but it is interesting to see making love to the wind as a positive thing in one Finno-Ugric culture but further West it is something that an "evil underworld witch" does.

Loviatar is also referred to as the mistress of Pohjola, which is “the extreme north”, a dark, terrible place. In Mythologia Fennica she is referred to as the emuu or “ancestor spirit” of wolves, connecting her to Loki’s association with wolves as the father of Fenrir. Impregnated by the wind, Loviatar gives birth to nine children, associated with diseases but one son stood out:

One remained without getting a name, a boy at the bottom of the batch, a mouthless, eyeless brat; afterwards she ordered him away, to the tremendous Rutja rapids, into the fiery foaming surge. From him sharp frosts were bred, from him arose the Syöjätärs, from him the other destroying ones, he begat the sorcerers on lakes, the wizards in every dell, the jealous persons in every place, in the tremendous Rutja rapids, in the fiery foaming surge. - John Abercromby, The pre-and proto-historic Finns : both Eastern and Western, with the magic songs of the West Finns

Syöjätärs are kind of Baba Yaga-like troll women.This myth has a resemblance to the last part of the 12th stanza in Völuspá hin Skamma, where it is said that Loki is the origin of all monsters or “troll women”.

Varð Loftr kviðugr

af konu illri;

þaðan er á foldu

flagð hvert komit.

Translation:

(With child from the woman | Lopt soon was,

There hence on earth | came the monsters all.)

Flagð here is translated as “monsters” but it is more commonly used as a word for witches or troll women.

Norse mythology is a shamble of many different tales and myths from different cultures, it wouldn't surprise me if aspects of Loki can be found in Finnish myths and folklore.

I want to preface this next part by saying that I have not studied etymology on an academic level, but I do know that Norse and Finnic people borrowed words from each other (f.x. the Norther-Sámi word siedi, which means "sacred offering site/offering stone" is borrowed from Norse seiðr).

If Loki is actually Lóðurr, and there is some evidence he is (Haukur Þorgeirsson of the University of Iceland writes about it here), then Loki is also responsible for the creation of man according to Norse myth. The Finnish luoda (“to create”, from Proto-Finnic *loodak which means "to create" or "cast/throw") sounds like it could be connected to Lóður, however Lóður is thought possiby derive from Icelandic lóð meaning "growth or product/yield". I still find it interesting that another Icelandic verb, afkasta ("profit, yield") has connections to throwing, clearly throwing and creating are sometimes linked concepts.

I also found out that from *loodak comes the word luopa "renounce/abandone" and luopio which means “traitor”. These words are likely derived from the "casting" definition of *loodak and to me sound eerily like Loptur but could be a bit of a stretch as well.

The word I find most interesting though is the Finnish word loukko. The general consensus regarding the name Loki is that it is most likely from "loka" which means to shut or open, also “lok” which is "ending" (same root as the english word “lock”). However, loukko (hole, hollow, inside corner, pit) from Proto-Uralic *lowkke (“hole, opening, cavity, hollow”) attracts my attention because of the aforementioned meaning of Loviatar's name which is made up of lovi ("cleft" or "hole") and -tar (feminine suffix). The Finnish way of saying "falling into a trance" is "langeta loveen, literally "falling into lovi, falling into a cleft".

This phrase, falling into a cleft, refers to cracks in stone being gateways to the underworld in Finnish-Karerlian shamanistic folklore. Antti Lahelma writes about cracks in painted/carved rock faces being gateways to the Underworld as a phenomenon attested cross-culturally. On the rocks by the lake Onega in northwestern Russia there are images of swans entering or emerging from cracks in the rock, Lehman writes that this could represent the soul of a shaman or dead person passing between this world and the Underworld. In their article Liminality, Rock Art and the Sami Sacred Landscape, Inga-Maria Mulk and Tim Bayliss-Smith suggest that Badjelánnda rock art site in northern Sweden should be seen as a Sámi gateway to the Underworld. They also write that water seeping out of cracks in these smooth, south-facing black rocks represented new souls returning to the Middle World. According to Russian scholar Vladimir Napolskikh's constructed ‘map’ of Proto-Uralic cosmology (see image below), the Underworld or Lower World is associated with North, the river mouth, cold sea and subterranea.

(Vladimir Napolskikh 1992)

Photo of a plaster cast of a swan carving in Besov Nos.

Migratory water-birds such as swans, geese and ducks were birds of the Upper World, but the birds of the Lower World were loons. These birds often feature in Earth-Diver myths and Napolskikh writes that in some versions it is the loon (or someone who transforms into a loon) that dives to the bottom of the sea and fetches the earth that land shall be made of. However, in some myths the loon is the unsuccessful rival of another creature (often a duck) which does manage to fetch earth, sometimes the loon is even a form of the Devil.

An interesting theme that can be found in some versions is the Devil/loon/second bird using part of the earth to create the land as well. This is sometimes a team effort between the two creators but sometimes the Devil/loon/second bird deceitfully conceals a part of the earth in it's beak/hands and either deliberately or accidentally creates it's own parts of the world. One myth I find particularly interesting features the Devil demanding a small piece of earth and from the resulting hole emerge all kinds of vermin. Here we see some familiar concepts; A creator, a hole or gap, a traitor, an originator of undesirable creatures. Lóðurr, Loki, Loptur?

Probably the most compelling evidence that suggests that Loki is connected to loons can be found in An Account of the Sámi by Johan Turi. He writes about the loon being a noaidi bird (i.e. associated with Sámi shamanic workers) and being able to foretell changes in the weather. Most remarkable however, is that the beaks of the red-throated loon were used "in the olden times" to make weapons like arrows and it was believed that such weapons are the only things that can kill people that have been enchanted to resist arrows. This reminds me of the mistletoe that kills Baldur as well as Loki’s weapon Lævateinn/Hævateinn which is the only weapon that can kill the rooster Viðófnir.

Thinking of all of his names and these words fills my head with repeating sounds, Lou Lo Ló Low Loo. This reminds me of the sound of the Sámi joik or luohti, a kind of singing which is sometimes done in a shamanic context. Not necessarily related, I just wanted to add this in.

This whole thing might be me just grasping for straws, but I strongly believe that the myth of Loki is tied to something deep. Is Loki the howling sound of the wind passing through cracks and clefts in stone? A being that dives into the Underworld? A cunning magician with loon-beak arrows?

[wallieinninjago]

Garmadon and Lloyd dragon rising reunion is gonna be like this

Garmadon: I missed you so much Lloyd

Lloyd : me too dad

Garmadon : so what did I miss?

Lloyd: well I became a father master to two kids and one for them is the elemental master of technology and the other learned spintjizu on his own and created a new art of fighting with it. We dethroned an evil empress who was using dragon power to power her empire and she also captured a source dragon who gave me the some crazy power up that helped us save the universe from ending itself with the help of three dragon ball thingies that grandpa used once AND after that a sexy tiger guy named lord ras who worked for the evil empress wanted to free ancient evil called the forbidden five and during the ritual Kai got banished to the nether space and it freed one of them AND then we had to go to the tournament of the sources to figure out who murdered a bunch important dragons OH another source dragon told us about it and my daughter student won however the forbidden five got freed and my ex husband enemy lord ras took custody of my son student and is now training him to be angry and I think uncle Wu is dead now and I'm very depressed and have panic attacks.

Garmadon:....

Garmadon:

Like bro aged another hundred years just from hearing that.

Hey so I might have missed a few many things but if I were to describe the two seasons of dragon rising , I would be here for a few weeks

[garlicgravy]

I really do hope we see more of Lloyd and garmadon in dragons rising season 2, I love their "evil dad and heroic son" trope sm

And since Master Wu is likely dead (since he's kind of a spirit in DR?) Garmadons source of family is only through Lloyd, and they only have each other. I really wanna see some comedic and bonding scenes with them, and since in the lego set leaks garmadon is "training Lloyd", I wonder if that'll happen in the show too 🥹💚 I love them sm

[ratt-king]

"I want them DEAD!!! I hate Pidbit so much!!" I say as I write the meetings between Tim and Darry for Pidbit mafia au. . . more under the cut!

☆

Darry fixed his tie about five times as he spoke, clearing his throat a dozen more. It was clear that he was nervous. He was handsome too, and although he was nervous, he was firm and quick when negotiating, strong arguments, and strong arms. So maybe Tim was a little more interested in Darry than the alliance... He likes strong leaders, sue him!

"Mr Shepard, you haven't said a word since I came in. Is there something on your mind?" Darry asked.

You. Tim clasped his hands on the desk. "How does this show you know what you're doing, Mr. Curtis?"

Confusion filled Darry's face. The performance, territory, and the enemies clearly showed that they were doing well for themselves. Tim gave him an expectant look. But the Shepards had neighboring circles of influence, so it's not as though he doesn't believe Darry.

"Mr. Shepard, the facts dont lie. It's not whether or not you think we aren't. We are more than-"

His voice was smooth, the only hint of emotion being the slow rise in speed. It would be easy to have him coming back, but Tim has to play his cards right. He can't afford to offend the man despite not wanting to work with him. These meetings could be a source of entertainment.

"I don't make assumptions. But this is from when, and I hate to say, your father was in command." Tim leaned back against his chair. Hook. "You may be just as efficient or more, but there is no proof of that yet, Mr. Curtis."

Tim knew that Darry would have no arguments against this. Its true, his rise to power was sudden, just as this offer. Infact the word of Darrel Sr. dying still had yet to reach many others. Even Tim was expecting to see the older man, not the son of his.

Darry wasn't just going to give up though, this alliance could be crucial to running Bob Sheldon and his help out of Tulsa.

"With due time, I can prove my efficiency." Darry fixed his tie once more. Line, "Would you be amendable to recurring meetings? If proof is what you want, I can provide it-" sinker.

"Well, aren't you persistent?" Tim let a smirk spill onto his face. "I would be willing to review your methods, I'll see you again in two weeks. Mr. Curtis"

"Of course, Mr. Shepard." Darry said as a younger woman, who looked like Tim shooed him out.

She gave him a kind smile as she walked him out. They always had strict security, but walking him to his car seemed excessive. She gave a knowing smirk, having practicallly sniffed out Darry's worries.

"Don't fret, since you're coming back, we're making sure we know what vehicle and where you're coming in from." Her assurance was laced with something threatening.

Although she went back to the sweet smile as he drove away, Darry couldn't shake the feeling of danger being just over his shoulder...

...

Tim watches as Angela crept back into the room with an evil look on her face. He could never keep a secret from her, seeing how she manages to force the truth out of him. At least it made her a good spy and an even worse pain in Tim's ass.

"Angela."

"Tim?" She giggled, "Is there a reason you're dragging this out? You said you didn't think we should work with them."

He can always trust her to use his words against him. It was obvious that Tim was just keeping Darry as eyecandy, but he wasn't just going to admit that. He has a reputation after all.

"His father was an exceptional leader, and Mr. Curtis seems to be a promising leader." Tim stated.

It was sterile, avoiding any emotion giving him away, but lack of emotion is emotion, and it speaks volumes. Angela decided not to press for more information, likely going to gossip with her friends. And Slyvia, god Tim really didn't want to work with them. If the stories Sylvia tells about her 'mystery man' from the Curtis territory are any bit accurate, they're sloppy and reactive and a liability for Tim's reputation.

☆

Tim decided to venture into the Darry's territory this time around. He didn't want a repeat of Angela's nosiness. Slyvia already side eyed him. He didn't need or want her raunchy jokes about cowboys and musclemen. When Tim came in, two guys playing with, hopefully unloaded, guns, were laughing like it was normal. One of them directed him in the right direction. His name was Soda, and he was also easy on the eyes like his brother but with fewer muscles.

Tim got himself trapped in a conversation with him, finding himself nodding along despite not knowing what he was saying. Something about cars, maybe his brothers? He wasn't really paying attention.

"I won't hold ya much longer," He said with an infectious chuckle, "Tell Darry I need him to approve Steve for working on the cars while you're there wontcha?"

"Okay- I suppose...?" Tim said as Soda gave him a playful shove in the right direction.

...

"Sorry for my late arrival, Mr. Curtis." Tim said as he took a seat across from Darry. "I got caught up with your brother. By the way, you have to approve some guy Steve for cars."

Darry looked a little embarrassed, likely from his brothers brief run-in with tim. He just hoped Tim didn't recognize Soda as the guy who threw a molotov at his brother. Or run into Dally, Dally had messed with their stuff about a million times.

"That's more than okay, Mr. Shepard. I know how he likes to talk," Darry's chest rumbled with laughter, "I'm surprised he let you go so quick! Now let's get into business, yeah?"

The facts didn't lie, Darry was a promising man, and they were only getting more power, and even though their influences were few, they had an iron grip over them. Even being a direct competitor to the Sheldons for weaponry and hits. It still bugged Tim that they were so casual about everything.

"So tell me, does this soothe your worries?" He said.

Tim figured it was an easy way to drag this out, "You are promising, but sloppy. You're effective, but there's countless mistakes along the way. I think my worries have just been replaced with new ones." So why don't you soothe it with your lips instead?

Darry took a deep breath, irritation deep in his body as he spoke, "Mr. Shepard, mistakes are bound to happen, and we always come out on top."

Irritation was the first step. Soon, Tim would bring him to fondness it was important to let Darry down on a negative note and pick up on a positive one. Keeping him on edge kept him aware, which allowed him to be easier to read.

How about you get on top of me? "Coming out on top means nothing if the towers is a strong wind away from collapsing." Tim hummed, taking a sip from the water offered.

Darry tapped his finger impatiently. "And about the alliance? Does this change your answer?"

Tim shrugged, "Why dont I come back every couple weeks, on Thursday, to see about the behavior of your boys?"

A car engine began in the background, then a loud explosion right after. Tim and Darry sat in silence for almost 5 minutes until the same brother burst in.

"Uhm, Dare... I might've busted an engine..." He said, holding his side. "and a rib."

Oh god. This was the group that he was going to ally with. Tim definitely did not want to work with them. It helped that Darry also looked mortified at the situation.

"I'll see you on Thursday, 'Dare'. At least pretend you have some control by then."

☆

So what do we think guyss??!??!?@,? I'm actually going crazy i hate writing (false) i think literacy shouldn't exist and people shouldn't have ever invented it.

[greenwoodxelf]

Hello everyone, here’s the first chapter of my Merlin fan fic. I don’t know how many chapter I will write, I let my ideas guide me.

Chapter 1: Long live the Queen.

The huge war between Camelot and the dark witch Morgana and her accomplices were finally ended. But unfortunately, it didn’t end very well, lots of dead people, Morgana and Mordred died, and the king of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon got killed… Camelot was now without a ruler…

Merlin was very emotional but he knew he had to go back to Camelot with his king’s body, in order to give him a proper ceremony/funeral. And he knew he had to give Arthur’s wife, Gwen, an explanation about what happened. And she was his friend, he wanted to be there for her and also for Gaius, who was a father to him. He really had to go back to Camelot.

So Merlin went back to Camelot, and Arthur’s fineral happened 2 days later in Avalon. It was a small and simple ceremony with the family, friends and knights. The ceremony lasted a whole day. Everyone had some words about Arthur, and there was a small dinner. Then the funeral ended and everyone went back to their homes. But Merlin decided to read about the prophecies saying that Arthur would rise again in Avalon, he knew about these prophecies and that’s why he made sure Arthur’s funeral was happening in Avalon.

Two weeks passed by and the Kingdom was still without a monarch, it was time for Gwen’s coronation. Gwen wasn’t ready to rule, she knew it, but she had to take her responsibilities as Arthur’s wife, and the laws of Camelot said if the king would die then his wife would become the ruler of the entire kingdom. So Gwen accepted it and she became Queen of Camelot. Everyone shouted « long live the Queen! »

Years passed by, Merlin was still trying to find a way to make Arthur rise again as the prophecies foretold. But in vain so far. Gwen was still Queen, the kingdom knew prosperous times because there was no war, no conflicts and the most important was that everyone was accepted and welcomed because magic wasn’t forbidden anymore, druids, witches, wizards could all live in peace with non magic people. Indeed, after Gwen was made Queen, she spent months undoing unfair laws which were approved during Uther’s reign. And the prohibition of magic was a huge matter, Merlin knew he could bring magic back to Camelot as it was before Uther became king. He knew and trusted Gwen, so he decided to tell her his biggest secret, that he was a wizard, a sorcerer and the most powerful one.

At first, Gwen was a bit scared and frightened but in her heart, she knew Merlin, her friend, she knew she could trust him. So why would she stop trusting him now she knew he was a wizard? Was he any different from the man she always had known? Of course not, she had no reason to break that trust. And so after a long discussion, Merlin told her that magic could be a good thing, and it could be used for good. He also added that magic can be used to heal, to defend (…) like it healed her father, the blacksmiths, some years ago. She was surprised when she knew her father was healed by Merlin’s magic.

So now, Gwen is sure magic can be used for good. But she also knew magic could be used for evil, like Morgana and Mordred had done. And Merlin couldn’t deny it, he knew all that too. Though, Gwen felt like magic could be beneficial to the kingdom, that it could unify Camelot and its people. And after everything that had happened, unify people would be a good thing.

Some days later, Gwen summoned the royal council, she explained everything about magic and her plans about unifying magical and non magical creatures and people. She also added that magical beings shouldn’t have feared to be themselves and to use their talents for good, that magic could be an asset. But in her discourse, she had to be honest and to admit, magic was a powerful source and it could be used for evil too. So Gwen and the royal council decided magic could be authorised but not without taking precautions and not without rules.

Then, Gwen and the royal council decided to appoint Merlin as the first magic advisor, and that an academy should have been built and Merlin would be the one who would rule that magic academy, after all, he was the only magic expert in the whole kingdom, and the only one Gwen and the royal council could trust for now. They knew Merlin would have done what was right.

New laws were made and these laws said magic was not forbidden anymore but the practice of magic had to be supervised and it couldn’t be practiced without an approval. Every person and whatever their age or their magic level, who desires to practice and use magic should have gotten the approval of the first magic advisor, Merlin Emerys first, and for that, they had to follow a magic course, many courses were proposed, like healing, kingdom’s defence (…).

Merlin was very surprised to be promoted to such a high position, after all he was used to being a manservant but he was happy and was ready to accept and to take his responsibilities.

[sepublic]

The way they rise into the air is just like Ras communicating with his master… The master of the Forbidden Five is obviously Thunderfang, who wanted to be a Source Dragon and is even the source of their powers, so they’re essentially conduits. Doc Wyatt confirmed the Wu-parallel Source Dragon was the one who died.

Ras’ master is that dead Source Dragon and his symbol resembles Wu’s colors because he’s an evil Wu and they’re both responsible for the Merge, or at least one started it whereas the other wants to undo it. They silently, enigmatically guide their students as golden lights.

When Ras lifted into the air at the end of S2A, do you think Nokt recognized what happened and could immediately tell? Does he have a good clue on who Ras’ master is from that alone? Hmm.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

fuck me. ff16 x ninjago au

(spoilers for both ff16 and dr)

the merge has happened before the events of the series. the source dragon of balance is dead. this results in the merge and the unleashing of a tidal wave of power so great it puts the other source dragons into a dreamlike state. the realms are thrown into disarray and recover over many years.

the source dragons' influence of power are roughly centralised in different areas of the merged lands. these regions gave rise to elemental masters related to that source, and over time various kingdoms developed; each kingdom is home to a source dragon's mortal incarnation (much like the arc dragon of focus). the arc dragons are born inside a mortal host (called an arkon), who if triggered will spontaneously take form of the arc dragon themselves. careful now! priming into an arc dragon is incredibly taxing and can kill you if you do it too many times!!

source kingdoms have risen and fallen over the centuries. the source dragons are mythic and are the centralised figures of various stories and religions (said religions are named after the source energies themselves); arkons are predominantly used as political pieces and for warfare. since elemental powers are predominantly inherited and arkons randomly spawn in specific lineages, elemental masters are often houses or families with considerable power in their kingdom. if a family is known for consistently having arkons and that family were to potentially be. eradicated.... it would take a long, long, LONG time for the arc dragon to be reincarnated in a new lineage. too long for the kingdom to recover, leading to its collapse

kai and nya are born in the ignacia province to the jiang-smith family, in a kingdom that is home to the arc dragon of flow. nya is the current arkon, inheriting water powers from her mother’s side. kai is born without a clear connection to flow’s elements, so he becomes the first sword- the personal bodyguard of the arkon, to make up for the fact that he was born without powers in a family of elemental masters AND an arkon.

all is going well- as well as it could- when the neighbouring Empire invades and kills the jiang-smiths. nya in a panic primes into the arc dragon of flow, only for herself to be killed by an arc dragon lost to history: the arc dragon of motion, whose lineage had been wiped from existence.

kai, who sees this all go down, is distraught over the deaths of his family and his inability to save his people from the rampaging arc dragon of motion. he vows to find its arkon and slay them and atone for his own failure as nya’s first sword.

kai is eventually taken prisoner by the Empire, where he is forced to become the first shield of the Empire’s arkon, lloyd garmadon. lloyd, only slightly younger than nya, disapproves of his father’s conquest of the merged realms and agrees to help kai on his quest.

that’s all I got. I might write more. Fuck

===

no it's just. really fucking insane how kai, nya and lloyd match up almost perfectly with clive, joshua and dion. it's almost evil. to me. i gotta draw them.

kai being clive, ifrit, big giant fire guy toeing the line between hero and herald of destruction.... yummyy

nya being the stand-in for THE LITERAL PHOENIX.... also i will give you so much kai mourning nya hehheheheehee im actually deranged as fuck

lloyd being BAHAMUT... BRO. BRO. INSANE. UNREAL. also garmadon being corrupted somehow like sylvestre and wanting to conquer the rest of the world lmao call me insane but i'm cooking

>>>>> GREENFLOWER SHIPPING IS CANON EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU TO NAOKI YOSHIDA FOR GIVING US GAYS

kai being ifrit/fire adjacent + zane being shiva/ice adjacent -> opportunity for oppositeshipping.... hehehe

>>>>> but idk i really want skylor back bro i need my wife,,,, WAAA

wu is cid i said what i said

but also i don't want cole to be evil :( but bc jay isn't cid he would take the role of benedikta and i don't want him to be evil too :( maybe jay and cole could be wanderers of some sort and join the gang lmaooo

i am crashing out tho bc WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO ADD ARIN AND SORA AND WYLDFYRE AND FRAK…. IM CRYINGGGGG MY BABIES IM SO SORRY

arkon is literally just a mashup between "arc" and "eikon" because im original

thinking of having the kingdoms be named after the different dragon tribes like in dr.... mmmmmm it'd be cool i fear

[salty-autistic-writer]

I know I am repeating myself, but it's still so relevant and I will never ever forget what happened back when a crew member of Sherlock BBC excitedly called the fourth season "Groundbreaking television history", "Never been done before" - and certainly had no clue what kind of reaction that would provoke among the well known fandom bubble called "tjlc": "The Johnlock Conspiracy". Tjlc was 100% convinced that the popular Fanon ship Johnlock was being planned to become canon in the last season. So. Groundbreaking television history: "It can only mean Johnlock. There's no way anything else would be called groundbreaking television history! It will happen. All the signs we have collected. All the meta we have written. All the hidden hints we have seen in the writer's words, smiles and voices: It's all about to come to fruition! Finally!"

What then happened can only be described as the great hilarious ridiculous fever dream / meltdown:

"Groundbreaking television history / Aka never been done before" = Sherlock and Mycroft have an evil sister that was being hidden away on an island. Redbeard was never a dog! Sherlock only imagined him as dog because he didn't want to think about his dead friend! Moriarty is truly gone (what a wasted potential!). Final scene: An emotional monologue montage. Sherlock and John will forever solve cases together. As friends. Besties. Yay.

Tjlc had a total meltdown. People were convinced the final episode is fake. It got leaked in Russian, so ... Must be fake. A hint that the real thing will come. And it will. Trust. One day. One day we will have the real episode. With Johnlock canon.

And, of course, you know why I am telling you this: because of the part of the 911 fandom waiting for the 100% happening Buddie canon right now. Because. It really is the same thing. The articles of the "journalists" included. They smell an overeager cash cow in those fanatic fans who drink up every word that can be somehow twisted to fit a narrative. "Media literacy" you cry while you think some person on the internet gives you hidden signs via text. It's actually just you. You are part of this bubble, you chose to believe the narrative, you chose to see a sign and hint in literally anything. You chose to be an asshole to people with different opinions. EVEN THOUGH the actors and writers told you time and time again: "Buddie is one possible interpretation of the source material. There are other interpretations and they are not wrong."

But in the end, no matter what happens, you won't want to be responsible for your disappointment. Because you just followed the trail of signs and hints! Surely, the writers were cowards. They had the plan, but then backpedaled! Evil! (Yes, this is what people still say about the Sherlock BBC writers! :)) They don't say: We were wrong. They say: We were right, but sadly the show didn't decide to follow its own road to the ultimate truth!

(And btw, even the rise of rpf is the same. Freebatch. Benedict Cumberbatch's wife was harassed. His marriage was called "fake". Martin Freeman exploded in an interview: "We are not fucking!!!")

The only difference really: Sherlock BBC indeed chose to let their characters hint at a possible romance between Sherlock and John. Several times with multiple suggestive quotes - to which the characters did react. Something that 911 never really did (apart maybe from the Maddie and Buck "he's so cute" scene). It's just what you choose to see.

[katherine-mcnamara]

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ  MORGAN DAVIES GIF PACK  ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

By clicking on the source link at the bottom of this post you will be able to access #188 gifs that are 540x350 in size from Evil Dead Rise.

These gifs were all made by me from scratch, for roleplaying purposes. Feel free to crop/resize/edit for personal use. Please don’t repost into gifsets/gif hunts or claim as your own. Please reblog if using. Hope y’all enjoy! 

[regular-gnome]

Through many AUs I've been through, yours are the one I like the most, because it's a more realistic one.

I can see that the "cruelty" of other Collectors are not like that they are evil.

For a being that is older than universe, they are like the Gardeners of Stars, as a gardener you have to cut it out what is dead, you have to treat the soil, prepare it for a new tree, now with planets it's kind the same, they visit, they watch, and so they decide if some species is worth to keep and if they are not worth for keeping.

And so, this process of leaving a juvenile collector in a planet till the dominant species dies is kinda a hardening process, in order for them to grow mature and to not let feelings intervene in the decision process, like being a doctor, you must put aside the fear of hurting the patient in order to heal the patient.

But in TOH things got different, they found a species that represented danger to themselves, so they used another species to kill the titans and the little collector paid the piper.

Im very glad you enjoy the AU:D

The concept is rooted in the idea that generally, people or characters don't choose evil simply for the sake of being evil. But nobody is omnicent, they react to whats happening, trying to figure out what might be "best" as they go without really a way to know for sure if its a right call. Having power to destroy a planet with swipe of finger rises the stakes for literally everyone. When the Collector was releashed during King's Tide the game changed. If Belos had managed to control them - nobody would have been able to challenge him. Even Odalia tried to suggest totally reshaping the isles. Seeing anyone as mostly/ only dangerous power sources creates power imbalance, something that can evolve into very shaky and actually dangerous relation when the other side realises they were never really considered a equal person and having the ability to revange. There is a lot of implications and possibilities when someone possesses such power with no oversight and unlimited time but also is a person that doesnt want to be alone:D

If involvement with mortals ends in some kind of complications the collectors will be around to see the consequences, even if they don't directly experience them so sort of desensitization toward the very life they are trying to preserve is bound to happen. "They live for so short and can cause so much change in their own system, its best to control the situation" type of mindset. Also thinking of ecosystem like gardens that need work on makes it easier to deal with, especially since with the scale of galaxy they cant just spend unlimited amout of time in one place full of creatures that do not want to be preserved. Their actions come from a place of care but there is inherent cruelty in their concern

Sooo yeah, its the perspective that might develop in that kind of situation and might end up with leaving one of their own alone for eons. But who knows, this AU is a lot of theories in a trenchcoat and i dont want to defend their actions. Killing all titans? yeah thats bad. It's more about theorizing why anyone would consider that a reasonable option while also not being evil just cuz