#the foretellers are lying to us

[rosie-kairi]

[goldensunset]

i was like ‘it’s not gonna stop me this time i’m gonna scroll past it with a simple smile and be done’ but unfortunately here i am again quietly laugh-crying the trajectory of my evening has been altered again

[artisticdisaster]

i am making some Kingdom hearts based MTG Proxy Decks and. Yeah. That is what they're doing

[sir-cookieton]

The foretellers are lying to us

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Chapter 19 Premium Story

Chapter 19

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

If there's a beginning, there's an end.

That day might come sooner than we think.

Sooner than we can even prepare ourselves.

Azel: Akatsuki, I recommend leaving Tanzanite before the full moon.

(Huh…?)

Azel sipped his Zel tea and spoke seriously.

The owner's eyes changed at the prophecy from the God who could foretell a definite reality.

Akatsuki: ...It's going to get worse?

Azel: Yes. Soon.

(...Gods can even tell when things will worsen.)

The moon has already more than half recovered its shape.

It won't be long until the full moon.

(The last riot was just a minor skirmish...)

(But if those continue, eventually they could escalate to the use of force.)

(Once the royal family uses force, the oppressed side won't be able to back down either.)

(I hope Tanzanite doesn't become a battlefield.)

The never-ending prophecy of the end sowed seeds of anxiety in my heart, and I could no longer taste the Zel tea.

Akatsuki: That's kind of you.

Azel: I told you, didn't I? Miss Emma has been good to me.

Azel: This warning is my thanks. However...

Azel: If a God says such ominous things, it will cause an uproar.

Azel: So please, keep this between us.

(If a large-scale riot breaks out...)

(I wonder if Azel will be alright.)

-

(...)

(.............)

(I can't sleep...)

Curled up on the edge of the bed, I open my eyes that I had been desperately closing, trying to sleep.

What came into view was not the ceiling of the night sky --- but Azel's mystical eyes.

(...!?)

Azel: Wha-

Azel seemed just as surprised as me, and jumped back with the force of a shooting star.

Azel: If you're awake, say you're awake! You're giving me a heart attack!

Emma: Wh-what were you doing?

Azel: Nothing! It's a misunderstanding!

(...If I'm not mistaken, it looked like he was peering at my sleeping face...)

When I stared at him intently, Azel, who for some reason had his hands raised to prove his innocence, turned away.

Azel: I wasn't doing anything bad.

Azel: It's just that... you were in my way, so I pushed you to the edge of the bed.

(He's right. I seem to have moved to the middle of the bed before I knew it.)

Come to think of it, I always try to sleep on the very edge so as not to disturb Azel, but when I wake up in the morning, I often find myself sleeping in the middle of the bed.

Emma: Sorry––

(...No, this is strange.)

(If Azel was the one pushing me to the edge, I shouldn't be waking up in the middle every time.)

Azel continued to avert his gaze unnaturally, not even trying to look at me.

Emma: ...Could it be the other way around?

Azel: No, it's not! Why would I go out of my way to move you to the middle? Don't be ridiculous!

Emma: It is the other way around, isn't it?

Azel: ......

(This ticklish, sweet feeling, how many times have I felt it now?)

Emma: Thank you for always doing that.

Perhaps realizing he couldn't keep up the pretense, Azel returned to the bed with a sulky look.

Azel: Let me tell you––

Emma: Are you going to charge me a transportation fee or a caring fee?

Azel: ...Yeah, that's right. I'll add it to your tab.

Picking up a book that was lying nearby, Azel lay on his stomach and began to read.

Perhaps it was a sign that he had nothing more to say.

I also put a little distance between us and lay down again, but my gaze was directed at him.

His profile as he faced the book was as handsome as a statue, and at first glance, he looked like a cold God.

But beneath the surface, Azel was always merciful.

He's a greedy, ill-natured God who works me like a slave, but I realize that I can't help but grin at the clumsy compassion he shows from time to time.

––And after grinning, my heart races too.

(I don't think I can sleep now, but for a different reason than before.)

As I continued to stare, Azel, with a frown between his brows, lightly pinched my cheek.

Azel: Go to sleep. Your staring is annoying.

Emma: ...Would you mind keeping me company with a story until I get sleepy?

Azel: No way.

Emma: There's something I want to ask out of curiosity.

Azel: I said no, didn't I?

Even though he said "no," he wasn't turning the pages of the book.

It was proof that he was listening to my voice.

(The Azel I know is merciful like this.)

(But then why...)

Emma: ...Why can't Gods love people?

Azel: Huh?

Emma: You know, you said it before.

Azel: Being liked is troublesome, and Gods don't love humans either.

Emma: You're not a misanthrope, are you, Prince Azel?

Emma: You're quite caring in your own way, you never refuse those who visit the temple, and you always smile in front of people...

Emma: In fact, you even seemed to love people.

Azel: ...So, that's the extent of Belle's perception, huh?

Azel: It makes me sick to my stomach to be misunderstood in such a disgusting way, so carve this into your flower-field brain.

Azel closed the book and needlessly squished and squeezed my cheeks.

Azel: I was a Living God from the moment I was born.

Azel: People looked to me for hope, and they sought prophecies from me.

Azel: From a baby who was still zero years old and didn't even understand anything.

Emma: From such a young age?

Azel: Yeah. My mother knelt before me, and my father fanatically worshipped me.

Azel: Naturally, I don't remember anything from when I was zero...

Azel: But according to my brother, they apparently forced me to perform divination using cards.

Azel: They would make the baby choose from prepared cards to determine the future—a binary divination, or rather, a game of chance that couldn't even be called divination.

Emma: That's just messed up.

Azel: Our people don't possess the same sensibilities as you.

Azel: They entrusted their lives, their country, everything to a baby.

Azel removed his hand and rested his chin in his hand.

Azel: Of course, as I got older, people's demands only increased.

Azel: People revere Gods because they show them a guaranteed reality.

Azel: To put it bluntly, it's convenient for them. They don't have to think for themselves about any difficult problems, right?

(...I had a vague understanding of this, but I can't agree that abandoning choices and entrusting judgment to a God is a good thing.)

(Because choices come with responsibility.)

I, as Belle, also chose the future king of Rhodolite.

If the king I chose implements bad policies in the future, I will be the one to answer for it.

(Azel has been asked to make and has shown far more critical choices than I have.)

(But when his divination fails, people will blame the God, just like in that riot.)

Emma: ...Have you ever felt like it was all too much?

Azel: Every day. That's why I rebelled once.

Azel: It was more my brothers' mischievous idea than my own will, though.

Azel: Enis and my other brother probably felt sorry for my situation back then, just like you.

Azel: One time, we ran away from the palace and hid here in this ruin.

Azel: Only in this place, away from the eyes of adults, did my brothers treat me like a little brother.

Azel: Being treated as a "human" felt surprisingly good...

Azel: We were supposed to return to the palace before being found, but because of that, I made a mistake in judgment.

Azel: It didn't take long for my father to find us using soldiers.

Azel: And...

Before I knew it, Azel was clenching his fists on top of the sheets.

Azel: Right in front of me, my brothers had their nails ripped off, were whipped, and were hung in a cold cell for three days and nights.

Emma: ...!

(...What is this...?)

(This isn't discipline, it's just torture.)

Azel: I was still a child then. I cried and screamed, unable to do anything, but my father wouldn't stop.

Azel: He tortured my brothers with a smile, saying it was all for the sake of God.

Azel: ...Ever since then, I haven't been able to stand the sight of blood.

Finding traces of pain in his dispassionate words, I placed my hand over Azel's.

I acted not out of reason, but out of emotion, hoping to distract him from the pain, even if just a little.

Emma: ...That's horrible.

Azel: But there was no one to stop my father.

Azel: Everyone believes without a doubt that it was the right thing to do because they love God.

Azel opened his fist without shaking off my hand.

Azel: Since then, Enis has been unable to defy our father and no longer sees me as his brother.

Azel: My other brother was the mastermind behind the escape plan, so he was exiled.

Azel: My claiming the title of Second Prince is like an act of defiance.

Azel: I deliberately maintain the position of First Prince to prevent that geezer from forgetting my anger.

(...So that's what it was.)

*flashback*

Azel: It's alright. The old man is secluded in the sanctuary today.

Azel: Even if we're a little out of line, there's no one to punish us.

Enis: ...Right.

*flashback over*

Emma: That father you're talking about, Prince Azel...

Emma: Is he the apostle?

As if to confirm, he squeezed my hand tightly.

Azel: You felt something was off about that geezer from the start, didn't you?

Azel: I was impressed by that. You saw through him as a madman in an instant.

(...The more I hear, the more Azel's environment seems like...)

Azel: People worship and revere me as a God. But that's just a convenient illusion.

Azel: The true identity of the last God on this continent...

Azel: Is just a pitiful slave.

All I could do was squeeze his hand back.

Azel: That's the answer to "why Gods don't love humans."

Azel: ...The people say they love the God.

Azel: They think they can do whatever they want with "love" as their excuse.

Azel: No matter how rational a person is, once they go mad with love, they can no longer live without it.

Azel: The way they fall into madness under the pretext of love is nothing but a curse.

(That sounds familiar somehow...)

A vague memory surfaced in my mind and seeped into my heart.

Azel: That's why I will never love anyone.

Azel: And don't you ever say such a repulsive thing again.

Emma: ...But...

Emma: The love you're talking about isn't love.

(At least, it's different from the love I know.)

(...This is the source of the dissonance I've been feeling.)

Emma: You can't call something that hurts you love.

Emma: That's just violence disguised as love.

When I declared this firmly, his mystical eyes wavered in the faint moonlight.

Azel: Then what is real love?

(Real love is...)

I've been searching for it too, and I still haven't found the answer.

But if we can call compassion a kind of "love," then I know many clear examples.

Emma: Wouldn't it be like this very moment, when you're indulging my sleepless chatter?

Azel: ...Huh?

Emma: Like when you cook for me when I'm tired...

Emma: Or when you frantically bring me a linen when I'm crying...

Emma: Or when you put me back in bed every day so I don't fall out...

Emma: I think that's what love is.

Azel: ......

Azel: So you're insulting me, then?

Emma: Why would you think that!?

Azel: What else am I supposed to think?

Azel: According to what you just said, it would mean I love you.

Emma: Ah...

(Come to think of it, those might have been rather conceited examples.)

(But that's all I could think of at the moment...!)

Azel: That was an insult worthy of increasing your debt by three digits.

Emma: ...! Th-they were just examples!

Azel, his face contorted like a demon mask, was blushing furiously, even in the dim light.

(...Seeing him so flustered...)

Even things that didn't have any deep meaning before are starting to gain meaning, and even I'm getting flustered.

After an awkward silence, Azel wrapped his arms around my head and pulled me towards his chest.

Azel: Go to sleep now. Go to sleep immediately. Go to sleep this instant.

Emma: I can't breathe! This isn't going to sleep, it's going to be fainting...!

When I resisted, his grip loosened.

However, he didn't seem to intend to let me go, as his hand snaked around my waist.

This was probably a measure to prevent me from seeing his face, but it only made my body hotter.

(This is exactly the kind of thing that makes people misunderstand...)

Azel: Listen, I'm going to make this clear now.

Azel: All those things I do are for money, and I haven't done a single thing for your sake.

Azel: If you ever say anything about love or whatever again, I'll curse you for generations to come.

(...This is troubling.)

Even though he was saying all those things, Azel's heartbeat told a different story.

Perhaps a God's heart beats faster than a normal person's, but the thump-thump-thump against my forehead was contagious.

(I won't point it out though, or he might actually make me faint.)

Though I didn't feel sleepy at all, I closed my eyes.

Whether unconscious or not, he gently patted my back.

Perhaps it was the God's compassion for me, after I said I couldn't sleep.

(...Being with Azel, I feel like I might find the answer too.)

(To what kind of love I'm yearning for...)

-

(Azel's POV)

Hearing her finally fall asleep, I slightly move my body away.

Unlike before, there's no sign of her waking up, and her unconsciously escaping breaths melt into the desert night.

Azel: ...It's nice that you can sleep so peacefully.

Azel: On the contrary, now I can't sleep.

Even when I complain, there's no reply. I sigh once more and pull the blanket closer.

After I carefully wrap it around her so my lodger won't be exposed to the night chill, she moves away, seemingly preferring the fluffiness of the blanket.

Seeing her hugging the blanket instead of the God, I frown.

Azel: I'm definitely warmer, aren't I?

I worry, hesitate, extend my hand, then retract it, repeating this over and over. After continuing this meaningless conflict, I pull her escaped body back into my arms.

Azel: ...Being with you makes me feel like I've become an idiot.

Azel: ...

Azel: But there's no such thing as a dream that lasts forever.

Azel: Just as the events here will eventually become a dream to you, they will also become a dream to me someday.

Azel: ...I've been through so much pain because of that worthless thing called love.

Azel: At the very least, I hope you can live without knowing that pain.

Azel: If you are loved by someone, that's the beginning of hell.

Like a God praying to a God—I lightly kiss Emma's forehead as she continues to sleep.

.

.

.

Chapter 20

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[homestuckreplay]

carcinoGeneticist’s [CG’s] computer exploded.

(page 2079-2092)

But Sollux, even with his vision twofold, does not have the perceptional luxuries of our vision omnipresent. (p.2092)

‘vision omnipresent’ is not kidding around. This update reveals significant lore about the trolls’ session, Sburb in general, what will happen upon the death of the trolls’ universe, and possibly also the Intermission?

Sollux’s mind honey, ability to put bees to sleep, and collection of grubs that he wires up to his computer all barely seem worth mentioning given everything that happens later. But I will, because I think this all ties into Alternian society being prepared in advance for Sburb. Sollux and AA’s powerful psychic abilities will definitely give them an advantage when they enter the Medium and start fighting imps, while the idea that games are powered by the electrical impulses of living creatures feels plausible if those creatures are precisely genetically engineered – through ectobiology, perhaps?

Sollux recruits Terezi as the red team leader, and they bounce off each other really well – I can imagine that Sburb isn’t the first game they’ve played together, and they’re used to trash talking each other when they’re competing. Terezi suggesting that Sollux’s visions are getting tangled up with his actual mental health issues characterizes her really well too, as that’s something most people would leave unsaid, and only someone who’s very blunt and feels very comfortable around their friend would even make that point.

TA: ii am goiing two diie. TA: ii mean we all are. TA: but e2peciially me. TA: ii am goiing two get my a22 2erved two me twofold. (p.2082)

It is just like Sollux to bifurcate everything up to and including his own death, but I actually think there’s a simple explanation here. adiosToreador told Jade that all the trolls’ dream selves are dead (p.1936), which could be what Sollux has seen in visions. If Sollux has also seen his waking self die, that’s a death twofold.

TA: paradox 2pace u2e2 [angel2] two u2her iin the end. GC: HOW DO3S 1T KNOW WH4T 4NG3L TO US3... ........ TA: huh?? GC: >:? (p.2082)

Hey Terezi, what does this mean? What the FUCK does this mean?? Increasingly clear that a lot of the trolls have some sort of mind altering effect going on. Karkat’s probably ok, but Gamzee has his sopor slime pies and belief in mirthful messiahs, Sollux has his visions of Alternia’s annihilation, AA has voices foretelling the session’s outcome, Terezi has messages from the dreams of a lusus who doesn’t exist yet, and that’s just the trolls we know about. To be honest if it turns out all eleven of Karkat’s friends have external supernatural sources affecting their minds and making it hard to maintain a real friendship, no wonder he’s so angry. And types in gray instead of following a strange color gradient whispered to them from the heavens.

I hate to overthink simple punctuation (lying, I love it) but Terezi’s very cryptic message ends in three dots followed by eight more, or twelve dots with the fourth missing, Karkat being the fourth of the twelve trolls. Terezi’s last weirdly cryptic message was information from her lusus – ‘1F 1 3V3R D1D H4V3 ON3 1T WOULD M34N TH3 WORLD W4S COM1NG TO 4N 3ND’ (p.2058) – and that was also something she claimed to not completely understand, just like her confused emoji following her angel question.

So, something weird going on with angels, just a few pages before we learn about an indestructible demon. Plus Sollux describes an angel as ‘2ome terriible mythiical demon’ (p.2082) – in Christian based mythology angels and demons are placed in opposition, as equal/opposite forces from heaven and hell. On Alternia, they might both exist, but angels aren’t a widely recognized concept while demons are. So that throws society out of balance, as they believe that all the greater cosmic forces ar negative and out to hurt them. Which could tie into why everyone’s visions are so dark. Are the blind prophets angels hiding in the shadows? Could AA herself be an angel?

AA continues to desecrate the frog ruins, and then appears in her very first chatlog!! I’m impressed and delighted about how well her spookiness comes through via Pesterchum. Her typing style is simple, all lowercase without punctuation and Os replaced with the number zero. Her messages are empty, emotionless and to the point, taking a similar distant perspective to the narrative text, with the possible exception of ‘s0llux i actually w0uld like it if you were happy’ (p.2085), the only time she expresses an opinion instead of a fact from her voices.

AA says that the trolls will fail in the game, ‘a failure which will ir0nically pr0ve t0 be missi0n critical’, that Sburb won’t save the world but is still important and is ‘much cl0ser t0 serving as the instrument 0f 0ur pe0ples demise than that 0f their salvati0n’, that meteors are already on their way, and that this group of trolls ‘will behave simultane0usly as the pawns and the 0rchestrat0rs of the great und0ing’. Most of this isn’t new information, as the trolls’ failure is what leads them to make contact with the kids, who it seems are the truly important group. AA having this knowledge upfront is definitely news, and the trolls being orchestrators as well as pawns might be news too, as I’ve always seen Sburb players as closer to unwitting pawns as they’re insignificant compared to Skaia and unable to change things, but AA’s framing here gives the trolls a lot more agency.

Sollux unsuccessfully tries to hard pivot away from playing Sburb following AA’s reveals, but Karkat is already in the Medium, and anyway he’d be way too stubborn to quit. Which from paradox space’s perspective is probably why he had to be first to enter. And that leads into the really important information: the effects of two different ~ATH viruses on Sollux’s computer.

Karkat runs Sollux’s bifurcated red/blue universe code, also known as the Mobius Double Reacharound Virus, which ‘when executed, immediately causes the user's computer to explode, and places a curse on the user forever, along with everyone he knows, and everyone he'll ever meet’ (p.2026). I gotta say even though we were warned multiple times that Karkat would run this code, it still surprised me, because I didn’t think it would be so soon. The effects are very literal, leading to the deaths of every troll’s lusus, and possibly the deaths of the trolls’ dream selves too. I guess I’m curious about the wording. It places a curse on everyone Karkat knows (present tense), which definitely includes Trollian contacts he hasn’t met in person, as well as everyone he’ll meet (future tense), which might be limited to in person meetings, or might extend to online communication. It’s unclear, but highly relevant given how extensively he’s trolled John and Jade online.

These passive voice sections are written exactly like fairy tales – minimum information necessary, conveying the plot without need for character interiority, language games, or a strong authorial voice. So it works in fairy tales to tell a big story in a short space of time (definitely true here), and to tell a story that’s supposed to transcend any one author or character, becoming a timeless tale that deals with archetypes and broad ideas. I think that’s a different way to look at this troll act – it’s describing a more typical Sburb session, one that’s happened time and time again over countless cycles on countless planets, perhaps even this planet, completing the gameplay without the rare complications of the kids’ session. Maybe the sort of tale that’s told to young trolls on Alternia, even, if children’s stories exist there.

Even in these passive voice sections, there’s moments of connection with the characters. Karkat looks upset about the death of his lusus, but Gamzee looks absolutely devastated. Having a parent who’s never around is one thing, but it keeps the hope alive for them to return. Seeing them dead and realizing you’ll never get to have that relationship you want is totally different, and Gamzee, who tries to be relaxed and roll with whatever happens to him, is having a rare moment his faith can’t just carry him through.

It’s news that ‘one pre-entry prototyping per player [is] absolutely necessary for ultimate success’ in Sburb (p.2088), which differs from Rose’s very early suspicions about prototyping options – she considered ‘only one [prototyping], either before or after’ (p.440) as equivalent. If pre-entry prototypings are necessary, it’s possible that Jade’s sprite doesn’t get prototyped before her entry – likely due to time constraints as her meteor is already so damn close – and that ties into the kids’ failure.

It’s also news that the kernelsprite ‘has particular attraction to the deceased or the doomed’ (p.2089), although it makes sense as all the kids have prototyped with something dead, and John’s harlequinsprite especially resisted prototyping with cake mix and Colonel Sassacre’s in order to seek out Nanna’s ashes. I think future Dave counts here too – coming from a failed timeline, he is doomed, and has to pass over hope to his future self. Eleven of the twelve trolls will prototype their sprite with a dead lusus, while the exception – possibly Terezi because her lusus has yet to exist – will probably prototype with something living, but doomed, as this wording feels intentional.

In response to Karkat running the Mobius Double Reacharound virus and causing his computer to explode, Sollux deletes all viruses from his computer, even the weak2auce ones (p.2091). Then he finds another virus, one he apparently copied from a server in the Furthest Ring. This virus is unhackable even to Sollux, who actually knows his shit, but not to the player and narrator, who are here explicitly positioned as more powerful and knowledgeable than the characters. Upon the universe’s death, the virus will ‘summon an indestructible demon into the recently voided universe’ (p.2092) via a program whose name is a series of rapidly flashing pool balls.

According to Rose, the gods in the Furthest Ring can access servers there and ‘disperse the signal throughout the cosmos as they wish’ (p.1942), which could mean they’re the ones who decide which realities this indestructible demon has access to. It is possible that something the kids have yet to do will send this server to the trolls’ Furthest Ring, making it the kids’ fault that this indestructible demon can unleash his fury on the trolls. It’s also not clear whether the trolls and kids inhabit the same universe. I had assumed yes – but if paradox space consists of a series of universes, then perhaps I was wrong.

The specific description in this page is really interesting too, as the universe is described as a ‘cadaver’. I think of universes as something that either exist or don’t – their death happens at the moment they cease to exist, and leave nothing behind. But this suggests that there are perhaps countless dead universes floating out there in paradox space, as well as countless living ones, the same way we as humans exist with the dead all around us, as do Sburb players more directly with their sprites. The idea that how reality works on a small scale is replicated at larger and larger levels – like comparing the structure of atoms to solar systems – may not be scientifically accurate but it IS compelling, especially in fiction. So as the scope of Homestuck continues to spiral out, not only dealing with multiple planets but now multiple universes living and dead, I think it might start leaning harder into that theme.

Back to this virus – pool balls have obviously showed up in relation to the trolls’ planet before, with a whole gang themed after them in the Intermission! And considering that this demon has time travel powers and ‘will go about assembling followers through various epochs’ (p.2092) it seems like, perhaps, these followers would share powers and a theme with the demon himself. The green of the server is also very similar to the green of the Felt mansion. So what gives? Could the demon be Lord English? Or is Lord English just a high level follower of some greater demon? Is this demon in some way working with the gods of the Furthest Ring in order to propagate? What does this demon have to do with Sburb? Don’t these characters have enough problems without also dealing with an indestructible demon?!

[notsomania]

Deltarune theory: Our choices do matter but the characters' don't

First I wanna admit that I personally never liked the cope that "toby fox is lying" when it came to theories. However it seems at least possible that the "there is only one ending" claim isn't fully true.

This is probably gonna sound fandom-y in some parts but it'll probably make more sense as it goes on...

"Your choices don't matter" is a metanarrative plot of the game, not a rule to the player. Here's why...

Do OUR choices not matter?

From the start this game wants you to know that "your choices don't matter". For example, before Chapter 2 was released. This would show up before you download Deltarune Chapter 1:

Then, after giving a name to the vessel you created and yourself, a second voice (who has yet to be identified) trashes it before telling you that "No one can choose who they are in this world".

That's not the last time we're told something like this. After bullying Kris, Susie cuts you off and tells Kris "your choices don't matter".

An important detail about this is that the battle system in Deltarune is different from Undertale's. One of those differences is that when we attack enemies, they'll run away instead of getting killed. Because of this, people assume "your choices don't matter" simply means that the player can't make any long-lasting choices.

But this is NOT the case, because Ralsei tells us that our choices do in fact matter.

So far, the "Your choices don't matter" motif seems comparable to the infamous "kill or be killed" from Undertale.

But if our choices DO matter, then why is the message "your choices don't matter" so relevant in Deltarune?

Because the player's choices do matter. It's the characters' choices that do not.

What Spamton is really about

Spamton is usually associated with the player, and it's reasonable to assume why. He's mainly puppet themed, and he connects the most with Kris.

But this begs the question... how exactly he's getting controlled??

It's not like there is literally another character directly controlling his actions. He clearly has free will.

So then why does he talk like he doesn't? Why does he see himself as a puppet?

Because he doesn't represent being controlled by Kris's soul.

... he represents being controlled by fate itself.

Remember, we were told that no one can choose who they are in this world. He doesn't get to choose to be a "big shot" again. His life fell apart, and he can't do anything about it.

Spamton was written to be doomed from the start.

... So "freedom" must mean the freedom to choose your own life.

Then, after breaking the strings from Spamton NEO, he says something that can actually give you a whole different context on his battle if you look into it. He tells the whole party that they could be strong enough to remove their own strings.

This line wouldn't make sense at all if he was talking about the player's soul. We all know Kris is being directly controlled by US, but Susie and Ralsei aren't. They can do whatever they want...

... Right?

What Gaster represents

Let's talk about the legend now. In Chapter 1, Ralsei tells Kris and Susie that it was foretold by "time and space".

Time and space has been mentioned before in Undertale:

And deltarune.com looked like this in like 2015:

Translation: "THREE HEROES APPEARED TO BANISH ANGEL'S HEAVEN". and "THIS EXPERIMENT SEEMS VERY VERY INTERESTING."

W.D. Gaster told Ralsei this legend.

This confirms (if it hasn't for you already) that Deltarune is an experiment run by Gaster. Furthermore, he's the one who sends us this game in the first place.

It's also strongly implied that he met Jevil and Spamton, and was the reason they have gone insane.

Why does the obvious need to be said? Ralsei says that the legend foretells EXACTLY how your adventure is destined to go, similarly to how Spamton's failure seems destined to happen.

Gaster chooses what happens to everyone in Deltarune, including the main characters.

Again, it is told to us that no one can choose who they are in this world. Gaster is choosing for them.

But why is he doing this?

Could it be because he wants the player to be the only person in Deltarune who can make certain choices? After all, he wants us to play Deltarune. His experiment is the game itself.

That sounds an awful lot like a game developer, huh? It's possible that Gaster is a metaphor for game developers, similarly to how Flowey is a metaphor of the player in Undertale.

That's why Gaster knows exactly what will happen in the heroes' journey. He decided that they will be fated as heroes of a legend.

None of this means the characters aren't real people (in-universe). But it means that everything that happens to them is chosen by Gaster, whether they like it or not.

Except when it's the Snowgrave route, though...

The heroes and the angel

Now that we know the characters can't control what happens, you would think this means the game would only have one route, right?

Except it doesn't. There is a secret alternate route that has DRASTICALLY different events from the main story.

Remember, Ralsei says the prophecy predicts their exact journey, and yet we have the option to make Noelle kill both Berdly and Spamton.

The "your choices don't matter" motto does NOT apply to Noelle nor the player.

In fact, this can be proven by the Spamton NEO battle in this route, in which he tells us himself that this route will in fact give us freedom.

Meaning the alternate route is not supposed to happen on Gaster's part.

So how did we change the story? We know that the soul can apparently hold the fate of the world, but how did Noelle get freedom?

Well, Noelle is a special case of a character. For one, both Queen AND Spamton wanted to use Noelle for their plans. It's implied that she's actually very powerful.

This is further proven by her fatal spell that costs 200% TP if you don't have the Thorn Ring.

This means the alternate route can only happen with Noelle. (sorry... no chapter 3 firegrave lol)

But how does Noelle have freedom, like the player, while others don't?

Because both the player AND Noelle are the "Angel"

(he notably says "angel" twice. could be because both of them are right in front of him...)

This brings me back to Spamton. This is why he got obsessed with the NEO form. He thought it would give him this power to have freedom as well.

This also explains why Spamton used to spend all of his time praying in the basement.

He was praying to become an "angel" like Noelle and the player.

This could also give us an idea on what "Heaven" means. Could Heaven be a place outside of the Deltarune world, such as real life? Or something less dumb than that?

A place where Gaster isn't choosing what happens in his life?

Okay now back to this scene. Even though Spamton finally admits that he'll always be a puppet on strings, he says that the main characters could be strong enough to break their own strings.

What does that mean? Why are Kris, Susie and Ralsei so special?

Maybe because they're the only characters who can act in their free will. That's why they're chosen as the heroes of light.

(For reference, "free will" and "freedom" are two different things. The heroes of light have free will, meaning they could do major actions completely unscripted from Gaster. Noelle and us, the players are angels, which is a character that has the freedom to change fate in Deltarune, even if it goes against what Gaster wants.)

After all, we have seen Kris tear out the player's soul in both ending cutscenes, and do things on their own sometimes...

And Kris isn't even the only one who does things like this. Susie interrupts and even ignores the player multiple times.

These details are why the heroes are the only ones who can stop Gaster from choosing their fates.

Ralsei and the shadow crystal bosses

If each chapter has a character like Jevil and Spamton, then secret boss characters are the result of what happens when Gaster tells Darkners the truth about Deltarune's world. But every time, they go insane.

Except for one.

It's been speculated for some time that Ralsei is hiding something. He is.

As mentioned previously, Gaster has told Ralsei the entire story of the game. That doesn't seem to be all he told him, either. Ralsei is implied to know a lot more than he lets on.

So what is he hiding and why is he hiding it?

It's not obvious, but Ralsei knows just as much as the shadow crystal bosses do. He just hasn't gotten insane from it.

One of the biggest piece of evidence for this is when he suspiciously tells Kris and Susie to ignore everything that Spamton says.

Ralsei clearly doesn't want them to know any of this.

Ralsei is also shown favoring the player over Susie. Especially in Chapter 1. For example, he's completely fine with attacking enemies as long as we're the one who commands them to... but lectures Susie for doing the exact same thing if she's on her own.

In this chapter, Ralsei is in general very open with whatever we choose to do in the game, even though he encourages ACTing and being nice. But he wants Susie to completely go against her nature to act like a "regular hero".

Lastly, he is shown to intentionally let the player make all the choices in scenarios, whereas Susie often doesn't:

He knows that the players exist, so he goes out of his way to let us make all of the important choices.

Of course, none of this means that he's evil and that he doesn't care for Kris and Susie. He admits that he became appreciative of Susie's personality in Chapter 2 and shows signs of realizing the complexity of personalities as a whole.

... However, he still feels the need to treat the player as top priority, while limiting freedom from Susie and himself.

After all, he even admits that he doesn't know what his own personality is like.

Makes you wonder... is Ralsei just being nice to us to encourage playing the game as a pacifist?

Anyway, how did he even learn all of this while staying completely sane, when the other 2 turned into straight up killers?

... Because unlike them, he accepted it.

The difference between Ralsei and these characters is that both Jevil and Spamton reacted by trying to reach what they see as "freedom", while Ralsei does the opposite and strictly follows the legend he was told.

Does Ralsei have to simply accept everything that happens to them in order not to lose his mind, instead of attempting to gain freedom like Jevil and Spamton did?

Ending...?

Yes, it has been said more than once by Toby Fox that Deltarune will only have one ending.

However, if "your choices dont matter" is actually more important to the game's story than we think...

... Mmmmaybe this could be teasing a secret ending in the alt route where we challenge this?

Thanks for reading

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

So the Taste of It May Linger

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm Length: ~2700 words Rating: G Summary:

She has seen many lovely works of art crafted by the stonemasons of Reithwin, carved with utmost care and mastery by skilled hands - but none as beautiful as Isobel Thorm.

Yearning, romance, and some classic knight/lady trappings for our moonlit couple in the earliest days of their acquaintance.

Written for day 1 of Aylin/Isobel Week 2025, for the prompts: Moonrise over Reithwin | Mundane, formal, ritual, promise

Also on AO3.

—

So the Taste of It May Linger

Aylin is not naïve to her significance in this world. She was born with a lofty arrangement of expectation on her, after all; one that she has been both eager and successful in fulfilling.

She has, fittingly, been the subject of many a prophecy. Most of them are too vague to act upon in time, revealing their true meaning after the fact - for such is often the way of foretellings.

The Selûnite ones tend to be more clear, as is her Mother's guiding wont, but those that deal with Aylin herself are rare. Fitting she finds this, too, as she has no need for that kind of forewarning. When her Mother speaks Her will, Aylin ensures it comes to pass. 

The Sharran ones are, of course, all doom and gloom, as is the way of that miserable, dreary, hateful lot. Aylin would not go so far as to say she ignores them, but she pointedly does not order her life and choices while thinking of them, either.

But there is one that has sparked her interest on several occasions - she has, perhaps deliberately, not stopped and looked too closely to understand why. A prophecy put into writing and spread widely among Sharran cloisters, for a time, telling of a spear intended for Aylin's very heart. A spear the shadowy scribes claimed was once wielded by the Nightsinger herself, that would end what Selûne wrought to be endless, and snuff out the light of the moon once and for all.

This supposed legendary weapon has yet to be found, though the whispers stubbornly persist and keep rearing their ugly heads. And while Aylin has had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of several spears used by deluded Sharran hopefuls, they were all of them quite wrong about what they wielded. It is a mere inconvenience, in the grand scheme of things, even in the unlikely event of any of them managing to get the better of her.

Oh, but they do so love to try! As much as their ilk can even comprehend taking joy in anything. Aylin is so much, so full of life and light - she knows this, revels in it. A gleam of perfect, intense contrast to Sharran absence, loss, nothingness. Glaringly, painfully bright to oppose the shadow, loud and shameless. They despise her, the very idea of her, and Aylin finds herself drawing an even mix of pride and delight from this state of affairs.

It is a curious little twist of fate, then, that finds her in Reithwin, merely a tenday into her stay in the town but already firmly enmeshed in many-layered yearning for one Lady Isobel Thorm of Moonrise Towers, and that directs her steps to the training grounds lying in the shadow of the selfsame tower.

Aylin spies her immediately, the figure that has enchanted her so utterly - the way she draws Aylin's eyes to herself and captures her attention within a heartbeat is best named inexorable. She has seen many lovely works of art crafted by the stonemasons of Reithwin, carved with utmost care and mastery by skilled hands - but none as beautiful as Isobel Thorm.

The lady is alone, occupying one of the fenced-off training rings, and running through some drills. Elegant; heart-rendingly beautiful, even. Clearly well-practiced with her weapon of choice: a spear, richly and finely wrought to match its wielder. 

Everything about this woman seems a wonder to Aylin; from her skilled spellcraft and deeply impressive healing skills, to the eloquence of her prayers and sermons in the temple, down to the littlest, most subtle gestures during suppers in the feast hall. Her entire bearing and manner so winning Aylin wants to sing praises to her Mother for fostering the creation of a world that could house such a creature.

"A spear intended for my heart, indeed," Aylin murmurs to herself, and indulges. If Isobel were to fell her with it, oh, Aylin would bare her chest for it gladly. If Isobel's hands were the ones to deliver the blow, she would kneel and hold and welcome it.

She thinks, then, almost idly, her mind clouded with daydreams that whisper Isobel Isobel Isobel over and over in an incessant breathy pining murmur; that then demand she lavish attention, in turn, on eyes, lips, hands, neck, shoulders, breasts… until the vision before her turns away, preparing for another strike at an imaginary foe.

She thinks: it would be so sadly appropriate and utterly believable for a Sharran to receive a vision of love - for what else could this possibly be? - and misinterpret it so.

Isobel turns once more as part of her efforts. Aylin is arrested a dozen steps away from the courtyard entrance by the perfectly striking round curve of her cheek, and next catches herself standing stock-still, thumbing through the assorted memories of the various smiles she has been graced with so far, ranging from gentle and wise to sly and knowing. All of them seemingly daring Aylin to say or do something and leaving her wondering what other kinds the lady had in her repertoire for Aylin to provoke and discover.

In truth, to Aylin's trained and experienced eye, Isobel isn't doing anything particularly special or extraordinarily demanding. She looks to be fresh from warming up, repeating some basic, mundane drills - with a charming, if superfluous, twirl here and there.

Aylin has never seen a more beautiful sight. 

But today, sadly, Aylin is not here to offer banter over shared duties or eke out the truths and depths of this fascinating woman in the guise of theological discussion. No, she brings news, tidings that have left her feeling oddly bereft even before anything has truly happened.

Aylin steps forward, an unusually heavy heart making her feet drag, and calls for the lady's attention. She is rewarded with it immediately, heralded by a bright, beaming smile made only brighter by the note of mild surprise in it. Isobel stops mid-swing, and makes for the low fence delineating the training ring she has chosen to grace this morning.

There is a bit of sweat shimmering on Isobel's forehead. The slightest shortness of breath to her. She seems unused to the exertion - Aylin recalls some mention of her recently being briefly ill, in the context of a protective flutter her father had gone into.

But now is not the time to think of Ketheric Thorm and his foibles. 

"Lady Isobel," Aylin inclines her head rather formally as she approaches the fence, and clears her throat. "I am here to inform you I have been summoned on an important and urgent errand by my Mother. I will be leaving for Waterdeep at sunset."

"Leaving?" Isobel blurts out, wide-eyed, sounding loudly incredulous and not at all like her usual restrained and polished public self. "But you've only just arrived!"

Aylin knows what she truly wants to say, for it is also blazing hotly in her mind. We've barely had the chance to speak together, alone, to get to know each other and to begin to understand what this is, this nascent-but-ancient thing. This undeniable weighty work of fate between us.

Another beat, and Isobel is flushed - not just from her earlier strain and effort. A strand of hair sticks distractingly to her temple, beneath her starry silver circlet, and Aylin wants nothing more than to reach out and brush it away. "I apologise. Such informality is uncalled-for, uhm, Emissary—"

Aylin raises a hand to interrupt, instead, and shakes her head with a smile. "Please, Lady Isobel. Have I ever made it seem like any formality was called for, with you?"

The hint of relief in Isobel's answering smile is not quite enough to counteract the sad disappointment hanging over her still. "Well, we've made it to 'Lady Isobel' from 'Lady Thorm' in a matter of days, so I suppose you aren't all wrong, Dame Aylin."

"I gladly allow it." Aylin chances it then, braves the first leap, and gives her most charming smile. "Perhaps, one day, we shall make it to simply Aylin. Not many have the honour, but I believe I find myself in worthy company indeed."

Isobel, however, makes a leap of her own; uncharacteristically rushing right past any implications and considerations and diving into bluntness. "So you plan to return?" 

"Of course. My work here is far from done."

The relief on Isobel's face is palpable, and her shoulders sag. The butt of her spear digs into the dirt.

Then she rapidly sobers, and seems reluctantly resentful of her own words; words she clearly feels duty-bound to speak. "You should go meet with my father, inform him of your plans and schedule. I know he had outings and visits and occasions in mind for you both."

Aylin nods along as she prepares for her second leap. "All of them important and necessary, I am sure. But, if you will permit me the selfishness and grant me the honour, I would prefer to spend the remainder of this day with you."

"I would enjoy nothing more," Isobel says without a hint of reluctance or deliberation, so deeply heartfelt Aylin feels a chill run up her spine. A frisson of joy and excitement.

Incredible, what merely being close to this woman is invoking in her ancient flesh and unending soul and immortal heart, all.

An unexpected glimmer in the near distance catches her eye, distracting her from the wonder of Isobel Thorm for a scarce moment - but enough for Isobel to notice. Then, some clamour starts up from a part of the training grounds further afield; the clashing sounds of armed combat.

"My father's guards," Isobel explains. "They are quite capable and very well-trained. I think you'd enjoy their company."

"I have been told of them, but have yet to meet them - or meet them in the ring. We should learn to work together. Indeed, we should each challenge the other—"

Then, a prideful, gleeful, boastful impulse paints a wicked smirk onto Aylin's face, driven even more fervently on by the burn of Isobel's gaze upon her, the arch of her lip and brow and and and…

Maddening. Delightful.

She puts on a bit of a frown and a pout - her best thoughtfully judging and appraising face - and spares a few moments gazing at the sparring guards. 

"They seem well-trained, true. But I spy gaps, inadequacies - nothing unfixable, of course. There is work to be done. For now, I wager I could defeat a score of them single-handedly."

"Oh?" The bluster draws another smile from Isobel, and this one Aylin knows well: challenge and appreciation in equal measure, tinged with mischief. "And are you a betting woman?"

"I prefer to traffic in certainties I can ensure by my own hand, and am lucky enough that many such are known to me."

"What are you so certain of now, then?" Isobel's eyes bore into her, into the very marrow of her. She stands close - unnecessarily so, but it is far from unwelcome. Aylin struggles, for a moment, to draw her next breath; there is a palpable, mounting tension in the air, and she finds it delectable.

That singular, fateful first look at Isobel was enough. The brief exchanges they've had since only served to drive the point home: it would be a delight to be commanded by her. For the rest of Aylin's unnumbered days, if it were only possible. Oh, how sweet it would be, to hear wishes and desires and unlikely dreams expressed in that voice, and make them all in their turn come true.

"I am certain I would triumph over all of them in your name, if you but asked."

"And would you lose, if I asked?" Isobel's eyebrow is arched and an unfamiliar smile curls her lips, with something aching, desperate, and even fearful behind it. She looks away, toying with her spear, shifting it from one hand to the other. "Or would your eternal pride and grand renown and radiant heritage forbid it?"

Aylin bows her head with a small huff, and tries not to let her thoughts catch on the implications drawing on a stark contrast between them. "Impressive though she may be, Dame Aylin is no stranger to defeat." Even if hers were written in gold, cast with a sense of indomitable, enduring, eventual triumph. Victory by outlasting, if by no other means. 

"A defeat upon request, however…" Aylin hums. "A novelty, to be sure. Unusual, but if it were you asking it— surely the wise Lady Isobel would have good reason to. I have not known her long, but I have seen enough to hold her judgement in the highest esteem."

"I would never ask it of you, never," Isobel insists fervently, all playfulness gone in an instant. She seems concerned, even, and troubled. Aylin blinks at this sudden shift, and feels unsure of what to do with herself in the face of it. "To debase yourself in any way, for harm to come to you… I couldn't bear it. Not for a silly game or jest, not for anything. I don't even want to think about it."

Then Isobel gasps, and the hand that was on her spear-haft not moments ago comes away bleeding.

"Gods," she hisses, dropping the weapon to the ground, clutching at her wrist with her other hand. "How did I even manage…"

Aylin tears her eyes away from the vision, the portent, of a spearhead stained with blood lying at their feet, and swallows, mouth unpleasantly dry. Instead, she focuses on the small tear in the palm of Isobel's glove, revealing a fresh and surprisingly deep cut.

"I— I apologise for myself, this is truly— I wouldn't expect this level of clumsy incompetence from a page—"

"No, no, no," Aylin finds herself murmuring, enraptured, dismissing her gauntlets and reaching over towards the injured hand. "The Nightsinger herself, our greatest foe, could only dream of wielding a spear as elegantly as you." Then, as Isobel's frustrated expression turns to confusion, she remembers at least something of herself and clears her throat. "Lady Isobel… permit me to… make amends. For the shocks and distractions I have thoughtlessly caused you this day."

She takes Isobel's wounded hand between both of hers, breath caught high in her throat, heart hammering away, faster than in the grandest heat of battle. Isobel says nothing, but nods her acquiescence with wide, expectant, and hungry eyes.

Aylin peels off the glove as slowly and gently as she can manage. Slight tug after slight tug, painstakingly careful lest the fabric stick to the blood, until Isobel's entire hand is revealed, and skin is finally touching skin.

Overcome, Aylin bows her head, lifts the hand to her lips, and presses a soft kiss first to the fingers, then the knuckles. At the same time, as she cradles it in her own palm, she applies the healing magic that is embedded in her being, lets it flow and mend every littlest gash.

A minute scar yet remains; a slight, barely perceptible white-silver line. 

"No, leave it," Isobel says as she lays her free hand on Aylin's cheek, stopping her from reaching for her oath-bound powers and attempting further healing. "As a small reminder. Of you." Her smile, as she trails her fingers up to smooth the furrow in Aylin's brow, is tinged with sadness, as if there is still doubt that she will see her again. "Would you ask a token of me?"

Only your heart entire, for you already hold mine, Aylin yearns to respond, gazing into those eyes, that face that has drawn so close, somehow. Instead she offers a promise in return. "As soon as duty allows, as fast as my wings will carry me, I swear—"

The tension is no longer delicious. Rather, it has turned painful.

A kiss snaps it clean in two.

In the rush of this relief, entirely uncaring of who might be watching, their lips meet again and again and again.

"Come back to me, Aylin," she feels more than hears Isobel murmur between kisses. 

It is only when she relents for a moment that Aylin can give her answer. "If you bid me to. Always."

[see-arcane]

Eggers is really getting on my nerves - he now goes around saying how Ellen is actually a victim of XIX century and doesn’t belong, how her husband doesn’t understand her and how there’s a love triangle happening between Ellen, Orlok and Thomas. 🤦‍♀️ Just….why?! Why?

Playing very halfhearted devil's advocate, I can see how Bobby Egg would glean this from the original Nosferatu even without the Coppola influence.

Ellen is a victim of her time period!

Ellen Hutter is from a film made in 1922, with its story taking place in 1838. Neither period was a stellar one for taking women seriously or seeing them treated well/as equals (and fuck, just look around right now). A lot of directors and writers fall into this track of thinking when doing period pieces, because, yeah: Women Always Got the Short Stick. Especially women who behaved outside The Norm (c).

The problem here is that Ellen's weirdness is not a turn-off to Thomas, nor does it make her a pariah to her friends who host her while Thomas is gone. At most, Thomas can be pointed out as foolishly (but, fine, rationally) not taking Ellen's spontaneous Foretelling of Doom over a business trip seriously. Thomas' main character flaws amount to 1) Not believing Ellen until it's too late and 2) Insisting the supernatural reality is just him going mad/dreaming. But Ellen faces no other trial than the one she takes upon herself--the martyr sacrifice.

Herzog played with it pretty well, showing his Ellen/Mina-figure 'Lucy Harker' coming up against the walls of 1) Skepticism from the Learned Man, 'Van Helsing' bluntly refusing to listen to her about Nosferatu and 2) Everyone around her, men, women, and children, cracking under the fear and despair of the plague and just waltzing around in Danse Macabre happy-hopelessness, deaf to any warning from her. Again, not because 'Girl One Weird! Girl One is Girl! Let us jeer and torture her about it, as is right.'

Eggers is doing for his Ellen what he did to Thomasin in The Witch. Leaning heavy on extremely grim hyper-realism as it might have been for a young woman being Odd in the 19th century. A factor that did not exist at all in the 1922 or 1979 versions. But it adds to the 'All the time period's humans around her are trash and backwards! no wonder she would rather die with Orlok!' of it all. So yeah.

2. Her husband doesn't understand her!

Is Thomas himself weird? Creepy? Into dark and eerie things? Nope. Dude's a human golden retriever.

But he loves Ellen and all that she is. The entire first scenes with them are them hugging and loving on each other. The first thing he does upon returning from his escape (other than mentally grafting a belief that it Was All in His Head) is crushing her in an embrace. He is proof that you don't have to be Grim and Gothique and Misunderstood to love yourself a Morticia. At most, we could say that he fails to clock when Ellen is lying to him--because she is shown lying to him exactly once.

When she says she is sick and tells him he must run to Prof. Bulwer for help. He does so immediately, leaving the house for Ellen to call in Orlok for the sunrise trap. At a stretch we could paint this as Thomas, the 'lighter' half of the couple, failing to understand the 'darker' half's acceptance of a deadly price for Doing What Must Be Done. Thomas Hutter is, if not childish, very clearly meant to be in a different story. He is more the flighty loving and beloved maiden than Ellen, the self-sacrificing gothic hero, is. If Thomas is ignorant, he is ignorant in the way of someone who was meant to be in a sweeter fairy tale where he and his love were destined to live safe and happy together who realizes too late they are in a horror story.

But to throw that tragedy out and just graft in, 'Well he's too dry and proper to really get her, I guess," feels lazy. Usable, but lazy.

3. It's a love triangle!

I mean. Yeah, it is. A love triangle just has to involve three people with attraction floating around between the three points.

In the original and in Herzog's, the triangle is 'Human Couple is in Love. Nosferatu gets a Crush. The Crush is used to Bait Nosferatu into the Sunrise Trap.'

But Bobby Egg is pulling a Coppola by deciding aaaactuallyyy, Ellen is super goth-horny for Orlok, not her unsatisfying unmanly cuck husband Thomas. The sacrifice is still technically there--the whole "We belong dead" of Ellen giving her life to make sure Orlok dies by sunrise--but it feels so damn pointless from that angle.

I have said it before, this premise is peak gothic. It is a very tasty notion to consider: A misfit who, being too weird and unhappy to live, but still bound by Morals enough to destroy herself and her would-be Ideal*** mate rather than inflict their horror upon an ungrateful humanity, is some very meaty stuff! Excellent even!

If. It. Had. Been. AN ORIGINAL STORY.

Ellen of the original was terrified. She was repulsed. She did not want to do what she knew had to be done...but it had to be done. And so she abandoned joy. Abandoned life. Abandoned Thomas, who she loved. All to lay herself out as bait in a trap and ensure that her beloved and the dying townspeople, including her friends, would be saved. That is the tragedy. Ellen was happy. Ellen was loved and in love. Ellen was singled out by Orlok's craving and so left as the martyr under the spotlight: Well, Ellen? What will you do, knowing what you know? Will you sit by and live and be left free of violation as the deaths pile around you? Hmm?

And, as Mina Harker was prepared to do before her, she put herself on the chopping block. It is brave. It is painful. It is unfair.

As I'm sure Eggers' Ellen's end will feel to some degree. The audience will be honed by then into grieving her loss, this misunderstood and monstrous beauty dying by bleeding and writhing to death under her would-be undead beau. But it will be an end less than the sum of its original.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 16: Everything Unwanted

Content warning: Sukuna POV, blood, cannibalism, violence, death.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

RITUAL (evocation) - Jon Hopkins 16 Psyche - Chelsea Wolfe Crimson and Clover - October Noir

Chapter 15 | Chapter 17

Four weeks ago…

Sukuna’s eyes open from sleep. He never wakes up slowly. There’s no in-between, no groggy transition. He is always simply awake. And today, of all days, is no expectation. 

Today.

His blood brightens at the thought, anticipation building for the game he's been playing for years. All the impatience and all the trips north are finally about to yield something truly worth his attention.

Lying on his front, he pushes himself up on his elbows. His legs go next, swinging them over the side of the raised futon. He rises to his feet. 

Standing, he stretches, rolling the tension from his neck as his feet tap toward the door to his private garden. Sliding it open, a sweltering breeze drifts in, fanning over his skin.

From the verandah, he watches the day awaken, noticing how unusually hot it is for this early hour. The air itself seems to ripple with haze, distorting the greenery.

Nearby, a cicada screams.

By afternoon, it’ll be hellish. But Sukuna doesn’t mind. Heat suits him—it reminds him of his power, given that he can incinerate entire areas if he chooses to.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come,” he calls in an expectant voice, aware it’s Uraume and not one of his three whores come to bother him.

In the last month, he’s grown disinterested in their bodies. He used to gladly fuck all three of them until he collapsed. But what once brought him some gratification has now faded.

The chamber door slides open.

“Good morning, Master Sukuna.” He casts a look over his shoulder as Uraume steps inside. “How may I assist in your preparations for today?”

Again, today.

Sukuna’s gaze drifts toward the garden, settling on the secluded bathing pavilion. Tucked away from the shrine, it serves as his personal sanctuary, a place of solitude he enjoys year-round.

“Prepare my bath,” he comments.

“Of course. I’ll have Ren, Sayuri, and Hina attend to it, and they can—”

“No.” Sukuna’s eyes cut back to his pale-haired subordinate, who dips their chin. “They’ll focus on preparing my meal afterward. Have a slew of other attendants tend to the bath. Then, you’ll help me dress once I’m finished.”

“Understood. Is there anything else you require?”

“For now—” There is one thing, but he doesn’t give voice to it. “No, that will be all.”

“Very well, Master.” Uraume bows and slips away to carry out his orders.

Peering skyward, Sukuna squints his four eyes against the harsh blistering sun, its rays burning down with an intensity that sets the air shimmering. The heat swells, foretelling of a coming storm certain to roll in by late afternoon—a slow, devious smile stretches across his face at the thought of what’s to come.

His future wife will make her first journey to his shrine today.

How will she manage it in this suffocating warmth? No more than that, he wonders how she’ll react when she meets him. And what does she feel about this union? Does she truly understand the circumstances she’s bound by?

He exhales.

He doubts it. But today, beneath the heat and the coming storm, she’ll learn.

For now, all he knows is that he’s looking forward to meeting her, finally.

* * * * *

Sukuna lounges in the bath far longer than intended. The day ahead presses in, but the ease of the water and the scent of cypress wood makes it difficult to leave. It’s too comfortable, too easy to stay submerged.

He tips his head back, water droplets glistening down the back of his neck where his hair is shortest. The tranquillity relieves his enormous body, allowing him to relax and forget everything beyond this moment.

Yet, as the sun shifts, casting longer shadows, and hunger burns in his stomach, he drags himself back to the present. He needs to eat sooner than later. He needs a clear head for when she arrives. He needs to be ready. With that in mind, he rises from the water, shaking off the last remnants of peace.

It doesn’t take him long to dress. He pulls on his bone-white hakama first while Uraume assists with the white kimono, tying the blue-trimmed fabric into a matching obi. Every knot is a small reminder of the formality he finds unnecessary.

He doesn’t truly believe in this union—not really. His motives for taking the Kasai girl as a wife are strictly selfish. After seven years of fighting, handing her over is their way of pacifying and submitting to him. For Sukuna, it’s a means of putting the clan on a leash, a way to humiliate them. Among other things.

“There.” Uraume finishes securing his garment before retrieving his sandals. He slips them on without a word, uncaring how he looks. With that, he heads off for his meal, his subordinate close behind.

As he walks through the corridors, attendants scurry about in a frenzy of activity—either rushing to prepare for his guests' arrival or desperately trying to avoid crossing his path. They lower their heads as he passes, keeping eye contact to a minimum if they can help it. He's long since lost count of how many reside at his shrine and hardly remembers most of their names.

Only the ones that matter.

Entering the private dining room, Sukuna finds a cushion set out for him and sinks onto it. His attendants move about quietly, preparing dishes for him while Uraume oversees their tasks.

He glances around the space, taking in its size, and, to his irritation, finds himself wondering how crowded it will become when his new wife joins him for meals. It’s a strange, unwelcome thought that he can’t distance himself from.

Worse, he feels curious about what she enjoys eating. Introducing her to new culinary tastes—ones beyond his usual… preferences—feels absurd. And yet, it stays with him.

“Here you are, Master Sukuna.” Ren sets his meal down, breaking the spell of his thoughts. Human flesh pools dark and viscous on the dish before him. She bows and steps back, but he doesn’t acknowledge her; he’s too hungry.

Lifting the chopsticks, he carefully picks up the savoury meat. Though he may not care how he appears, he’s still mindful of his attire. He hovers the food just above his tongue, ready to sink his teeth in. But a sharp knock at the door cuts through, forcing his attention away.

Annoyed, he glares, dropping the chopsticks.

“What?”

The door rustles open.

“Master Sukuna.” A man appears in the doorway— Takashi, his stablehand.

Sukuna’s blood cools.

This man despises him. He can see it in how he holds himself. Every tiny, little mannerism betrays his contempt: the slight thinning of his smug eyes, the way he adjusts his grip on the doorframe.

Sukuna has contemplated snapping his neck numerous times, wanting to watch his face turn an unhealthy shade of purple. But the insufferable prick proves useful in caring for his mounts. Unless Takashi does something to provoke him, the King of Curses will not hesitate to relieve him of his skin.

“What the hell do you want?” Sukuna growls, upper lip peeling back.

Takashi bows, though it’s reluctant.

“The stables can only hold so many horses,” he says, raising his head. “With your guests arriving, I’m unsure where to house the rest. And with this heat, there’s likely a storm coming later.”

Sukuna stares.

Was this whelp really asking him such an idiotic question?

“Let them take shelter in the forest,” he offers flatly, grip tightening around the chopsticks. “There’s more than enough cover there.”

His stablehand blinks stupidly, his features tightening.

“But Master, the forest—”

“Do you think they’ll melt in the rain?” Sukuna scoffs.

“Well, no… but I hardly think it’s a good idea to—”

“It’s not my concern if they’re uncomfortable. They’ll manage.” He pauses. Takashi knows better. He’s an offering. Sukuna held his village in the palm of his hand. One wrong move and that was it. “Do you need me to convince you to do what you’ve been brought here to do?”

Takashi hesitates at the warning—a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

“No... I’ll see to it, Master,” he murmurs, bowing then departing the room. 

“Good,” Sukuna replies, flashing his teeth at the man’s retreating back.

With the door sliding shut, he once again focuses on his meal. He needs a clear mind—no distractions, no more delays. Picking up the chopsticks, he brings the meat close to his mouth, but suddenly, he stops.

The room feels quieter today, far more than usual. The whispering of robes and the chattering of his four subordinates are less. Aside from Uraume and Ren, normally, he can’t get the other two to shut up. 

Lifting his head, he counts the familiar faces.

Uraume, Sayuri, Ren—

One of them is missing.

“Where’s Hina?” He once again lowers the chopsticks.

There’s a beat of silence.

Uraume shifts their pink eyes. 

“She should be here, Master Sukuna,” they say, scanning the other two attendants. Ren keeps her hands tightly clasped, her head tilting down, narrowing on the hem of her robe.

Meanwhile, Sayuri busies herself with a bottle of sake, deliberately avoiding his stare. Unusual, the petulant bitch thrives on his attention.

“Where is she?” he repeats.

Nothing.

They remain silent.

There’s something neither of them is saying, and he knows it.

Fine.

He’ll have to draw it out.

“Ren.” The name barely pushes through his teeth as he drops the chopsticks onto the table, the flesh splattering. His upper right arm casually extends, and two fingers move, pointing directly at Sayuri. He knows Ren will provide answers, especially if he goads her. “Where is she?”

From his lower pair of eyes, he sees Sayuri stifle her hands while his upper pair catch Ren straightening her posture further—if that’s even possible.

Still, nothing.

“Well?” he growls, his patience is about to snap at this unusual disobedience. “Do I need to remove Sayuri’s fucking head to get a answer?”

“No.” Ren steps forward, breaking her rigid stance. “I saw Hina leave an hour ago, Master Sukuna.” A strange hesitation follows, as her eyes briefly flit to Sayuri before returning to him. “She said… she was going hunting.”

He scoffs.

“Hunting?”

Considering Hina's past, Uraume typically takes her hunting when the shrine's provisions are low. However, at this moment, the supplies are adequate. So why, of all days, has she chosen to venture out? She knows her place is here, knows she’s meant to remain and prepare for—

No…

He rises before he’s conscious of it.

It takes only seconds for him to stalk across the room.

Upper hand snapping out, he grasps Sayuri, strong fingers shackling around her jaw. With a firm tug, he pulls her forward, her robe tangling around her ankles as she stumbles.

"What the fuck did you do?" he snarls, red gaze clashing into her darkened one.

He knows Sayuri can be clever and knows she resents this situation—the arrival of the Kasai girl. But would she go that far? What had she whispered to Hina, leading her where he hoped she hadn't gone? Out hunting.

“Nothing,” Sayuri replies calmly, though a flicker of hurt dances across her face, and a fresh shine of tears glisten into her eyes.

Sukuna furrows his brow.

"Oh? Nothing?" he mocks, the grip on her chin tightens until she grits her teeth in pain. "Do you need me to repeat the question?" With one of his other hands, he presses two fingers into her temple. "Or should I just cut it out of your brainless hea—"

“Master, it’s true!” Ren blurts out quickly. Sukuna’s eyes shoot to her. “Sayuri, like me, doesn’t know anything—only that she left with a bow.”

“A bow?” he questions. “Are you lying to me? Because if you are…”

The two fingers poised against Sayuri’s skull press deeper until he feels the skin dimple.

Ren shakes her head rapidly.

“I’m not, Master Sukuna.”

Renewed anger causes his mouth to twitch as an unwanted emotion blooms in his gut, one he hates. One he has felt before—a feeling that should not exist.

He looks between his three subordinates.

Today was supposed to be simple. But now he must deal with this mess and go hunting himself.

With a vicious snarl, Sukuna releases Sayuri and shoves her away, letting her slump against the wall.

“Uraume,” he snaps, crossing the room and forcefully sliding the door open.

He strides down the corridor toward the attendants’ quarters, his white-haired subordinate close behind.

“Which room belongs to Hina?” He gestures to the passage of endless doors.

Uraume points to one, and Sukuna promptly slides it open. Peering inside, he notes that her cream-coloured robe is gone. If she did have a bow, it’s missing.

“When you take her hunting.” He casts his eyes over his shoulder. “How accurate is her shot?”

Uraume’s pink eyes flicker as they appear to sift through memories of past hunts.

“She’s improved,” they say, peeking up, their bangs shifting with the subtle movement. "She’s capable of hitting an animal’s vitals with a single shot.”

That’s all he needs to know to have him moving.

Through the corridor, his gait takes him left, right, then down the longest passage toward the entrance. As he walks, he unties his obi and hands it to Uraume without breaking pace.

“Keep preparing everything while I’m gone,” he mutters, opening the grand doors and stepping into the stifling heat.

The air feels thick and humid, suffocating like the horrid, unnatural sensation burrowing within him—like green things growing inside a deep, dark cave. 

Unnatural.

He discards his sandals and kimono, leaving only his hakama. Uraume sweeps forward, carefully gathering his belongings.

"Everything will be in order, Master," they assure him.

Sukuna doesn’t respond. Urgency propels him to take the stone steps two at a time, but he pauses midway. A glance back at the pale-haired monk, he prepares to voice the command he had harboured since this morning.

"When she arrives… take care of her. We both know I won't be able to." 

Without waiting for a reply, he descends the steps and slips past the tree line, vanishing into the receding green of the forest.

* * * * *

Sukuna knows this forest well—the winding streams, groves. Every slope and curve beneath his bare feet.

Only one road leads to his shrine—a dirt-packed trail snaking through the trees. Visitors are rare, aside from the first of the month and today, which is why he suspects his wayward subordinate is lurking somewhere along the path, hidden in the undergrowth.

Foolish woman.

He shouldn’t be out here. He should be back at the shrine—eating, preparing.

He’s starving.

But he presses on, long strides devouring the ground as he moves faster, heading deeper northward, skirting the edge of the road and passing the small stream that cuts through brush.

On a deep breath, he inhales, dragging in traces of the forest. Heat, moss, and the faint scent of sweat and smoke from the shrine’s hearth drift into his lungs.

His senses still.

Hina has always spent more time in the kitchen than the others.

He changes direction, slipping silently through a cluster of oaks as a flash of copper hair snatches his attention.

There you are.

Hina crouches low behind a thicket of tall grass. Her hair is tied back at the nape of her neck, beads of sweat gathering on her brow in the heavy sun. Despite the slickness of her skin, her bow is steady, fingers curling tightly around the string. The intensity of her focus is impressive, though she doesn’t sense his approach.

In the distance, closing in, the rumble of hooves shakes the air, drowning the crunch of twigs and leaves under his feet. 

The sound swells.

Hina draws back. The fletching grazes her cheekbone as her eyes lock onto an unseen target beyond.

An all-consuming, maddening hunger erodes the last traces of reason as her arrow points toward the one thing he's been waiting for.

“You won’t be able to pull that string for long,” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the thicket.

Hina’s eyes dart toward him, body flinching, but she doesn’t lower the weapon. Instead, her grip coils tighter.

His muscles lock.

“If I were to guess that you’ve got that arrow trained on something quite delicate, would I be right?” His voice drops as he steps closer.

Hina swallows.

“I won’t miss,” she murmurs. To her credit, she manages to speak without stumbling over her words.

“I’m sure you won’t,” he smirks, circling her calmly.

Her eyes try to remain on her prey while watching the four-armed creature sizing her up.

Sukuna pauses.

Tenses. Waits.

He is indestructible, and she is nothing compared to him. Weak. Feeble.

His four eyes narrow.

Her calm begins to crack, breaths turning rapid.

“She’s an enemy, and you know this!” she shouts.

His upper lip twitches, smirk fading into something darker.

“I never took you for a fool, Hina.” He steps closer. “But here you are dooming yourself.”

Her legs tremble in the grass.

“This is a mistake! What you’re doing—allowing her to come here—is a mistake!”

“Are you questioning me, girl?”

The sound of the hooves grows louder making his blood sing.

“I can’t let her live,” she mutters, “I can’t.”

The bowstring draws back.

The hunger in his gut morphs into something nameless and untamed.

Hina inhales, adjusts the angle of the arrow, exhales, and—

The tether inside him snaps.

“Then you die.”

Sukuna cuts the air, slicing her arm. Hina screams, the arrow slipping and sinking into the ground.

In the next breath he’s on her, slamming her into the dirt.

Teeth sink into her throat, one vicious pull and the flesh gives way into an oozing hole. He doesn’t bother with care as he swallows the briny tang of her blood. It floods his throat, some of it cascading down his chin, soaking into his hakama and staining the white fabric with a deep red.

Hoofbeats draw closer.

He shoves Hina into the grass, her cries mutating into agonized screams. One particularly sharp wail disturbs a nearby murder of crows, sending them bursting from the treetops. Their shrieks become lost in the madness of sounds—of horses, of Hina’s torment, of her skin tearing, of the blood roaring in his ears, of—

"Father!" a distant, pure voice rings out with urgency.

Someone responds curtly, but Sukuna is too consumed to make sense of it.

Then, almost abruptly, the pounding hooves stop, and everything behind him falls into stillness.

For a moment, the quiet penetrates the fog clouding his mind, but his focus snaps back to Hina's dying form.

His upper right hand closes around her arm, fingers sinking knuckle-deep into flesh. With a swift jerk, he wrenches her arm from its socket, still gripping the bow. Blood splatters onto the grass as he severs the limb from her body, casting it aside with a careless toss.

Pressure settles at his back—he knows he’s being watched. He can feel the weight of every eye in the procession converge on him.

Somewhere among the onlookers, a voice trembles in fear, rambling incoherently.

He feels no shame for what he is and is more than ready to show them all.

Especially you.

Because finally, you've arrived.

Rising to his full height, the grass parts around Sukuna as he steps from the thicket toward the dirt-packed road. 

Blood and saliva mix, dripping in thick strands from his mouth to his chin, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. 

Behind him, Hina's lifeless body drags, her hair catching on debris, soft eyes rolled back in terror.

She made her choice—and never stood a chance against him.

Once on the road, Sukuna finds himself flanked by the Kasai clan. Men he has battled for seven years glare at him as if holding a knife to his throat.

He has stripped them of many things—their dignity, their land, their people. Now, he takes one more, just as something was once taken from him.

You. One of their own flesh and blood.

And all they can do is stare—stare as if sheer willpower alone could erase him from existence. They stare because it's the only option left now that a treaty has been agreed upon. They stare because they know he could destroy them all with ease, though their fingers itch at the weapons sheathed at their sides.

"Sukuna Ryomen." He's not surprised when Lord Kasai nudges his horse forward, trying to project control over the situation. But the tremor in his voice betrays him. "As the patriarch of the Kasai clan, I am here to fulfill our agreement, uniting our clans through marriage."

Sukuna scoffs.

He has encountered the bastard several times before. With each meeting, he learns just how painfully paranoid he is about losing power. It’s his one true love, after all.

Striding closer, the King of Curses locks eyes with a woman atop a horse. Her stare. It’s worse than the burning sun itself.

Filthy serpent.

He holds her gaze, unblinking, until her shoulders sag, though the defiance remains plastered on her pretty face.

"Is this my bride?" Sukuna drawls, not breaking eye contact, though they both know she isn't.

He’s already aware who his bride is.

One of his lower eyes has been stealing glances at you—the woman at the center of all this. The one perched on a horse in an elaborate multilayered kimono. And he wants a better look.

“No. This is my other daughter, Yuna,” Lord Kasai says, flicking an expectant look over his shoulder. Sukuna follows the shift, landing fully on you. The hostility in your father’s eyes, the undisguised hatred, he can almost taste it in his mouth.

So, you’re unwanted, just like him.

How fucking poetic.

At that, he wonders what name will leave your lips first. The King of Curses? The Disgraced One? Imaginary Demon? Monster, fiend, abomination, wretch? These thoughts circle as you ride toward him on horseback.

He starts walking, and the closer you come—

Oh.

Even from this distance, he can tell you’re a mess. The journey here has done you no favours.

Hot rays from the sun smudge your makeup. Dark kohl smears beneath your eyes. Whatever was once colouring your lips has faded away, but now he can’t stop staring at your damn mouth. He forces his red gaze upward to take in your wind-tousled hair, where wisteria flowers barely cling to their strands.

You look pitiful. The garment, the makeup, it’s like armour, desperately trying to peel away from you. Yet, that only piques his interest further.

There’s something captivating about your appearance atop the horse—chaotic, mirroring the wildness within him. It tugs at two sides, leaving him in a state of limbo, especially now that he’s stained with blood from the woman who tried to take you from him before you even properly met. But he’ll never reveal that; he’s not some guardian, nor does he hold a reputation as a sentinel.

He’s a killer, a hunter, a butcher. Not a protector. Never that. There’s a hierarchy to these things. The weak deserve to die—it’s simple. And you were just lucky today.

Sukuna continues his approach, dragging Hina’s body behind. Your sister rambles in the background, but he can't hear her; he’s too enthralled by the sight before him. Fascinated.

At last, he reaches you.

It's rare, but his pulse is drumming through his body—he can feel it in his teeth.

He notices your nervousness; your grip on the reins is so tight that he imagines your knuckles are white beneath those silk gloves—an odd choice for this heat.

Almost instinctively, a rumble emanates from his stomach maw as it opens, tongue lolling out. He catches your gaze lingering on it—a mix of fascination and repulsion in your curious eyes—before you look away.

Inwardly, he smirks at your shyness.

Even your mount shifts restlessly below you. With a gloved hand, you pat its neck, murmuring a soft, “Easy, girl.”

For a Kasai snake, you’re lovely, and you don’t even realize it. You seem uncomfortable in your own skin, and that makes you dangerous—because he wants to be the one to unravel you. To be the one to do so many fucking things to you. 

But that urge dies before the thought can fully form.

Because, you lift your head, open your lying mouth, and all your deceptive charm starts to tumble out.

This could have been so simple.

So why did you start deceiving him from the very beginning? Why do you feel the need to hide from him? What the hell are you even hiding?

Because he’ll do whatever it takes to dismantle your walls, to watch your façade crumble. To see you break. But most importantly, to witness you become the triumphant downfall of the entire Kasai clan.

“Lord Sukuna, my name is—”

“You’re even uglier than I expected.”

🔗 Chapter 17

[rosie-kairi]

got hit by a lauriam-ventus beam

[aierie--dragonslayer]

BRO-

mass echolalia event "the ofretellers are lying to us" is a year old now. rejoice 🥳🎉

i could have sworn that was from at least a year and a half ago. it’s really that recent?

[livinggeekchic]

For #phreread2023 week 5, @laukisimp and I collaborated to analyze Hecate’s prophecy in Episode 69 “Moon Maiden” and decipher what it tells us about Lauren’s character development.

When Lauren visits the circus for the first time, she is pulled aside by Hecate (the fortuneteller) for a tarot reading. Lauren draws five cards: the two of swords, the five of cups, the tower, the ten of swords, and death. These cards foretell events that will take place over the next two seasons—and we believe the clues in Hecate’s words can be decoded to pinpoint specific moments in Lauren’s character growth arc, leading up to the moment she’s kidnapped in 158.

The two of swords represents the confusion we face when forced to make a difficult choice. Blindfolded, the woman cannot see the problem clearly and thus cannot find a solution. Throughout S2 and S3, we see that Lauren avoids facing hard truths. She knows that the people around her could be Phantom Scythe, but doesn’t want to believe it can be anyone close to her. She knows Kieran likely can tell her something about the kidnapped kids—about what happened to Dylan—but she’s too afraid to ask. She needs to remove the blindfold and allow herself to seek the answers to these questions. She needs to choose a path: continue to blindly chase the Phantom Scythe in her quest for revenge, or move on and live for the future?

The five of cups explains why she can’t make that choice: she’s too focused on the loss of her childhood friend, her perceived failure to save him and the others at Allendale (and in losing her rank, putting her even further from figuring out what happened), and the disappointment and guilt that she feels over what happened in her past. She is unable to let go and forgive herself, and thus, she cannot see the two standing cups: new opportunities and potential. She has the potential to help save Kieran, and the opportunity to do a lot of good for everyone who’s caught up in this war between the royals and the Phantom Scythe. In the episodes just prior to this, Lauren and Kieran visit Greychapel and discuss how poor the conditions are. Kieran states that while they’re trying to stop the terrorists in the Phantom Scythe, the revolution must happen. It’s possible that the “new opportunity” is Lauren joining Kieran in helping bring about this revolution.

In episode 75, titled Tumbling Tower, Sandman reveals that Lauren’s parents were apostles. This knowledge shakes her entire belief system. She thought that the Phantom Schythe was made up of monsters, and yet her parents were founding members. There is also a literal tower in this story—one that Sandman is currently locked in, as he’s writing Lauren a letter. Is it possible that there are more revelations to come? Ones that will bring Lauren’s existing goal, based on false premises, crashing down?

The destruction of the tower is necessary to clear out old mistruths and make way for something new. But how she handles that course of action depends on her reaction to the betrayal. The ten of swords: someone has stabbed her in the back. But it’s important to note that the sword series in tarot tells the story of a person who attempts to use the swords for faulty reasons, makes mistakes, tries to run from them, and ultimately suffers the pain of being stabbed by them. The story of someone who allows themselves to fall victim to that internal pressure. The swords are a weapon, and can have potential for destruction or good, depending on how they are wielded.

In episode 156, Lauren discovers that March has been lying to them. He’s led her coworkers into an ambush and Lauren herself is being pursued by PS members. Lauren didn’t want to consider that March might be PS; she dismissed Kieran’s questioning of March in episode 146, misinterpreting his statements about his family and the true criminals of Ardhalis.

In episode 158 she is pursued, chased into a warehouse where all of her anxieties and fears overwhelm her. She has been continually plagued by the guilt she feels about Allendale, and now she adds to that the losses that she fears are yet to come (images of a deceased Kieran, Kym, and Will coming to her mind). She is unable to wield the swords because of her continued avoidance of the truth. Blindfolded, she doesn’t want to face her suspicions about Dylan, and doesn't want to consider March as the betrayer. So she spirals, and all of her anxieties take over. They paralyze her in that warehouse, leading to her being knocked out and kidnapped. The title of Episode 158, Seething Sword, tells us that she has been dealt that final blow.

But like the death card, the end of one thing means a new beginning for another. She must learn to wield the swords instead of letting her trauma weigh her down. It’s a symbolic death, not a literal one. The old Lauren, the part of her that was driven by guilt and shame, needs to be buried so the new Lauren, freed of those shackles she’s carried for ten years, can instead look to the future.

And what might we see in the future? We know that Lauren is at a crossroads. The two of swords signifies that two equal and opposing forces are at war, and she is caught in the middle. She has been stuck between the PS and the government of Ardhalis. She wants to take down the PS, but she is increasingly finding that the APD isn’t the paragon of justice she thought it was. Similarly, the PS isn’t entirely evil; though their methods are, their goal is relatable. We believe that Lauren will choose her own path. She won’t side with either, and will instead forge her own way forward, alongside Kieran. Perhaps she will choose to forgo her detective rank and become a fugitive with Kieran—especially if his identity ends up becoming compromised. Perhaps she will support a revolution of the poor and mistreated against the royals who keep them in the dirt.

“He” is closer to her, more similar than she thinks. We believe this is a reference to the leader. She thinks he is hidden in the shadows, but it’s very likely that the leader is someone close to her, given the clues about her parents, the Snapdragon, and how the leader kept her alive all these years. Like Lauren, the leader has also lost people close to him and seeks revenge—against the royals for the massacre of the Snapdragon, for burying those truths along with their bodies.

Hecate mentions enemies, plural, and it’s true that Lauren has many enemies now. Not only those in the Phantom Scythe, but even within the APD, for what she’s doing as Lune. She needs to question those around her more: Stefan, Dakan, March—these people have all lied to her in the past, and yet she is too clouded by her intense focus on the Phantom Scythe to consider those around her. She must remove the blindfold, and it starts with letting go of the past.

Lauren’s obsession with Dylan is holding her back. She needs to accept the truth—that Dylan is dead, and there’s nothing else she can do for him. But that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. She can make a difference in Kieran’s life. She can save him from his cursed fate to kill and kill until he himself perishes. She can help him take down the leader. But in order to do this, she might have to set her privileged life aside. Only when she stops focusing on the past can she create a new future.

[queenofglassbeliever]

Lucy Mills is a variation of. . .

The Sleeping Beauty.

"The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood" is a version written by Charles Perrault. When we're introduced to Lucy for the very first time in 6x21 "The Final Battle Part 1" she is asleep in the wood.

And just look at the pose Lucy is sleeping in compared to Aurora (Disney). Put a rose in Lucy's hands and that is the sleeping beauty pose.

Then there's Lucy's name. From the Latin word "lux" meaning "light" and the name Lucy also means "bringer of light," "born at dawn or daylight." Aurora, also Latin in origin, means dawn. And if you'll recall the narration from the movie."Yes, they named her after the dawn, for she filled their lives with sunshine" - Sleeping Beauty (1959)

Next point. Lucy's promo pictures for season seven. In one, she's lying on her bed with a dreamy far off look on her face. Lucy is a dreamer like Aurora. In that picture Lucy is definitely giving Aurora vibes.

In Lucy's second promo picture, you can better see the shawl Lucy's wearing which makes me think of the shawl Aurora wears.

Then there's this parallel:

An evil sorceress shows up at the celebration of a baby girl to foretell a curse that will happen on a specific birthday of said child.

Now in Lucy's case, the curse is not specific to her. Everyone in the land will be cursed. However! In Perrault's and the Brothers Grimm version when the princess falls asleep, everyone is also put to sleep. This also happens in the Disney film.

To the next point. Henry, Lucy's dad, entrusts Lucy's safety to a fairy (Tiger Lily). Just as Aurora's parents entrusted her safety to the three good fairies.

Lucy is put under an enchanted sleep by her step grandma, who was basically using Lucy's life force to resurrect her own daughter.

A kiss doesn't wake Lucy from her sleep. Just as a kiss did not wake the sleeping princess. At least in Perrault's version it didn't. The hundred years had passed, the enchantment wore off and the princess just wakes up. This isn't quite what happens with Lucy. We know that Victoria trading places with Ivy/Drizella in a sacrificial ritual is what wakes Lucy. But her parents don't know that that's happening. From their pov Lucy just wakes up.

Link to Charles Perrault's Sleeping Beauty.

Final point. Perrault's story mentions a spaniel dog owned by the princess. When Lucy is under her enchanted sleep a spaniel stuffed toy can be seen next to her.

In conclusion, Lucy Mills is a variation of

The Sleeping Beauty

[slowdrippingnoise]

Hi from a fellow foreteller/MoM degenerate cult insanity fan, can you ramble about them bc i wanna hear it your posts have allured me LMAO

Hi! thank you! :D tbh I feel inadequate because my insanity these days is pretty MoM-centric, to the detriment of my ability to remember anything else. I latch on to one character at a time and don't let go lol. horrible little bastard with cult leader tendencies and an escapism fixation. <3

I did start with a Luxu fixation though… you know the whole "Xigbar is Luxu!" "Cool! Who the hell is Luxu?" experience at the end of kh3. then I got hooked on the "oh that is absolutely awful for you" of it all. I'll skip ahead of myself and say I love the way the theme of posession/corruption concentrates around him- the MoM's hatred for(/dynamic with?) Darkness pushing him to corrupt his apprentices, which Luxu carries on to "corrupt"/replace his vessels, while he's supposed to be holding a Darkness inside himself or at least luring one in,, parasites making parasites making parasites. very nasty I love it. as usual, surprisingly dark for silly kids games lmao (I say "silly kids games" with great affection. I'm a silly kids games person) (I keep leaving out Xehanort, he's a very important part of this chain too. I still need to watch DR/refresh my memory of the main series in general. MoM get a job stay away from him!)

I'm a big fan of like. idk. overbearing intimacy. and the MoM and Luxu have that. he kinda rides the line with Ava, he puts a lot on her but that is what the foretellers are there for. (different brands of parentification lmao) it's a very cult leader-y thing- grand designs and a life-or-death struggle for the fate of life itself! but when you zoom in, it's extremely driven by this one guy's own personal damage and whims and emotional needs, to hell with everyone else. I like the way his chessmaster archetype is made more out of creating a couple clever "cheats" for himself, then just lying a lot and surrounding himself with impressionable young people who he can push around easily, again very culty. fr he makes me want to try to learn more about Heaven's Gate, I never absorbed much info about them but I feel like he's somewhere between that and a Jonestown situation. "the world is broken and evil so I need to rapture all of us", yknow. but it's half control and half self-preservation.

the fact that I like to ramp up the cult stuff probably does take me farther away from where canon's going though lmao. like it's not quite this heavy fr I just enjoy this part.

I guess I do post most of what I think about, so I don't have too much to say? any future thoughts you'll probably see though I love talking about this :)

the ~possibilities~ of kh4 live in my head rent free. I need to see Luxu and the MoM interacting I need to see our good buddy Xigbar acting genuinely uncomfortable and adolescent now that the timeline of his life is collapsing in on itself. the snake has found its own tail and is chewing it like crazy. I need to see Ava where tf is Ava what has she been up to. I wanna see Sora and Streli hanging out. training together maybe (party member Streli??) I wanna see Sora tell the MoM his plan is nuts.

extra material- MoM personality moodboard: clay puppington philip whittebane ghetsis pokemon cyrus pokemon enrico pucci L ron hubbard jim jones the pale king lusamine pokemon marika eldenring walt disney. he's so many

[kudzuoath]

Needful Things

With the reappearance of symptoms foretelling of his arcane hunger, Gale seeks out the party’s paladin to plead his case. He needs help. Hopefully Odette is the kind of person he believes her to be. 

Or, Gale and Odette experience mutual attraction and care. Neither one of them acknowledges it.

—

The party’s paladin was taciturn, and brutal on the field of battle. Not someone he typically would have felt drawn to. But then he watched the way Odette interacted with the tiefling children at the grove. Kindly. With a soft voice and a reassuring hand.

Or in the case of the little helion Mol, with a grin and a witty rejoinder that came to her lips as if it were second nature.

There were other things, too. The way she threw herself headlong into danger, flaming greatsword first, the moment she spotted someone in need. How she treated each battle like a game of lanceboard – or the way she carefully handled and collected the books they came across in their travels.

That last bit was the first thing he’d noticed actually – only someone who loved them the way he did would handle them with such care. Even the copies she set back down. It’s not what he expected from a warrior – though perhaps he was letting his biases get the better of him with that.

There was something about her. Under the blood and the bared teeth and the black tattoos covering her neck and forearms. A cleverness. A curiosity. And tying it all together, a surprising kindness.

So one evening in camp he approached her. She was sitting close to the fire, hunched over a tome they’d found in the ruined temple of Jergal.

“That looks like a fascinating read,” he said, unable to help himself.

Odette startled. She nearly took his leg out with her tail when it whipped back and forth. “What?”

“The book?”

“Oh – oh. Yes.” With a faint frown, she closed it and gave him her full attention. Her mismatched eyes were curious – but wary. Not unusual for her, he’d noticed. Though he had also just managed to sneak up on her.

“Did – you need something, Gale?”

“Well, all this travel and adventure has made it somewhat difficult to find my moment, but there’s something rather important I need to speak with you about – if you would be inclined to listen to me this fine evening.”

“Isn’t everything these days?” She gestured at the log she’d perched on, the faintest of half smiles breaking through her stoicism. “Have a seat. Unspool your woes. You won't be the first.”

He itched to ask more about the book. But that wasn’t what he was here for. “How shall I begin… ah! Yes! The beginning. You see, since you freed me from that stone I found myself trapped in I have seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage –”

Her smile dropped for some reason. And – was her gaze a little frosty all of the sudden? Did she not believe him?

“ – The way you diffused the tension between Aradin and Zevlor! How you convinced Kagha to release the girl. Or charged in to save that boy from those harpies. And you’ve demonstrated a fair amount of temperance as well – many a paladin would have run that fellow at the bottom of Jergal’s temple through, even though he’d shown no will to harm us! In short, I’ve grown to trust you, Odette.”

Silence. For several seconds that, by the third one, were starting to send prickles of unease down his spine. My but didn’t this woman have a stare on her that could freeze fire! The thing was, he couldn’t see what he’d done to invite it.

Though… perhaps it was just her face? It wasn’t the first time. She only really seemed to gentle around the very young, or very vulnerable. Perhaps it took conscious effort to do so.

“I see.” Another pause. “You’re being genuine, aren’t you?”

He balked. “Of course I am! I am many things, but I’ve never been accused of lying about my feelings towards others.”

That faint smile returned, and she let out a soft little laugh under her breath. She shook her head and ran a hand through her short raven curls with a sigh. “No, you wouldn’t would you? You have my apologies, Gale. I’m not particularly used to people being so complimentary.”

“With how often you save people?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Gratitude and… flattery are different things, I think. Or… compliments, isn’t it? That’s what they are when they’re genuine…” This last bit was to herself.

He might have been offended if not for how clearly baffled she was. Personally, he didn’t know what to make of her reaction. It was… odd. And it made him wonder what she’d been doing before the Nautiloid captured them. What roads had their Paladin walked? And what Oath now kept her?

“Well, nevertheless,” he said, pushing forward. “The reason I make a point of saying this is that I’ve grown confident enough to tell you something I’ve yet to tell another living soul. Except for my cat.”

She turned to face him fully now. The only hint of emotion he could glean from her face was in the tilt of her head, and the slight furrow beginning to form between her brows. His heart leapt into his throat as the moment came to bear down on him. This was it. He may well find himself a wizard alone. And he was no Elminster – particularly not now, between the tadpole and the orb.

“You see I have this… condition. Very different from the parasite we share. And just as deadly.”

“Can it be cured?” she asked. Immediate, serious. She was sitting at attention and leaning in, examining him with fresh eyes and real, visible concern. He noted the moment she spotted the darkened veins around his eye, and began to follow them down to where they vanished under his shirt. Surely not the first time they’d been noticed. But the first they might hold her any significance.

The way she looked at him. Ready to leap to his aid. It made his throat feel a little tight. And brought to mind his befeathered and bewhiskered friend back in Waterdeep.

“No, it cannot be cured,” he said softly. Swallowing around a lump in his throat. He cleared it and sat up straighter himself. “And I can assure you I left no page unturned in reaching that conclusion.”

Odette seemed to draw back slightly as he said this, eyes shuttered. Something he couldn’t blame her for, given he’d all but told her his days were numbered. Woe betide them all should she learn of exactly how numbered all of their days might be, purely by virtue of his company.

Though that revelation… that one he’d keep close to the chest a while longer. If he were very lucky – lucky enough to survive the tadpole, and find his way back to his tower – she need never know the extent of the threat he posed.

“I can keep this condition under control, as indeed I've done for a significant amount of time! But that was under different circumstances altogether. Home, in Waterdeep.”

“Gale… stop blowing hot air and tell me what you need.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and her hands were fists in her trousers.

“What it comes down to is this,” he said, holding up a finger. He was patently unable to give up his habit of lecturing. Particularly with his nerves strung tight enough to snap and his heart a throbbing drum trying to choke him. He trusted her. He could only hope she proved worthy of it. He thought she would. Hoped.

“Every so often, I need to get my hands on a powerful magical item and absorb the Weave inside.”

There.

“...Are you telling me you’re addicted to magic?” Odette said. Her voice was flat, toneless. But her hands were no longer fists.

“What? No – no. It’s nothing like that. Magic isn’t some – some narcotic to me. It’s literally a lifesaver.”

She stared at him. “It’s not that I doubt you – only that I’ve seen what can happen to people addicted to drink when they go too long without it.” Her voice darkened. “What they can do to people. And how, ultimately, the lack of it can kill them.”

The unfortunate thing was, she had a point with that comparison. Even if it didn't apply here.

“Were it an addiction, it might provide some other benefit than keeping me alive,” he said. And realized a moment after doing so that technically, it did. In that it was also keeping everyone and everything else in his vicinity alive and intact. But – no. Not that. Not now. “It is more a salve for a burn, medicine for an infection – though it wont cure what ails me.”

A new tension in her shoulders drained away. “I see.”

“I would not burden anyone other than myself with this were the stakes not so high, and the means of obtaining such artifacts challenging for a humble wizard to face alone.” He leaned forward. Fear sawed at him now. He hadn’t expected her to agree outright of course – he still didn’t. But he had to absorb something, and soon. Elsewise all might well be lost, tadpole be damned. “It’s been a tenday at least since I last consumed an artifact – since before we were abducted. It’s only a matter of time before my craving returns.”

In truth, he could feel it already. An unpleasant tingling numbness deep in his chest. One that made his heart beat just slightly out of tune. That froze his lungs. It was only a bit of morning frost at the moment. But all too soon he would be reduced to gasping on his back, hands pressed to his chest as if that might hold the snarling demon within at bay.

“That is why I turn to you, I need you to help me find magic items to consume,” he said. Intense. Unable to help himself even though he’d planned the rational facade. His hand was pressed over his hammering heart, fingers clawed in his shirt. The memory of what was soon to come biting under his palm. “It is vital. Dare I say it, critical.”

There weren’t words to describe the danger. His panic at perhaps being rejected. He would turn to petty thievery if he must. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of every living being around them, should it come to that. He would need them, if only to clear enough ground so as to minimize the hells he would unleash in his death.

Odette was watching him with a new wariness. His intensity had perhaps been… a little much. But once he’d noticed that creeping hunger in his chest… the panic had taken root in his tongue. Though it might prove needful. And may well have served to illustrate his genuine need better than if he’d managed to remain collected.

“Where are we going to find these items?” she said.

That wasn’t a no.

“We’ve already done the finding – in fact you have one in your possession as we speak.” He gestured to where her greatsword lay. It glowed like a dying ember, even sheathed. “You know for yourself how hardwon such an item was and it will be no easier when even more are required to assuage my hunger.”

As he’d said before – he was no liar. He wouldn’t pretend this would be easy. The least of what he owed her was that honesty.

“There will be danger involved. Or great cost.”

Odette’s eyes had remained on her sword as he spoke. He’d heard the tale of how she’d gotten it. On the Nautiloid. From a devil. His understanding was that it had been a difficult battle, barely won and only undertaken out of sheer desperation with the temporary alliance of her illithid captors. Giving her allies the time they needed to reach the alien transponder that had ultimately dumped them all into this wilderness.

She let out a long sigh, and unsheathed the weapon. Flames danced up and down the blade, merrily viscous. Its sudden heat made the night air steam slightly around them. Very carefully, she offered him the hilt, and met his gaze.

“Take it."

Gale’s mouth didn’t quite fall open, but it was near thing. He stared at the sword instead.

And then his panic melted away like so much snow falling on a wildfire. He’d expected… well. He hadn’t known what to expect. But Odette disarming herself was not among them. He’d been right. As he typically was of course. Right to trust her. Right to tell her. Like his panic, his tension drained too. And all at once the symptoms of his hunger felt far less pressing.

For indeed, they were less pressing. It was the fear. There was still time. And to feed it too soon… it might upset the balance. Might increase its need to consume. He would have a hard enough time keeping up with it as things were. No need to tempt fate.

“I knew I could count on you!” he said. “And – and utterly pleased as I am by your enthusiasm, there is still time. I did not leave things quite until the last moment. I’m a good deal cleverer than that! Keep your weapon for now. Perhaps we shall find something less dear to be parted with. Faerun overflows with magically infused treasure after all!”

Odette considered him for a moment, but re-sheathed her sword.

Then, in a move that made his heartbeat stutter she set her hands on his shoulders and squeezed lightly.

“Thank you. For asking for help, Gale. I know… it’s not an easy thing.”

Her gaze was as true as her heart was. And he found himself wondering how he’d written her off, no matter how briefly. A wizard she was not. But perhaps she was something just as good. A truly, deeply, decent soul. No matter her viciousness in a fight.

“Nor your promise to sacrifice these items, Odette,” he said, his voice dropping with softness unfeigned. “I know what I am asking –”

“There’ll always be magic daggers and enchanted rings,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re the only Wizard of Waterdeep I know, though. Don’t…” she swallowed. He caught a glimpse of an old pain on her face. One that made those eyes – one brown and one purple – look so lightless he might have been frightened had the emotion not been so clearly one of hurt. Her grip tightened slightly on his shoulders and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. When she finished her thought, it was in a whisper soft voice. “Don’t kill yourself with your silence.

He lifted his hands to cover hers. “Believe me, I shan’t be quiet should my need arise.”

“Good.”

For a moment, they watched each other. And Gale couldn’t help but think of how long it had been since mortal hands – or the hands of anyone at all – had touched him. There had only been Tara. His heart beat stuttered as he looked at the planes of her face, illuminated by the firelight. It was a beautiful sight. He found himself wishing to stroke his thumb over the black flame tattooed on her forehead for some odd reason. Or better, to follow the curved pattern of dark flames along her jaw with his fingertips.

Odette was smiling back at him, and there was a softness there. But then she seemed to notice their closeness. She let go of him abruptly and pulled back. Put distance between them as she busied herself with setting aside her sword, with repacking the book.

He was all at once given the impression of many doors closing and locking one after another. By the time she turned back to look at him, her face was settled back into its normal vaguely intimidating neutrality.

“I should try to get some sleep,” she said. “And so should you. We need to find where those bloody goblins have holed up with the Druid. Interesting as that ruin turned out, our new friend is not the cure we’ve been looking for.”

“Indeed not,” he agreed, standing. He recognized a dismissal, no matter how kindly given. He made a dramatic gesture and half bowed. “Dear lady, may you sleep the sleep your kindness so richly deserves!”

She let out a surprised laugh, that mask breaking again. “And may you rest your eternally wagging tongue, dear wizard.”

A dig, but she said it with a fondness he found gratifying. He wasn’t unaware of his talkative nature, when he’d been given half the chance to chatter. Good that she seemed to like it.

“I shall do my very best to oblige.”

Gale returned to his tent with a lightness in his heart most unfamiliar, and a smile he would have been hard pressed to extinguish.