#I have Political Nephilim Feels

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Fucking hell Nightbringer really gave me everything huh god

Henry 1.0 origin story

Cerberus origin story

Satan's cat thing origin story

"Goldie in Freezer" origin story

Levi's Ruri-chan obsession origin story

Mammon being scared of ghosts/horror origin story

More in depth version of Solomon & Asmo's first meeting/pact origin story

A painful reason for why Asmo's room looks like that

What the tsl characters would have been like irl (the absolute worst wtf simeon)

Mammon's issues finally discussed in depth

Mammon being extremely ride or die for Lucifer

Almost instant Mammon & MC friendship

Mammon being just so amazed by MC and also insanely supportive of them

Mammon being willing to do anything for his brothers, being more sure of himself, almost instantly following Lucifer's orders and making the others do so as well

Levi's issues discussed in depth.

Levi straight up saying he was depressed and still is

Levi's friendship with MC!

Levi & Lucifer's relationship!!!!!

Levi being shy and scared and just so 😖

Things being bad in the Celestial Realm even before they left

Asmo's issues being discussed in depth

Asmo very explicitly having body dysmorphia

The brothers being much more supportive and loving of each other

Lucifer being visibly scared of losing another family member and being insanely overprotective because of it

The brothers being slowly overtaken by their sins (something that was always a part of them but also something they could control as angels) and losing control of themselves

The brothers gaining new magic

Satan being a fucking mess

Satan not really fitting in and all of them being really awkward around him

Satan's issues being discussed in depth

Belphie's issues being discussed in depth

Belphie expressing passive suicidal ideation

Belphie talking about how he needs someone to blame for what happened to Lilith so he can process it/make sense of it even if that someone is himself

Lucifer's issues being touched on from from different perspectives/angles

Diavolo's issues being hinted at

Simeon's issues being vaguely discussed

More about Lilith! (remember my post about how lilith definitely wasn't a sweet little angel because there's no way the universe would let lucifer catch a break? I was right!!! She was as much a little shit as the rest of her family!)

More about the demon king! (He wanted to stop the war too🥺 also a whole line of previous demon kings!)

More about god/how angels work (all angels are brothers & sisters but not technically family the way lucifer & his siblings are!)

ADAM!?!?!?!?!?

Solomon & MC's Sorcerer & Apprentice relationship seen in full detail!

MC being absolutely amazing

MC being competent and powerful and dangerous and resourceful and confident and the brothers realising all that but them also being funny and snarky and chaotic and outgoing and homesick and caring

References to present (s1-s4) brothers (& how they'll tear solomon apart if he doesn't bring MC back)

NIGHTBRINGER!? BARBATOS!!!??? but past barbatos doesn't seem to know anything about MC and present barbatos is helping solomon bring MC back....so who...?

References to Noble demons and conservative demons and devildom politics

Angel - Demon prejudice /racism from both sides explicitly shown

The brothers being war criminals and how the devildom sheltering them nearly re-started the war between the two realms

None of them being able to identify MC as a human (it takes Diavolo a long time + Lucifer straight up denies it when MC tells him), Adam & Nightbringer saying MC has the "power of angels", MC's favourite manga being one where the youngest child out of 7 is described as being angelic (*cough*lilith*cough*), Diavolo, even after knowing MC is a human, going "what are you"..... me softly chanting: nephilim!mc nephilim!mc nephilim!mc

The lessons flow better? It doesn't feel like one arc is squished into two lessons and then you must immediately jump into another different arc. It feels like it's all just happening in a connected sequence?

Better pacing in my opinion. It doesn't feel rushed.... like the part where satan discovers cats and then later is seen still sitting next to the cat and watching it? It feels appropriately spaced out

MC's relationships with everyone doesn't feel isolated. Like earlier there'd be a lesson or two dedicated to one character and we won't see much of the other characters during it. Now it feels like everyone is there interacting with everything in a normal, natural way. Yes there are lessons dedicated to getting to know one brother but the others are there, interacting with each other and MC during that time as well

The emotions & relationships are discussed/written in a way that feels very real and believable that it becomes actually really moving (s1-s4 also did this well but in nightbringer because of arcs/scenes/relationships not being isolated, of things flowing better and having a better pacing, of them outright discussing their issues it has a greater impact - yes I cried more than once shut up)

In the end, Nighbringer is darker than og OM! but not in the "grrr gonna kill you" way. It's "darker" because they address more serious topics in depth

[slowd1ving]

[OUT ON A LIMB] SNIPPET ゜・DAN HENG

snippet of the PREQUELLLL to the roommate au + an introduction to the ASTRAL INSTITUTEEEE

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Your guide through the long-winded halls pauses, blood-red hair swaying to a cascading halt as she points to her right. “This is your practice room for today. Make sure to read the rules before you begin, alright?” 

She’s friendly, introducing herself as Himeko with a dazzling smile. She’s one of the managers in the music club—veering into engineering territory. Compared to her, you’re just some guy with his guitar; you look away from her cheerful expression, gazing at the rules emblazoned in a red less vibrant than her locks. 

No intercourse. No hot food. No unauthorised persons. Scrawled beneath in messy purple pen is a blinding neon post-it: get the fuck out if you’re not using the room properly, you bums. 

“Wow,” you cough out in surprise, breaking your laconic pattern of responses. “I assume those have some crazy stories behind them.”

That elicits a small laugh from her, and finally it feels like you’ve done something right. 

“You have no idea,” she bemoans exasperatedly, ushering you into the room. It’s nothing too large—small enough to feel cosy rather than make you self-conscious, but big enough so sound carries well. “Right, if you need help setting up, just let the admin at the end of the corridor know.”

She leaves in a whirl of crimson and gilt gold, and you’re left standing bemusedly in the doorway. 

It’s not like you do need the help: hands deftly unravelling and plugging in cords and tuning the pegs with the ease only muscle memory evokes. How long has it been? With your mountainous studies, it’s little wonder that your hobbies were pushed to the bottom of the priority list. 

Your breathing turns rhythmic as you warm-up: chord after chord gently brought into existence with the fretboard and a copper penny as an impromptu pick. Though it’s been a few years, your hands fly across the strings.

A little bit of Bauhaus. Improvisation for The Cure. A brief snippet of Fields of Nephilim.

“I was cold as I mouthed the words, and crawled across the mirror,” you sing along with the backing track, embellishing the sombre baseline—chords ringing out clean in the daylight. It’s been so long that your mouth tastes sweet: letting the tones sweep you away in its ebb. The melody and harmonies blur together—as do your eyes. They flutter shut, focused only on replicating the feeling. “I wait, await the next breath.”

The notes fall apart and distort in the empty room: jarring and incomplete, yet harrowingly beautiful. 

“Your name like ice, into my heart.”

Your voice is hoarse: fingers raw and voice scraped tender from just these meagre hours of practice. 

“Everything is as cold as life—can no one save you?”

It’s not enough, but as the sound of song dies out and is replaced by the buzz of alternating current and low whir of air conditioning, you realise there’s someone in the doorway. 

Fingers drum on the lacquered body of the guitar as you look at him, and he looks back at you. He’s roughly your age: wavy black hair cut messy round his head; silvery chains decorating his neck and pale wrists; red liner accentuating sharp, lucid eyes that bear directly into you. 

“Can I help you?” you frown, scanning his face and realising you’ve never seen him around before: be it at a lecture, the library or any of the small stores dotted around campus. At least, you hope you’ve never seen him around—it’s awkward enough knowing he heard you, let alone that you might’ve come across him and forgotten his name. 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. His voice is pleasant: slightly melodious and clear even with his lowered volume. “The other rooms are all full—I was wondering if we could share?”

Wow, you blink. He’s so damn polite.

[garfinkelstingle]

matthew's letter to james

hi, i was bored and decided to transcribe the additional letter from matthew to james from the waterstone edition of chain of thorns!

thanks to the peeps out there posting pictures of it, you're the true heroes!

Dear James,

When we talked about my trip, and the places I wished to see, you may recall that--while I wished to be beholden to no agenda or itinerary--I did say there were three cities in Europe I would die rather than miss: Vienna. Berlin. And of course, Venice. Your eyes lit up when I mentioned the latter, and I promised to send you word of the City of Masks when I arrived.

Well, I have been here for three days and I wish to share with you my impressions of the city. As one wanders, one discovers quickly that there are two modes of line in Venice: wet and quiet, or wet and loud. I have, as you would imagine, kept myself to its loudest parts.

It is a city beloved of mermaids, obviously, and in general Downworld is dominated by the fishier side of Faerie. You may ask, do I mean the aquatic parts, or do I mean the dodgy parts? And to that I say, sir, I mean both. Never have I seen so many mermaids, and never have I seen more complex scheming. Within moments of arriving at one of their fames half-sunk tavernas, I was drawn into three assassination plots, two blackmails, and a plot to steal a large sapphire owned by someone named "Il Granchio," who turned out to not just be named after but to actually be himself a giant talking crab. What marvels I have missed by remaining in sodden old London. I have never been threatened with having my head pinched off before, and I daresay it has fortified my character.

As with every other city I visit, I have had to spend half my time dodging local Shadowhunters. The local Institute is always very welcoming, and by "welcoming" I mean they wish to put me on patrol. But this is not my travel year and I am not visiting the world's most interesting places in order to patrol them, or to fight their demons at all, really.

(Obviously if a demon crosses my path, I will dispatch it posthaste. I am still a Nephilim born and bred, and thus feel a certain amount of demon-focused violence is good for the blood. Nevertheless, I have found that one does not need to wander the streets of a city to encounter its dangers. Instead I have followed the strategy of going directly to a city's most unsavory places, where trouble will regularly appear without much fuss on my part.)

The only thing worse than Shadowhunters who want to hunt demons with me, are Shadowhunters who want to Put a Word in My Ear because I have "access" to the Consul. As though when I speak to my mother she wishes me to convey the minor grievances of a bureaucrat from Turin. No, she wants to know if I am eating enough (I am) and whether I am wearing the scarf she knitted for me (I am not). If the Continental Shadowhunters wish to politic they will have to wait for Charles to come through. That's their punishment for taking life too seriously.

On a slightly more sober note--as it were--it is difficult to debauch through the world without the social lubrication of drink. I suppose I knew that before I set out, but the reality can be hard to bear. Everywhere I go I am plied with drink, which I must decline, explaining that I have come not for the alcohol but only for the gambling and the perversion. Even on the rare occasion when I have been unable to avoid visiting an Institute they inevitably drag out the dustiest bottle in their cellar and I must rush to stop them before they open it for a guest who cannot appreciate it.

The problem is that nobody seems to understand why one might not wish to drink. It is very frustrating. Everyone recognizes that one can drink to excess and need to stop for the sake of one's health, but to encounter such a person in reality bewilders them. And I can hardly order water in the sorts of places I am visiting. As a result, I have become a great consumer of black coffee, which I down by the ucketful so as to be seen imbibing something. Unfortunately, this means I now require several large cups of the stuff a day just to keep myself upright. I suppose a dependency on coffee is much less debilitating than a dependency on drink. At the very least it is less dangerous to one's health, by which I mean I have never yet drunk a pot of coffee and awoken on the cold stone steps of a baptistry wrapped in the Union Jack, which I cannot say is true of my time as a drinker of liquor. It nevertheless makes me a bit of a figure of scrutiny, the Englishman who turns down drink. I have begun to tell the especially insistent that I am under a faerie curse and if ever liquor should touch my mouth I shall transform into a badger. I tell you, I look forward to later in the year when I shall be in countries where the mundanes' religion prohibits alcohol. Although I imagine the coffee consumption will only rise.

But I was speaking of Venice, somewhere on an earlier page. You shall have to tell Pickles at the Devil that here there is no need to bring a tub with you to soak in, for the Downworld bars are mostly half-sunk into the lagoon and one sits with one's lower half in water and one's upper half at a table. This is an excellent arrangement for the mermaids and a terrible arrangement for anyone else. The werewolves go around looking like drowned rats half the time.

In addition to the continued popularity of drink and debauch, Venice is also mad for seances. (In this it resembles most other places I have visitied; the whole continent seems mad for ghosts these days. What a career Jesse could have had had he remained disembodied.) I ran into Madame Dorothea yesterday while in a dimly-lit lounge of poor reputation playing Trappola. (Because what goes better with card-playing than dire warning and demands from one's dead family members?) This is not the first time I have seen her on my travels--like me, she appears to be touring. I encountered her first in a brown café in Rotterdam and then again at a floating cabaret on the Rhine a few weeks ago. Both times I could barely see her through the tobacco smoke, but I did get to witness her admonishing a vampire that his late mother was very disappointed in him because she had expected him to become a lawyer.

By this our fourth encounter, Dorothea and I nodded knowingly to each other as fellow-travelers, and she asked me directly if there was anyone I wished to speak to. I demurred, but she was insistent, and having singled me out the crowd demanded I follow through. I searched my mind for anyone whose messages would not be potentially harmful to my good mood, and finally asked her if I could speak with Oscar Wilde. (The man, not the dog, of course; Oscar Wilde the dog awaited me loyally at the pensione as usual.)

At this point I had no doubt about the genuine power possessed by Dorothea, and so when a gruff but cultured voice emanated from that lady's mouth I knew at one it was him. Of course I immediately went off my head and said the only thing I could think of, which, foolishly, was that I thought he would sound more Irish.

Rather dryly he informed me that he had deliberately put aside his accent while at Oxford, and that he hoped I had not called him back from sailing beyond the sunset in order to complain about his diction. (He got quite enough of that from the ghost of his sister, apparently.) I told him no, but that I wished him to know that his House of Pomegranates had been a formative text for me in my youth. Which was a terrible understatement of the importance of his writing to me, but I could think of nothing else. I felt a fool the moment I said it.

Rather acidly he told me that he no longer concerned himself much with notices or reviews, being dead. At this point Dorothea's body-language showed that the spirit was becoming restless, and the crowd was on his side. More politely than I deserved, he suggested that I might wish to ask him for some advice, or at least wisdom, that he might provide from his side of the veil.

Struck, I blurted out, "In the past I have made so many errors, have caused so much hurt. Can I make up for them? Will I carry them with me forever, or can they ever be left behind in the past?"

At this the crowd became hushed. This was not what they had come to see, but at least it was more interesting than my telling a specter ripped from beyond the void that I liked his work.

Oscar gazed at me--I had no doubt it was him, behind Dorothea's eyes, and I will not soon forget the frisson I felt as he sized me up. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was gentle.

"I see from your cravat," he said, "that you are a man of the world."

I allowed that his observation was accurate.

"And I see from your eyes," he went on, "that you mean to live a grand life. That you have already begun to do so, in fact."

"I do," I told him. "I have."

"To live magnificently," Oscar said, as though carefully choosing his words, "means that your joys will be magnificent, but so too will be your pains. You will celebrate grandly and you will suffer grandly. Such is the covenant of such a life."

"Is it worth it?" said I.

He appeared to shrug. "You can see how it has turned out for me," he said. "Nevertheless, I would not exchange my fate for another. Epictetus said that a man is not made by his circumstances; rather, his circumstances reveal him to himself. I may be paraphrasing," he added, and I thought I head him mutter something to the effect, "Look at me. Dead and still quoting."

Now he took in his surroundings. "Next time you seek me out," he said, "pray do so in a place less chill and damp. I may not feel it, but I still appreciate a decent ambience."

And then he was gone.

I tell you, James, I had little expectation when I asked Dorothea to call upon him, but I left that chill and damp taverna greatly inspired. I share these words with you because, while you are not one to descend into the damp and chill places of the world for the sake of a party, as I am, your life is also grand, and like me you are destined to love grandly, to suffer grandly, and to celebrate grandly. I want you to know that Oscar Wilde says it is worth the trouble. And that I believe him.

The only real sorrow of my travels, of course, is the pangs I feel in being absent from you. Parabatai separated are always missing a bit of themselves, and I carry that lack with me wherever I go. I continue forth to seek more experiences, but I promise to return to you in time, and, I hope, the wiser for it.

Pray give my love to Cordelia, to Lucie, to Thomas and yes, even to Alastair. I miss you all very much, and hope that you are keeping London well for me while I am away. Be well and the Angel protect you.

Love,

Matthew

[yutafrita]

An Angel, my Angel, and Me — PT. 3

⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Navigation…. Preview // One // Two // Three

[Feat. Soyeon, Yangyang, Eunseok, and Yuqi]

Chapter Warnings: Religious imagery and lore (primary Catholic), potentially occult imagery, court room drama, mentions of angelic police force/criminal system, small allusions to depression/ suicidal ideation (it’s a very small blink and you miss it moment)

Genre: Fake married, court room drama, romcom

Word Count: 4.5k

CHAPTER THREE- 12 ANGRY ANGELS

Your local public library allowed people to rent out rooms. Some used these free spaces for book clubs, others used it for work or school projects, and as it turns out, Shotaro used them for nephilim meet and greets.

You paced in circles outside of the library, Sungchan having his arms crossed as you did so.

“You don't have to go,” he repeated this for the third time in ten minutes.

“I know, but I want to.”

“Then why have you been out here pacing for the past ten minutes?”

You groaned in frustration, stopping in your tracks. You wished you could drag Sungchan into the meeting room with you, but Shotaro made it extremely clear that you were to come alone and ready to speak to others. You couldn’t help it- Sungchan made you feel safe. He didn’t have to do anything but be around you and you could feel perfectly at ease.

“Hey,” Sungchan put both of his hands on your shoulders, “it’s going to be just fine. Plus, I’ll be out here the whole time if you need anything.”

“Thanks… I appreciate it,” you forced a nod. Your relationship with the angel at this point was a tangled ball of yarn that gave you a headache whenever you attempted to pull at the threads. You found yourselves holding hands when no one was looking, being around each other all the time despite Sungchan not needing to be around you at all hours, and have even stolen a few more touches than just the occasional kiss.

“Good luck, now go!” Sungchan lightly shoved your shoulders and pushed you towards the front door. 

You stumbled as you entered, earning a surprised look from the librarian. Standing up tall, you approached her desk.

“Hi, where is the meeting room for,” you stopped your whisper to look at the club name Shotaro had texted to you only to then say it through gritted teeth, “the Catholic Geologist club?”

“Second floor game room,” she nodded before extending her hand, “here is a pamphlet with all of the clubs offered here.”

“Thank you,” you politely took it before you followed her directions. Considering how painfully underfunded the library was, you wondered how Shotaro could even justify the space he had the group taking up. That was until you entered the room.

The space was the size of your living room and was broken up into thirds. The left hand side contained a few rectangular tables all covered with board games and card games. The right hand side was wall to wall filled with arcade machines all buzzing with life and ready for use. The center third is what surprised you. It was filled with fold out chairs and every seat was taken and facing the door.

“There she is!” Shotaro had popped out from the side of the door, slinging an arm over your shoulder in his excitement. “Welcome the newest member of the Nephilim meetup group!”

The 15 people gathering all smiled and cheered, the warm buzz in the room helping set you at ease. Shotaro pointed to the singular empty chair in the front and you scooted into the spot. 

“Welcome, I’m Yuqi,” the girl to your right introduced herself to you as hushed discussions fell amongst the group.

“Hi, nice to meet you!”

“Don’t get too close to Yuqi, she inherited her angel grandma’s ability to change memories,” the guy to your left cut in. You were nervous about being caught in a spat before you saw the smirk forming on his and Yuqi’s lips. “I’m Eunseok, I’m half angel.”

You introduced yourself and timidly added, “my… father is the angel.”

You hadn’t really admitted it to yourself. Your Mom had told you that she met your Dad in a whirlwind romance she had on a study abroad trip in Japan, and by the time she got back, she was pregnant without any way of contacting him. Your Mom, your grandparents, and the rest of her large family all leant a hand, and you never sought out more information since you didn’t think there was any. So, learning that he was an angel… it needed time to sink in.

But, saying it out loud was still a good first step.

“All right everyone!” Shotaro called everyone's attention, a clipboard waving in his hands. “You guys know the deal- first two minutes is roll call, next ten minutes are whatever y’all want to discuss, and then it’s game time,” he then met your eyes, “and our rules state that any new members have to be a part of the first fight.”

By first fight, they meant playing the first three rounds of Dance Dance revolution.

“I can’t believe the library just has these games,” you muttered as Shotaro set up the first game. He had taken it upon himself to be your first challenger. 

“Oh yeah. We’ve been coming here for years so we did a fundraiser last year and were able to fully upgrade the room,” he explained before clapping his hands, “all right, let’s go.”

You typically viewed yourself as being pretty good at rhythm games, but wow, Shotaro really made you question that notion. He wasn’t just pretty good- it was like he was a completely different person when the music came on. You completely lost the game to him but you almost couldn’t even count it because he was a complete monster in the game.

“I’ll go!” Yuqi nearly yanked Shotaro off the console after the first song.

“Are you all as good as him?” you asked, still breathing embarrassingly heavy.

“Oh god no- he’s a professional dancer. He was just trying to flex,” she exposed, causing you to look back and glare at Shotaro who could only laugh at being exposed. 

You were able to keep up a bit more with Yuqi, both of you smiling and laughing the whole time. You came out on top by only ten points, and considering your miserable defeat beforehand, you considered it a true victory.

“I’ll take this last one!” Eunseok popped forward, and that was when you noticed it. On his back was a set of small, uneven wings. A few others in the room had their own, all different sizes and different variants of shapes and colors- Eunseok’s wings were fully gray.

“You can pick this last song,” you smiled, leaning back on the machine’s bar.

“Oh? Hell yeah,” he chirped. After Eunseok beat you by a few points, you stepped off the machine, finally released from your hazing.

“Wanna play cards?” Yuqi phrased it as a question, but was already grabbing your hand and guiding you to the other end of the room. 

The night was wonderful. You were able to laugh and smile with other nephilim, and while you were certainly annoyed by Shotaro’s ominous approach to showing you everything, you were happy to finally have an understanding. 

After exchanging phone numbers with Yuqi and Eunseok, you left the club room with a few minutes remaining on the clock. Outside, you felt the soft kiss of fall approaching and you tightened your cardigan as you looked around for Sungchan. 

“Meow,” you looked down, seeing the black cat you haven’t seen in ages. You knelt down, confused until his tail angled itself to gesture to something. Following the eyeline, you noticed a set of two angels across the street, both looking down on a tablet before glancing back at the library.

“Troops,” you whispered, earning a nod from Sungchan’s cat form. Scoping him up in your arms, you pressed him close to your chest and started making your way to your apartment. With your shielding abilities and the charm that allows Sungchan to turn into a cat, you were able to breeze by the troops and make the brisk three blocks back to your apartment in one piece.

“I can’t believe they got that close,” you announced once you made it back inside and released the cat. So quickly it occurred within the blink of an eye, Sungchan returned to his normal angelic state, a layer of sweat having formed on his forehead. “I wish you had told me, I would have left sooner-.”

“You have a life,” he was kurt in his response. “I’ll be out of your hair after this trial… I’ll turn myself in as soon as Soyeon gives me the go ahead.”

“I- I’m not bothered by you being around,” you defended, moving towards him, “do… you plan to leave after your trial, though?”

“You can just tell everyone that your husband left you, you’ll gain sympathy points,” he laughed, a hint of bitterness in his tone. You went to grip his arm only for him to turn on his heel and go to the kitchen. “I’m going to make a snack, do you want anything?”

“Sungchan,” you were confused and frustrated, and approached the kitchen with a furrowed brow. “Sungchan, listen to me.”

“Hm?”

“Sungchan, I love you,” the words spilled out like a waterfall. He froze, dropping the jar of peanut butter spread onto the floor as you continued. “You are free to do whatever you want, and I’ll make sure Soyeon still helps but… I can’t pretend anymore. I want you in my life.”

His bottom lip quivered before all you heard was, “no.”

Your blood ran cold, “what?”

“You shouldn’t love me. It’s not good for humans if they do. It’s okay if I love you but-.”

“You love me?” you cut him off, inching closer and closer to him. Sungchan closed the space between the two of you, and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“You idiot, I love you so much it hurts. But… if something were to ever happen to you because of me-.”

“I love you,” you pressed your hands on both sides of his face, “I love you so much. I would do anything for you. But, that’s my choice, not yours.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before pressing his forehead against yours, “I love you. I want to always be with you, if you’ll have me.”

Eagerly you met his lips in a soft kiss, “I love you too.”

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingers trailing down along your neck and leaving goosebumps before he stood up tall and swiftly picked you up. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed, now folded over his shoulder as he carried you easily from the kitchen to your room.

“We’re home alone, and we’re in love. We’re going to finally fuck.”

“Oh wow, finally.”

Be that as it was, the jar of peanut butter stayed on the floor the rest of the night.

*********

“The trial is in a week,” Soyeon repeated this sentiment to you as you laid on the couch, pouting. It had been two weeks since you and Sungchan officially began dating, and for one of the weeks he was in Angel jail awaiting trial. “Stop moping.”

“I know your defense is kick ass but what if the jury doesn’t care?” you aired your true worries then. Soyeon was viciously intelligent. On earth her degree was in Public relations, but apparently when she was training to be a guardian she went to the equivalent of angel law school. You knew she was the best defense Sungchan could get, you were terrified by the other angels not being open-minded.

Soyeon shoved your feet off the couch and sat down, sighing as she met your eyes.

“You know, this is why I begged to be your guardian angel.”

You blinked, “what?”

“Your guardian angel had like, four different people he was responsible for. I was implanted as your neighbor just to give a helping hand to any other proper guardians in the area. Anyways, he was never there to help you and you… you were so kind and you cared so much about everyone…”

“I can take care of myself,” you sat up then, before playfully punching her arm, “but thanks, for being there for me.”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but everyone needs a helping hand. Whether they’re a human or an angel.”

“I just hope the jury agrees too,” you folded your hands on your lap, nervous as you continued to spiral.

“They will, because… you’re going to do us both a favor.”

******

“These sunglasses are ridiculous,” you were irritated, but you weren’t going to do much beyond that unless you wanted to have your eyeballs melt out from their sockets and speak in tongues. The sunglasses nephilim needed to wear to be able to walk around heaven were bulky, dark, and would typically not allow any natural light enter.

Heaven did not contain any natural light.

Soyeon was holding you firmly in her hands, her wings emitting golden flecks as she maneuvered around the busy courthouse to guide you to where you would have to wait before taking the stand.

“Well, sorry they didn’t have any designer sunglasses. Next time you have to be a character witness for your boyfriend I’ll bear that in mind,” she sassed before stopping in front of a tall oak door. “This is the room you’ll be sequestered in until the court officer comes to get you. I think it’s going to be a troop member… unless they want to scare you.”

“Isn’t a troop member scary enough?” you asked, arms crossed as you looked around the hall. While most people had bright white wings, you did see the occasional pair of black wings or other people like you with a thick pair of sunglasses.

“I would say a Saint would be scarier… you’re going to be fine,” she squeezed your shoulder with one hand, realizing the absolute fear your face wore. “The judge presiding over the case on behalf of the Lord is nice, I think we have a chance.”

Soyeon breathed deeply before looking at her wrist watch, “look, just read your book or doodle or stare at the wall. I’m going to make sure your boyfriend can get out so he can pay us back by getting us dinner,” she opened the door for you before maneuvering towards the courtroom entrance and away from you.

The room was relatively bare- a small bookcase, a table with a few wooden chairs, and a floor to ceiling window that was still freakishly bright even with the special sunglasses. 

It was bold of Soyeon to assume you’d be able to do anything besides nervously pace for several hours. The trial wasn’t meant to go beyond a week, and according to Soyeon had been going a little better than she anticipated- as in the jury was paying attention and not immediately calling Sungchan a blasphemous heathen.

Thinking back to your time with Sungchan in the last few weeks, you sighed. Sungchan had been wildly nervous, and had taken up your habit of picking at his own cuticles to a point that you started carrying around bandaids in case he accidentally plucked off his skin. 

Looking at your own bag that carried your untouched book, you frowned upon seeing the Kero Kero Keroppi bandaids. All you could do was hope that he had stopped picking at them, and if not, hopefully he’d be able to heal quickly. According to Sugchan, Guardian angels were the ones that had relatively indestructible flesh and insane healing abilities. For Fallen Angels, unless they were members of the troop, their healing abilities may be a little faster than humans, but that was it.

“So, can you guys die?” you remember asking.

“Not really, we’ll just have our souls sent to hell,” Sungchan had answered this question with a shrug as if it was no big deal.

Drowning in your thoughts, the door opened. “It’s your time to take the stand.”

Time moved in a blur until you were seated in the witness stand.

“Objection.”

“On what grounds?”

“The witness is in a relationship with the accused and is being guarded by the defendant’s lawyer,” the prosecutor countered. You gulped, trying to keep a straight face as you sat frozen at the front of the courtroom.

“Seeing as there are no rules against either of those factors… you may continue with your testimony,” the judge’s voice was oddly soothing, cutting through the bright gold and white emitted throughout the courtroom. The jurors all but two had bright white wings with gaudy gold flecks, and it refracted the already searing light in the room. 

Soyeon cleared her throat and started her line of questioning. You and Soyeon had such a natural way of behaving with one another that you were both visibly struggling to not crack jokes at the other or laugh. Her line of questioning felt like eons, but after looking at the clock above the jury you widened your eyes slightly to see only two hours had passed.

“The prosecution may now approach the witness with any questions,” the judge announced. Your throat ran dry, and you took a short sip of the glass of water in front of you. 

The prosecutor sent a short wink to another person on his team before standing tall. He had an arrogant air to him. It surprised you considering that his wings indicated that he too was a guardian angel.

“Thank you, your honor. This will be quick,” he stood between you and the jury before directly meeting your eyes, “ma’am, so to confirm, Sungchan was a vagrant whom tricked you into taking him in by disguising himself as a cat?”

“Objection- leading question,” Soyeon nearly shot out from her seat. 

“Please strike that from the record and rephrase your line of questioning,” the judge sighed. You frowned, balling your hand into a fist to try and keep yourself together. You had been avoiding looking at Sungchan, terrified that seeing him would bring you to tears, but you more than anything hoped that he didn’t take what the prosecutor said to heart.

“Sungchan, the accused, disguised himself as what animal?” the prosecutor started.

“In order to keep himself safe he took on the disguise of a cat. His intentions-,” you were cut off by the prosecutor. 

“I didn’t ask about his intentions, ma’am,” you watched as he sent a glance of irritation to the jury as if wanting them to judge you, “in the two years he was there, did Sungchan reveal himself to you?”

You shook your head, “no.”

“So, he simply mooched off of you for that time?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek before you spoke up again, “no, he didn’t. He may not have contributed to the rent, but he did contribute to where we lived, even as a cat.”

The prosecutor seemed irritated by this and cleared his throat before pressing on, “how did he contribute?”

“Well, for starters, my roommate and I aren’t the cleanest people in the world, but we’re the only people on our floor of our apartment complex to not get a roach infestation. Sungchan- or rather Eerie, what I named his cat, was the one that basically guarded us from it all.”

“Was that it?”

“No,” you bit your bottom lip before you continued, “those last two years of my academic career were some of the most emotionally taxing in my life. Having Eerie there to rely on me, be near me, and be a non-judgemental ear was frankly life saving. Sure, Sungchan needed me around to stay safe but,” that was when you finally met Sungchan’s gaze. You choked up a bit seeing a ghost of a tear run down his cheek, and you passed the back of your hand under your glasses to stop a tear from falling before you finished speaking. “He needed me around to stay safe, but I really needed him around to stay alive. He cares deeply for humans… isn’t that what you’re all supposed to do?”

Grumblings and mutters broke-out all throughout the court-room, several of the jurors discussing amongst themselves and angels in the back of the room standing up as if to have a talk with the court officers. The judge hit his gavel loudly, the noises all trickling to a silence after he hit it a second time.

“Do you have any other questions for the witness?” the judge asked, his voice much softer now after hearing you speak.

The prosecution's face was red with anger before he answered, “no, sir.”

******

Soyeon taped up her last box, and you both looked away from each other to wipe away your tears.

It had been five months since Sungchan received his verdicts and sentencing, and in that time you and your best friend/ guardian angel had a lot of conversations. One of which was her deciding to take a job promotion that required her to move to another part of the world.

“Sungchan, you better take good care of her,” Soyeon shoved the taller mans shoulder, his white wings glistening despite the light in your apartment’s kitchen needing to be replaced. You didn’t quite realize that Soyeon provided most of your kitchenware, so you added to your mental to do list that you and Sungchan needed to grab a new skillet.

“Soyeon,” you turned back around after wiping away your tears, “you don’t need to worry about me. I want you to focus on yourself.”

“You better call me… you’re still my best friend,” she was visibly fighting back her tears as she went to grip your shoulders. 

“Yes, and now she’s only your best friend,” Sungchan emphasized, placing a hand on Soyeon’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe part of your sentencing was you needing to be a guardian again,” she seethed, a small glint of pride showing itself. She should be proud of herself- Sungchan may have gotten one guilty verdict, but he did get a not guilty verdict on the most hefty charge. She was a miracle worker, no pun intended.

“It just so happens to work out that my old guardian angel was taking on a new job,” you taunted, a laugh escaping you. “What kind of amazing luck is that?”

“Oh please, like I wouldn’t make sure he ended up around you somehow.”

“Soyeon, is this box ready?” Eunseok interjected, gesturing to the box she just closed. Sniffling, she nodded before walking off to instruct another mover in her room.

“I’m gonna miss her,” you confessed, leaning your head on Sungchan’s shoulder.

“I know, I’ll miss her too,” he wrapped an arm around you before pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Hey, you’ve known her forever, I just started being her friend,” Yuqi popped back out from Soyeon’s now empty room, a thin layer of sweat across her forehead. “It’s so not fair that now is when she’s moving.”

“I’ll visit all the time,” Soyeon defended, quickly rushing and obnoxiously pinching Yuqi’s cheeks. “It’s not like I’ll need to pay for airfare or anything.”

“Another perk of having a full set of wings,” Eunseok frowned.

“I’m telling you, Yangyang said he could help out with that,” you reiterated. The weird, eclectic group you had formed over the past few months was shifting again with Soyeon leaving, but you knew it would be okay. 

“He’s gonna charge me my life savings- no thanks,” Eunseok pointed, to which Sungchan nodded in affirmation.

Sungchan’s verdicts at the time were shocking enough for news to spread rapidly from guardians, to fallen angels, down to the nephilims.

You dreaded a guilty verdict- but remember the shock of hearing the jury’s decision. Guilty from robbery from the Library of Alexandria, and not guilty for returning the items to the human community.

“The defendant did have to break sacred glass to retrieve the book, therefore we the jury find him guilty of robbery. However, seeing as the items belonged to the human community, regardless of the idolatry harbored in them, it is not considered stolen goods to us, the jury. Therefore, we find Jung Sungchan not guilty on the charge of giving or selling stolen sacred goods.”

“All right,” Soyeon looked down at her watch, “I have to go ahead and deliver my items to get shipped over before I fly out.”

“Wow,” you huffed. You were going to miss seeing her everyday, but you knew that she deserved this promotion more than any other being. You were proud of her, and excited to see where her new guardian job would take her now.

“Please stop crying,” she begged, wiping away tears from her own face. After everyone walked Soyeon off to her car and several hugs and tears were shed (and more tears from you two), your best friend drove off. 

“You know you’ll see her in a week, right?” Eunseok poked, earning an arm punch from you, Yuqi, and Sungchan. “Ouch! Sorry!”

You and Sungchan cautiously entered Soyeon’s now empty room, expecting to be stunned by the sudden echo. Instead, you raised your eyebrow at the small crate in the corner with a note on top.

“We figured you’d want an actual cat. Plus, this apartment always does better with 3 inhabitants,” you read the note aloud, looking back at Sungchan who was smiling wildly. “No way.”

“Please let her out of her crate,” he was bouncing on his toes now, eager for you to see what he and Soyeon had presumably been planning for a while. Cautiously, you knelt down, eyes widening as you saw the small black kitten nestled on a bed in the back corner of her crate. Her eyes were shut until she heard your nervous fingers undo the clasp of the crate, her yellow eyes landing on you.

“Oh, hi,” you cooed, opening the door and moving back a few steps to give her space. Sungchan knelt down next to you, your eyes meeting.

“I already scheduled a vet visit for her next week. Soyeon and I both scoured all of the local rescues and agreed that she was the one for you,” he explained before he placed a small kiss on your forehead, “are you happy?”

You nodded eagerly before leaping forward and wrapping the angel in a hug. Sungchan, even when he was the cat, was watching out for you and your roommate. As your boyfriend, he’s gone along with the lie of pretending to be your husband. Now, as being both your boyfriend and guardian angel, he was more perfect than you could even imagine and just so thoughtful.

“I love you, Sungchan,” you squeezed him tightly as he hugged you back.

“I love you, too,” his face was buried in your neck until you felt a small body press itself against your leg. Breaking apart, you looked down to see the cat rubbing its body against you in both a bid to show that it felt comfortable and also to get your attention.

“Oh, she is so cute,” you could cry, gently petting the cat.

“She is, both of my girls are very cute,” he reached forward and scratched behind the cat’s ears, its eyes closing in comfort. 

“Now, the big question is, what are we going to name her?” you asked aloud. Figuring out the name of the cat was simply another step in your relationship with Sungchan, and another one you were happy to encounter.

⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖

More Sungchan

More of my works overall

Tags! @nini0620 @cherriruto @deonuism @90s-belladonna @lesserahyuck @hrjlvrs

Thank you so much for reading <3 please be sure to reblog and interact!

[honourablejester]

My thoughts on Ravnica’s Ten Guilds

Since I’m reading through Guildmaster’s Guide to Ravnica for D&D 5e. I have some obvious favourites, but just some general thoughts counting down the line. Also, apparently, some character concepts as well. What I'd play if I was playing this guild. Heh.

Azorius Senate

The Law, capital letters. I have mixed feelings on the Azorius. I tend to have a mildly chaotic bent, so they automatically ruffle my feathers slightly. On an ideological level, they are complicated for me. Especially since they appear, at the moment in time this book is set in, to have lost their foundation and started becoming increasingly autocratic in response. Kneejerk, that inclines me to fight them. Heh.

However. I deeply enjoy investigators, librarians, functionaries and general paper pushers as a character archetype, so I could actually see myself playing an Azorius. An investigator or advocate for the accused or legal secretary who is getting increasingly alarmed at the direction things are going, and who might be looking for ways to investigator or reform the Azorius from within. The Azorius feels like somewhere my favourite knowledge cleric/fey ranger build could do some good. Or a bard. Might be a good place to try a bard. Heh.

Boros Legion

They don’t really spark joy, for much the same reasons as the Azorius. Worse, in some ways, as the Boros are the true enforcing arm. A paranoid military army led by angels that fears it will be undermined from within by corruption and temptation … Not generally my cup of tea, despite being primarily a cleric player.

That being said. A while back I had a thought for a warforged paladin who’d been blasphemously built in the form of an angel. And, well. That could go interestingly with the Boros? Given what they’d likely think about such a creature, especially as paranoid as they are. Did someone commission a blasphemous construct from the Izzet? To what purpose? Sure, she says she only wants to do good, but can we trust her? A warforged redemption paladin who doesn’t know who made her and who genuinely is a good (and trusting) person, but who may actually have been built for a less salubrious purpose. Could be interesting!

House Dimir

Now, see. House Dimir is everything I should adore. Spies! Messengers! Couriers! Lies and secrets and misinformation! Knowledge being power! A guild of assassins and spies disguised as couriers and reporters. Such a juicy tangle. I really should adore them, and kind of do? It’s just. One tiny thing. The Dimir rely on memory magic to hide their dealings, quite casually, and that … can go thorny places for me. They are, in a lot of ways, quite cyberpunk, actually. Mind wiping, implanted memories, orders given by thought transmission. It is cool and thorny and interesting. It just could go bad places for me.

Which is such a shame, as I really want to go play old-school spycraft with these guys. Dead drops and coded messages and deceptively simple orders that have snowballing effects. Maybe not even someone who willingly joined, as such, but who did a favour for someone once and got pulled in progressively deeper, trying desperately to keep their head above water and not let on. Rogue is the obvious first thought, but also I’m thinking GOOlock, because Dimir kind of behave like a warlock patron anyway, in the sense of ‘inscrutable instructions’, and Ravnica also has ‘old gods’, Nephilim, who have equally inscrutable goals. A messenger torn between two equally terrifying and inscrutable masters might be fun! If I play very carefully around the idea that my memories might not be my own.

Golgari Swarm

My far and away favourites! A subterranean undercity built among the sewers and the ruins and the deeper things beneath, full of farmers and sanitation workers and shamans and necromancers. The guild that’s shat on by everyone else, and who patiently wait until the time is right to prove otherwise. Assuming their own factional politics allow, of course. Anyone who knows me, it should be obvious why I love these guys.

Here I would play a rogue. A phantom rogue. Or a gloomstalker ranger. Or a swarmkeeper ranger. Or a spores druid. Or a grave cleric. Or a life cleric. I do suspect this would be the guild I’d play most if I had the opportunity to do so. Lots of options. Though I think swarmkeeper might get first dibs, for, well, obvious reasons. An urchin drawn down into the deeps by the gentle chittering of vermin, the welcome of those equally despised. The artifice and arcane rules of the city above is not for them. There is a simpler, warmer sort of existence down here.

Gruul Clans

Again, mixed feelings here. On the one hand, I feel like Ravnica is playing a little too hard into ‘raging barbarians’ for the Gruul, with the repeated emphasis on just tearing it all down and ‘might makes right’. The Gruul as predators and enemies of all softer or weaker peoples feels reductive. However. This is a power to the image of a people of the wilderness hunted into smaller and smaller reserves, into the rubblebelts and run down sections of the city, into nature restored by tearing the city down to make way for it. There’s something post-apocalyptic about them, both in the sense of their world, the world of nature, having been ended by the city, and then the city in turn being torn down to make way for them again. I feel like if they had a bit more of the Golgari’s ‘it’s all cyclical’ sort of philosophy, plus a little less ‘band of savage warriors led by the toughest and most brutal’, we could really go somewhere with the Gruul. I do quite like the Slizt and Gravel Hide clans, for example.

I would play a Gruul. I don’t know if I’d want to rise within the clans, especially if ‘might makes right’ is the mechanism, but I wouldn’t mind playing a defiant inhabitant of the wastelands, determinedly defending my patch from encroachment, taking pride in survival, in holding to a way of life that the city would destroy. Stars druid, possibly? Or ranger. Or ancestral barbarian. Or wild magic barbarian, the strange, stubborn magic of those places where the city and the wilderness have destroyed each other and become entwined. Yeah, that could be fun.

Izzet League

Ravnica’s mad science guild. BUT. And this is actually the fun part for me. They’re also the guild in (at least nominal) charge of public infrastructure. Plumbing. Transport. Power. Lights. The plumbing for your toilet is in the hands of people who will accidentally clone two million rats in your piping while trying to build a sewage system around the principle of mass shit teleportation relays. Which is fantastic. I love them completely. Second favourite guild after the Golgari. The fact that they’re mostly goblins does not hurt at all. Also, with the current unrest, they’ve all somewhat taken a turn for the Bond villain and are researching superweapons, so that’s extra fun. In the people, again, responsible for your plumbing.

I fully want to start out as a plumber. Attached to the Laboratory of Orientation (aka the teleportation lab). Because, look, a sewage system based on the teleportation of shit is an efficient sewage system! No pooling, no piping, no leaks. Stench teleported away before it gets bad. I’m telling ya, it’s a great idea! Do we necessarily want a bunch of tiny portals honeycombing the structure of our buildings? Absolutely. Don’t even worry about it. I got my engineering degree right here! (Fully a conjuration wizard. Maybe some rogue, maybe some artificer. And yes, they’re a goblin).

Orzhov Syndicate

I mistyped that as ‘sindicate’, which is likely apt, given that they’re mostly an undead banker mafia with a thin veneer of Catholicism on top. Think the Borgias and you’re close. They’re currently getting closer and closer to outright war with the Azorius, because the thin legal veneer over a lot of their racketeering is getting ripped up by the Azorius’ growing paranoia and dedication to writing out loopholes, but for the moment they’re just doing their best to increase the divide between their legal and illegal ventures to hide them better. It’s all very much ambition and greed and a veneer of respectability.

Which is why it baffles me that bard is not a suggested class for them, because whispers bard was my literal first thought. The suggestions are cleric, fighter, rogue or wizard, and I’m baffled, because unless you’re playing a straight enforcer, the Orzhov would seem to be the Charisma-based guild? Deception, Persuasion, Intimidation, no? Whispers bard, conquest paladin if you’re aiming enforcer, assassin or mastermind rogue if you’re aiming for the blackmail route, order cleric or celestial warlock if you want to act the part of churchman better. Orzhov is about vicious social climbing in a system where the top spots are all jealously held by undead oligarchs who most certainly won’t be clearing a path for upward mobility unless forced to do so. My first thought was whispers bard, a lean, handsome young thing who has tasted poverty and will do anything to avoid sinking so low again.

Cult of Rakdos

Not going to lie, I get a strong tang of Warhammer 40K’s dark eldar from the Rakdos. Dark hedonism and violence, the seedy underbelly of the city. They don’t do a lot for me, not gonna lie. They’re probably my least favourite of the guilds. I do like the theatre aspect, the circus of fear, the ideas of ‘backstage’ including basically spycraft, but they’re a chaotic evil guild and it does show.

If I was playing a Rakdos character … guild-owned dark speakeasies are mentioned. And if we’re talking that, something a little noir flavoured … I could be a Rakdos femme fatale, maybe? Less ‘evil’ and more ‘amoral’, a songstress who likes to destroy her enemies in interesting ways. Bard again, possibly glamour bard, although I really like creation bards, and there’s an interesting bit of blasphemy about the song of creation in the mouth of demon-worshipper that could add something. Glamour does work better for the femme fatale, but creation tickles me more. Yeah.

Selesnya Conclave

If the Dimir are giving cyberpunk vibes, the Selesnya are giving me … also cyberpunk vibes, with a solarpunk skin. The ‘city and nature entwined’, green gardens and growing cities, very solarpunk, but the emphasis on collectivism, on the destruction of selfishness and desire, on the subsummation of the individual into the peaceful, coherent whole … there’s a dystopic edge running under them. Less obviously than the Azorius or the Orzhov, but definitely present. (I’m realising that, in MtG terms, I don’t vibe well with White). And, see, I like a lot of their overall goals. I love the natural cities thing, I love striving for overall good. I tend to play neutral good. They just … I get a ‘death of the self’ sort of vibe from them that weirds me out a bit. They seem weirdly more culty than Rakdos to me.

Playing a Selesnya character … I want to be a gardener. No higher ambitions, no greater thoughts. An innocent, who genuinely just wants to help the plants grow. A dreams druid, I think. A gentle druid focused on healing and shelter. And maybe I meet some things for the first time that make me … question. How innocent can you afford to be?

(I am probably being unfair to them, and it probably says a lot about what I’ve been trained to see, given that the Selesnya are broadly good, decent people. I just … I kneejerk distrust it about them. I want to cleave my own path).

Simic Combine

My third favourite guild. Mad science, biology edition! With bonus lovecraftian oceanic vibes. And yes, they are just as dystopic as the Selesnya, and they’ll do it rewriting your body, but I just vibe with them more. I love the zonots. Simic home territories are sinkholes called zonots that pierce through the layers of city and undercity to the buried ocean beneath. Immediately, this adds a whole other layer to Ravnica as a city and a planet for me. The city is at least partly built over top of an ocean. The Simic are also currently divided between the isolationist faction, who believe that slow, cyclical evolution and staying connected to nature will win out, and the adaptationist faction, who believe that we need to evolve now, by hook or by crook, because the system is collapsing and we need to keep up. These are the Simics gearing up for war, by way of aquatic supersoldier experiments.

I think I would like to play an adaptationist spy. Or information-gathering operative, at least, I would want to be a mutated Simic hybrid, so I’m not like Dimir level passing for any old joe soap on the street. I think I’d want to be either an alchemist artificer or a fathomless warlock. Maybe the fathomless, the result of an experiment, more than the one performing the experiments, which would be the alchemist’s wheelhouse.

Other Thoughts

I would so love to play like a Golgari-Simic campaign that’s about exploring the depths of the undercity/underocean for secrets. The zonots and the undercity are so cool. This is a city planet where the city has eaten the world, but strange things lie underneath, and I’m vibing with that so much. We could bring along a Gruul, digging for the foundations of the world that was lost. A Dimir, making sure nobody unearths any superweapons or nothing. Possibly an Izzet, in the hopes that we do. I just really, really, really want an explorer party to go digging under Ravnica.

I also wouldn’t mind a Golgari-Gruul ‘scavengers living on the edges’ sort of campaign, a sort of post-apocalyptic urban scavenger, literal ‘seed of new hope’ where the cycles turn back towards wilderness again.

And then there’s a noir campaign, your Azorius-Dimir-Rakdos sort of game, with possibly some Izzet spice in the sense of ‘why was this Izzet plumber murdered: what did they build or what did they find?’. Heh.

Ravnica does have such a lot to recommend it as a setting. Feelings on WotC aside, this place has such cool, complicated vibes.

This is my VtM Nosfertu talking, though: Golgari for the win!

[alexanderlightweight]

Greetings and loves, for writing Wednesday: tethers of fate, more about Magnus and Alec relationship, please? Or Mafia wife Alec, if you prefer.

thanks and same! i'm going with tethers of fate

(this is after Magnus picks Alec up from Arawn's court and he's willingly inhaled or eaten unseelie what's basically magical THC/weed). if you're not okay with that, let me know and i'll write you a different scene.

<3 lumine

-

Magnus sighs and stares at a sleeping, exhausted Alexander and then turns to the mirror, admiring the bruises and bite marks and scratches on his skin. It takes a lot to bring Alexander out of an unseelie-dosed haze and Magnus is aware that Arawn’s court has been experimenting. They’re conducting ways to make the drugs they all indulge in more resistant to magic, hoping that Magnus will eventually be thwarted by their efforts.

It would be amusing if it weren’t so very irritating.

Magnus slides on a thin robe, barely tying it and letting the marks on his chest peek through as he unlocks the stasis magic on his fire messages.

The ones from the Institute he scowls at, including the fact that his magic had caught several attempts at tracking magic, focused on Magnus and one…

Magnus hisses out a breathe and crumples the magic he’s analyzing in his fist.

How dare they.

Magnus rarely agrees with Arawn but there is one thing he will never argue with, and that is keeping Alexander out of shadowworld politics and more importantly, away from shadowhunters.

There is too much leverage in an unseelie prince who is bonded and vowed to a king who is also an Elder. Alexander has only recently begun to involve himself out of a desire to protect Magnus, but it feels like too great a risk to continue to allow. Which means that Magnus will be demanding all those under his protection surrender themselves to his wards and safehouses or he will remove them from his people. He will not put Alexander in harm’s way for those who won’t listen. Not ever and especially not when it would risk a reason for Arawn to have a reason to counter Magnus’ claim on his son.

“Magn’s.” Alexander groans from the bed and there’s a muffled whine and Magnus turns with a smirk that blooms into a chuckle as he sees Alexander reaching out for him, eyes still closed.

“Yes, darling?” Magnus asks, striding closer and sitting close, hand running through soft tresses.

There’s no answer, just a pleased sound as Alexander rolls against him, nuzzling into his thigh with a sigh of contentment.

“Are you just going to sleep away the day?”

“Doesn’t matter—” he’s told with a tired yawn, “you’ll have business anyways.”

Magnus freezes, because that is true but as of late, Alexander has been demanding to join him and it sounds like he’s suddenly decided to not.

“Are you not coming with me, beloved?” Magnus asks soothingly, rubbing his fingers into the sore and tight muscles of Alexander’s neck.

“No.” Alexander scoffs and he shakes his head against Magnus’ thigh. “Not unless you want the next assumptive and rude client to dirty your floor.” It’s said with a dark glower and Magnus knows that the nephilim who came to him will forever find themselves an enemy of Magnus’ boy. Arawn does not take kindly to slights - intentional or not - his children follow his lead.

It's a part of why Magnus is so hated. He intentionally slighted every member of the unseelie royal family and Magnus would have done it a thousand times more if it had meant keeping Alexander.

“I would never think of objecting to you defending yourself, in any way.” Magnus reminds him — offended at the very thought — and Alexander lays back, smiling up at him with a softness that Magnus can hardly believe still exists in someone raised by the unseelie king.

“No, but it would bring attention to me.” Alexander reminds him and Magnus relaxes, running his fingers over Alexander’s jaw and chin and feeling the rough tickle of stubble there.

“Well, regardless. It doesn’t matter. All of those under my authority will be going into seclusion. I will not bring the problems of nephilim to my people or to my lair.” Magnus takes a moment to marvel at the treasure he holds and the vicious adoration that he’s loved with. “And never to you, more loved to me than my own heart and magic.”

Alexander rolls them over, somehow managing to get on top and pin Magnus now and there is a fierce light in his eyes as he looks down at Magnus. He bends to press his lips to each of Magnus’ cheeks, then his brow and each of his eyes with a barely contained devotion that has his kisses as light as a dragonflies wing.

There is an unspoken wealth of in each touch, for never can similar words leave his lover’s lips or Magnus knows the fate he will suffer will not be kind. Yet, what does it matter when Magnus is exalted beyond all else, by his Alexander.

[findroleplay]

twenty1plus ; theythem ; mxm ☁️

currently looking to write with other world building enthusiasts in my newly built project! inspired by the crusades, this setting follows two warring kingdoms in what they have now coined as the hundred years’ war, whose feuding dynasties have laid the first stone of.

i am particularly looking to write the newly coronated king of the northern kingdom who, ever since his rise to power, has not been seen in the public eye – it is rumoured, however, that everything he touches wilts and dies. to pair, i would love if he could end up with the opposite kingdom’s ruler, an envoy, the enemy’s right hand man, etc. we can discuss!

if elven creatures, nephilim, religious conflicts, political intrigue, forbidden romance, medieval high fantasy, and extensive character and setting development are up your alley, feel free to like this post & i will reach out 🐚

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[omnitheist27]

The 40 x Kill the Justice League (3/4)

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@the-ravenclaw-werewolf and @purplemochi20055

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So, here's the third update on my The 40 x Kill the Justice League crossover fan comic!

Compared to the last two fan comics, I wasn't feeling too motivated or patient to draw the characters and setting as best as I could, but still intended to update what I'd started.

In this scene, the unbrainwashed members of The 40 witness the brainwashed Edward, Rin, and Avatar Korra spreading the message of Brainiac's terraforming of the Earth. By "spreading the message", they meant converting anyone they find into mechanical abominations for Brainiac's army or killing people who continue to resist in the most gruesome ways possible.

Furthermore, what form of irony can Brainiac think of by making Edward Elric (an implied agostic and an alchemist), Rin Okumura (a Japanese Christian and a Nephilim; human-demon hybrid), and Avatar Korra (a semi-divine being) into evangelical-type worshippers to him akin to Bishop Mozgus from Berserk? If anything, it shows that Brainiac does have a twisted sense of humor despite being fully cybernetic.

In a form of faux symbolism, I position Corrupted Edward, Rin, and Avatar Korra in a way that resembles the Holy Trinity.

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Profile: Corrupted Edward

Personality: Unlike the original Edward, Corrupted Edward has become full-on arrogant and assured of his alchemic knowledge, while also preaching of Brainiac's intended salvation for humanity despite the reality being far from it.

Powers and Abilities:

He possesses the same powers and abilities as his pre-brainwashed self but his intelligence and physical condition are further enhanced by cybernetics.

Light Manipulation: By using his alchemy, Corrupted Edward can transmute light, shaping it into a physical form of his choosing and manipulating it remotely. He can also use the light to either blind his opponents, heat up objects, or vaporize his targets into dust.

Fullmetal Mode: By using his alchemy, Corrupted Edward can encase himself in a full-body armor that looks similar to his younger brother's current body. This makes Corrupted Edward incapable of flinching from hits and can give powerful attacks and counterattacks.

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Profile: Corrupted Rin

Personality: Unlike the original Rin, Corrupted Rin has become full-on arrogant and remorseless but lacks the unrestrained temper tantrums that plague the original Rin. However, he's still capable of harming and killing others at the slightest provocation most quietly and politely, except those he cares for. Like Corrupted Edward, Corrupted Rin also preaches Brainiac's intended salvation for humanity despite the reality being far from it. Also, due to the circumstances of his birth (as the son of Satan conceived through a human mother), Corrupted Rin likens his newfound purpose to Jesus Christ; a savior descended from a god-like being to bring salvation for humanity by redeeming them (e.g. converting them into Brainiac's henchmen) and punishing "heretics" who resist Brainiac's terraforming by unilateral use of his Blue Flames. He's also fond of quoting scripture from the Bible (King James Version) in the most misguided way possible whenever he does what Brainiac orders him to do, with his favorite quote being Matthew 10:34; Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.

Powers and Abilities:

He possesses the same powers and abilities as his pre-brainwashed self after awakening his Demonic Heritage but his physical condition is further enhanced by cybernetics.

Holy Resistance: Due to Brainiac's modifications, Rin's body is highly resistant to any attacks launched on him that are holy in nature, such as Holy Water.

Cold Generation: Through his incredible use and skill of his Blue Flames, Corrupted Rin can collect heat energy from an external source, or simply generate it, then transform the energy into sound, thus decreasing its temperature. Repeating the loop several times creates ice, which can be launched at opponents or create structures.

"Angel" Form: After various modifications to his body by Brainiac and through Corrupted Rin's own control of the Blue Flames, Corrupted Rin can transform into his "Demon" form with ease but it lacks a tail, has natural flaming wings, and is considered more powerful and dubbed as his "angel" form. Corrupted Rin can fly with ease, conjure massive fire storms, and shape his flames in various shapes.

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Profile: Corrupted Avatar Korra

Personality: Unlike the original Korra, Corrupted Korra has become full-on arrogant but very tactical and calm-minded. Like Corrupted Edward and Rin, she's also preaching Brainiac's intended salvation for humanity despite the reality being far from it.

Powers and Abilities:

She possesses the same powers and abilities as her pre-Brainwashed self but her physical condition is further enhanced by cybernetics.

Cosmic Battle Avatar: Thanks to the various modifications done to her body, Corrupted Avatar Korra can tap into the Avatar State with ease and create a fifty-foot-tall battle avatar made of cosmic energy that likens to herself. Corrupted Avatar Korra is extremely difficult to harm when using her Cosmic Battle Avatar and can bend the four elements with simply her mind and willpower. In addition, she can create constructs made up of either cosmic energy or any of the four elements to aid her in battle.

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Next Time: The 40 x Poppy Playtime (3/4)

[faejilly]

I'm sorry I forgot to post my "Tangential Tuesday" thing this week (or last week? Idk time is a lie) but I am 1: always accepting prompts and 2: STILL WORKING ON THINGS I PROMISE

Here, as proof, a teaser for the next bit of #wtf the clave is competent for @hopeswept (I mean, it's still before Malec meet in the Valentine-is-very-dead-verse, but we're getting closer!)

"And so it begins," a soft voice whispered behind him, and Alec turned just enough to catch his parabatai's eye and raised an eyebrow. She snorted at the expression on his face, and he would be willing to admit that he did feel better than he did five seconds ago. Maybe. Probably only to her or Izzy though, and they'd both already know so it wouldn't be admitting anything at all. He managed a serene nod, and Lydia swallowed another snort, discreetly enough he was reasonably sure he was the only one who noticed. Well, John would have, but he and Mary Elizabeth had insisted that all their peers help them take all the current trainees on an ‘exercise’ (camping trip) in Alicante, thus clearing out everyone who might interrupt a formal event with informal manners and fuck things up a little too much. It was very strange knowing he and Lydia were the youngest Shadowhunters currently in New York, and also about to be invested as Heads in front of the local Downworld. None of their instructors over the years had been locals, a purposeful decision to permit them a chance to fuck things up without leaving too terrible an impression with people they’d have to work with later; it felt almost standard, in fact, very similar to the way Nephilim usually transferred to a new Institute once they were of age. Except for them, the Circle Orphans who, despite their innocence, despite the way their parents had been removed from all the family histories, despite all Imogen’s claim of a fresh start… they were never going to be allowed anywhere else, nowhere further away from the Inquisitor’s control and the downworld’s judgement than New York City. Alec, whose appointment to the Headship of the New York Institute was more politics than anything else, but he’d made damned sure he was going to be able to take care of his people regardless. (Made damn sure if they were all trapped, they’d at least have one of their own to watch their backs.) And chosen his own parabatai and co-head along the way. Who wasn’t a Circle Orphan, whose parents had stayed the fuck away from Valentine and the Uprising, who had nevertheless decided to tie her fate to theirs. And not just so she could be Head of an Institute, though that certainly helped. (Especially since John wanted to be her Co-Head about as much as Alec wanted to marry a woman, and while occasionally there were exceptions, spouses or parabatai were pretty much the only people who could get invested as Heads, as those were partners you chose, partnerships blessed by the angels, even, if you took all the rune ceremonies literally.) Neither of them did, but that wasn’t something they were going to tell anyone, especially not if they wanted their parabatai bond to be respected enough to let them do their jobs. Especially not before they were Invested. It would be easy for Imogen to delay an investiture indefinitely; it was much more difficult to take a Headship away after it was granted. The clock chimed, and Alec breathed. The doors swung open, and he and Lydia clasped arms and walked into their future. Finally.

[starsapphirecorpss]

I really should update these but!!! These are my guys!!!

So I was an Undertale/CoDZ kid so AU's are a part of the inspiration (in the sense of I don't have to create a new character from scratch, I made Ari before I gave DmC a chance, and only made Zona after that fact).

Here comes a wall of text so have fun with that :))

Arizona - Small spring/Great Oak

Armani - Warrior

Ambrosi - Immortal

I liked the idea of having an alliterative name, and I like to keep my names for demons Italian/Latin due to works like The Divine Comedy, as well as the sheer amount of religious talk in the cultures.

Ari is a goofball, he likes to play and hop and frolic. He's protective of the people close to him. He only really causes mischief, and pranks. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, only cause them a small amount of inconvenience. If a joke goes too far, you'll often find that he's the first to jump in to help resolve the problem. He often steals pens from Dante, spare Devil Breakers from Nero, and tools from Nico. He's sweet, and he's kind, playful, and dumb. While his Demon Form is much stronger, he often uses it to help people feel better. He's a huge fluffy boi, and that makes it easy for others to calm down and feel safe around him.

Zona, however, is much colder. Yes, he wants humans to be free of such a, shall I say, abusive ruler in Mundus, but Zona used to be something of a feral Demon. (I can't personally decide if this part of his Backstory is that Vergil tamed the feral Zona, or if Zona was injured and became indebted to Vergil after the Nephilim helped him.) But he is Vergil's Right Hand Man, hanging just behind the blue Nephilim and waiting to do his boss's dirty work. He enjoys playing with the creatures Vergil needs dead, and the fact that Dante is Vergil's twin does NOT save the red Nephilim. Throughout the course of DmC: Devil May Cry, Zona is curt with Dante after Vergil invites him to help The Order, and is polite with Kat, Vergil's Right Hand Mystic. However, after the twins fight at the end of the game and Vergil disappears into his portal, Zona turned tail and ran off, meeting back up with Vergil after the events of Vergil's Downfall. At this point, Vergil has become the Demon King, and he formally appoints Zona as his Second In Command, his confidant. (ALSO ZONA IS SOOOOOOOOO GAY FOR VERGIL ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️)

AAAAAAA THATS SO COOL!!!!! I LOVE HEARING DmC OCS ESPECIALLY BC THERES SO MUCH TO WORK WITH!!!!

ARI SEEMS LIKE A JOY TO BE AROUND I LOVE UR OCS DUDE…

this is my OG timeline Oc! her name is Asmara and she is Nero’s mom! (the quality is FUCKED BC TUMBLR HATES ME)

She’s a succubus and Vergils VERY ESTRANGED ex-gf.

She’s 400~ years old and from Indonesia. She was the firstborn of a king and queen in Indonesia, making her a princess. She is the oldest sibling and sister to 3 brothers.

She was turned into a succubus in her 20’s.

She was hiding in Fortuna when she met Vergil. At first they didn’t get along, but the two eventually begin to care for eachother as time goes on, which leads to them jumping into a relationship.

Vergil breaks it off because he thinks she’s weak and making him soft, and leaves her, telling her he never loved her. (He’s lying).

She’s forced to abandon Nero, as she’s being hunted down by the King Asmodeus, and since everyone in Fortuna fucking hated her, they told Nero how much of a whore his mother was.

Since she’s been turned succubus, she still technically has Human DNA, which is recessive to Vergil’s dominant genes, making Nero look almost nothing like her.

She is really kind and motherly, but more of a mama bear character. If you mess with her son, or her loved ones, she’s hunting you down.

Her weapon is a copper whip that is embedded with the spirits of her ancestors. She also has the ability to produce sparks from her palm (which are rather weak but become MUCH stronger when channeled through her whip)

She was eventually captured by Asmodeus and was trapped until (in my AU) Urizen killed him, which set her free. Not knowing who Urizen truly was, she ran away, not looking back, searching for her son.

Reuniting with everyone is definitely… an experience.

She keeps her distance with Vergil. She (unfortunately) still loves him but knows better than to fall for him a second time. They don’t go out of their way to interact, and every conversation they have is extremely awkward.

With Nero, she is a great mother, supportive and caring and just wants to make sure he’s happy, but she doesn’t seem to understand that it’s gonna take some time for him to process everything he’s going through.

She’s cool with Dante! She enjoys his quips and finds him funny.

She helps out at the orphanage and all the children call her “Mama Mara”. She is extremely proud of all of them and loves them all as if they were her own

now for my trainwreck; Ángel

(i never properly drew them lmfao)

Ángel is my DmC OC, and as their name suggests they are an angel!

Their full name is Virtue Ángel Amare de Pluma, but since Dante didn’t bother trying, it’s just Ángel.

(He still pronounces it as Angel, too)

Ángel is a Virtue angel, and their job specifically is to save the souls of every from Limbo City, since the demon menace has been cleansed. They are rather stubborn and close minded, and truly unknowing of the Human world, or what humans are forced to live through, making them come off as a huge bitch, but they truly do have only the best intentions in mind. Due to how they were raised as an angel, they view themselves above humans, and sees it as a simple fact, though they are kind to them, they are quick to cast out or judge those who aren’t believers. Their personal ‘pet project’ is saving Dante’s soul.

Dante, of course tells them to fuck off, but realizes that Ángel is really the only person who can somewhat relate to him.

Their relationship starts off really rocky. Imagine the Jehova’s Witness knocking at your door every 4 AM and telling you all your sins. Yeah.

Ángel finds Dante’s overall horniness abhorrent and repulsive. Dante keeps flirting with them because he finds it hilarious how flustered he’s able to make them. The two warm up to each other slowly. Ángel does become a more accepting of Dante’s nature even though they deny it vehemently, they refuse to have anyone believe that they enjoy his sin. And Dante learns more of what it is to be a Nephilim, and about being an angel. Like how everyone gets along in this universe; its mostly trauma dumping until the become friends.

Ángel’s relationship with Kat is much better! They are always kind to her and the two get close rather quickly. Ángel is always there to protect and support Kat, no matter what. Kat is actually the person to make Ángel realize the beauty, rather than responsibility, that humanity is.

all three end up in a poly relationship teehee

[shallowseeker]

Was it you that pointed out that Dean gets showered with hate for allowing Jack to make himself into a bomb, when in season 11 his entire family was willing to let him do the same? I've been thinking about this a lot...

Sorry, not me. But I do talk about this and other Jack stuff in some of my ramblings about #SPN parenting, and I believe @jackgirlbluntrotation and I batted the tragedy of the Jack-and-Dean soul bomb parallel back-and-forth a few times, so you could look there as well.

But to get what what I think you're getting at, I think yes: Dean, is judged more harshly for this. I have some vague ideas why below. And I can't answer without being longwinded about all of it, and because I am NOT feeling very cohesive this week, behind the cut it goes...

Not meta, just random thoughts... I tried to edit it into something that made points. But I couldn't. Sorry. I'll try to revisit it later. This is like...three separate unrelated topics.

Sam & Cas + violence + getting onboard with Dean's sacrifice:

Sam and Cas do not object to Dean becoming a live bomb in season 11 to serve God's Big Kill-Amara-Cause. I haven't seen this held against Cas or Sam, and certainly not as a moral transgression. (This is not a hit piece against Sam or Cas. It's just a note that they're a little differently tied up with the idea of war-as-sacrifice.)

Furthermore, when talking about child sacrifice, I don't typically see a lot of Emma or Oskar or even Jane the Nephilim crop up in conversation, and when it does, people sometimes get annoyed about it ("I just don't care about them that much.") I do occasionally see Cas re:Jessie the Antichrist and May Sunder. Occasionally I see Sam:Emma. But hardly ever Oskar or Jane. But Dean is the caretaker. He's not supposed to cross this line of killing complete innocents. Also, as "parent," he has an obligation to Jack that adds another layer.

My point is...and I'm not certain about this...but I suspect that if Dean had overseen any of these above murders, it would be a much more daily appearance on the dash, especially Jane and Oskar, who were completely innocent.

Of note, re:Oskar.. Sam and Cas are The Two Men post-Lucifer that Rowena identifies as Love Matches. (She reserves her ire and hatred re:Oskar for scapegoat child, Crowley.) To Rowena, maybe even to the audience(?), the violence of Sam and Cas is expected, maybe even sexy? Maybe even the mark of a strong protector. Who knows? All I know is that we politely look the other way. And so does Rowena...

And I'm not trying to keep score in a murder show. Just...yeah. Something about this is tied up with Dean's role as heart/hearth/caretaker, I think. Maybe. Also parental roles. But that's always going to be conjecture. Let's look at more interesting stuff, which is how family sacrifice gets passed around:

Dean + sacrificial bomb

Dean -> The bomb sacrifice is framed as Dean's choice, even though it is just as coerced as what we see in season 15 with Jack. To make Dean's bomb even uglier, the reason Dean is the bomb in the first place is part-strategy, part-gross. "The enemy is sexually attracted to you, ergo, you can get closer to her." Dean is, once again, rendered as sexual (?) bait.

Cas -> Cas is the one who came up with the idea of the soul bomb, but he immediately shows regret and offers to die with Dean. Which releases the tension of how awful it is that he doesn't object... After this, Cas is forevermore anguished at the thought of sacrificing Dean and in season 14, he completely Objects to Dean's Suicide as Solution, even when solider mode!Jack suggests it. Of note, it may also be that in season 11, Cas put up a strong front about sacrificing for the God partially because Chuck was present(?)

Sam -> We are sympathetic to the idea of Sam being "okay" with sacrificing Dean because, at the start of season 12, we-the-audience are shown Sam's guilt over it, and that eases the narrative tension of how horrific it is.

Maybe the guilt over everything wrought in season 10 is what makes Sam and Cas more willing to not object to the bomb in season 11... But overall, for the audience, Sam and Cas's emotions about it make us more likely to look upon the situation favorably. Plus, neither of them is Dean's "parent." We'd be much harsher if John came up with the bomb idea, or Mary for that matter.

To reiterate, no one is responsible, exactly. I'm really just bringing it up as a point of contrast. Each character's relationship to war swings like a pendulum and is greatly affected by their psychological-wounds-of-the-moment. They all tend to swing the extremes, from Apple Pie Escapism to Holy Cause to Black-and-White Rules, etc. (And no one, save Metatron, has the proper mindset in season 11 with regards to war. And he gets killed for his trouble, too...)

Dean + Ma'lak box + "Jack iSn'T fAmiLy"

Notably, in season 14, Sam and Cas flipflop on the idea of sacrificing family. They strongly object to Dean climbing into the Ma'lak box--a stark and welcome contrast to season 11's soul bomb.

Of note, sacrifice MUST BE a complicated topic for Dean here... When you look at the two sacrifices, in Dean's mind, they were collectively rewarded for his hero's sacrifice/soul bomb (the return of Mary) but punished for his "selfish" non-sacrifice/Ma'lak box (the loss of Jack's "personhood" + Mary's death). So yeah, sacrifice is complicated topic. It never emotionally feels like the right thing, but in media and religion and hero stories, it's the heroic thing.

Finally, Jack's bomb is also complicated by the "Jack isn't family" of it all. Dean has more trouble sacrificing and walking away from "family," whereas Sam n' Cas, were always more pragmatic commanders by nature, and have seemed, at least from a distance, way more comfortable sacrificing their (military) family members (See: Balthazar, Rowena, etc). Thus, Dean sunders Jack from family role in order to make the loss more tolerable. It's awful! But very real.

Honestly, I think it gets at the heart of the matter that they're all soldiers struggling with soldier relationships to Cause, especially Dean. The longer Dean fights, the more he becomes like season 4 Cas or AU Earth Michael in terms of feeling insecure in his wayfinding.

The grayer morality gets, the more he can feel the tension of his own wrongdoing and the less "real" everything all feels (derealization/depersonalization). The soul bomb parallel plays into what they're ALL struggling with in season 15--purpose. Purpose/meaning is The Answer to AU Michael (and Chuck's) nihilism/nothing matters theme. But they don't even know what's real anymore.

The war and the horror and the heartbreak has dissolved all the meaning.

That plays into what each of them is struggling with in the terminal seasons. Their shadow selves and their best selves.

Sam - "Martyrdom Versus Heroism" -> You and you alone can do it / Save the world / I won't break your independence even when your safety is at stake / Saving the world at the expense of your own life is brave and noble and heroic -> (Sam's tentative answer to that problem: "I still think it's wrong, though.") He seems to realize, somewhere in there, that restricting power can be protective; that disinhibition of all boundaries doesn't look so great from the other side of parenting. He has an "aha!" moment where he understands Dean's relationship to him re:the complex nature of protection. Yet, Sam's eureka moments don't quite hit. It needs more time to resolve, possibly in the form of parenting his son, Dean, IMHO.

Cas - "Destiny Versus Genuine Hope for the Future" -> Serve the right cause and even heinous actions take on noble meaning / Live up to the big destiny / Be the God I couldn't be / If you're alive, then your life has to Mean Something Big and Awesome / Wield the totalitarian power the right way, in My Image and in Your Mother's Image and in My Chosen Family's Image, and bring the universe to its feet -> (Cas's tentative answer to the problem: "We don't love you because you're part of some grand design. We love you for being you." Cas squeezes in a late "aha!" moment only after the revelation of Jack's incoming second death. Cas rediscovers his faith, but it takes him awhile to have faith in the Small Things, not just the Big Things. Having faith in the future is healthy. Having faith in predestination is not. Like Sam, Cas is not quite given enough room to resolve, but his gets the closest of the main three.

Dean - "The Law of Purgatory Absolutes Versus the Complicated Gray of the Real World / Nothing matters I don't matter" -> Kill the right enemy and the law becomes just / "My life's work is a hoax" / I've been burying my anger all my life and it's finally spilled out like angry Leviathan chompin' at the bit for blood / So, get revenge / Take out the threat / Serve the ugly cause at the cost of our own lives so others can be happy / We are already ruined heroes / We don't matter / Save our loved ones (Dean's tentative answer: "The ultimate killer is not who I am." ) Like the other two, Dean never quite resolves. It would need another good one or two seasons to do so. The Winchesters actually helps with the above! He specifically talked about it in 1x12: The Tears of Clown. However, in SPN Prime he at least doesn't seem to be languishing in a complete loss of hope, which is one positive way to spin the finale. Nor is he switching to a complete pacifism at the expense of the lives of the two Crowther boys they wind up saving. He's not running away/escaping. He's really trying.

And finally... Through all this, there is also the parallel of giving up ("sacrificing") your son to War or to God's Cause, so that you can finally retire, which is the entire Ugly Thing with War as a Concept. Non-fighters (typically symbolic mothers & daughters) + aging fathers are sold the lie that they must give up sons to the Cause in order to preserve and enjoy Freedom (which is WHY Jack's AU Earth nightmares are directly juxtaposed with Dean's dreams of Hawaiian shirts and beaches in 13x23).

Always peace OR freedom, never peace AND freedom.

More than any other character, Jack is symbolic son. He is treated as Heir to his fathers' burdens and responsibilities. And the burden is too heavy.💔

One last set of parallels, then, with Jack AS each main character's Symbolic Fate:

Jack as doomed child (Sam; Boy-king/gold)

Like Sam at various points, Jack becomes the cursed child, kneeling to accept his execution for the crime of "murdering" his own mother.

It's the Sacred Executioner's suicide, too, because this is truly, as Cain said, "The murder that Dean would (literally) not survive." Like with Sam, Dean balks at the order from the father-God and throws the gun away. Tragically, Dean is excommunicated and tossed into a literal headstone, a motif for his eventual Death in the story. Jack dies. Dean "dies."

Sam wounds God in the shoulder and suffers a left shoulder / heart connection with God. For a time, this "infects" Chuck with hope.

Jack as tool of war / blunt instrument / bomb (Dean; Death/myrrh)

When Jack takes the rib-bomb, he becomes Dean from season 11. He feels "unworthy," so he "might as well be the hero / blow himself up to ensure the happiness of others."

The would-be victims and civilians even thank him for it. As Dean told Death, "I don't matter." Heroes matter only so much as their sacrifices are worth.

Also, in comparison to Sam, Jack is fundamentally WAR SON. Whereas Dean was love-offering-object-sacrifice chosen by Amara's hunger, Jack is simply "Simba." He is heir to the burden of Heavenly hero by birthright, outranking Sam and Dean in terms of hierarchy.

Furthermore, Jack is not Earth-son; he's a Heaven-son (the "son" to Sam's earth-son "daughter" role here...I hesitate to use gendered language, but it's about the hierarchy an the expectations of War as a Concept. Jack outranks Sam in terms of hierarchal expectations).

It's also why it's a rib that is blowing up Jack. The rib also calls to mind "Mother," or the simpler, non-gendered poetic: "Earth," as Jack is literally being sacrificed by Earth.

Like with Dean's soul-bomb, Jack survives the lighting of the fuse. Dean survives by getting defused, and Jack survives by detonating in The Empty.

Paralleling the Equalizer confrontation, Death tries to take Jack anyway, the way God took him even when he survived his initial Moriah trial. This time, it's Dean who takes action. He wounds Death with her own scythe, in the shoulder, just as Sam injured God's shoulder.

Jack "escapes" bomb death and Death!Billie, and Dean sets into motion the death of Death!Billie. (Sam's enemy is Chuck!prime and Dean's enemy is Death.)

Jack as God (Cas; God-king/frankincense)

Finally, when he takes God's power, Jack accomplishes what Castiel could not.

This is the final destiny that Jack seems unable to escape--"eating" up all the power and becoming more God than God.

Despite Cas's change of heart in the final episodes, it is ultimately Castiel's burden of Being God and the expectation of Heavenly destiny that Jack inherits when he ascends.

Since during the Equalizer confrontation, Sam wounded God, and with the rib-bomb confrontation, Dean fatally wounded Death, the narrative parallel for Cas here would be to fatally wound or seriously injure powered up!Chuck-mara. But instead, he sacrifices himself for love. (I saw a meta about SPN being a battle royale between Chuck and Cas...this lends some WEIGHT to that!)

In the final confrontation, Cas is absent (dead!KIA in this case), as Cas tends to be. (It's one of his absent!father motifs.) So Jack, as Heavenly son in terms of rank, has to stand-in for Cas, and the price is TOO HIGH. :(

It's a terrible fate. Even when Jack wins, he loses. He becomes nothing and everything.

Sorry. sorry. That was a lot. I was stuck at medical facility, so.

[ladyshivs]

WIP Wednesday

I'll tag @westealtoys, @aya-m3k, @aurriearts, @just-a-tiny-goldfish, and anyone else who'd like to share their WIPs today!

I've been working on a Good Omens fic and the license to use footnotes has made me go slightly feral, so from chapters one and two here are all the wink wink nudge nudges that I have, presented without context:

1. Aziraphale could admit to feeling slightly proud of his own addition of the laminated paper insert that gave a guide to uncertain confection consumers. 2. The depiction of cherubim, and the ancient deity Cupid, as plump naked children had been around since the Romans. This just went to show: the Romans had weird ideas about romance and the Victorians weren’t about to argue. 3. Aziraphale had long suspected that Crowley’s hips were, in some way, sentient in their own right. Surely something that undulated that much would have its own brain? Or cluster of brain-like nerve cells? Like an octopus. In his defense, it could be hard to tell with demons. 4. There were a few of angelic stock that had, notoriously, gone in for the slimier bits. But one did not mention Nephilim in polite company. And since heaven was nothing but the most polite company imaginable: No one mentioned Nephilim. 5. He’d watched a documentary about human pleasure once, and the arguments certainly seemed compelling in a way that had been pleasantly distant at the time. 6. Saint Nicholas did this one actually. Yes, that Saint Nick.

and from Chapter 2

1. From a temperature standpoint. Whether or not Crowley was, as the kids these days call it, ‘socially adept and charming to be around’ will be left to the reader’s discretion. 2. George Hudson, who wanted extra daylight hours to collect insects. Some also credit William Willett, who wanted extra daylight hours to play golf. 3. Nougat still somehow managed, despite Crowley’s bafflement. 4. While the jury was still out on whether or not Crowley was ‘cool’, there wasn’t a single doubt in the courtroom that he could smolder. Crowley had been smoldering for longer than the Earth had existed. And now, he was smoldering quite intensely next to Aziraphale. 5. Despite plenty of allegations, at the time of this writing in the year of somebody’s lord 2023, embarrassment had never been convicted of homicide. It had never even been accused of Angelicide, but, then again, it did have very good lawyers.

Have fun, have a happy Wednesday, and no pressure!

[prpfz]

twenty1plus ; theythem ; mxm ☁️

currently looking to write with other world building enthusiasts in my newly built project! inspired by the crusades, this setting follows two warring kingdoms in what they have now coined as the hundred years’ war, whose feuding dynasties have laid the first stone of.

i am particularly looking to write the newly coronated king of the northern kingdom who, ever since his rise to power, has not been seen in the public eye – it is rumoured, however, that everything he touches wilts and dies. to pair, i would love if he could end up with the opposite kingdom’s ruler, an envoy, the enemy’s right hand man, etc. we can discuss!

if elven creatures, nephilim, religious conflicts, political intrigue, forbidden romance, medieval high fantasy, and extensive character and setting development are up your alley, feel free to like this post & i will reach out 🐚

give a like and anon will get back to you

[abbatoirablaze]

Angels & Demons, Chapter 17

Word Count:  1.4k

Warnings:  mention of controlling someone, mentions of manipulation and sex.

“Sorry if I run a bit chilly,” Caitlyn muttered as she looked out the window and blew a perfect ice circle against it, before drawing Lucifer’s scepter, “most people think that I run hot.  But it’s quite the opposite.  Hell is a cold, dark place…it’s my own personal ice age, while it’s everyone elses…well, fire and brimstone.”

“Well, I’ll alert the media for you so we can get our stories straight,” Dean said sarcastically, “give us our sister back, now.  We’re here.”

“That’s just it...you need to help me understand something guys,” she smiled, “I mean, stomping through my front door is a tad suicidal, don’t you think?  After all, I don’t need Sammy boy anymore.  Now, I’ve got myself a young, pretty little thing, who said yes the second I asked her.  Do you know how good it feels to be in her meat suit, boys?”

“Go to hell!”

“If I go, I’m dragging her with me!” Lucifer smiled as he turned her around and batted her lashes, “and then we’d be leaving baby Nephilim all by themselves.  That wouldn’t be nice, now would it?”

“GIVE HER BACK!” Sam growled.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, you sound mad,” Lucifer grinned, “Seems like you’re itching for a fight.”

“We’re not here to fight you!” Sam growled.

“No?” she asked, “then why are you here?”

“I want to say yes!”

“Excuse me?”

Sam closed his eyes and killed the two demons standing behind them.  Caitlyn giggled, “chock-full of Ovaltine, are we?”

“You heard me,” he growled, “YES!  Now let go of our sister.”

“You’re serious,” she scoffed, Dean and Sam exchanged looks, and Caitlyn waited as Sam continued, “Why on Earth are you saying yes to me now?”

“Caitlyn has nothing to do with this, Lucifer. I know you were holding out because your old vessel was falling apart and she could handle you, but-”

“Oh, she’s done more than handle me, boys,” she smirked, “you wanna know how I sealed the deal with dear little sis?  I’ll give you a hint...it wasn’t with a kiss.”

Dean growled, and Sam held him back. 

“Granted, I had to make myself take on a more...pleasing form to her, so I looked like that angel that knocked her up, but it was well worth it,” she smiled, “the things that I made her little body feel.  She was quivering.  It was passionate.  Intense…boys, if I told you what I did to baby sis, even you would blush.  And now...we’re like two peas in a pod.  Helped her push out her little Nephilim, and he’s safe and protected, as promised, and we share this body...she gets some time to herself, and I get the rest.”

“Look, judgement day is a runaway train,” Sam tried to reason, “we both know that I’m your true vessel, not Caitlyn. We get it now.  And we just want off.”

“Meaning?”

“Deal of the century,” Sam offered, “I give you a free ride, but when it’s all over, I live, he lives, and you bring our parents back-”

“Okay can we please drop the telenovela?” she asked, putting a finger up to her lips, “I already have a free ride...and quite the deal with this pretty little thing.  She lets me take her…in every way.  If I wanted her to push out my spawn, she would let me.  She’s happy with me boys.”

“She’s not part of this!” Sam retorted once more, “she’s innocent.”

“Innocent doesn’t do the things that she’s let me to do her.”

“Alright, that’s it!” Dean hissed, “we’re trying to be polite by letting you-“

“Polite?” she scoffed, “is that what you’re calling it, Dean?  Coming into our little safe haven…and threatening me?”

“We didn’t threaten you!” Sam urged, “we-“

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Sam,” she hissed, finally shooting a glare at him, “I already know that you have the rings, Sam.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Sam lied.

She rolled her eyes, “the horsemen’s rings.  The magic keys to my cage.  The little cage that’s kept me locked up, snug as a bug in a rug?  Ring a bell?  Come on, Sam.  I never lied to you.  You could at least pay me the same respect.  It’s okay.  I’m not mad.  A wrestling match inside your noggin.  I like the idea.  Just you and me, one round.  No tricks.  You win, you jump in the hole.  Well, if I win, then I win.  What do you say, Sam? My fiddle of gold against your soul says I’m better than you.”

Dean looked at his brother, “Sam-”

“So what, he knows.  It doesn’t change anything!” Sam tried to reason.

“Sam-”

“We don’t have any other choice,” Sam argued, “this is the only way to save Caitlyn.  The only way to-”

“No!” Dean begged.

“Yes!” Sam proclaimed.

A white glow filled the apartment and when it faded, Sam was on the ground, but Caitlyn was nowhere to be found. 

Castiel gasped as the white light departed from him, and he was standing in what was Michael’s war room. 

Angels stood around, looking at the map, while a woman, swathed in a white tunic and silver armor looked up.  The little boy who stood in front of her was dressed similarly, holding an angel blade that he used to point at things. 

Everyone stopped to look at Castiel. 

But Castiel was focused on the little boy, and the woman behind them. 

“Leave us!”

Instantly the room was clear, and it was just the three of them, standing in the room. 

“Caitlyn...”

“Castiel...” she answered softly.

“H-how are you here?”

“When Sam took my place, someone brought me and my son here...they-”

“Son...” Castiel asked, looking to the younger boy.  He could see that while he looked a lot like his vessel, Jimmy Novak, there was a side to him that reminded him of his truer form, “he-he looks like me.”

“He does.” she smiled, smoothing down her son’s hair.  And that’s when Castiel noticed the ethereal aura about her.

“You...”

“As it turns out, humans can be given the grace of an angel,” she answered.  Castiel gasped in awe of her looks and her smile widened, “I take it you like my appearance?”

“Did he-“

“I met our father, Castiel!” she smiled sweetly, “he gave me this gift…he gave our son his gift…are we pleasing to you?”

He nodded, “I can appreciate it’s beauty...you’re breathtaking inside and out, Caitlyn.”

“As are you,” she replied, admiring his truer form, “i have to say...this form is far more attractive than that of your vessel.”

“You can see it?”

She nodded, “there’s a lot of differences now, Castiel.  After Michael was pushed into the pit, the heavens started descending into chaos.  But God brought me and Caspian here.”

“Caspian...”

“Our son...” she reminded him, gesturing to the little boy, “he’s using us as a voice, to help keep his commands in place.  And for that, he’s gifted us something special.  He gave me the grace of an angel, and he allowed Caspian to remain as is.”

Castiel looked at her in shock, “th-that does not sound like my father.”

“You helped the unavoidable, Castiel,” she smiled sweetly.  He stepped forward and she stroked his cheek, “you did what he wanted.”

“I-I did?”

“You did...Michael and Lucifer were told to claim the bodies of their vessels, but what he didn’t tell them was that they were to have learned from the experiences of Sam and Dean,” she sighed, “they didn’t have to kill each other.  Their destiny wasn’t one or the other.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was to learn that God’s creations aren’t the ultimate perfection,” Caspian answered, speaking up, “we are meant to falter.  We are meant to learn.  Sam sacrificed the way god wanted.  The way that he hoped.  He gave his life to locking Lucifer and Michael together.  Neither one of them disobeyed his orders.”

“They were pawns...”

“They were,” she frowned, “but things are just beginning, Castiel.  Now that Lucifer and Michael are learning the lesson they should have learned millennia ago, it is time.”

“For what?”

“The next part of God’s plan,” she admitted, “we’ve received word, Castiel.  Things are just getting started on Earth...and now...it’s time for all of us to play our parts.”

“All of us?”

“First things first...we need to get Sam out of the cage!” Caitlyn confirmed, “and then, we need to find Eve...and stop a man by the name of Dick Roman.”

[jace-has-no-last-name]

Jace hadn’t slept much. Something about nearly dying or actual dying if you asked Alec unsettled you. That and he could still feel the remnants of magic coursing through his veins. It didn’t feel bad, just wrong. Like it wasn’t his.

Alec, who had come in sometime during the night, dozed beside him. Jace didn’t figure it was a very comfortable position. But he guessed Alec was just that tired.

As if feeling eyes on him, Alec started to stir. The confusion in his normally clear blue eyes told Jace he was still in the throes of sleep.

“Go back to sleep.” Jace told him, a light caress in his voice. They were still on shaky ground. And Jace he wasn’t quite ready for him to be upright again.

Alec sat up straight, apparently having heard something that Jace had not. It wasn’t until the door of the room opened and Hayden strode into the room looking no better than Jace felt, that he realized why.

They’d been waiting for this. His parabatai and him. Surprisingly though, Odette came in behind him. And now they had a party. Taking note of the stiffness in Alec’s posture Jace turned his attention to the Midbreeze twins. “Well damn…” He said, amusement coloring his tone. “You two look like death.”

Alec inhaled sharply and Jace turned back toward him. “Too soon?” He asked, his tone was gentle but he’d intended on getting a reaction out of it.

Hayden, who had never been much of a conversationalist, stared at him coldly. “Want to tell me what you were thinking of when you challenged the Alpha of Chicago?” He demanded, his voice no more than a growl.

Lips twitching, Jace shrugged, then grimaced when the move jostled his hurt shoulder. That was going to be annoying. “Simple. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh good.” Hayden deadpanned. “And here I thought there would be an actual reason you brought down the weight of the Pack on my head.”

Jace winced in mock sympathy. Truthfully, he hadn’t actually meant for that to happen. “You’re a big boy, Hayden. I’m sure you handled it.”

He was taunting him. And he knew that. But Jace had never known when to shut up. He failed the etiquette class in the Nephilim 101 curriculum. Alec who had gotten straight A’s shot him a disapproving glare. Jace just winked at him.

Hayden to his credit, didn’t actually react to that. “Jessica Hauptman is property of the Pack. As such. That does not give us jurisdiction to intervene or have anything to do with her.”

Jace’s head snapped back in Hayden’s direction. “Jessie.” He corrected tersely, “Is human and an innocent. She was wandering down the street alone, Hayden, it was after dark. What did you expect me to do?”

“Not go waltzing into his house and directly challenge him in front of all his people!” Hayden, despite appearances, was very angry with him. “You take her home. You leave her there. Then you come back here to me and you fucking tell me what’s going on! I don’t know how they handled things in New York, but you are under my roof now and that makes you my responsibility. And I’ll be damned if I let you become a pawn in some political agenda!”

That bristled. Jace didn’t take to authority well. And certainly not when he was being yelled and ordered to do something. The pawn part though, that had surprised him. He stared back into Hayden’s enraged eyes and saw something there. And it turned his blood cold. “What happened?”

Hayden scrubbed a hand angrily across his face and Jace could tell he was fighting with something. But when he turned back to him his eyes were cold as ice. “You are being sent down to the Bone City to face trial by the Mortal Sword under the judgment of the Silent Brothers. They’ll be coming for you tonight.”

Alec shot up from his chair, exhaustion apparently forgotten. “What?” He sputtered. “You can’t do that! Hayden! How could you?” There was true outrage in his voice but Jace only had eyes for their leader who was staring back at him with a deadened expression. And Jace knew then that his time was up.

Alec, protective as he was, rounded the side of the bed. “He’s hurt! He can’t go there! They’ll take his marks! Hayden! What do you think you are doing?”

@sincerely-yours-odette

[alexanderlightweight]

Potential Plot Bunny Prompt: Alec absolutely reveling in the sheer level of Magnus' possessiveness over him. But specifically in public. And specifically while Alec is also busy politically BAMFing it up as HOTI-NYI. (The other Shadowhunters are just jealous they don't have A Magnus, really.)

@lawsofchaos1 I had so much fun with this prompt I really hope you enjoy it

—

Alec can feel the scowl on his face growing even as he tries to keep his expression neutral.

“I’m afraid your grandson would learn little.” Alec finds himself saying in exasperation, desperately trying not to roll his eyes. “My hunters can’t afford to coddle an Idris trained child.” He eyes Blackthorn skeptically and scowls, “and I have little interest in an unbloodied warrior. My standards are far higher than anything your family could produce.”

Alec hears a deep, pleased chuckle and a strong, thick arm wraps around his waist, a chin pressing snuggly into the dip of his shoulder.

Rough hairs from Magnus’ goatee tickle the hickeys hidden in his rune and Alec finds himself leaning back unconsciously. Eager for the comfort and familiarity of his lover's embrace.

Magnus pulls him even closer and Alec lets himself be manhandled as Magnus lets magic flicker across their skin.

Blackthorn steps back, a scowl on his face but begrudging respect in his eyes.

Alec greedily clings to and leans into Magnus’ firm and warm embrace, enjoying how Magnus places a hand flaring with magic against his belly and pulls Alec even closer.

This is his.

And while Blackthorn may act like his children are the best Alec could find, Alec knows how many of his hunters are envious of Magnus’ power and his hunger for Alec.

And so Alec relaxes into Magnus’ hold and lets himself be led and manhandled through a portal with no expectation.

He lets Magnus put him on his knees and lays his head eagerly on Magnus’ thigh.

There are no threats when Magnus is protecting him, and Alec allows himself to be hand fed morsels of food and sips of drinks.

He snuggles ever closer and lets his thoughts blank out as Magnus tightens his grip and talks to others.

Magnus is keeping him safe and contained and Alec finds himself thanking Raziel for giving him to someone so strong.

—

Magnus watches as Alexander takes the team leaders of Idris’ finest to task. He spares no feelings and berates them with a clinical tone that exudes judgment.

Magnus walks up to his side and holds up a hand, stopping Alexander’s tirade with a single motion.

“You’ve wasted enough breath on such imbeciles, my love. Allow me to rejuvenate you.”

And he claims Alexander’s plush and willing mouth until his boy is clinging and shaking against Magnus.

When Magnus finally allows them to part, Alexander simply glares at the claves interlopers and wraps his long arms around Magnus’ waist.

They say nothing, as Magnus has learned that his behavior is actively sought after in nephilim circles.

However Alexander has never truly given anyone besides Magnus a second glance and several shadowhunters are eager to try and slip their way in as a third.

As if Magnus would allow that.

As if Alexander would accept another in his or Magnus’ bed.

And so Magnus pulls Alexander down for a kiss and then pushes him down so Magnus can pin him to the ground and sit in his lap.

Magnus pays no mind to the nephilim around them and focuses only on claiming Alexander in the setting sun.