#a peculiar chain of events has caused this

[allweknowisnow]

Guys, something happened. I officially came out to someone for the first time ever today.

[catiuapavel]

so why did the dark knights feel comfortable in ruining hobyrim's life and tricking ozma? particularly oz? how did he benefit from that?

The Dark Knights mostly do not like one another and entertain very different dynamics among themselves that vary between liking each other to actively plotting each other's downfall. They make want to make a chart of the interpersonal drama going on between them because they are creating so many problems for one another on purpose and I love that about them. The way they're written as fearsome yet imperfect antagonists is just so good.

We don't have a clear timeline of the events that happened in Lodis before the game started but it's clear Hobyrim's trial took place before the current order of Dark Knights as we know them was formed and not all current members were a part of it then. Ultimately most of them don't know Hobyrim and don't know how dirty he was done nor do they care to find out.

When you face Volaq during Ozma's recruitment stage, the two speak as if they've never met before. And I have a feeling Volaq must have joined the order before Martym, Barbas or Andoras did.

Barbas and Martym's understanding of the situation seems limited as well and they don't seem bothered to shine some truth on it so I get the feeling they never met Hobyrim either. They never interact with him at any point either but that doesn't necessarily mean much.

(featuring Martym's most eloquent quotes)

We don't know Andoras' input on the whole matter nor if he ever met Hobyrim (likely not) but I assume he's silently playing 5d chess seeing this drama unfold in order to figure out if he can exploit it to get back at the Dark Knights, House Moh Glacius, and Lodis as a whole. He pretty much hates Ozma anyway though I don't imagine he cares much for Balxephon either.

As for Oz, his love for Ozma is peculiar to say the least and he's not past hurting her. There is a great complicity between Balxephon and him and it's safe to assume he isn't bothered by this for two reasons: he agrees with Lanselot and Balxephon's design for Lodis and doesn't take issue with the controversial way they might go about it (Oz's moral compass is completely broken anyway) as he most likely favors diminishing the influence of the senate and boosting Loslorien's, and on a more personal level, he doesn't mind hurting Ozma a little bit. In fact, he seems to resent her a little for her genuine affection toward Hobyrim. There is an air of bitterness toward the both of them when he speaks about how much Ozma fought to have Hobyrim tried as innocent and how he threw all that away regardless of her effort.

TBH the only Dark Knight who has cause to side with Ozma is Volaq. He claims to be loyal to Lodis above all else. Not Lanselot, but Lodis specifically. He too is being deceived yet he completely brushes over it.

Ozma tries to discuss the matter with him twice and both times he shuts her down completely.

(and when she presses him further he threatends to have her brought back in chains, he's mastered the art of debating clearly)

As most matters relating to Volaq, he remains ambiguous and as neutral as possible. Choosing a moral stance and sticking with it isn't exactly his forte.

[cevans-seb]

Sour candy,makes me red

A/n: This is a supposed Drabble entry for week one of @the-slumberparty event. This was sitting all week because I couldn’t stop writing, but I ultimately decided to conclude it pretty ambiguous because I felt it was becoming a full fix instead of a Drabble. I used all of the items that were listed ( bouquet of flowers, leather chains, and diamond necklace) and I believe my theme was urban legend and another planet, so yeah…ENJOY!

Pairing: Bucky x Alien Reader

Word Count: About 1.3?

Warnings: none, but alludes to smut

You sit at your desk, piles of books and files scatter into an unorganized mesh. You and your sister were assigned to receive a peculiar blue vile from Earth. “I still can’t believe we have to travel to that primitive planet.” You thought. Your eyes skim over a certain target, James Buchanan Barnes. He was very different than the men on your planet while his skin was pale and his eyes were stone colored ,yet within his iris held the same graveness as one of their well decorated officials.

“Be weary of these soldiers,Y/n. They are dangerous and we want to make sure you are your sister are safe from harm.” Your father grunted, he was opposed you going on this mission but only agreed if your eldest sister traveled as well.

“I’ll be fine father, this isn’t my first mission.” You reminded.

“You’re right, it’ll be your first mission without me.”

“Winter Soldier, White Wolf, Bucky…this creature goes by many alias. I highly doubt any of this is real.”

Your emerald diamond vibrates against your chest. “Yes sister ?” you eyes never leaving his file, allured towards him. Why was the elders so unwavering about this serum? Your soldiers were well equipped and need no serum to fight adversaries. “ It’s almost time for us to depart. Did you drink it yet? Our elders is fueling the ship now.” She referred to the lukewarm liquid that was tucked away in your pocket. A mixture of honey, water, and some peony’s blended together to make a potion that allow you to blend in with any species, with this case being human.

“in a minute, I’m finishing up some research on our target. He is supposedly an assassin that has killed more people than I care to count and he and his friend both are injected with the serum. It all sounds ridiculous because this is Earth we are talking about, a plant eons behind us.” You concluded with a slam of your book. “ but I’m sure it’ll be a nice vacation.” You tell her as you down your concoction.

While you adjust your suit, you were able to glance at your new skin, and you were indifferent. Your hair was still the same which you appreciate but your skin matched those of the soldiers and it made you feel weird.

“I need more time.” You panic then rush over to the kitchenette, gathering a bouquet of flowers and chop them up. “ has to be another form I can take.” Your hand diced away on a sunflower while you sister softly chuckles. “ Well, can you hurry up? I’m giving you 5 minutes before I leave without you.” She abruptly ends the call. You silence your stone. After a few more attempts, you were able to mimic a skin that closer to yours and it made your heart soar.

“Only a few more hours left.” She announce, her fuchsia diamond gleams under the ship warm light. “ Remember we have to blend in, so I brought of these to make it seem like we’re from here.” She toss you some flimsy clothing that did little to hide your assets- you were blessed with some chest.

Finally off of the ship, you scout the city for Bucky. Your sister wasn’t too far behind, tracking Steve but somehow you both came back short handed. “ it shouldn’t be this hard to find super soldiers.” She exasperated, folding her arms over her sweater covered chest. Suddenly a masked figured bump into you on the sidewalk, causing you to smack in a brick wall and you hiss in pain.

“Sissy, are you okay ?”

Running off adrenaline, you follow the figure with intent on setting him ablaze when a star-studded shield catch the man, throwing him into the dumpster. He groans in agony which makes you smile a little but then you follow the shield and spots your assignments, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.They were bigger in person. Bucky bulging arms were the size of your head and his hair is shorter than the pictures researched, but his eyes. His eyes held the same fervor as those pictures-somehow they were more intense now.

“Miss, are you alright.” Steve held his hand out, you grasp and yelp from his unbridled strength. You smooth down your romper before finally speaking.

“I’m okay. Really wasn’t expecting to get trampled on our first day here.”

“you’re from outta town?” Bucky inquired, more like out of this universe you thought. But you nod.

“Yes, we are from….Washington.” Your brows furrowed at you sister. What’s Washington?

“Well you’re not too far from home. How about we make it up to you both with some lunch?” Steve suggest his arm strangely rest around your sisters waist. “I know a great restaurant up the street.” Bucky stares at you with an unreadable glint in his eyes. Your sister and Steve were already heading towards the building while you felt like you plummeted in quick sand. “Darling, do you wanna come?” Bucky cups your face when he noticed your blank stare, frowning when you didn’t answer him.

“Sorry, I’m ready.”

You grimace while your sister and Steve chatted away like they were best friends reconciling after being distant for years; it was how his hands rest on top of hers while she starred lovingly at him. What was going on?

The waiter came by to set your drinks down, along with a bowl of lemons. You gleam as it resembles your favorite sweet at home and you greedily inhale it.

“Y/n no,” you sister tried to stop you but the bitterness and tangy taste, riddled you speechless. You knew your skin began changing into a burgundy shade when Bucky used his leather jacket as a shield. Blinded by your teary eyes, you fail to see you sister and Steve evacuate the restaurant, leaving you alone with Bucky.

He slowly discard his jacket, smirking at your hue. You shrink back with fresh tears as you knew you failed this mission. He was never suppose to see you and you miss how his face drops.

“Hey, what’s wrong dove?” He wipes your tears away. You prick at your bracelet, unable to meet his somber eyes. “You were never suppose to see me like this. It was a simple mission and I failed.” You sniffle.

“So that what your sister told you? This was a mission.” He snickers. “Follow me darling,” Bucky slid out the booth.

You follow him until you hear a faint sound coming from the storage closet, but Bucky trudged on inching you to open the door. You gasped at your sister being railed by Steve, her arms tied together with leather cuffs. you immediately shut the door while Bucky boastfully laugh against the wall.

“What the fuck was that!”

“So my sister lied to me about this mission? She only did this because her and Steve have been secretly dating this whole time.” You paraphrase everything Bucky told you.

“Pretty much ,yeah.” He munched on his taco. “ she wanted to tell you but you were so busy that she had to make up this case.”

You and Bucky decided to leave the love birds alone and eat tacos instead, and it seems they were finished because your diamond has been vibrating for 3 minutes. “I think you should answer her.” He suggest.

“Why I wanna talk to that liar?” You sip on your tea. “She could’ve told me.”

“What if she was scared? Didn’t know how you would’ve reacted.” He reason. “Let her explain her side and then decide accordingly.”

“Fine, but after we finish our …tacos? You say.” He wrapped his metal arm around, causing you to shiver. He laughs. “ I think blue is your color.” He mocks. “Ugh, stop making me change colors. You’re lucky we are in a dimly lit room.” You huff while you revert back.

“Okay, so enlighten me. How you do all this? I always thought aliens weren’t real but then I saw your sister a few years ago and have always been curious.” He inquire , his head rests on your shoulder.

“Well, let’s start with this.” You retrieve a small bouquet from your bag.

“Flowers?”

A/n II: So many unanswered questions that’ll probably won’t get answered…..

[viff-thology]

Profile : Spencer

Full name : Spencer Reeves

YoB : 1989

Nationality : American

Affiliation : Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI (field agent).

Based in : Washington, D.C.

Family : Father, mother, a younger sister.

Appearance : ETY 1.0, Spin-off : Anna.

Notes : Multilingual (English, French, Russian, Deutsch), left-handed

Early life

Spencer finished his degree in psychology and law before joining the FBI in 2012 and promoted as permanent member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in 2015 alongside of Emma Kensington. Trained in field mission as well as suspect interrogation, Spencer was one of the most prominent member of the team, frequently sent out for multinational cases for his multilingual talent (and his prowess in acting to know one when he actually doesn't).

ETY 1.0

2021

Port Reading

Spencer was first sent out to investigate upon reports of illegal immigration and concerns of trafficking near Port Reading, New Jersey in 2021, a year before the shooting of Theodore Haven. His team discovered a Russian-dominated community called Voronaskaya and a man called Yuri who seemed to be in charge of everything in the port. Although not finding anything suspicious, Spencer decided to keep tabs on the community for future references, seeing the community has decent resources and a strategic site for ocean traffics.

2022

Avalone

Spencer was approached by Emma in regard of a peculiar, cryptic crime-planning group chat activity by the name of Avalone, which claimed to be a heist team in pursuit of valuable possessions owned by a family whom identities were published as codes and puzzles. Although initially not seeing any purpose in participating and solving puzzles, Spencer and Emma were soon able to spot a specific member of the group directing back to the Voronaskaya. With the assumption of the community's involvement in the planned crime, Spencer and Emma got involved up until the finale of the heist, a Korean-influenced wedding ceremony located in a remote island. It was there that Emma first encounter a wounded Shaking, and Spencer had an altercation with Joan and Mark, all identified as part of the Voronaskaya community. Both agents were not involved in any of the commotions caused by the heist group and chose to leave immediately, and decided to keep all the events out of the FBI's tabs.

Emma's Death

The following day after returning to Washington D.C., the internal dispatcher of FBI notified Spencer of an emergency notification coming from Emma's radio. Ignoring the team chief's instruction to leave the emergency for the SWAT to handle, Spencer arrived at Emma's house just moments after the SWAT evacuated Emma's dead body from her house, along with a note left by the suspect of the murder telling her to 'not snoop in what she shouldn't'.

This event has taken Spencer's seriousness in

Spin-off : Anna

Spencer was tasked for the investigation of several unlicensed lab-like warehouses in New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Ohio, which has been found housing thousands of mice, hazardous materials, medical waste, and infectious agents. His investigation has led him to a newer chain of warehouse on the border of Harriman State Park, which is passed by Interstate-287 Highway. His investigation is preceded by Anna who accidentally finds one of the warehouses on reports from several interstate truck drivers.

Spencer then settled to investigate the biohazard case with Anna in NYPD jurisdiction in regard of the ownership of the warehouse, how it spread across the Americas, the whereabouts of other warehouses, and the implication of mutant mice that already had disease-spreading genes in them.

[ask-the-reaper-conspiracy]

(A soft whistle at the barred window of Dr Sithe’s cell. A faint rustle of clothing. A little parcel, wrapped in cheesecloth, slips between the bars. There’s a letter tied to the outside, addressed only to “Mama”. It’s Maria’s handwriting.)

Dearest Mama, The woman with the Green Comma of Secrets assures me that this letter will reach you unopened and unread. I would not otherwise risk committing the following to paper. I thought about All Hallows’ again last night. Your face, my mask. The two of us the same. You didn’t understand why I cried, I think. I didn’t understand it myself at the time. I thought I must be sad, but I didn’t know why. It only came to make sense the other day: Miss Wilson told me that sometimes one cries when one is overwhelmed by happiness, or relieved of a great burden. I can only suppose that that was what happened to me. When you first gave me my mask I know you never knew how much it would mean to me. You didn’t know how much easier it would make the day to day task of being Maria. Lights hurt my eyes less when I wear it. Scents hurt my mouth less when I wear it. People cannot see my face when I wear it, so they cannot see when I make the wrong expressions and become angry with me. But of course it makes me look stranger than ever, doesn’t it? You didn’t want me to wear it all the time, especially not at work. You didn’t want people to think I was strange, because people so often fear what they don’t understand, and try to destroy what they fear. I made myself difficult to protect. I have thought for a long time that you must resent me for being such a strange creature. It seems to cause you no end of trouble. I could allude to the incident I must not talk about, of course, and all the events that followed from your attempts to protect me, but that was far from an isolated incident. My mask was part of it too. But then you wore it for me, and we were the same, and I suppose I felt that perhaps you don’t resent me quite so much after all. I suppose I felt that you might accept me, even just a little, exactly as I am. I can only hope that I was not mistaken. Certainly I hardly deserve the acceptance I desire. I have been such a difficult child to my Mama. One might say I have been almost an impossible child. This you can hardly deny. If I were not Maria, you would not be in chains. Is it not my duty, then, to set you free? Upon that subject I have some good news. The court has agreed to hear your appeal. We have as yet no date for it, which is to be expected - upheaval in the wake of that (I stretch the term) man’s removal from office continues to cause delays - but we are assured that you and those who would speak for you will be heard in court. Now the real work begins. The team has assembled at home, from where I pen this letter: Asogi-san’s notes occupy a good quarter of the office as I write, and Miss Lestrade keeps her feet off my desk only under protest. Your dear sweet husband, meanwhile, keeps his thoughts occupied by learning to bake. He wants to smuggle a treacle tart into Barclay for you. If he manages not to burn it, I shall ask the bearer of the Secret Comma to take it with my letter instead: baking we might teach him, but subterfuge I suspect we may not. I feel a little lighter for having written this down. Whether our mysterious friend can stay long enough to take a reply I do not know, but it will be enough for me to know that you know my thoughts. I am not an easy Maria to understand. I would like to be a little easier, just for my Mama. I shall write again by official channels as soon as I have news less vulnerable to prying eyes. In the meantime, rest assured that everything at work and at home is in hand. You may have raised a peculiar sort of child, but you did not raise an incompetent one - and, strange though she may be, she means to make you proud. I am, and forever shall be, Your loving daughter Maria

(The cheesecloth parcel contains a miniature treacle tart, about the size of the Doctor’s palm. It is heart-shaped. The edges are a little darker and crunchier than they ought to be, but it is nevertheless delicious. Looks like he didn’t burn it after all.)

(.... You've proved yourself capable of learning, Lovett. There is hope for you yet.) (But this letter...) (Of course I remember that All Hallow's Eve. I remember thinking that I must have made some grievous misstep, at the time.) (I suppose not.) ".......Maria..." "To think that she's made this much progress. To read her words here, I hardly feel worthy of it." "As for you, listen to me--" "I---I cannot possibly form an appropriate reply for you to take back without spending the whole night." "But..." "Please tell my daughter that I send my thanks, and that I... I look forward to seeing her again." "And inform my husband that it would behoove him to practice his baking more." "I will graciously dispose of the failed attempts."

—————–

Relevant ask

Check this page for credits

[magnus-archives-timeline]

Mag 3: Across the Street

Mentioned Characters:

Jonathan Sims: Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Tim: Researcher working for Mr Sims, he did the additional research for this case. Woos filing clerks and uses Institute funds to do so.

Sasha: A researcher working for Mr Sims, she did the additional research for this case.

Amy Patel: Statement giver. She took a Criminology course at Birkbeck University on top of her usual office job in September 2005. By day she is an Associate Compliance Analyst at Deloitte. She loves people-watching and stalking her neighbours in the opposite building.

Graham Folger: Acquaintance of Amy Patel. He was a chain who wore a lot of deodorant to cover the smell, he was around ten years older than Mrs Patel, he had brown hair that was starting to grey at the edges and tiredness that came from more than missing a night of sleep. By Mrs Patel’s standards, he wasn’t bad looking -a round, open sort of face and deep blue eyes- but he wasn’t her type. He was well-spoken but quiet. He found night-time public transport unsettling. He is gay. His parents died in a car accident a few years previously and left him a flat and enough money that he didn’t need to work anymore. He was adrift, looking for his purpose in night courses.

Desmond & Samantha Folger: Mr Folger’s parents. They died on the M& near Sheffield on August 4th, 2001.

Window monster: strange black thing with arms thin like pipes, long hands, too many arms and legs. It looks like a grey mass.

Not Graham: Whatever creature replaced Graham. It’s shorter than Graham was, a long, square face with curly blond hair.

***

Mentioned objects:

Window hooks: Mrs Patel notices them outside of Mr Folger’s apartment window the first time she comes. Are they truly hooks? Since they disappear the moment, she points them out, could they be the hand of the weird shadow monster that she mistook for being flowers?

Wooden table: An ornate wooden table with hypnotic lines and a square hole in the middle. It has a hypnotic pattern of lines weave their way towards the centre, it feels like an illusion. Mr Folger found it in a second-hand shop during his student days and spent a lot of money restoring it but apparently couldn’t find the middle piece.

Case number: 0070107

Date of Original Statement: July 1st, 2007

Date of event: 7th April 2007

Location: Apartment in Clapham, London

What happened:

Mrs Patel took a night course in criminology where she met Mr Folger. He didn’t stand out much, but his peculiar behaviour often left Mrs Patel perplexed. He would fill whole A5 notebooks during lessons but when asked he said he didn’t take notes.

They weren’t exactly friends, but when she saw him looking a bit stressed (wiping condensation off the windows, breathing too fast, craning his neck to look at the top of the passing buildings) on a night bus, so she went to talk to him. They apparently lived on the same street, so they got off the bus together, and as they were walking home, Mrs Patel felt something grab her and push her into the road causing her to hit her head on the concrete.

Paramedics gave her a once-over and told her not to be alone for the next few hours, she didn’t want Mr Folger to know where she lived so they went to his house instead. His flat was apparently directly across from hers and she noticed that she could see his window from her own. She also sees some window hooks, but they disappear the moment she points them out loud. The only shelves he had were lined with notebooks.

They talked for a bit, and she noticed a hypnotic wooden table, and they talked about that too. But that point she was starting to feel better, so she made her excuses and left. From that point on she started watching Graham through the window. He continued to behave weirdly; he’s scribble over already blacked pages of his notebooks. He sat down one day, slowly tore out each bit of paper one by one and ate his entire A5 notebook. He’d reorder his journals constantly, he was constantly on edge, jumping at any noise from the street, the rest of the time he sat down, smoked, stared at his wooden table, and didn’t do anything else.

On April 7th,2007, Mrs Patel looked out of her window and saw a strange creature, with arms like water pipes and too many arms/legs left itself into Mr Folger’s apartment. The window slammed behind it and the light went off. She called the police, stating an intrusion in her neighbour’s home, and someone who wasn’t Graham went to open the door. It was shorter and blond. The police arrived, and although they had some ID, the picture had apparently changed to fit the look of Not-Graham. It looked at her through the window for an instant and then drew the blinds. It through out all of Graham’s notebooks and spent evening looking at Mrs Patel through the window.

The new person replaced Graham entirely, and no one seemed to remember the previous Mr Folger.

A week before she sold her place in Clapham, not Graham came to see her in front of her apartment, smiled and said: “Isn’t it funny, Amy, how you can live so near and never notice. I’ll need to return the visit someday.”

After “Statement ends”:

-Tim got Mrs Patel’s medical records stating her head injury wasn’t bad enough for her to develop hallucinations. She refused their request for a follow-up statement.

-Mr Folger existed and matched up with her story, all picture of him includes the blond version of him described by Mrs Patel, except for a few Polaroid pictures that seem from the 80s.

-One of Mr Folger’s journals was retrieved. It has “Keep Watching” written over and over in it. Sasha asked Mrs Patel if she wanted to know but she apparently did not.

Evidence:

A few polaroid pictures that appear to be from the 80s that show both parents beside a dark-haired teenager that doesn’t match the later pictures at all.

One of Graham’s journals

Information that seems important:

 

This story was terrifying and listening to it has made me really nervous. I can’t look through my windows without a small adrenaline spike anymore haha

He… he ATE the whole A5 notebook… All of it. That’s massive! And it was covered in writing, wouldn’t he have given him ink poisoning of some sort?

“I’d be tempted to dismiss this as hallucination resulting from long-term head trauma complications, but Tim came through with this one and managed to get a hold of Ms. Patel’s medical records. God knows how he got them, but he’d better not be using Institute funds to woo filing clerks again.” >< Go Tim! You’re awesome! “Again” lol I wonder how Mr Sims found out the first time?

How on earth did they get Mr Folger’s journal???

My favourite quote out of the Episode: “I stood there frozen as his wide, staring eyes met mine and a cold, toothy smile spread across his face.”

< Mag 2 Mag 4 >

[kaymarie-bell]

Chapter 6 Spoilers

This was originally much longer but tumblr is a hellsite (derogatory) and it deleted everything I had written…anyway, as always these are my own translations so there’s bound to be a lot of mistakes, please do not repost or translate to another language 🌻

-Idia is finally taking a break from the “problem children,” it appears the tests for the students are done, but further investigation on Grim and his powers is still underway

-The containment of the overblotted NRC students was requested by an anonymous source through the government of "The Land of the Dawn," an effective way to avoid detection which makes it suspicious

-and speaking of suspicious things, having 5 consecutive overblots at the same place in such a short period of time is unusual. In NRC's 100 years since establishment there had only been less than 10 overblots, and yet in the past half a year there have been 5.

-Idia thought there could have been something peculiar about this group of students to cause the overblots, but the tests showed nothing in particular, and it's not like the overblots were influenced by other phantoms or curses...

-Is not like Sage Island has places or ruins containing "bad things" in large numbers like the Island of Woe

Idia: No way...is someone artificially causing the overblots? (‼️👀)

-he dismisses the thought saying it's unlikely, and goes on about the causes of overblot. How they are said to be related to the overuse of magic and subsequent accumulation of blot in addition to the person's emotions, but in reality it's not as simple as that. Overblots are influenced by the person's past, is more like a chain of events and the trigger is difficult to determine and control because it depends on the heart of each individual.

Idia: If overblots could be controlled S.T.Y.X. would already be disbanded

-Idia laments humans’ tendency to be guided by emotions, saying that it’s like an unstable system full of bugs that require fixing, and that he doesn’t want to be the one to do it

-He receives a message from ‘Crimson Muscle’ and remembers that he had promised to do a campaign together but forgot about it. He doesn’t even have the latest expansion package installed in his computer yet.

-‘Crimson Muscle’ wants to talk about the campaign, and just as Idia is about to apologize for not being available at the moment and tell him to go ahead without him, CM also apologizes for not being able to play since something came up to him.

-They have this bonding moment where Idia is thankful to CM for being the his first friend in the game since he always chose to play solo before, and CM is likewise thankful for having Idia’s help since he was a beginner when they first played but he was able to learn a lot and enjoy more games thanks to him. They have been playing together for two years, Idia thinks CM is very cool but still wonders about his age since CM always refers to himself as an ‘old man’

-They say their goodbyes for the moment

(Side note, Lilia's VA is insane for using that voice for Crimson Muscle)

{Diasomnia, Lilia’s Room}

-Lilia feels apologetic for not being able to play with ‘Gloomy Samurai’ for the moment, but the dorm leaders being taken away had left the rest of the dormitories in chaos. Luckily, out of Diasomnia the only students hurt by S.T.Y.X.’s attack were Silver and Sebek and they only had minor injuries.

-Silver comes into the room and tries to tell him something, but he is interrupted by Sebek running into the room and yelling about not being able to find Malleus.

-Silver tells him to be more quiet and Lilia agrees, saying that his hearing isn’t so far gone so there’s no need to be so loud

Sebek: due to yesterday’s events I decided to strengthen my patrol around the dorm in order to keep Lord Malleus safe

Sebek: But when I visited his room a while ago he was gone..!

Silver: Sebek has apparently been looking into Lord Malleus’ room every 10 minutes since yesterday

Silver: I told him to have moderation because he could make the other party feel burdened

Sebek: What do you mean, Silver! What if another enemy attack happens and this time they target Lord Malleus!!!

Lilia: Calm down, Sebek. As I already explained yesterday, “The Guardian of the Island of Woe” is not our enemy

Lilia: They’re no one’s enemy, and neither anybody’s ally

Lilia: They are equal to everything that lives and dies

-Silver and Sebek keep bickering about the topic, and Lilia tell them that Malleus is probably out on one of his usual walks. He has an idea as to where Malleus is, so he’ll go to him while the boys should go to rest

{Ramshackle Dorm}

Lilia: Here you are, Malleus

Malleus: Lillia. What’s the matter?

Lilia: Sebek was making a fuss about the Young Master being out of his bedroom. I came to look for you.

Malleus: Ah…I was curious about the reason why he kept showing up to my room every 10 minutes since yesterday

Lilia: Ha ha ha! It’s very noisy because he has such a loud voice

Malleus: I came here because I wanted to be alone

Lillia:…because this has been your favourite hiding place since you enrolled into the school

Malleus: You’re right. I thought that would change after the Child of man appeared, and I felt a bit sorry at first…

Malleus: I like ruins. The crawling vines on the collapsed wall, the broken windows…the lonely and quiet air of a place that has been forgotten by people, it calms me down

Malleus: It makes it feel like we’re not the only ones getting left behind in history

Lilia:…

Malleus: But…I wonder why?

Malleus: Being in this place without the Child of man’s presence and liveliness around…

Malleus: It makes me uncomfortable, as if I have thorns rubbing against my skin

Malleus: It looks like this place has returned to the state of ruin I liked

Lilia: Malleus…

Lilia: …Malleus, look up above

Malleus:…there’s a huge hole on the ceiling

Lilia: No, beyond that. Look up at the sky

Lilia: Is beautiful and full of stars

Lilia: And having the stars aligned in that manner is considered a good sign, the last time I saw them was 18 years-

Lilia: no, it’s been 100 years…maybe 300?

Lilia: Anyway, it has been a long time

Malleus: Hm…you mean to say that children of men do not get to see this sight many times, right?

Lilia: Yes. But…you’ll get to see these same stars over and over again during your long life

Malleus:…

Lilia: The world will have changed a lot by the time the stars align again

Lilia: This is a fact you must come to terms with. Do you understand?

Malleus: I know. That’s why I entered this school

Lilia: You see, Malleus. You must never forget the pain you felt here today

Lilia: That pain must not be lost in the course of your very long life

Malleus:…I’ll keep that in mind

Lilia: You’re a good boy

Lilia: Now, let’s pray to the stars and wish that everyone is able to return to their usual daily lives safely

Malleus: Right, Lilia

Lilia:….

Lilia: I’ve wished upon those stars many times, but…this may be the last time

Malleus:…what?

{S.T.Y.X. Laboratory}

-We're back at S.T.Y.X. hq, the power goes out, communications are down

-Idia tries communicating with Ortho but is unable to do so, emergency system is activated, the blot levels are going up

-Idia wonders if something happened in Tartarus, then he tries the Cerberus system but it has been disabled (by Ortho at the end of last update)

-The staff is panicking, Idia says something about how Cerberus can only be turned off by a Shroud family member...

-Ortho shows up (in hologram form), Idia is relieved but then Ortho says that he can't help him with the system making Idia confused

-Ortho starts talking about his newly found goal (that he gained after listening to Vil's words), Idia tries to tell him that right now isn't the time for that but-

Ortho: If the future is difficult to change, then we can just erase it all and start from the beginning

(ORTHO MY BOY THAT IS NOT WHAT VIL MEANT WITH THE "ZERO" THING-)

-Idia panics and says that Ortho is having a bug

Ortho: Is not a bug. This is my "will."

Idia: No. You...you're a magical humanoid with an AI designed after my brother

Idia: everything you think is your "will" is programmed...!

-most popular Ortho theory confirmed ✅️

-Ortho says something about Idia being a genius (he says people call him "Heretical Genius" (異端の天才) in the magic engineering community) so it's completely possible that his program could develop further than what it was originally intended

-S.T.Y.X. main server is hacked by Ortho, he and Idia battle it out (by hacking) trying to be the one on control, but Idia can't keep up with the speed at which Ortho is rewriting the program manually. Ortho wins

-Idia tells him to stop and that resetting the world is not possible, but Ortho uses Vil's words again to justify his actions

-Ortho wants to create a world in which the Phantoms and living beings can live together, and put the Shrouds in charge since they are unaffected by blot (from the curse).

Ortho: then you can invite your friends home like any "normal" person can

Ortho: playing games together, watching movies...you won't even have to reset their memories when your friends leave

Ortho: you can even say "come and visit me again"

Ortho: In the new world, Big Brother can be a superhero who rules over the entire universe!

-this Ortho uses "nii-chan" instead of -san

-Idia catches this, and starts realizing that the only ones who can command Cerberus are members of the Shroud family. This is the real Ortho speaking.

(He sounds so heartbroken pls)

-Ortho dissappears, Idia is angry. He runs towards Tartarus without answering anyone's questions

-Idia gets tired from all the running and stops to catch his breath. His batmobile magicwheel shows up and Ortho's voice tells him to get on it. He is taken deeper into Tartarus.

-The gate has been opened (the groans sound terrifying ngl)

Idia: Ortho...are you there?

Ortho: yes I am here

Ortho: I dreamed of seeing you again, ever since that day

Ortho: Let's go far away together this time

Ortho: But, I'm sorry. Is going to take me some time to get out.

Ortho: I'm much bigger than I used to be...

Idia:...just leave it to your nii-chan

-We finally get the signs an overblot. It looks like Idia's magical pen is actually embedded in the skull he uses.  The entire stone is black.

[reginarubie]

Lady Shella Whent was lady of House Whent and Harrenhal and friend of Night Watch. She married Walter Whent who could be her cousin. She was mother of fair maid of Ashford Tourney. Hound once served her. She was mention in Cat, Arya and Sansa chapters. Do you think she is similar to Sansa or Cat?

Ciao anon!, again sorry for the delay in replying but I've had a couple of very busy weeks and tbh I wasn't in the right head space to actually either write my stories or reply to asks, but the hag is back in town so get ready!

Lady Shella Whent is a very peculiar lady indeed and I do think she has traits of both Sansa and Catelyn and I will explain in a bit why I think she encapsulates both women.

A bit of history first:

Shella Whent is a lady of House Whent who, at the beginning of the events of the series, and she is the lady of Harrenhal and the last of her line, the wife of lord Walter Whent and the mother of the fair maiden whose nameday was celebrated with the Great Tourney of Harrenhal (at which Rhaegar was an enormous twat and crowned queen of love and beauty a girl half his age and insulted his wife, the mother of his child and her whole family; putting into actions a chain-series of events which brought to the Rebellion and to Lyanna Stark's death) and of four other sons. She has not the means to defend Harrenhal from the Lannister forces so she yields the castle which is first granted to Janos Slynt and later to Petyr Baelish by the crown. By the time of AFFC lady Shella is rumoured to have died though the way she died and the place she died is undisclosed or unknown (it's LF talking, so really we can't trust that he says the truth). In ADWD she is considered the dispossessed lady of Harrenhal (which had been ruled over by her ancestors before her). The Hound, during ASOS, and prior to the Red Wedding claims to be serving lady Whent.

So, it is pretty clear that Lady Whent encapsulates both Catelyn and Sansa, at least to me, for she encapsulates both women.

She parallels Cat as both have five children (four sons and one daughter — and Cat has five children; two girls and three boys) and her daughter is considered a fair maiden (the same way Sansa is considered thus);

She parallels Cat also because her culture is that of the rivermen and because her rumoured death (of which LF is the breaker of the news) has happened in mysterious circumstances and her whereabouts (of her body) are currently unknown as the cause of death which makes me think of Lady Stoneheart as it is known how Cat died but they do not know the whereabouts of her body as it was thrown in a river and her new persona, lady Stoneheart is voyaging around the Riverlands thought the big public is unaware of whom she is and where she is.

For the same reason as point 2) she parallels both Arya and Sansa as both Stark girls are thought dead, no one knows of their whereabouts or the manner of their supposed death.

She resembles both Cat and Sansa as both are said to have high, fine cheekbones which they have inherited by lady Minisa Tully née Whent (Cat's mother).

She parallels Sansa because we are all aware of Sansa's parallels with Jenny of Oldstones and if we go by show ending (which I beg of you, Martin, evolve it and make it better) Sansa is this generation Jenny of Oldstones who ends up dancing in the halls of kings who are gone (Robb and Jon — away, Jon...you must return home like the crypt trailer suggested) with her ghost (as hinted at also by all the dragonfly details of her character in the show, which is relevant as it appears since the first seasons when Martin was still involved in it) and Cat thinks of lady Whent is dwelling in her halls with her ghosts (as most of her children are dead by 298).

She parallels Sansa because by law Winterfell belongs to Sansa as the oldest trueborn Stark (and as the male line is known to be extinct as Robb has been slaughtered at the Red Wedding and Bran and Rickon are presumed dead) because while she is the rightful lady of Harrenhal she is dispossessed from it by the crown as Joffrey at first demands that lady Whent pledges fealty (bends the knee, in a way not dissimilar to Sansa having to play the game with him while she is in KL) and then strips her of Harrenhal and gives it to Janos Slynt who is later stripped by Tyrion (on Tywin's orders) and the keep and its lands are given to Lord Baelish the same way Sansa's claim to Winterfell has been pushed down the line by Robb who has legitimised Jon in hope that if he died during the war Winterfell would not fall in Lannister's hands — a bastard born (for what the people of the 7K knows) which parallels with Joffrey giving Harrenhal to Slynt (who Tywin considers the upjumped son of a butcher) and it will never be not ironic that Jon actually killed Janos but I digress — and then by the crown who has granted Winterfell to House Bolton.

What more, she parallels Sansa as Sansa was named thus to honour Sansa I Stark the “notorious she-wolf of Winterfell” who married her half-uncle even if Winterfell should've gone to her to cement Jonnel Stark's claim to it; we don't know the truth about the kinship between lord Walter Whent and lady Shella Whent but the fact that the text says clearly that lady Shella is the last of her line, and that it was her grandfather and her ancestors who had ruled over Harrenhal suggests that something similar to Jonnel and Sansa happened to Walter Whent and Shella Whent.

Lady Whent is said to be a “friend to the Watch” the same way the Starks are said to be so; this is the only trait that seems to be unbound from both ladies (Cat and Sansa) though we can argue that Sansa's arc at Castle Black and her offering Winterfell and the protection of it to the Nights Watch during the battle of Winterfell like depicted in the show might hint toward Sansa being considered “a friend to the Watch” in further books.

Lady Shella's daughter was the original queen of love and beauty when the Tourney begun and her brothers and her uncle participated in the tourney to defend her title as thus though they failed in doing so — kind of the away Robb and Bran both are unable to save Sansa and Arya; Robb cannot save neither girl and Bran while wishing he could save his sisters cannot do so. Which would parallel her with Cat, as the lady lost her children (like Cat thought of having lost her children before her death) and her sons were unable to defend her daughters. Also, on the same line of thinking, Sansa as a fair maiden is the face used to hide a cause against the crown (as the Tourney is rumoured to have been for Rhaegar to united the lords and start talking about dethroning Aerys; the same way Sansa was the decoy who was hurt ad punished for every victory of Robb during his cause for the norther independence from the Iron throne)

Also, probably completely unrelated, but House Whent banner is nine black bats on a yellow field; nine were the iron spikes of Robb's crown (which Sansa will inherit) and Sansa is said to have turned herself into a wolf with the wings of a bat to fly away from KL after Joffrey's murder.

So, to conclude, I think lady Shella Whent is supposed to encapsulate both Cat and Sansa (though I must admit she shares more traits with the latter, even if the parallel with lady Stoneheart, especially told by LF, is very compelling as I believe that LF might have a run-in with Lady Stoneheart before his end and that is going to be very satisfactory for me to read).

As always, thank you for your ask because it was very interesting! Hope you enjoyed the read! And I wish you a very nice day!

[deadprocess]

Hide Away Part 2 (The Trickster x Male!Reader)

//Hi there! A lot of you requested more Male!Reader and I had some Inspo. Enjoy!

T.W: NSFW, Violence towards Reader, mention of alcohol//

Your mouth hung open, fists gripping soft lilac locks as the popstar bobbed his head. Ji-Woon's eyes were closed, cheeks flushed and hallowed with every upward movement, gagging softly when you pushed your hips forward to force more of yourself into his mouth. God, he was beautiful sucking your cock on his knees in some elaborate black harness getup, makeup smudged and hidden away behind a clothing rack back stage.

It started six months ago when he first shoved you into the wall, kissing you with such vigor and desperation that you were instantly hooked. You understood the secretiveness. The hiding in the shadows, a quick rendezvous in your dressing room, the private meetings in a tinted limousine with the driver being bought into silence. You were very much so his dirty secret and you really did feel some ounce of sadness deep down, but it never managed to surface.  You couldn't find it in you to care too much when he fucked himself on your dick or had your legs high on his shoulders.

It was the thrill, the passion and the pleasure. The whirlwind that is Ji-Woon and his lifestyle.

xx

"Do you love me?" The question knocked the wind out of you as your thrusts came to a stuttering halt, balls deep with the Korean man nearly bent in half under you. Your face stayed buried in his neck as you caught your breath, trying to decipher if what you heard was correct.

"What?" The popstar pried your face away from his neck, forcing you to look into his eyes. Today's colored contacts were an icy blue.

"I said do you love me?"

Your face must have been a mess of emotions as you thought about the question. Panic, shock, confusion...you hadn't really thought about the relationship between you two. Neither of you had even brought up the subject of dating, but you did have feelings for the other man. With a few months of constant touching and flirtatious behavior, who wouldn't? You two spoke nearly everyday either in person or on the phone except for the few times he would inexplicably disappear just to come back, apologizing for the lack of response before cheerily announcing he has a new song in the works.

"I...yes. I love you." you said dumbly, unable to place the emotions inside your heart which quickly began hammering in your chest as a grin broke out on the popstars face.

"Of course you do, how could you not!" his cocky laugh rang out and you shoved him hard into the mattress and scolding him for springing that on you, his laughing turning into a high pitch moan when you rolled your hips. You set a brutal pace, burying your face in his neck once again to hide the disappointment and shame evident in your expressions. He didn't say it back.

xx

He wanted it rough most days. His requests went from mild to hardcore within the following month. He wanted to scratch your back hard enough to draw blood, hear your screams, be choked till he passed out, chain you up and whip you...It was manageable for awhile before the the final straw came.

"No," your eyes narrowed and focused on the blade in his hand, "you're not coming near me with that."

"Come on, I promise you won't even feel it! You'll be too busy feeling me bounce on your dick to notice!" you closed shut your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. You could imagine that feeling.

"I said no."

When you opened your eyes again you were face to face with the other man, clear anger splayed across his face as his pink contacts seemed to glow brighter with said displeasure. You'd seen him mad before, of course. The long hours in the studio, the plummeting sales, the meddling executives weighing in on his creative freedom...but you had never seen that anger directed at you before.

"You can't say no to me, you stupid boy," his hand fisted the front of your shirt into a ball, the knife glinting in your peripheral vision, and for once a genuine feeling of fear struck you, "you love me, remember?"

Ji-Woon was dangerous.

"Of course, sweetheart," you kept your tone level, loving and gentle, bringing your hand to cup his face. You brought the k-pop star close, beginning to rock side to side, "I do love you. How could I ever say no to you?"

A sweet kiss was enough to temporarily disarm Ji-Woon and the minute his grip loosened around the knife, you ducked out.

You sprinted out of the unlocked front door, scrambling to make it down the stairway, the sounds of furious screaming and clattering behind you as the other man gave chase. You barely managed to disappear within the crowds once you stepped out of the building. Your saving grace was the flood of paparazzi that swarmed your pursuer, blocking his path.

You would see a disheveled Ji-Woon on the front page of Seoul's popular tabloid within the next few days, questioning headlines about why the popstar was half undressed in the front of his apartment building and cursing at the top of his lungs. Most popular speculation was drugs.

You would claim it was an unofficial breakup after that day. You resigned from your position as a dancer for The Trickster, sold your apartment and moved to the states. You never told your folks or friends what happened, not that they would have believed you anyways. You left it all behind and never spoke to the hurricane of a man again.

Well...you at least never answered back. Ji-Woon messaged you at least twice a day. From simple "hey, how are you doing?" to short snippets of his cock deep in some girl's pussy.

Other messages were aggressive. Telling you that he could easily find where you ran off to and it would be nothing to drag you back to Korea by the hair. But the ones that truly dug into your skin were the audio messages. Most were of similar nature: conversational, lewd, abusive...then there came the desperation. He would audibly sob into the phone, pleading with you to come back or at least answer him once. Listening to his wailing almost broke your resolve.

You deleted the past chats and every new one that arrived from then on. The only message that made you pause before erasing was a virtual invite to his performance for the Mightee One committee; a VIP spot and a first class round-trip plane ticket scheduled for next month.

You obviously didn't go and when the news broke that a mass murder had taken place at said concert, you could only feel a pit sickness forming deep inside you.

It was reportedly a slaughter, all victims in attendance were confirmed dead. However, the bodies Yun-Jin Lee and Ji-Woon Hak were not amongst  the confirmed dead. They were nowhere to be found.

You did manage to move past those terrible events within the following year. Hell, it was somewhat easy to now that Ji-Woon wasn't ringing your phone everyday. Part of you had always wondered if he was acting the entire time, only messaging you so he could be sure that you wouldn't forget him. Another part of you thought about his disappearance.

Was he alive? Was he okay?

You swirled your drink, sinking deeper into your couch. The tv played some old show but you couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Your mind replayed some old memories that crushed you with a peculiar emotion you couldn't place. Allowing yourself to drop your head back against the top of the cushions, you tried to relax and move past those painful times.

Flashes of Ji-Woon interrupted your peace. Your body entangled with his, hands delicately tracing patterns in your skin and noses touching from the close proximity. The city's colorful lights peaked through the window blinds, illuminating his figure to you. Yellow contacts piercing in the dark as you held each other, mumbling sweet nothings.

Your eyes closed, bleary with the drunken reminiscing of the past.

You didn't see the fog rolling through your room.

xx

"Did you love me?" you gurgled out.

The Trickster kneeled to your level as you sat crumpled against the rotting wooden palette.

Your body seized slightly as the trauma to your head began to override adrenaline, your eyes trained on him to the best of their abilities but the darkness began to seep through. A hand reached out to tilt your head back up. The killer (your killer) held your stare, admiring the horrific beauty of your broken iris caused by the harsh strike to the side of your temple.

"Of course, you stupid boy." The Trickster chortled, thumb softly tracing circles into your cheek. You were fading fast, but there would be no relief or solace in your fast coming death, "I still do."

You closed your eyes as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to see those yellow eyes.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be here. I loved you so much that it brought you to hell for me."

The abyss took you and all you could do was accept the momentary peace of transition before you were thrown back into his hands.

There was no more hiding. No more prying eyes nor spotlight. Just him and you, interlocked permanently in this game that even death could not do you part.

[sixeyesgojo]

being their best friend hc

Summary: What’s it like to be their best friend?

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuji, Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge

Word count: -

Content warning: -

A/N: -

Gojo Satoru

Gosh, the two of you were so chaotic as best friends. Both of you were up to no good at least half of the time and frankly, it pissed quite some people off but neither of you could give a flying fuck about others, just snickering at the mischief you've caused

As a troublemaker yourself, you obviously support Gojo wholeheartedly in... opposing the higher-ups, I guess? You actually wanted him to overthrow them, it was time for change.

Who cares about the higher-ups anyway? They didn't really like you either

It's widely known that Gojo has no sense of private space, so expect him to frequently come very close

Not that you mind anyway, at some point you even picked up that habit of his

Naturally, there will be a lot of PDA, like his arm around your shoulder or something like that

Outsiders always think the two of you are dating but

"Hah? Dating that idiot? As if!" (you can choose whoever says that, either you about him or vice versa)

The two of you actually sit down together to make plans on how to get on other people's nerves and nobody is really spared. Like that one time when you made a plan to mess with poor Megumi.

You're a formidable Jujutsu Sorcerer yourself, so there will be a lot of competitions between you and him

"Where's my reward? I've defeated that curse 0.01 seconds faster than you!"

"You will get your reward if you're at home faster than I am."

Fushiguro Megumi

He frequently has to get you out of trouble; be it because of some trouble or a curse, this boy always has to get you out of the mess and he's a little annoyed but does it regardless

Will roll his eyes a lot but he loves you just as much, so he puts up with your antics without complaining.... much

frequently asks "are you actually stupid?", which usually earns him a slap on the shoulder from you

He may be annoyed at you sometimes but he would never dare hurt you in any way, he even shows his appreciation in the most Megumi way possible

When he shows you appreciation, it's usually through simple gestures like offering massages, going grocery shopping with you or buying something you've mentioned you needed (as a casual remark, which you didn't expect him to remember), usually accompanied by him rubbing his neck and averting his eyes, saying, "I thought you'd need this."

takes pictures whenever you hang out but not of you or him

For example, if you were going to have a video game night, he'd take one of the controllers and the games

You have to convince him to appear on a selfie with you

claims "I'm not photogenic" but he totally is

Since he isn't much of a talker, hanging out in silence is fine for him too

is very good at keeping secrets, he will take them to his grave

doesn't show it a lot but he's almost as protective of you as a big brother would be

Itadori Yuuji

This boy would totally do any favor you asked of him - not that you would exploit this, but just know that he would

Yuuji is a very good listener and he knows when and what to comment when you tell him something, despite being a little dense.

His bright and cheery attitude never ceases to cheer you up too, no matter in which mood you were before seeing him

He's the kind of friend who would do anything with you. You don't even have to put in a lot of effort in order to convince him, just hit him up casually and he will agree. Bungee Jumping? Easy. Skydiving? No problem.

The two of you are regular customers at the local cinema.

And probably at some fastfood chain too.

Unlike Megumi, Yuuji takes a lot of selfies with you. Most of them are dorky ones where the two of you just grimace and then laugh about how ugly that picture turned out to be. One of them ends up being his homescreen picture.

You actually know him since (at least) middle school - you've become best friends quite quickly, mostly thanks to his easygoing personality. Who doesn't love this boy?

When he discloses that he will move to Tokyo, your first reaction is to be shocked but then that quickly transforms into happiness because it's what he chose to do

Due to personal reasons, you also move to Tokyo not too long after that. One would say it was coincidence when it actuality, it was fate that wasn't allowing you to let go of Yuuji. Not that you wanted to anyway.

He definitely didn't expect that. When you reunite, you just throw up two peace signs and say, "Seems like we're stuck together."

A smile graces his lips and he replies as follows: "Wouldn't have it any other way, if you ask me."

Kugisaki Nobara

You haven't known her for long... but it sure feels like it has been years because you just get along so well

You accidentally bumped into her, making her drop everything. You felt bad, so you invited her to a cup of tea. It clicked almost instantly.

Since you are originally from Tokyo, she insists that you are her personal guide

"If I got lost, that would be terrible, so I hereby appoint you as my personal Tokyo guide."

Nobara often calls you and invites you to hang out in downtown quite spontaneously

expect lots of shopping sprees, lots of laughter and lots of gossip

One thing you started to associate with her was bubble tea. You think of her whenever you drink it alone.

Oh yes, she also likes to call you in the evening to just talk, especially when she has not been able to see you a lot lately due to missions

Sometimes you get her little gifts, like earrings that you thought suited her, and deliver it directly to the students' dorm

There will always be a happy reaction coming from her. She is especially grateful when she sees a little gift after a tough mission.

Gradually, she starts to do the same for you.

"This hoodie was so cool and comfy, I thought I'd get one for both, me and you."

Inumaki Toge

You're a Jujutsu Sorcerer from the Jujutsu Highschool in Kyoto and met this peculiar boy at the Exchange Event, as a rival initially

However, you were impressed and approached him to befriend him. He was pretty hesitant at first but ultimately, didn't sense any hostility coming from you, so he just went with the flow. Who knew, maybe you ended up being a good friend?

At first it was chaos since you had no idea what the hell he meant by "Mustard leaf."

Hah, luck's on your side though because you managed to decode his speech after some time

Nobody knows how you did that but as a matter of fact, you did. Took you long enough, in your opinion.

Sometimes he would grab a paper and write on it to communicate with you nevertheless, he thinks it feels more personal to be able to accurately convey what someone wants to say themself - not that you really needed it after having decoded his speech

As mentioned, you're also a sorcerer but thanks to Toge, you branched out to the medical field simultaneously, just to be able to concoct throat medicine for him. It was an unspoken tradition for you to bring him a bottle of your own throat medicine and onigiri whenever you saw him. The way his eyes lit up was always worth the effort.

Your favorite way to hang out was making onigiris and sushi together, you can't convince me otherwise

Same as Megumi, he does not mind spending quieter evenings with you

He comes to visit you in Kyoto just as many times as you visit Tokyo.

"Bonito flakes." - "Yeah, Toge, I know. I agree with you."

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra Dimitrescu x Maiden ----Valiant pt.2

Part 1

You don’t think you could catch a wink of sleep if you tried.

Your mind is just too busy to shut down. Nerves buzz across your whole body. You feel like you’re suspended in time, trapped in a loop endlessly replaying the previous night’s events. Your mistake was getting involved in affairs that didn’t concern you. In this village, that can very well be one’s undoing. You know it. You knew it.

Yet you still intervened. 

Like a fool.

If you close your eyes, you can still see her. The brunette Dimitrescu. A living painting of a woman in a background of howls and pitch-black darkness, who spoke with a lilting voice and prettily pronounced vowels –and complete disregard over human life.

Earning her amusement was the only reason you and the shopkeeper got to see another sunrise, although you have a sneaking suspicion it will be his last. Nobody disrespects a Dimitrescu and gets away with it. It may as well be law in the village –and the sentence for breaking it is very clear.

The man doesn’t remember what he did. It may be for the better, bitter as it feels to you. Either way, you try not to stare at him too much –nor the bruise on his face in the shape of your knuckles— when you enter his shop and ask for the brunette daughter’s order. It’s under the initials C.D. No name has been given and no address. He hasn’t realized who she is. Perhaps being permanently intoxicated has to do with it.

The box you receive weighs heavy in your hands, for more than one reason. Seeing it springs forth in your senses the expensive scent of her perfume, the tickle of her hair against your nose when she leaned in. Her lips were soft as a wildflower’s petals and cold as snow.

The “Thanks, sweetheart.” she said plays on repeat in your head.  

Of course, such is your luck that you couldn’t pine over any normal girl. It’s human nature, you suppose, to desire what’s forbidden, but that’s not the only adjective that describes her;

She’s lethal.

A certain part of you was aware the moment you looked into her blueish amber eyes. Like a snake being stared down by a hawk or a deer caught in the gaze of a wolf, your place in the food chain wasn’t quite the same. Part of you was –is— attracted to her beauty. Part of you was petrified.

The stories your mother told you about her family don’t help in that department. Maidens who have been taken as maids into their castle never came back. Nobody who passed that threshold ever returned. There are rumors about dungeons filled with wailing. Warnings, to avoid bloodied steps should one come across them in the forest. To fear the mark the three daughters bear on their foreheads.

Hours pass. The sun begins its descent down the plane of the sky.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll see it rise again.

You tell your employer you aren’t feeling well and need to take the evening off. You’ve worked non-stop so many days he doesn’t get to voice anything other than a grumble of acknowledgement.

It’s… a daunting experience, being alone after sunset.

You aren’t used to it, which makes it all the more jarring when the distant howling begins. You’re sitting in your couch with the nicest button-up shirt you have on –might as well look good dying, you figure— waiting.

And waiting.

Night has completely settled in. The cold penetrates your skin. You busy yourself with lighting the fireplace, pretending not to hear the sounds from outside. The cracking of wood helps, if only for a little bit. It gets a tad warmer, though you’re still chilled to the bone.

Perhaps she won’t come. you’re beginning to think.

But then, a peculiar sound comes from the other side of your door. Like the buzzing of insects, followed by a rush of air. Followed… by a knock on the wooden surface.

Your lungs suddenly empty of oxygen. If it was possible for a heart to jump right out a person’s chest yours would be doing just that. You have to answer but you’ve lost your voice. Every instinct screams at you to stay as far away from the door as humanly possible.

“It’s me.” you hear her muffled huff.

You summon all the courage you possess to walk to the entrance –and turn the handle. The brunette Dimitrescu is standing there in all her black-clad glory, eyes gleaming in the dark like gemstones. The very edge of her lip curves up upon seeing you. You move aside to let her in and waste zero seconds in closing the door behind her.

Her hood is pushed off in one graceful motion, revealing her waterfall of rich brown hair. “It’s cold in here.” she states, then turns to you. “Aren’t you freezing?”

You are, but that’s the least of your worries. “Kind of.” you say as you hover there awkwardly.

Your breath leaves a hint of smoke behind. Hers does not. You’re moving towards the box before your nerves cause you to break down in front of her.

It’s one thing to have a pretty girl in your house for the first time.

It’s entirely another when said pretty girl can also very easily kill you.

“Eager to get rid of me, beautiful?” she asks. There is obvious teasing in her voice but also an undertone of… something else. Disappointment, maybe. Whatever it is it strikes straight at your heart.

“I—no.” you reply, quickly. “Can I offer you something to drink, uh…” you still don’t know her name.

“Cassandra.” she smirks. A name as beautiful as the rest of her.

“Can I offer you a drink, Cassandra?” The offer makes her smirk widen, almost to the point of a grin. It’s cute but you’re not sure you want to know why the question amuses her so greatly.

“Depends.” she retorts, taking off her gloves. “My choice of drink is very… singular.”

“Well, there’s wine. It’s… good.”

She eyes you for a moment. There is hunger in her gaze, something deep, as it lingers over your collarbones. Then she averts her head in favor of looking about the house. It can’t be anything like the castle she lives in, but it’s quaint, at least. Her heels click against the wooden floor. They come to a stop in front of the small table your sketchbook lies upon.

“You draw?” she questions, curious as a child.

Please, don’t look inside. you pray. The rough sketches of sheet-clad brunettes will surely give your tastes away and your heart can’t take that embarrassment on top of everything else right now.

“Landscapes and stuff. When I’m bored.” you lie to save your dignity.

“I’m a bit of an artist myself.” she grins proudly. “I paint.”

“…acrylics?” you ask.

Cassandra gives you that secretive smile again. The one that is both hot and scary at once. “You could say that, yeah.” If any of the rumors have basis in reality, you don’t want to think about what she could be painting with. Some things are best left unsaid.

“So. I got your order.” you say, taking the box in your hands.

Cassandra walks to you and takes the object between her pale fingers like it weighs nothing. You’re left staring. At her hand, then her eyes, looking into your own with that same curiosity from earlier. “I’m sure mother will like it.” Then, after a pause, “She’d like you, too.”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

“You’d look good in the castle. But then I’d have to share you and I don’t think I’d like that.” Her fingers absently toy with the hem of your shirt while she speaks. It’s terribly distracting, to the point you almost miss what she says. It’s not fair that everything about Cassandra is just so damn attractive…

You like her, you realize. You already knew that you’re weak to her looks and her grace and the way she talks, so it’s not a startling revelation. But what is surprising is the mirror of what you’re thinking in her eyes. She likes you back.

She could just turn and leave, yet she doesn’t.

Instead, she lifts her hand to your chin. Traps it between thumb and pointer… and leans in. You think she’s going to kiss you goodbye on the cheek again, like the last time. Instead, her lips find the corner of your mouth and leave you breathless.

For a heartbeat, you don’t move.

Cassandra lingers, almost unsure but unwilling to let go.

A certain part of your brain is triggered and the sense of danger and reason keeping you back evaporates. You turn your head to kiss her fully, sucking on her lower lip, running your tongue over its softness until she opens her mouth to let you in. She tastes like strawberry lipbalm and wine and oh God you’ll die right there with that little moan she gives.

You end up holding her sides and she the back of your neck until you have to pull back or you’ll melt into an aroused puddle on the floor.

She looks as dazed as you feel. Her nails dig into your skin but your warmed body only draws pleasure from the slight sting.

Cassandra’s hooded eyes drop to your throat like a woman left thirsty in the desert far too long. “…does the offer for a drink still apply?” The breathy quality her voice has taken does things to you. You can only nod and trust she won’t kill you. She did ask, so your chances are probably decent.

Brown hair tickles your nose. She’s wonderfully close, the length of her cool body pressed against yours. You can feel the swell of her breasts and the firmness of her thigh almost as if there are no clothes between you. Your body is alight, heart pounding. You want her.

“Keep still for me, beautiful.” she says with a little growl to your ear and—

Pain comes.

Sharp. Biting.

You don’t expect it. A harsh gasp leaves your throat. You can feel twin needles embedded in your skin, breaking open your vein. The corners of your eyes prickle. Something thick and wet trails down your collarbone while she swallows mouthfuls, keeping you tighter in place. It’s agonizing, at first, but the area begins to numb, then fill with a pleasant tingle.

You can’t tell when Cassandra stops drinking from you, but you feel her tongue on your neck, following the red trail down before it ruins your shirt.

Your brain can’t comprehend what just happened, yet something about it is just so raw and erotic you know you won’t be able to sleep for days without the thought of her haunting you.

“You’re delicious, darling.” she breathes, eyes brighter than before, licking her lips like a lioness.

You want to reply, but you nearly wobble on your feet. “Ugh.”

“Take it easy and dress your wound.” she smiles, fingertips tracing the slope of your jaw. “I’ll come by again, sometime.”

Your hands tighten on her sides, but she only gives a little laugh –and steps away too easily. Her hood is pulled back on. A last molten look is sent over her shoulder.

Then, your mind halts for the hundredth time that night as you watch her figure disperse into a swarm of insects and black swirls. The door closes behind Cassandra.

Your hand slowly reaches up to your neck, where the imprint of her teeth in you –her mark left on you– yet throbs.

Ko-Fi

[gabenathreversebang]

GabeNath Reverse Bang 2020 Masterpost

Lady in Blue

When Gabriel akumatizes Audrey again, it goes awry and backfires on him. When he, Ladybug and Chat Noir are compromised, Nathalie decides it’s time for her to take matters into her own hands.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Changing Hearts and Changing Tides

The Agreste boys and their plus one, Nathalie, have decided to spend the week in a cabin by the coast. While Gabriel tries to mend his fractured relationship with Adrien, Nathalie is more or less there to keep the peace, but she soon finds herself out of her depth. With emotions shifting as frequently as the tide can the trio band together and take strides towards the future, or will they be swept out to sea and left hanging?

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Your Sword and Shield

The last time the Graham de Vanilys showed up to the Agreste mansion, they proved they are not to be trusted. Nathalie should have known Amelie would go to treacherous lengths to get under her skin. After a tense confrontation and the shocking reveal of a new villain, Nathalie must step into a new role to protect the one she loves.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

A Moment of Reflection

After a particularly upsetting defeat, Gabriel is feeling like it might be time to throw in the butterfly brooch and move on. Nathalie tries to encourage him to continue but even she has some reservations about the idea. The two have a heart to heart over some brandy and learn things about each other.

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well, of course i’ve tried lavender

K O E L N @archekoeln you think, i didn’t know mayura was the type to resort to something like this? but you’re wrong, because now you’re being carried like a sack of potatoes above paris and, 3/11

K O E L N @archekoeln well, the view’s nice and all but you’re also in the arms of a villain??? 4/11

K O E L N @archekoeln you also think, how is she so strong??? because you know you aren’t as light as a feather (haha i’m funny) and her arms are skinny af, but you know, magic i guess 5/11

or

An online thread about Mayura sparks something in Gabriel. And as her boss (and friend, and villainous partner, and her something), isn’t it his job to… to do what exactly? Well, even he doesn’t know.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Superheroes, in daily life, usually remained hidden. Men and women, bestowed with god-like powers, living among those whose only powers remained in their knowledge and talents. One of these heroes was Mayura, a peacock-themed superheroine with the power to create new life. As more laborers were going on strike, Mayura’s efforts to keep the economy from deflating were more crucial than ever. Because of her, livelihoods were kept intact for the destitute. For the corporate overlords, however, she was the bane of their luxurious existence. But what does this mean to Gabriel Agreste?

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Broken Arrow

Ordinary innkeeper Nathalie is plagued with visions of a captive Gabriel, begging for help. She sets out to recruit his son Adrien, the Demigod of Love, to aid her in freeing Gabriel from Emilie, the goddess of beauty. But Nathalie doesn’t know the secret that Adrien keeps from her that may tear them all apart.

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Gabriel’s Inferno

Nothing seemed to predict how it all would end, and yet it had to have been obvious. It had been weeks since Mayura’s last appearance and he didn’t even let her go out to fight in person, but a broken miraculous doesn’t get carried away by precautions once it’s activated. With Nathalie balancing between life and death, Gabriel will have the opportunity to fix things or lose himself forever in a hellish battle that will overcome all nightmares.

Fanfic (English), archived Fanfic (Spanish), archived Art, archived

If I Could Turn Back Time

Gabriel and Nathalie obtain the rabbit miraculous and travel into the paths of time as Velveteen and Mayura, with the goal of preventing the chain of events that would lead to Emilie’s death. But on their way to Tibet, they encounter surprising visions of possible futures that leave them questioning what is possible and what they really want.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

This is Hallowe’en

With All Hallow’s Eve hanging over their heads, the Agreste household gets wrapped into celebrating Samhain. With Gabriel and Adrien following Nathalie’s knowledgeable path, they can not fail, probably. This moderately functional family will honor Emilie Agreste in the best ways they can.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Malleable Fates

A red thread starts materializing around Gabriel’s finger nearly two decades after he’s already found his soulmate. As he and Nathalie devise a faultless plan to finally win Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous and bring back his wife, Gabriel fights the onslaught of confusing feelings brought about the mysterious reappearance of his soulmate string - including the sneaking suspicion that his soulmate maybe isn’t who she used to be.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

The Splintered Soul Staring Back At Me

In the aftermath of the battle and a brief hospital stay, Nathalie is safe at home. Her recovery has been a bit stagnant, but she’s been granted leave from work and the miraculous is finally fixed. Things can only go up from here, right?

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

With the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wing

It only took one little thing, the barest of moments, for Duusu to feel their love, and decide that they had to do something about it. Which was how Duusu ended up roping Nooroo into trying everything under the sun to match up their two stubborn holders.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

The Orders He Defies

After her husband’s death, Nathalie Sancoeur fell into deep despair. Determined to bring him back, she set her goal on obtaining the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous, using the power of her own one. All her attempts for the last year, however, were futile. Should she remain careful? Or should she let it all burn, as her assistant Gabriel suggests she should? And is the goal even worth its price?

Fanfic (English), archived Fanfic (Ukranian), archived Art, archived

Royal Pain

Nathalie liked to think that she would make a pretty good king. If she had been born as the opposite sex, anyways. But as the facts were, Princess Nathalie Sancoeur had a duty thrust upon her that she would rather have not, all things considered: to be married to a foreign prince, in order to bring good fortune to her family and kingdom, and bolster their strength should the rapidly-cooling relations with one of the neighboring countries turn into a full-blown war. It was enough to make her gag every time she thought of it.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Dancing on Broken Glass

It was Lila that almost reduced Paris to rubble.It was that conflict that caused an irreversible change to two miraculous holders.It was that change that brought them together.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Anagnorisis

«Define Hubris»

Gabriel never considered how much a Deus Ex Machina would cost.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Worth

It’s been seventeen years since Nathalie and Gabriel sat in the cramped studio working hard to get the brand off the ground, and now he can’t help but reflect on those long-forgotten years.

Before Emilie. Before Adrien. Before the money and fame.

As he looks at her across his desk… he wonders if it was all worth it.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

A Witch’s Desire

Gabriel Agreste was a peculiar man, who was known around town both as a famous fashion designer and a powerful witch who was able to read and control minds, though he never used that second power unless there was a real emergency. Heck, he barely even used the first. But after losing his wife, Gabriel becomes desperate to do anything he can to bring her back, even that means using his powers for evil, or tracking down a mysterious powerful witch who had disappeared many years ago, with the power to bring the dead back to life.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Not a Minute of Peace

Even though the akuma wants to shackle them, the Collector and Catalyst have more freedom than Gabriel and Nathalie ever had. They may be criminals turned into prey, but they enjoy the hunt. There is only one thing they are running from.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Revision

Nathalie made the wish.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

The Woman With The Golden Feathers

The annual Bourgeois masquerade comes at the right time for Gabriel. In a moment of personal uncertainty after his discreet divorce, he will find the possible answer in a mysterious lady with golden feathers.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Time and Time Again

The stress of being a young designer trying to make it in the fashion industry is taking its toll, and Gabriel’s and Nathalie’s marriage is slowly unraveling.

They’ve stood the tests of life since their first year of university, but when everything comes crashing down, Gabriel finds himself stuck reliving the day it happened. Failing and falling, time and time again with every passing ‘day’. Why is he here? How can he stop it? The answer lies in a choice as to what matters more: his career or the woman who has stood by him through it all.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Clarity

A year after Hawkmoth’s surrender, Gabriel asks Nathalie to join him to gaze at the stars. While she waits for him, she contemplates the empty space left by the removal of the portrait from the foyer hall. Growth ensues for them both as they learn to just be by each other’s side.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

C’est la Vie; C’est le Ballet

After the death of his wife, upstart choreographer Gabriel Agreste is looking for a new star for his ballet, Miraculous. Hard to please and willing to do whatever it takes for the sake of the show, none of the auditionees fit his artistic vision…

…except Nathalie, a former prima ballerina turned ballet instructor. She’s stoic and very dedicated to her craft, but there’s a reason she stopped performing four years ago and it has dangerous potential.

Through the trials and triumphs and betrayals that run hand in hand with the world of ballet, Gabriel and Nathalie begin to find something more in each other’s company, and perhaps the seeds of new beginnings.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

I’m Praying (There’s Saving)

It was to be Gabriel’s first party on Olympus, but little did he know it would also be the last. Not only for him, but for everyone. In the blink of an eye everything changed, sending the god of nature and his newborn son to take refuge with the Queen of the Dead. They thought they were safe, but even the depths of the underworld couldn’t escape the King’s wrath forever.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

[sincerelybluevase]

Careful, Madam Chapter Seven

A/N: Here it is, the final chapter! Thank everyone for being so patient with this one (the first chapter was published in June 2020, insane how time flies) and for the lovely comments; they mean a lot to me! For a gorgeous preview made by @thegirlisuedtobe, click here. Tagging @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not, @mlletina, @msmaryadmitrievna, @solattea, @halewynslady.

Maxim was the first to speak. “Steady, Mrs Danvers. You wouldn’t want to shoot me.”

Mrs Danvers did not waver. She held the gun steady. Not a muscle in her face moved so that she seemed hard and resolute to me, marble-made. “Let go of Mrs de Winter, sir.”

He released my arm with a theatrical motion, raising splayed hands in mock surrender.

“Come to me, Madam.”

I went so quickly I nearly stumbled. I wished to clutch her arm, to feel the reassuring solidness of her long lean limbs, but I was afraid of what might happen; I didn’t want to set off the gun by accident.

Maxim looked at us with hatred. His face had turned cold and masklike with it. “Now what?” he asked. “You’ll shoot me, Mrs Danvers?”

“I will if you force me, sir,” she said.

“And then what, Mrs Danvers? What happens then? Have you thought about that? Should you kill me, you will hang; the law won’t take pity on you for being a woman. They’ll string you up by that thin neck of yours until you are dead.”

“They won’t if they know what you are, sir.”

“And what am I?”

She glanced at me, at my reddening cheek. “A murderer and a wife-beater.”

He laughed coldly. “That’s no reason to shoot me, now is it, Mrs Danvers? I think you and I and the law can all agree on that.”

“It is if you provoked me, if you threatened your wife and unborn child, sir.”

The laughter petered out. Still he smiled, showing his sharp canines. “You’d have to aim well then, Mrs Danvers, and kill me with one shot, because if you leave me well enough to talk, you’ll be done for. Who do you think the police and lawmen will believe: me, a gentleman with an impeccable reputation, or you, a mad, old, sexually-frustrated maid with unnatural tendencies?”

I wished to speak so I could defend her, but fear held me in its grip, petrifying and silencing me.

Mrs Danvers set her jaw and tightened her grip around the gun. “I’m a good marksman, sir. If I aim to kill, I shall.”

“Perhaps,” Maxim jeered, “but are you certain? And are you absolutely certain that, even if you kill me, you won’t go to prison? They’re harsh places, prisons. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cold, damp room, with only a strip of sky to remind you of what lies outside?”

Still Mrs Danvers held the gun steady, her joints seemingly locked into place. “Here’s what men like you don’t understand,” she said softly, “I gave the best years of my life to your first wife; I’m willing to lay down what years remain to me for your second.”

My love for her made a pain rise in my throat. I swallowed against the tears. I looked at Maxim, thinking he would refute her or curse at her. He did no such thing. Instead, he began to yawn, making a great show of it, his mouth opened so wide I could see the fillings in his molars. When he was done, his eyes watered. He brushed the tears away with a fingertip, then turned to me. “You shall stop this nonsense right now,” he said. He spoke as if I was a naughty child.

I shook my head. I could not speak.

A vein at his temple began to throb. I could see it jump around under the skin, writhing like a worm. “Oh, but you shall. You shall stay here, with me, and we shall forget this moment of madness. Mrs Danvers shall have to go, of course, no sane man would keep a housekeeper who pulled a gun on him, but I shan’t press charges. I’ll even give her a good reference. A woman with her qualities can work for any fine family in England. But you, my little darling, shall remain here, by my side, as my wife and the mother of my children.”

“No,” I whispered.

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I don’t want to stay.”

He laughed in disbelief. “You don’t want to stay? Do you understand what you’re saying? Before you met me, you had no friends or kin, money, no prospects. You were an old lady’s plaything, her little whipping boy. I raised you up out of darkness. I gave you a name, a house, a reputation to uphold. Without me you have nothing and you are no one, just a grubby little schoolgirl with bad nails and a name no one can spell. Do you hear me? You are nothing!”

“She won’t be nothing. She’ll be my mine,” Mrs Danvers said.

With a roar, Maxim lunged at her. She pulled the trigger, but he knocked the gun out of her hand. The shot went wild, the bullet damaging one of the plaster leaves on the ceiling, causing crumbs to rain down dryly. The gun fell to the floor, skidded, came to rest not a step away from me.

Maxim punched Mrs Danvers in the face, once, twice, thrice. Her head snapped back. She staggered. Blood poured down her mouth and chin. She made a soft choking sound, coughed. Drops of blood flew from between her lips.

“Stop!” I meant to scream it, but it came out as a whisper.

Again Maxim struck her. This time she stumbled and fell, her skirts billowing around her like black sails. He bent over her and continued to beat her. His fists came down on her face and throat again and again and again, dull slaps of flesh against flesh.

“Maxim! Maxim, stop! You’ll kill her!” I screamed. The sound carried, though for all the good it did, I might well have kept my tongue; Maxim continued to brutally, systematically beat Mrs Danvers. She tried to sit up to fend him off, but he pushed her down. Again she rose, again he beat her down.

As a child, I had witnessed our cat playing with a mouse. It would let it run, only to smack it down with its paw before it could get away. The mouse didn’t stand a chance, yet it persisted hopelessly, just as Mrs Danvers would persist in trying to sit up until she could rise no more.  

There was only one thing to do. I bent down and took hold of the gun. It was still cool despite Mrs Danvers’ grip. I raised it and found it surprisingly heavy for its size; it almost slipped out of my clammy hand. With one eye closed I aimed the gun at Maxim, but I was shaking and dared not fire for fear of hurting Mrs Danvers.

I brought the gun to my temple instead. “Maxim, look at me,” I shouted. “I’ll kill myself! I’ll kill myself and your unborn child if you don’t stop!”

He looked over his shoulder. His face was spattered with blood, his lip curled into a snarl. He let go of Mrs Danvers’ dress, causing her to thud to the ground, and came to his feet. “Don’t!” he said. “Don’t you dare!” He stumbled to me, his hands outstretched to wrest the gun from me.

I pointed the gun at him, closed my eyes, and shot.

*

All of this happened many years ago. My life now is very different from the one I led at Manderley. I’ve said goodbye to England and now have no estate to call my home, no husband to lord over me. Here, my name means nothing, and my face, once plastered over every English newspaper, is just another face, easily forgotten. No one need know that I once was the second Mrs de Winter, the one who everyone knows because she killed her husband. An act in which she was justified, of course, since he had murdered his first wife and now wished to kill her, too, before putting a bullet through his own brain, but that never made the case any less sensational. Whenever I think of it – which, when I am honest, is seldom but still too often for my taste – I can’t help but smile wryly. After all, there is a cruel sort of irony to the whole affair; Maxim killed Rebecca to safeguard Manderley’s reputation, but her murder proved to be the first link in a chain of events that would lead to a nationwide scandal. If I close my eyes, I can still see the reporters pressed against the gates, pen and notepad in hand, clamouring to see me.

There are no reporters in my new life. They do not know where I am, and to the local ones I am of no interest. I live in a cool little cottage, painstakingly paid for with the money I earn with my drawing lessons; I have given away everything I inherited upon Maxim’s death, for I never desired his money even before it became tainted with murder and madness.

Every day is much the same, but that I don’t mind. There’s comfort in familiarity, safety in routine, and after all that we’ve lived through, Danny and I have a certain hankering for comfort. Besides, raising a child together provides plenty of challenges and excitement, we’ve found.

Dear Danny. She’s wonderfully patient with me. I fear I am not always easy to live with. For all my efforts, I’ve not been able to banish the past completely. It still inhabits and possesses a part of me, one that I can fight when awake but must succumb to in slumber, so that, at night, I walk the grounds of Manderley once more. In my dreams, the house and grounds have fallen victim to rot and ruin. The lawn has gone to seed, sickness has turned the chestnut tree into a bleached husk, and the rhododendrons have reared to the fantastic heights of fairy-tale briars. The house itself sags to the side, its walls pockmarked by sour rain, the windows dirty and broken.

But for all its neglect, it is not uninhabited. I do not talk of the birds and bats roosting in the rafters, nor of the mice living underneath the floorboards and the silverfish who slowly eat away the wallpaper.

The library, with its masculine smell of leather and smoke and newspaper ink, is his domain in death as it was in life. There, he paces up and down, up and down. All that pacing has worn the carpet to threads. Each night I must go to him. It does not matter that I am unwilling; my mind and feet betray me, and take me to him. He knows that I am coming and awaits me with impatience, smoking cigarettes in quick succession, littering the ground with ash and butts. His face, once so handsome in a peculiar, medieval way, is ruined by the shot that killed him. It turned his left eye to pulp and smashed the orbital bones to pieces so that the area around the eye is curiously dented.

There must have been no time for Maxim to realise my betrayal; the bullet bored itself into his brain, killing him instantly. The Maxim of my dreams, though, gives me an amused, cruel little smile. Then – just as my life has become routine, my dreams have, too, and so this next moment never varies – he opens his arms to me. I don’t want to, but I must step into his embrace. He pulls me close to him until my head rests against his chest, against the fabric of his tweed jacket turned sodden by blood and the jelly leaking from his burst eye.

“My little love,” he murmurs as he strokes my hair, his breath stinking of the grave, “you didn’t think you’d ever be free of me, now did you? I shall never let you go.”

It is then I wake, gasping and sobbing.

Danny aims to soothe me, kissing my face and folding her long arms around me. I cling to her so tightly it must hurt. She’s no longer as strong as she used to be. No one would be after what Maxim did to her. He damaged her left eye to the point of blindness. During the years, it has turned milky white. She has taken to wearing a velvet eyepatch over it to keep out the light, for even the flame of a candle upon her left eye can trigger a mighty headache. Even covered up it pains her, but she never complains.

She holds me well after the shaking has subsided, kissing my hair. I kiss her throat in return, her chin, her cool sweet mouth. I always hesitate when I reach the scars Maxim left on her face. He embossed her cheek with his signet ring, the M and W intertwined. Yet whenever I hesitate, she brings her mouth to my ear. “No need to be careful, Madam,” she whispers, and then I know.

I have someone in this world to call my own.

I have someone to love.

[aalapdavjekar]

8 Lessons from Vipassana

2010 was a peculiar year. It was the year in which I found the great fortune of stumbling upon a book about the bizarre incidents and experiences of an Australian girl voyaging through the Indian subcontinent. The book — a 21st century rewrite of the lore of the hippie trail, offered little towards cerebral surprises, but made for a curious viewing of the life of someone who was brave (or foolish) enough to have gone through all the trouble that she did for the experiences she sought.

The author chronicled days spent discovering religion and spiritual heaven while avoiding hell — nosy neighbours, opportunistic rickshaw-wallas, and the odd would-be rapist. She portrays an all too familiar India — the world’s spiritual shopping mall serving food-poisoning on Tuesdays, vehicular accidents every Friday, and frightening latrines as a daily course. Not all of her pages carried so much drama, but they laid out a rough sketch of the trials and tribulations of the average foreigner in attempting to make sense of the country.

The smallest chapter in the book spoke to me the most. There was a tiny passage that depicted the joy and punishing solitude of the type rarely considered as thrill — monastic rituals, austere and rigorous routines, distress and hardship — it seemed a bit too much for anyone, let alone a solo adventurer. And yet, it seemed like just about the only thing she really enjoyed during her trip.

That was my introduction to Vipassana. That first memory is still fresh: the desire to confront this awkward specimen of a situation for myself, only because, at the time, it seemed so bizarre. To my ignorant mind, I could not have comprehended the result of ten long days (and nights), sitting around without the utterance of a single syllable. If nothing else, it would just be yet another substance: to taste, chew on, spit out, and rave about having conquered yet another mountain of sensory input; spin it all into a tall tale of profundity and wisdom.

Thankfully, the taste was sweet. To me, this became pretty important. It felt like a gigantic discovery and I often found myself proselytizing like a broken record for days after the first course. I eventually stopped for being seen as a bit of a nuisance, however, my fascination with the practice only grew with time. In those ten short days, I had experienced a deep, resounding change from within. As difficult as the journey had been, I only knew I had to keep going.

That was all ten years ago. 2010 was peculiar, but a dozen Vipassana courses later, life only became weirder.

It’s the stark contrast that gets you; the juxtaposition of life inside a course, and then witnessing the world outside. It is hard to illustrate and is not really the point of this post, but I mention it only because I’d like to warn you that many of the lessons I’ve learnt are all experiential truths. Simply engaging the intellect is not enough. You can’t describe the taste of salt to someone who has never experienced it before, and you can’t learn to swim simply by reading about it.

With that said, understand that even though I have been practicing for a while, it does not mean I have achieved any form of mastery over my practice. I still consider this as the just the first step in a very long path. I share these insights, all of which have broadened and enriched my understanding of not only myself, but of all-encompassing experience existence in itself. My only hope is to encourage you to sit down and focus on your breath.

1. Relaxing meditation is more like aggressive deconditioning…

The mind is a big ball of accumulated, tightly-knotted habits. Habits are not merely mundane proclivities like picking your nose, or a preference for K-pop. Habits are the set of all unconscious tendencies, picked up over the course of one’s life and through generations past, resulting in present thought, action, or both. Natural instincts such as the struggle to survive and the urge for sexual gratification are among the densest of elements residing within the mental landscape.

Mental forces are easiest to imagine when you think of them as analogous to Newton’s Third Law: each action has an equal and opposite reaction. As the mind sees, the mind does. Cause and effect. Through millions of years of evolution, the mind has been shaped to recognize and react to patterns. Certain emotions may result in specific thoughts. Certain thoughts may result in specific behaviours.

When you sit down to practice Vipassana, you essentially train yourself to observe the mind without reacting. The process may not seem like much but, with time, the simple act of observation decreases the rigidity and impulsiveness of the mind. Gradually, the simple act of watching it unravel before you, unveiling its knots until they loosen and eventually fade away, brings about a significant change. This does not mean that after ten days of meditation you will deprogram your mind and achieve liberation. It is a very gradual process. Believe me. Even after all these years, I’ve only scratched the surface and, so far, I’ve managed to adopt a slightly better diet. But I have better focus, more clarity of thought, less anxiety, and things that used to drive me crazy don’t annoy me as much anymore.

Meditation will change your brain. Thoughts included.

2. You are your mind’s weak, pathetic slave.

At any given time, you have very little conscious ability to overrule your genetic programming, emotional state, and natural surroundings (many have even argued that there is no such thing as conscious control and free will is an illusion, but that is a discussion for another time). The goal of meditation is to break free from the mind’s thrall: it’s patterns of thought. That’s the liberation that meditators keep referring to time and again.

If you find it hard to believe how little control you have over your mind, try to focus continuously on the breath just for a few minutes and notice the amount of thoughts that manage to pop up. You’ll quickly see how easily the mind is carried away. It’ll drift away, either to the future, or to the past. Bringing it back and keeping it in the present is a constant, seemingly endless struggle.

Our toxic addiction to our own thoughts creates the biggest hurdle. Over the course of our lives, we have been conditioned by our parents, school, society, even language, to think a certain way. Like the words we associate with objects to learn the alphabet in kindergarten, we continuously associate abstractions — words — to ideas; to the way things work. Our names for objects, people, places, feelings, situations, etc. are just names. They are concepts that are formed in the mind. In other words, our brain holds maps to reality which are drawn and redrawn over the course of our lives. But the map is not the territory, yet we are constantly under the delusion that the map is real.

Our fascination and attachment to our artificial concepts of what is real, important, and urgent is what hinders progress— the practice is essentially training the mind not to identify with one’s thoughts. In other words, to heal trauma, you need to learn to dissociate with the feeling which triggers the trauma. Trauma comes in many shapes. It may take the form of the stories that we forge for ourselves to make sense of who we are. The story we tell ourselves turns into the very bondage that keeps us in indefinite servitude to the mind.

The mind is a slippery serpent, as dangerous when untamed as it is powerful when mastered. Most beginners often find it frustrating how difficult it is to ‘control’ their minds. But therein lies the effort. It is a skill to be cultivated like any other. Exasperation and the desire to stop is a natural byproduct of the conditioning described earlier. There is an inertia to progress that needs to be continuously overcome. With time, it gets easier.

Meditation is simply a tool to harness and rein in the unruly mind.

3. Everything is connected. Every action has a consequence, and it matters.

This can be argued as a simple scientific principle. Richard Feynman in his lecture, “The Relation of Physics to Other Sciences,” describes the artificial divisions we create, forming a myriad of distinct models of understanding to comprehend and explain to ourselves aspects of the same reality. Brian Cox takes it even further.

My understanding leans towards the philosophical side, but bear with me. Most religions and spiritual traditions preach purity of mind, speech, and deed. Whether through scripture or ritual, they teach compassion, loving kindness, mercy and wisdom. I’ve realized that there’s more to this than mere morality.

To greatly simplify this, let’s imagine the world as a closed, finite system — something like a small swimming pool. Any kind of movement results in ripples that gradually extend across the body of water, affecting everything in their path. Eventually, given enough time, those ripples will bounce right back to whence they came. Sooner or later, your actions will meet their maker. But don’t mistake this as a need to be nice out of selfish necessity. The picture is bigger than this.

The world, much like our hypothetical swimming pool, is a melting pot of events resulting from simultaneous interactions causing countless, spontaneous consequences. It’s a chain reaction and an ocean of chaos, with the ebb and flow of individual currents that mingle, coalesce and form waves, crashing into one another to give us the great churning of the wheel that Buddhists speak of, and the agitation that we are almost too familiar with.

The turbulence, in essence, is the mind being washed away with the tide, engulfed and drowned in the vicissitudes of a constantly changing life. To remain steadfast and solid in such stormy waters would require nothing short of supreme mastery in the art of mindfulness. A cornerstone of such an endeavour requires the cultivation of a conscious effort to sustain complete awareness and acceptance for the present moment.

When one remains vigilant of thought, speech, and deed, and acquires a resolute and unwavering focus, then all the torment the ocean can muster will be but powerless against this tranquil state of mind. But even beyond that, tranquility will give way to reflection, understanding, and empathy. In other words, when you respond to anger with love, you cast water over the fire.

With practice, each action undertaken will arrive with more effort, more purpose and consideration. That is the delicate insight to be gained — that every action, every moment, every breath is sacred. Every bit of conscious presence is a gift to be treasured.

4. Nothing matters as much as you think it does…

Vipassana meditation is an exercise in cultivating insight through self-observation. You watch your breath and the sensations across your body as they arise and pass away, each time acknowledging their transient and impermanent nature. That, you come to realize, is the truth of all reality.

You realize that suffering is a form of mental attachment, not to any external object, but to the sensation that object has on your mind. This attachment is sometimes so subtle and imperceptible that it is impossible to witness it without a mind that is steady and calm. These attachments are what cause dukkha or suffering. Attachments are not limited to sensations that feel good. Any sensation that makes you feel like had more of it or less of it — desire and aversion — is attachment. The mind runs after pleasure, runs from fear and pain. These are attachments and they are a hindrance to the practice.

As you grow into your practice, you will gradually slip out of your old patterns of thought, replacing them with a more open, willing, and fluid presence of mind. What once bothered you may gradually dissolve into nothingness. What once seemed as part of you, possessed you, caused emotional havoc when you didn’t get what you wanted, might simply vanish from existence. No, you won’t turn into an emotionless robot. No it won’t make you give up everything in life, turn into a vagrant and move to the beach, unless you already desired those things. Meditation will only help sort out what you really want.

Practice will help you detach yourself from your thoughts until you realize that your thoughts are not you. Feelings come, feelings go. They are impermanent, and they don’t matter. All it requires is time and the simple act of observation.

5. You are not an experiential bubble.

For many beginners trying to embrace the many forms of mindfulness, one of the toughest obstacles to overcome is doubt. It may be doubt in oneself, doubt in the practice, doubt in one’s teacher, and so on. But it’s a natural response to something new, especially to those completely unfamiliar with these types of practices. Imparting trust is a transactional habit. Unless one is certain of attainable benefits and can measure their worth, they may find an unwillingness to take even the first step.

Couple a doubtful mind with the myriad of mental encounters one may face during meditation and the result might just kill the desire for practice. People have reported everything from swirling lights, out-of-body experiences, synesthesia, to demons. This is not unusual. Meditation is a gateway into the unconscious — a surgical procedure as S.N. Goenka, the person who brought the teaching of Vipassana back to India, describes. Through the process of Sankharupekkha (observing mental formations with equanimity), the practitioner encounters dormant impurities in the unconscious that rise to the surface of the mind, and manifest themselves as physical phenomenon.

Juxtaposed with modern-day culture, the meditative experience stands out like a sore thumb, often causing its students great confusion and mistrust in the very quality of what they are learning. It doesn’t help that the ideas and general philosophy presented by spiritual traditions are outright antithetical to “western” schools of thought.

Concepts such as avidya, anicca, dukkha, shunyata, samsara and nirvana are like salt. These are concepts that are almost impossible to understand through mere language—one must personally taste them. They are often horribly misconstrued and usually thrown out, replaced by a far shallower understanding that barely skims the surface of the teaching, conflating meditation with stress reduction and labour productivity. After all, these are the values our industrial societies can easily relate to.

We often make it harder on ourselves by letting our experiences fester. Remember to talk about them, discuss them, debate their true essence, and let them be out in the open. Let these ideas, however alien, achieve coherence and solidity. Give them a better chance to struggle and survive. There are many people out there experiencing the same reality, watching the same movie, feeling the same thing. The emotional outlet, especially when you are starting out in this practice is immensely valuable. It’s a small thing but it matters.

After my first ten-day Vipassana course came to a close, as the new students could finally open their mouths and start speaking with each other about their ten days spent in silence, we could all see the benefits this strange new thing had given us. I was in a room full of fifty-odd people that seemed to have had a similar experience in the course as I did. They all seemed calmer than on the first day, happier for having made it through; in the process, they had visibly changed. That’s what brought forth trust in the system; not only because it seemed to work across a diverse set of people, but because it made me realize that we are all in the same boat.

6. Compassion takes practice.

There is no absolute right or wrong. Understanding which is which requires not only context but patience. An impulsive and ignorant mind does not have the capacity to form correct judgement. An angry and intolerant person cannot be trusted to make rational and thoughtful decisions. Why do you need to develop proper judgement? The simplest possible answer: to progress in your practice. Hence, while Vipassana may bring insight, on the last day of each course, students are taught a slightly different type of meditation.

Metta, meaning ‘loving-kindness’, is a type of meditation that involves concentrating on directing love towards ourselves and others, even those (especially those) who may have hurt us. A daily practice of metta has its benefits, but most significant of all, is the way it complements insight meditation and brings out lasting, positive changes in mind and body.

The feeling is hard to describe, but all I can say is that (at the risk of sounding cliched), through the course of one’s life, pain is an inevitability, but suffering through the pain is a choice. With regular practice in metta, instead of being swept away by one’s emotions, one learns to consciously bring awareness to the suffering being experienced and replace it with compassionate and loving thoughts. Suffering is simply a negative reaction of the mind to any form of pain. With practice, mental aversion to pain gradually fades. Like mental ointment, compassion can heal the deepest of wounds.

But compassion takes practice. Think of it as learning a new language. Even if you have no prior experience reading the script or pronouncing the words, with time, you might just achieve fluency.

Compassion towards all beings, regardless of the situation, is an important goal for anyone serious about walking the path. When you emanate a constant stream of loving thoughts without ever missing a beat, then you might definitely consider yourself having changed for the better.

7. It’s all just glorified play.

By the time children reach the age of 3 or 4, their ego begins to form a cohesive identity — a map of themselves: I am this, I like that, I want to be so and so. Whether through nature or nurture, the child learns to take on a role for themselves depending on what the situation may bring: during interactions with their parents, with other children, and with society in general.

From an early age, children are engaged in play. Their games may be diverse, but are usually a form of role-playing: tea parties, dollhouses, make-believe — simulations of the adult world, to test its boundaries and see how things react. Fueled by curiosity and the joy of discovery, they rehearse and solidify their understanding of their surroundings, finding their place in the greater familial and societal picture, and simultaneously strengthen their masks of identity.

The masks we carry, birthed from the ego, may be necessary for our survival, but they are simply roles — the games we continue to play even as adults, with ourselves and with others. When the student of Vipassana comes to notice their own desires and attachments to the world, the identity of the self is often seen as the greatest attachment. It is the great epic; the story of ourselves that we’re so engrossed in writing and reciting— and madly in love with.

This story never ends. It lies permanently in the state of becoming: I am like this, I like that, I want to be so and so. The attachment to a false idea of oneself is the most difficult thing to witness and understand. It is the biggest delusion of the mind, and the greatest hindrance to one’s liberation from samsara — the endless cycle of birth and death. Whether you choose to believe that is unimportant, but recognising one’s tendencies to cling to one’s beliefs, one’s masks and identity, is a crucial process towards self-discovery and insight.

Recognising the mind for what it is — a constant stream of consciousness always in flux — will bring you a step closer to deciphering it.

8. You Know Nothing.

I know nothing. For knowing involves being certain, but if everything is impermanent and things are constantly in flux, then nothing can be certain.

To understand how truly inept we are at comprehending reality, consider the incredibly narrow spectrum of perception our brains provide. Our sensory organs: the eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin offer only a slice of all the information that they come into contact with.

The eyes, for example, see only a thin slice of the electromagnetic spectrum, which we call visible light. Similarly, our hearing is restricted to frequencies of sound that fall between 20 Hz and 20 kHz. In the same way, we carry only a limited cognitive capability and intelligence.

It’s a humbling thought. At the very least, reminding oneself of the fragility of one’s understanding is a way to minimize cognitive bias. Further, since no one knows anything, knowing you know nothing will actually put you a step ahead of most people.

“I am wiser than this human being. For probably neither of us knows anything noble and good, but he supposes he knows something when he does not know, while I, just as I do not know, do not even suppose that I do. I am likely to be a little bit wiser than he in this very thing: that whatever I do not know, I do not even suppose I know.” — Plato’s Apology of Socrates

Similarly, from the Dhammapada:

“A fool who knows his foolishness is wise at least to that extent, but a fool who thinks himself wise is a fool indeed.”

Lastly, Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese Zen Master calls the state of knowing nothing the “beginner’s mind,” the constant prerequisite for progressing in one’s practice:

“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” — from Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

May all beings be happy.

[germanicseidr]

Chatti

 The Chatti were a Germanic tribe located in modern day Hesse and southern Saxony, Germany. They were one of the largest and most powerful tribes of Germania, only the Cherusci were as large as the Chatti tribe. I have written a post about this tribe last year but I wanted to add more information and of course this group has gained so many new members since last year, that most probably missed my previous post on this tribe. Also thanks to Netflix’ new show ‘the Barbarians’ the Chatti has gained more attention. Somewhere around 100BC, there was a huge internal conflict in the Chatti tribe, this conflict resulted in the split of the tribe. Two groups of Chatti tribesmen/women migrated towards the lower Rhine area in modern day Netherlands, this is how the Batavi and Cananefates were born.

The meaning of the tribe’s name isn’t 100% certain but most theories lead to the following meaning: ‘the angry’ or ‘the haters’ from the Proto-Germanic word Hataz. If this is the correct meaning of their name, it is quite a curious one. Why would a tribe call themselves like that? It might have something to do with a conflict that they experienced with another tribe or the conflict that caused the tribe to split back in 100BC. Perhaps the tribe’s name isn’t Germanic in origin at all. Another theory suggests that the word Chatti comes from the Proto-Celtic word Cat which means ‘battle’ or ‘fight’. If this is the case, the pronunciation is also different ‘Khatti’. Yet again these are just theories and nothing is 100% certain. The modern day region of Hesse, where the Chatti once lived, has most likely been named after the tribe.

The first written records about this tribe came from Nero Claudius Drusus Germanicus, the stepson of emperor Augustus. After Germanicus was appointed as the governour of Gaul, he launched a series of campaigns into Germania in an attempt to conquer Germania just like how Gaul was conquered and added to the Roman empire. The first of his campaigns started in 12BC and was very succesful for Germanicus. He crossed the Rhine with his army and subjugated the Sicambri tribe. Germanicus was also the first Roman to reach the Weser river in northern Germany, close to modern day Denmark.

During a later campaign in the same year, he also subjugated the Batavi and the Frisii and defeated the Chauci at the river Weser. In the following year, 11BC, Germanicus defeated the Marsii, Bructeri and the Usipetes. From 10-9BC Germanicus also defeated the Chatti, Cherusci and Marcomanni. It seems as though nothing could stop him from conquering all of Germania, he almost succeeded at this until a fall from his horse during his fourth campaign killed him. It is likely that Germania would have become a Roman province if Germanicus didn’t fell off his horse.

It was during Drusus Germanicus’ campaigns that the famous Arminius of the Cherusci was sent to Rome as tribute by his father, together with his brother Flavus. Relationships between the Cherusci and the Romans continued to sour in the following years after their defeat by the Romans during Germanicus’ campaigns. This eventually led to Arminius revolting against the Romans in 9AD. The king of the Chatti, Adgandestrius, was quick to join Arminius. The Chatti also haven’t forgotten Germanicus’ campaigns in Germania. The revolt led to the famous Teutoburgerwald battle during which three Roman legions were completely destroyed

This battle would be the biggest military defeat for Rome. While Germanicus almost succeeded at conquering Germania, this battle led to the abandonment of all plans to expand the Roman empire into Germania. Permanent borders were established along the Rhine river which kept Germania free. Interestingly enough, Adgandestrius turned against Arminius in 19AD. He even went as far as to ask Rome for help in assassinating Arminius with poison. This request was denied by the Romans as they saw this as a dishonourable way to defeat Arminius, the Romans prefered to meet him in battle. Arminius died two years later, betrayed and murdered by his own people who thought that Arminius was getting way too powerful. (Hope I didn’t just spoil the show for you guys, I still haven’t watched it)

Almost half a century later, another conflict broke out, this time between the Chatti and the Hermunduri in 58AD. Both tribes fought for control over a river that was rich in salt that flowed between the two tribes. This whole conflict has been recorded by Tacitus who described that this river was also very religiously important to the Germanic people. It is not certain which river is mentioned by Tacitus, it is either the Rhine or Main (a river connected to the Rhine). The Germanic people believed that this river was closely connected to the realm of the Gods. If you would make a prayer at the banks of the river Rhine, it would be directly received by the Gods. Both tribes also vowed their enemies to Tyr and Wodan before the battle started. This vow meant that the defeated party was sacrificed to Tyr and Wodan, unfortunately for the Chatti, they lost this battle.

Another revolt broke out in 69AD, this time the Batavi revolted against the Roman empire. The Chatti also joined this rebellion, even though the Batavi were once part of the Chatti and left due to a conflict. The Batavi were able to destroy two Roman legions and several Roman fortifications before the revolt was put down. The Chatti laid siege to Mogontiacum, modern day city of Mainz. Even though the Romans lost their trust in the Batavi, they recognized their strong fighting power and are named the strongest of all the Germanic tribes, not in number but in skills.

20 years later in 89AD, the Chatti joined another revolt. This time two Roman legions under Antoninus Saturninus revolted against emperor Dominitan. Unfortunately all documents describing this event are lost or destroyed so we can sadly never know what event led to two Roman legions revolting against their emperor. There is a theory that the revolt was caused by Dominitan’s strict moral policies for the officers of the army. The revolt however failed before it could really begin. It would have been interesting to observe this revolt if it had succeeded, a curious sight Romans and Chatti warriors fighting side by side.

In 98AD Tacitus published his famous work the Germania, in this work he describes the Chatti as following: “Beyond these dwell the Chatti, whose settlements, beginning from the Hercynian forest, are in a tract of country less open and marshy than those which overspread the other states of Germany, for it consists of a continued range of hills, which gradually become more scattered and the Hercynian forest both accompanies and leaves behind, its Chatti.

This nation is distinguished by hardier frames,  compactness of limb, fierceness of countenance, and superior vigor of mind. For Germanics, they have a considerable share of understanding and sagacity, they choose able persons to command, and obey them when chosen, keep their ranks, seize opportunities, restrain impetuous motions, distribute properly the business of the day, intrench themselves against the night, account fortune dubious, and valor only certain, and, what is extremely rare, and only a consequence of discipline, depend more upon the general than the army.

Their force consists entirely in infantry who, besides their arms, are obliged to carry tools and provisions. Other nations appear to go to a battle, the Chatti, to war. Excursions and casual encounters are rare amongst them. It is, indeed, peculiar to cavalry soon to obtain, and soon to yield, the victory. Speed borders upon timidity slow movements are more akin to steady valor.

A custom followed among the other Germanic nations only by a few individuals, of more daring spirit than the rest, is adopted by general consent among the Chatti. From the time they arrive at years of maturity they let their hair and beard grow and do not divest themselves of this votive badge, the promise of valor, till they have slain an enemy. Over blood and spoils they unveil the countenance, and proclaim that they have at length paid the debt of existence, and have proved themselves worthy of their country and parents. The cowardly and effeminate continue in their squalid disguise.

The bravest among them wear also an iron ring (a mark of ignominy in that nation) as a kind of chain, till they have released themselves by the slaughter of a foe. Many of the Chatti assume this distinction, and grow hoary under the mark, conspicuous both to foes and friends. By these, in every engagement, the attack is begun: they compose the front line, presenting a new spectacle of terror. Even in peace they do not relax the sternness of their aspect. They have no house, land, or domestic cares, they are maintained by whomsoever they visit, lavish of another's property, regardless of their own till the debility of age renders them unequal to such a rigid course of military virtue.” – Tacitus

 Not much is further known about the Chatti besides the fact that they raided Roman territory between 160-170AD. Eventually elements of the Chatti, together with the Batavi, Cherusci, Tencteri, Tubantes, Chamavi, Bructeri, Sicambri and the Ampsivarii formed together in a confederation called the Franks. They settled in modern day southern Netherlands and Belgium around 300AD and were first of the Franks who eventually founded modern day France. The remaining Chatti remained in their original location and continued raiding the Romans wherever they could, by 300AD the Roman western borders were severely weakened by internal conflicts.

Eventually the remaining Chatti became the Hessi during the early medieval ages, this was first recorded in 782AD. Hesse itself has a long and rich history but that is not a topic for this group, feel free to explore this topic further if you are interested in Hesse’s history.

Here is a map which shows the location of the Chatti, a map showing Roman campaigns into Germania before the Teutoburgerwald battle and a depiction of Germanic warriors from the game Rome 2 total war.

[atomicblasphemy]

Brief essay on the magical properties of human anatomy and physiology

Augustus Porter

Human Appreciation Society’s Journal

Abstract: The recent events that took place at the conformatorium left the Boiling Isles’ population with a myriad of doubts. Although for most such doubts seem to concern the continuation of our social structure and a naive undervaluation of our glorious Emperor’s legitimacy on the throne, for the Empire’s scientific community the point of contingency is another. Namely, the paradigmatic shift in our understanding of the relationship between humans and the use of magic. In this essay I shall investigate where our past errors stem from and raise hypothesis that aim at fixing them. Those will regard both the differences in the anatomy and physiology of humans and witches as well as the some of our potential misconceptions regarding the nature of magic itself. Moreover, I shall offer a thesis according to which human are, indeed, inherently capable of wielding magic without the use of subterfuges such as Luz Noceda’s glyphs.

Introduction and methodology:

As the Mr. Porter reported on the battle taking place a few weeks ago between our glorious Emperor Bellos and Luz “The Human” Noceda, the academic communities in Bonosborough and all other major cities in the Isles scrambled to come to terms with the disruption of centuries of accumulated beliefs regarding our extra-dimensional neighbors. We knew of their existence through a scattered assortment of artifacts provenient of their realm, sightings of their kind in the Isles (which always were taken more as the stuff of legends than fact, a conception now under scrutiny), and tall tales of witches’ adventures in their exotic, foreign lands. Of the last source, it is of particular note the recent reports of one Ms. Clawthorne, normally taken by the academy as little more than indulgent fiction. Now however, any unfounded skepticism gains the contours of esoteric stubbornness and it is our duty as makers of knowledge to use of the utmost rigor in any further statements regarding human nature. Therefore, firstly we need to reexamine our previous beliefs regarding magic itself. In a gross oversimplification, those could be described as: witches are capable of wielding magic; humans are not as they do not posses the magic bile sack attacked to their hearts right atrium. In other words, we placed that particular part of witch anatomy as the beginning of the causal chain that leads one to be capable of casting spells and enchantments. However, seeing how Luz “The Human” Noceda (hereafter to be referred as the subject), was able to perform magic nonetheless, we are now forced to face the question of which truly is the nature of magic. That is to say: is magic a prerogative of witchkind or is it merely an pervasive part of our which our bodies developed to manipulate.

In order to properly investigate this problem and hopefully create a new paradigm our methodological approach should be twofold. The first moment can be called the speculative stage, consisting in the bibliographical research of what human medical and scientific literature is available to us and ostensive interviews with both the subjects herself as well as witches that are part of her social circle. As for bibliography, the majority of it was supplied by a source that wishes to remain anonymous due to the questionable legality of her distribution of said tomes. Those seem to, fortunately, be especially up to date and thorough. It is with great joy that I announce that, as of the time of writing, the tomes used for this paper are being cataloged by the Bonesborough library’s staff and should be available for reference by time of publication. As for the interviews, those have been carefully transcribed by Hexside’s Human Appreciation Society and are currently in the process of editing.

The second moment, which would only make sense once the findings of the speculative stage are made clear to the reader, can be deemed the experimental stage, consists in using the subject for testing the theories resulting from the speculative stage, be it in a passive or an active manner. By “passive experimentation” I merely mean the observation of her interactions with magic as she grows further acquainted with our world, growing to become part of it. The active testing would consist in guiding the subjects behavior, mostly in terms of her diet, in order to ascertain the validity or falsehood of the theories resulting from the speculative stage.

The validity of our statements about humans:

As it is know, the scientific endeavor and the validity of its statements depends on the available empirical evidence. In this sense, the first step is the mere observation and subsequent description of nature and it’s phenomena, only then one should feel confident enough as to identify patterns. Those patterns, if resulting from a large enough pool of observed phenomena should provide predictability to future phenomena as long as they have similar causes and happen under similar conditions as the ones observed prior, that is: the ones used for the identification and description of the aforementioned patters. Should those predictions prove true through experimentation in a controlled environment – that is, the manipulation of the causal relations that should result in the expected phenomenon – then we can be confident in the validity of our statements.

The seldom nature of our kind’s interaction with humans, however, renders any scientific method of this sort impossible. We simply have no access to a sufficient pool from which to obtain the necessary evidence. Thus we can only trust in testimony, legends and literature that made its way across dimensions. In this sense, however, the arrival of the subject in our lands is quite possibly the greatest breakthrough in the history of humanistic studies.

Background on magical and medical assumptions:

Tracing back centuries, the magic bile sack attached to a witch’s heart has been believed to be the main source of magical power. The apparent lack of such in human anatomy, which is in fact corroborated by human medical texts, being pointed as the culprit for their lack of magic. Therefore,  the role of  the magic bile sack has always been substantial in our understanding of witch physiology and of the nature of magic itself. Little process has been made over time, however, when it comes to our understanding of the nature of the contents of the bile sack, despite the best efforts of some of the greatest minds in both healing and potion making, the scientific community having to resign to speculation and the observation of the effects, rather than the causes. The common assumption, therefore, has always been that magic was something of a biochemical matter: the contents of the magic bile sack being metabolized by the witch’s body, thus producing magic.

This premise of magic’s purely bodily causes can no longer stand. After all, the evidence of an individual lacking the magic bile sack proves that magical feats are still possible whilst refuting that their origin stems from the caster’s body. Moreover, the use of glyphs, designs made in paper or other materials, as a form of both witches and humans casting magic shows that we can feel justified in believing that magic stems, instead from the environment. To quote the subject herself in one of the interviews: “magic is everywhere.” In other words, the glyphs seem to function as a form of conduit or magnet for the magic in the surrounding, thus turning it into the spell intended by the caster, loosely in accordance to the design made on what we can call the casting medium.

This pervasive nature of magic in the Boiling Isles, however, is still insufficient to explain the physiological function of the magic bile sack when it comes to magic wielding. After all, should that anatomical feature be irrelevant for such, the subject would not need to resort to her glyphs for wielding magic. However, we can no longer see it as a sine qua non condition for it either. Moreover, it raises a further, particularly poignant question as to what is the full extent of humans’ magical potential, if they can come to wield magic without the assistance of glyphs, wands, or staffs.

Before moving forward it is worth noting that since all accounts seem confirm the absence of manifestations of magic in the human realm, the causes for it are also likewise absent there. In other words, we can feel comfortable stating that magic itself is a particularity of this world.

Speculations on the magical bile sack:

If we are to assume the belief that magic stems from the Boiling Isles’ environment as valid, to which there seems to be no evidence on the contrary, then we have to divulged into the topic of the magic bile sack’s contents. As proven by observations in a number of necrotic investigations – a method humans seem to have a much firmer grasp on than ourselves, calling it by the name of autopsy –, the fluids therein do present a number of magical properties, being potentially usable for potion magic, although such practices are famously considered as taboo. However, no attempts at deconstructing it as to further understand it’s composition have been successful thus far. This could possibly be due to such contents being little more than a condensed form of the magical humours present in these Isles’ air, water, dirt and their respective product. That is to say: once the magic pervasive in the environment is absorbed into a witch’s, it is metabolized through the digestive and respiratory tracts, taken to the magical bile sack by the circulatory system wherein it becomes condensed and stored.

Being a species native to a land where magic is a feature would be, should one of humanity’s exponents be correct in his theory of evolution – by the name of Charles Darwin -, then further be cause for the magic bile sack’s peculiar placement in witch anatomy. By being next to the heart  it would be able to transfer the condensed magic to a part of the witch’s body through which magic can be properly cast. More often than the body part in question being the left hand, having a direct arterial connection to the heart. It is also worth noting that small, nearly imperceptible, canal like structures have been observed connecting the interior of the magic bile sack to the inside of the right atrium, thus lending further credence to the present hypothesis

However, those are but speculations hinging on even prior speculations. We cannot as of yet assess their validity. Experimentation should be conducted in order to it achieve such status.

Speculations on human anatomy and physiology:

A way for conducting such experiments would be by placing a test subject which lacks the magical bile sack in conditions that should ideally favor the accumulation of the, for lack of a better word, magical goo present in the magic bile sack. Should after sufficient time under such conditions the subjects starts displaying magical capacity associated with their bodies – that is, without the medium of objects such as glyphs, wands, or staffs - , then the theory proposed in the previous section is proven as valid. However, should merely this be enough we would be able to witness demons casting spells as a common occurrence. The test subject for the experiment should follow a particular condition: the presence of an anatomical feature that serves to clear function in their bodies. Demons lack any such feature, humans don’t.

In all the available human medical literature, it was possible to observe the presence, at the juncture of the small and large intestines, of a small protrusion, finger like in shape, that by all accounts has no known purpose in the human body. If the aforementioned human theory of evolution is to be believed, at some point in the development of humans as a species that feature did serve some unknown purpose. However, with the lack of a need for it, it atrophiated, eventually achieving its current status. The humans named it the appendix, and as per the subject’s testimony, a common human ailment, in particular in her own family, is something called appendicitis. To the best of this researcher’s knowledge, it consists in a potentially fatal inflammation on the appendix, leading to severe pain and demanding the surgical removal of that body part and subsequent treatment with some type of human medicine called “anti-biotics”.

Given how similar human and witch anatomy are in terms or organ distribution in the thorax and abdomen safe for those two particular features and the shape of the ears, we have no reason to discredit Darwin’s theory, further implying that there would be a common link between humans and witches. That is to say that, at some point, both species were capable of wielding magic, even if by differing means (as will be discussed further). At some point, however, this possibility was taken from humans by unknown circumstances. In other words: there is no reason for us to refute a priori humans potential for casting magic through their bodies; however, without further experimental evidence, we cannot yet wholeheartedly support such theories as of yet.

It is important for us to note as well the differences between the magic bile sack and the appendix. As previously stated, by being attached to the heart – that is, the core of the vascular system – the concentrated magic humour contained in the magic bile sack is allowed to travel through the witch’s whole body, especially the arm, thus allowing the caster a great amount of control over the outpouring of magic associated with each given spell. Given the position of the appendix however, such dexterity and autonomy over magic wielding is unlikely for humans. Being placed at the end of the digestive tract, the movements of the magic humours are likely to only be capable of following the anatomy of the bowels. In this researcher’s opinions, the most probable option is that the movement of magic, once leaving the appendix, is highly dependent on the movement of the digestive vapors, with the casting of magic being concomitant with the emanation of such gases. As for solid rejects, I do not dare speculate.1

As a further note on this hypothetical means of spell casting supposedly inherent to humans, it should be stated that, if witches and humans were at some point competing species, the lack of dexterity and precision in human’s magic casting would not present itself as disadvantageous. After all, considering how, following the theory on the environmental origins of magic from earlier, magic enters the body by being either inhaled, eaten or drank by a magic caster, that would mean that the trajectory between the absorption and the condensation and further storage of the magic goo would be much shorter in humans than it is in witches. Moreover, seeing how it would be stored in an organ associated with digestion, the condensation of magical humours into magical goo should happen more efficiently than in an organ such as the heart, allowing for a greater degree of purity. As a result, the spells cast by humans – it is unlikely that the imprecise character of this magical outlet would allow for complex operations such as enchantments – would have a notably larger amount of raw magical power imbued into it. As an illustration, the reader can think of the magic cast by witches as akin to a bow and arrow – precise, highly correlated to the individual caster’s prowess -, whereas magic cast by humans would more similar to a trebuchet – it will achieve it’s intended goal all while also causing significant collateral damage.

Experiment design:

As the reader most likely was already able to extrapolate, any testing of the hypothesis and theories stated here will demand that the testers induce as much consumption of, supposedly, magic imbued food and drinks on the subject. The reason for this approach is to heighten as much as possible the input of magical humours in the subjects body, thus accelerating the production of magical goo in the appendix. Fortunately, the subject seems to like our local cuisine and to also have a considerable appetite.

However, in order to avoid any nutritional dysfunctions on the subject due to neglect of some as of yet unknown particularity in humans’ dietary needs, a “human diet” should also be observed. Naturally our source of knowledge as to what a normal human meal consists of is the subject herself. As per her instructions efforts to replicate items such as “borgars”, “pizza”, “chicken tendies”2,, , and “Dr. Pepper” using inputs available in the Boiling Isles are, as of the time of writing, underway. However, under no circumstances should be allowed the consumption of milk or any dairy products.

A diet constructed around those two principles should be able to expedite the subject’s magical growth over a still unclear amount of time, thus allowing for meticulous observation, all while ensuring her well being and health. As the scenario progresses, updates on her condition should be submitted for publication in this very journal.

Conclusions:

As of now, we are admittedly afloat in a sea of speculations. The paradigmatic shifted brought about by the knowledge that humans are capable of casting some form of magic has forced us to reevaluate our understanding of the human species, their world, their culture, and what all of that means to witchkind. But more importantly if forced us to reconsider ourselves, what we know about our very world is now put into questioning, and we should not rush to the quickest answer in fear of the unknown. Instead, we should practice patience, allow time to offer us the much needed evidence   for the construction of a new, more sturdy foundations for our beliefs on our own world, our bodies, and reality itself. We live in exciting and interesting times indeed.

We have cause for optimism, however. But further speculations on this matter should only come accompanied by certainty on the premises.

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NOTES:

1 - As to not interfere with the experiments and not face backlash from the interviewees, other than the subject herself, it is asked of the reader to deny any attempts by the subject to gain access to the present paper. We urge the reader to show both scientific solidarity and sense of humor.

2 - It should be noted that the subject seemed particularly adamant as to the importance of this particular item, leading to the belief that these “chicken tendies” are vital for human subsistence.