#and my memory about its rules may be off

[thormanick]

The real question is if Neuvillette = surname, does that mean that each and every Melusine is also Neuvillette?

[ckret2]

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed. 

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table  under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched. 

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

[astro-rainbow777]

💐🌸 𝓣𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓼 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓼 🧸🌱

♉︎ - Happy Taurus Season Everyone!!! In honor of Taurus season, I am continuing the signs through the houses series. I hope y’all enjoy my findings & this post serves you well. Thanks so much for all of the support! Happy Spring & Upcoming Beltane to the Pagan Community <3

🌸 Taurus in the First House ~ Taurus on the ascendant is the embodiment of peace, calm and pleasure. These natives aren’t the most outgoing but leave such a comfortable and cozy first impression. They don’t say more than needs to be said, however they are unlikely to turn down a conversation. They have a soft and natural beauty about them and strong familial values. They enjoy the finer things, have a clean aesthetic and a “rich” aura. Many of them are shorter or more petitie in size, have a pleasing and smooth voice and kind eyes. However, if you mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns! Being on the opposing end of Scorpio, when they cut you off, it is completely. Good luck getting back into their lives because they are a closed book. Why y’all always smell good? Fr tho

🐂 Taurus in the Second House ~ Here the sign is in its ruling house, they do very well in saving their money, are picky about what they eat and indulge in the material pleasures of life. They value loyalty, commitment, stability and security - not to mention their love fashion & the arts. They will tell you they have the most exquisite taste, you would find it very difficult to change their mind. They hold up strong values and morales, what they know to be right and wrong is the truth. This is a very secure personality, they are very comfortable with their bodies, and have a healthy sense of worth and self love. Honestly such a healthy placement - as someone with NO earth in their chart - muhbenaaaace

💰 Taurus in the Third House ~ These natives find security and peace in their childhood homes, where they grew up, the memories of their cousins and siblings. They could be the most stable or the least stable out of their siblings. The way they think, learn and communicate is slow and methodical. They take their time in studying new topics, preferring to stay on the surface of a topic. They may have an artistic and beautiful singing voice, or maybe the way they speak is just very polite and sweet. They were raised with manners and this makes them very charming. They can have a liking for music that moves at a slower pace, classical music, or just a more elegant taste in art.

🥘 Taurus in the Fourth House ~ Their family could be a source of stability and security for them. The mom, mother figure or more feminine role model can be the bread winner in the family, her love language could be gifts, an amazing cook, and give a lot of hugs 🫂 They have stable emotions, it takes a lot to emotionally sway them. It may end up bothering people who try to get an emotional reaction from them because of this. They can be the most grounded one in their family. Their family may view them as realistic, practical and reliable. Family is what gives them sanction from the world.

💝 Taurus in the Fifth House ~ They express them selves in a very material type of way, their flex is their finances. These natives take a lot of pride in what they have...this usually comes from a place of having to work really hard for their things. They love the natural look, minimalist, they like long lasting, high quality, practical fashion. To them that is the best statement to make. They don’t like that trash to treasure look their tastes are refined. They will shower their kids with the finer things and really enjoy providing for them - this will be their love language. They aren’t huge adrenaline junkies and enjoy more grounded, chill hobbies. They definitely don’t mind being alone and love their down time at home…on the couch…snacks…naps…repeat.

🐻 Taurus in the 6th ~ These natives prefer a slow start to their daily routine, and enjoy a slow paced job, with chill yet organized coworkers. The workplace must be something that they don’t hate… because if they hate it and it stresses them out just thinking of going, they won’t work there. Period. They need low maintenance pets as these individuals are very independent in nature. It’s important for their day job to be a place of peace and pleasure for them, and once they are comfortable, it’s gonna be hard to get them to leave. Their job can provide them with sooooo much stability if they have a good one.

🍨 Taurus in the 7th ~ Wining and Dining with your loved ones! Shopping sprees, luxurious and high quality partners. With the ones they love the most, they spoil, eat and they just want to be lazy with them honestly. They want their relationships to be a place of peace for them. It’s important that their partner can support themselves and is stable on their own. It will just cause them stress if they are constantly worrying about having to take care or mommy their partner. It’s possible that they can stay with someone out of fear of the unknown/change, even tho they don’t like them or it’s not working anymore.

🌷 Taurus in the Eighth House ~ Cycles related to self esteem, self worth, and supporting themselves. Honestly, this is a really hard placement to have- they may have times where they stay in ab*sive relationships because they can’t support themselves financially or they are too uncomfortable alone. However, the eighth house is notorious for taking your greatest fear/weakness and turning it into their super power. You just have to get through those lessons and take those leaps of faith to unlock that power and hidden potential! They like to engage in their senses when they’re intimate with their partners and prefer slow love making rather than the raw primal stuff.

🪴 Taurus in the Ninth House ~ These people can be a little fixed in their beliefs, their spiritual beliefs/religion can be a source stability and sanction for them. If they aren’t necessarily spiritual- they could just have a specific philosophy or lifestyle that they stick to. What I admire about these individuals, is they know exactly what they want. When they travel, it has to be somewhere where they know exactly what to expect, somewhere that won’t give them anxiety, and probably a more luxurious staycation type of experience. They could also enjoy a nice nature walk with their loved ones.

👛 Taurus in the Tenth House ~ Every single person I have met with this placement neeeeeed a stable job, they will not leave a job if it provides them with the type of lifestyle they desire. It doesn’t really matter what they are doing for their career as long as it aligns with their values. Their dad/father figure could have been the sole provider and could have made a huge impact on their reputation. This is definitely a daddies money placement 💀 - sorry if that’s triggering for anyone lol. The father figure could be super down to earth and chill, enjoy cooking or just be way too overly indulgent in a negative manifestation.

👒 Taurus in the Eleventh House ~ Is the stay at home friend, doesn’t like to get out of their comfort zone to meet new people. Much likely to want to stay inside and bond with their community in a space that is familiar and inviting to them. Their community could be their sanction and be the most stable part of their lives. They enjoy cooking and creating art for their friends. Anything to bring peace to their homies senses! For their friends, the Taurus eleventh house native’s place is a home away from home. How special 🥹

👄 Taurus in the Twelfth House ~ When it comes to matters of the twelfth house, spirituality, isolation, ect. - these individuals may like to keep things light and on the surface. They are comfortable being alone, in fact they consider it to be comfortable and safe. Their spirituality isn’t something they spend time questioning, and they could be very comfortable with the unknown, they enjoy their own curious nature. They are endearing to their own selves, however sometimes their sense of worth could be confusing. They may have a hard time understanding their own values and morals, preferring to just go with the flow, everyday they are a new person trying on different personalities, hobbies and styles! The possibilities are endless! It’s quite an interesting placement. One more thing….secret indulgences…the silent snacker

Smell ya later!

[akiranzee]

idea: a very drunk Hashira! reader trying (and somehow succeeding) to rizz up muzan. They hit it off and later on in the final battle, reader who is very shy when sober, finds them again and both just remember that they hooked up-

🥃 • ° ` — “LIQUOR AND SINS”

-> PAIRINGS: Muzan Kibutsuji x Gn!Drunk!Hashira!Y/n -> SUMMARY: The night when your life changed. -> WORD COUNT: 1.5k+ -> CONTAINS: suggestive content, mentions of violence, swearing, muzan’s demon form, drinking, muzan is 1000 while reader is 27. -> A/N: sry if u wanted this smut, its on my rules that i don’t accept smut reqs from anons. i hope u still like this tho!!

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------------Complete!------------

February 14, was the day you finally managed to defeat an uppermoon. Uppermoon 5, to be exact. Surely you’ll celebrate for this wonderful achievement, right? Of course you will.

You’ve been fighting and training hard for five years, of course you’ll let loose a little, just for today.

The other hashiras, especially Mitsuri really wanted you to come with them since they’re having a celebration of their own too, but you turned down the offer.

A cold, peaceful night such as this is something you’d like to keep yourself to.

The bells jingled as you opened the door of a small bar, and ordered for liquor.

It was safe to say, that you can atleast handle a few booze, but having six is just… a little bit too much.

You were a stumbling mess when you attempted to go to the bathroom, your weapon slipping out of your hand in the process.

And that caught a certain someone’s attention.

As you stepped in the woman’s bathroom, you immediately made your way to the sink, and puked your heart out. You didn’t even hear the door open and close, even when the lock clicked.

You panted, the dizziness was still around, something you probably can’t shake off up until tomorrow. For a demon slayer, you’re a one hell of a light drinker, all right.

But despite that, your sight can never waver, for even if it was all a blur, you were sure someone was behind you. You may not see them clearly, but he was a man, and he looked handsome as fuck.

Even before the man could move, you immediately whipped your head towards him, with visible flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes. It wouldn’t take a genius to know just how drunk you are.

The man flinched in unexpectation, but what made him surprised more was the fact that he was a complete stranger; yet you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck.

The man immediately withdrew his claws that were a hundred times sharper than a newly sharpened knife, taken aback by the sudden affection.

It was safe to say that you had saved your own life in the most unexpected way, in the most unthinkable way.

The red wine that you just drank and puked had filled in his nose, the scent so tantalizing, yet, as a demon, more over, the demon king, he must not be lured by such a thing.

And yet, the simple press of your thigh against his ‘thing’ has awakened something within him.

You leaned in and whispered something against his ear, but it was inaudible in his side for he felt hot. Your breath was tickling his ear, your heat radiating off of you from how close you both are, and your thigh still pressed on his junior. God damn, he shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a demon for God’s sake.

And that’s how, the night when your life changed.

~~~~~

“Y/n! Pay attention will you!?” Yelled Sanemi, your training partner for today. “The hell you zoning out about!?”

You flinched in surprise as his loud voice had finally reached your ears.

For the past few days, you’ve been always like this. Even Rengoku got upset when he thought you were ignoring him.

For some reason, thoughts — more like memories, start to appear in your brain. Although, you’ve got no assurance if it really is that.

You doubt, but a memory comes in then. A memory that… consisted of heat, lust, temptation, and desire. But you have no recollection of what had happened in that memory.

Even Mitsuri needed to bonk your head so hard to keep those memories out of your head in the middle of a battle.

It was all so distracting, to say the least. Your missions, turned out to be a fail at the end of the day only because you could not pay attention to the demon.

Safe to say, you are getting demoted. That’s for sure.

“Tsk, there you go again! Zoning out!” Sanemi snapped one last time, before throwing his wooden stick to the ground and walked out.

Then, there goes your training session. A failure.

As you slowly, tiredly, packed your things and walked away from Sanemi’s estate, you can’t help but wonder as always; what really happened that night?

You swore you only had a few shots then… right. Then what? Obviously, you don’t remember any more further.

But you do remember seeing a man. A man who wore a white hat, red eyes, and a formal suit. You can’t remember how he looked like, but you remembered his scent, and his voice. And you too, were sure, that he was muscular enough to carry a thousand pound, or even more.

Sauntering towards your estate, your mind elsewhere, as you couldn’t even hear the ongoing chaos that started just about… now.

You heard screaming and explosions, you saw smoke as you looked back, everything falling down in just a second.

You dropped your bag, and ran toward the chaos’ direction, along with your weapon.

You ran as fast as you can, your mind was no longer filled with those heated memories. All you could ever think of now was, are they okay?

You rushed, and panted. You tried to use your breathing technique to get faster, but it was of no avail. You were too late.

Everything had turned into a disaster the moment you turned around, the moment you blinked your eyes, the moment you stopped thinking.

The next thing you knew, you were already sent into a room. No, wait, not a room. It looked like an… endless void.

You stepped foot on it, and explosions could be heard anywhere. It was terrifying, to say the least. But your legs strengthened and rushed forth towards a direction, in which a voice — a screaming voice of a woman could be heard.

And that woman was no other than… Mitsuri. She, was the very first friend you had ever since your arrival. She was an innocent, kind, and bright woman. She did not deserve to live in a world like this.

Better yet, exist in a situation that has got her hissing in pain, and gasping for breath.

Obanai Iguro was there too, fighting for his dear life and for Mitsuri’s.

You stand by Mitsuri’s aid, trying to help her get up.

“I’m… fine, please, help Iguro-san..” Mitsuri weakly pleaded, as her legs trembled when she tried to get herself up with the help of your arm.

You looked at Iguro from afar, and you could see, just how much he was willing to risk just to kill a demon.

You nodded and raced toward his aid, without knowing that it was no ordinary demon he was fighting. Not one of the twelve moons, but the king of them all.

You shivered and froze in spot, his dominating aura getting through to you as you looked up at the monster in fear, Iguro continuing to fight for his life.

You slowly walked towards the battle, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You charged towards the demon, whose hair was long and white, had a muscular form, and a scent so alluring.

Iguro was thrown back against the wall, leaving you and the demon alone.

Muzan looked at you in confusion, upon seeing a new face, but then, he remembers, that you were the woman he was always looking for ever since that night. God, you looked beautiful even when your hair up, but he obviously preferred the way you looked in bed, your hair down and splayed on the soft mattress.

He smirked upon seeing you, “nice to see you, again.” He said with his deep, tempting voice.

Oh god, fuck, now you remember. Those memories, it all became so clear. He was the fucking man you slept with, the man from that very same night too.

You stood in front of him from quite a distance, but instead of attacking you, he instead went near and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in as his lips touched yours.

You finally remembered the heat, the pleasure, and the desire.

Your comrades can only look from afar, can only look at your betrayal.

★ • ° ` — BONUS:

Weeks before, Mitsuri gasped loudly, her gasp literally echoing through the silent forest, as you told her about your current predicament.

“R-Really!? Omg! You slept with someone!!” Mitsuri announced and gasped loudly again, causing you to place both your hands on her mouth.

“S-Shh! Everyone’s gonna hear you!” You whisper-yelled, as Mitsuri nodded apologetically. Her big mouth always getting the best of her, when it comes to something she always calls “love”.

You sigh in defeat, as you already expect that Mitsuri will probably accidentally slip some words out.

“W-Wait! How did he look like!? What was it like!? Did you feel good!?” Mitsuri’s enthusiasm boosted up again, excitedly asking you about your unforgettable experience.

“Well… it definitely felt like something I never felt like before.. he was um.. muscular.. handsome.. and most definitely big down there.” Mitsuri broke into a cackle, as she held her stomach and wiped the tears in her eyes.

“S-Seriously- haha- t-that was what you r-remember? You sure must’ve s-stared at it for a long time! Hahaha!” Mitsuri continued laughing, as embarrassment started to creep up your cheeks, turning your head away from her, “S-Shh!” as you tried to shut her up.

But it was true though, you can’t deny the fact that he was packing down there.

a/n: u guys imagine the rest

[kyuuppi]

Genshin men Instagram HCs

Ft. Xiao; Scaramouche; Zhongli; Childe; Alhaitham; Kaveh; Tighnari

(gender neutral reader but wears a dress in Scara & Zhongli's parts)

Xiao // @ a1atus

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Very rarely posts

Never pictures of himself, you’ll only see his face in tagged photos

If he does post, it’s probably a new album cover of a band he likes, a particularly good plate of almond tofu from his favorite café, or—if he’s in a particularly good mood—a cute stray cat that befriended him on the street

Never edits anything but still takes pretty decent photos because he understands basic composition rules

Never tags anything but will sometimes write simple captions like “new guitar”

His pfp has not changed since he made his account and its literally just the blandest selfie you’ve ever seen—but he’s effortlessly photogenic so even when he’s just staring at the camera with a blank expression he looks hot

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Xiao will unintentionally do his loyal boyfriend duties and like all of your posts but he never actually leaves a comment unless you specifically ask him to but you have to tell him what to say or else you’ll just get something like “your hair is nice” LOL

Maybe makes one post related to you but it doesn’t have your face—just picture of your hands holding each other or a photo he secretly took of you from behind as you admire some paintings from when he took you on an art gallery date

Still doesn’t write much in captions but if the post includes you, he always adds a little black heart emoji 🖤

Scaramouche // @ balladeer

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Vehemently claims he’s not chronically online but he definitely is

Def has a dark / emo aesthetic profile and puts more effort into it than he’d ever admit

Uses stories pretty frequently

Usually to show off his game stats and victories or to vent about some annoying inconvenience that's just happened to him 

balladeer Jfc the train is late again I may as well just walk home everyday ffs

All his late night gaming photos are so highly saturated in his pitch black bedroom, the only source of light being his screen on max brightness and his violet RGB keyboard. If you raise the screen brightness on your phone you might be able to make out some empty Monster cans and ramen cups on his desk—he absolutely gives Discord / Reddit mod vibes 🤢

Definitely has a story archive just for Valorant 🤮

I wanna fuck him so bad it makes me look stupid—

Posts a few selfies to show a new piercing or the very rare occasion where he’s feeling really confident in his looks

unintentionally thirst traps the emo boy lovers; yes, I am talking about you and I—

Lightly edits photos or uses filters to make them look good but nothing extreme or super aesthetic, mostly just for decent contrast

Usually the first one to see any of his friends posts but never ‘likes’ them

Will leave snarky or sarcastic comments when the mood strikes tho

His pfp is a candid picture someone else took that he thinks he looks decent in—sticking his tongue out and giving double middle fingers to the camera

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Makes a post or story for every date you guys have, even if it’s just a vague picture of your shoes together

He likes to show off that he has such an attractive s/o but also lowkey just wants to have a memory to look back on for the nights he feels lonely

Doesn’t post just you though, he’s always in frame holding you or touching you in some way—he feels the need to put some sort of claim cause he thinks people are gonna shoot their shot with you—he’s kinda paranoid and insecure, pls have patience w him

Likes and comments on all of your posts. Sometimes it's a snarky quip like if you post about you and your friends doing something funny he might comment “lmao ur so dumb” but if its a selfie or something you’re proud of, he leaves a little compliment and heart emoji.

YN0103 [bedroom mirror selfie of you shyly posing in a dress]

YN0103  Bought a new dress today…it’s not my usual style but I rlly like it 🥺

balladeer cute 💜

If anyone ever confronts him in person about his nice comments on your posts tho he’ll get flustered and claim his account was temporarily hacked LOL

His heart def flutters when you post a picture of him on your own account

He kinda can’t believe you’re proud enough of him to publicly post about him

Changes his pfp to the two of you together and, if you zoom in and squint, you can tell he’s kind of smiling <3

Zhongli // @ rex_lapis

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

I’m sorry but I have to do it…

He has Facebook grandpa vibes

Like he has no idea how to use half of the features; stories are an absolute mystery to him. What is a reel?

But he tries to be supportive of his friends and will leave way-too eloquent comments with a Wikipedia levels of supplemental information

a1atus [ photo of a shiny Fender acoustic guitar laying on what seems to be a bed]

a1atus new guitar

rex_lapis Lovely new instrument, Xiao. You seem to have quite good tastes – that particular model is popular among many professional musicians. It is well renowned for its clear sound and beautiful mahogany exterior. If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear you play it someday over tea.

a1atus @ rex_lapis thanks

the way I cackled writing that exchange ygweyufgwyu Xiaos just like ‘thanks for commenting dad’

His pfp is not him—it’s probably a famous painting he likes or a beautiful white flower from a garden he visited

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

If you want him to improve his Insta game, you’re going to have to teach him, I’m sorry

On the up side, Zhongli is a great student and is eager to learn anything you teach him

Will try to post pretty regularly; usually somewhat mediocre photos of beautiful scenery like sunsets and flowers

Like Scaramouche, he enjoys the idea of documentary your time together so he posts something at the end of each of your dates

Your heart lowkey melts when Zhongli, very earnestly, asks after dinner if you’ll allow him to take a selfie with you to post on his Instagram

Regularly asks for feedback on his posts to ensure he’s properly taking your advice and improving :,)

He even starts organizing and naming story archives on his profile—simple titles like “tea,” “nature,” “friends,” and “my dearest”

Likes and comments on every single one of your posts and replies to all of your stories, even if he was there with you

Usually just lathers you in compliments on your beauty or tastes but they’re so thoughtfully written that it’s obvious he’s not “just saying it” and genuinely believes all the kind things about you he writes

YN1231 [photo of you twirling in a summer dress amidst a colorful of bed of flowers in a botanical garden, take by your friend]

YN1231 It’s finally starting to feel like spring! 🌸🌼🌺

rex_lapis While the camelias are lovely, they pale in comparison to your radiance. Your yellow sundress is also quite lovely and compliments your complexion in the morning sunlight. Truly a divine sight. 

balladeer @ YN1231 @ rex_lapis ugh can you guys keep it in the DMs

- Changes his pfp to a selfie of himself smiling after you told him he should. The angle is a little odd but he’s so naturally attractive that he still manages to look good. 

Ajax // @ tartaglia_on_top 

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Doesn’t post too often but when he does, it kinda gives stereotypical frat boy

Like, lots of parties and shirtless beach photos with his friends

The surprise is the occasional posts of his little siblings and kids he volunteers with in between

He sometimes posts championship and practice photos from his martial arts competitions with captions thanking his team and mentors

Is pretty popular—has a few thousand followers, many are people he met just once or twice at parties or genuine friends and classmates, but the vast majority are online fans who just follow cause he’s hot LOL

Is the type of person you followed once after meeting a long time ago and never talk to again but you can’t bring yourself to unfollow cause he’s nice and his updates are kinda interesting and he’s hot

Isn’t online that much so he doesn’t like/comment on his friends’ every post but usually tries to leave congratulatory messages when someone accomplishes something or graduates

His pfp is a closeup of himself with a boyish grin he cropped from a group photo

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

It is super obvious when you guys start dating cause almost every post from that point is about you in some way LOL

tartaglia_on_top [photo of Ajax, sweaty and exhausted but clearly excited as he holds a trophy in one hand with the other wrapped around your waist while he presses a kiss to your cheek]

tartaglia_on_top Officially a 3 year championship winner! Thanks to my biggest supporter @ YN0720 😘

He’s not even consciously trying to post you all the time, it just happens because you are either always together or any memorable moment he thinks are worth an Insta post involve you in some way

You’re the only person, aside from his family - that he actually likes/comments on all posts for

Is the type of boyfriend to leave those super dramatic, embarrassing comments on your selfies like “DAAAMN BABE 🥵 finna make me act UP” and, in one particularly shameless case, “god youre so hot pls step on me queen 😍” 

Please block him

He shamelessly liked all your past posts from before you too met as well—you were kinda mortified to wake up one morning to a notification that just said “what a lil cutie ❤️” on a post of yourself from seventh grade. 

Changes his pfp to a couple selfie he took of the two of you kissing on a winter vacation in the mountains

Kaveh // @ kaveh.designs

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Obsessed with having an aesthetic profile

Like, the color palette of the background and clothing in his pfp selfie are carefully matched with the cover of each of his story archives, down to the hex code

He carefully edits every post and uses filters to make them all fit with his theme no matter how inaccurate to real life they may become

“Huh…I thought your bedroom wall was a bit more orange than this…” 

“Oh, that’s cause I use 30% Juno in all my bedroom photos for a warmer finish.”

“???”

Despite his aesthetic profile, he doesn’t come off as particularly vain or narcissistic—only posts selfies when he’s has a particularly good hair day or changed his accessories

Most of his posts are of places he travels to (museums and big cities with interesting architecture) or his own sketches and rendered design projects

Online pretty frequently, always checks insta when he wakes up, before bed, and during lunch breaks

His stories are often project updates, interesting things he encounters throughout the day, or food photos

Only likes posts he actually likes and sometimes comments with photography critiques

tighnar1 [photo of a cluster of three bright blue mushrooms clustered against vibrant green grass and patches of dark, wet soil]

tighnar1 Proof the forest is an amazing place: found this beautiful little cluster of juvenile Rakkhashava mushrooms on my hike today. Great spotting by @ colleeei. Check my story for some cool mushroom facts. 🍄

kaveh.designs great photo composition, Tigh, perfect golden ratio on the caps.

tighnar1 @ kaveh.designs Thanks I guess…

Has a decent number of followers, many of whom are also artists familiar with Kaveh’s reputation from the Kshahrewar. Others just like his OOTD stories and charming smile

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Kaveh revamps his entire profile once you two become official

His pfp becomes a candid taken by a stranger of the two of you together at an aquarium, holding hands as you point something out to him through the glass

It was taken by a photographer working at the aquarium as part of a promotion—the photographer showed you two the photo and asked for permission to post it on their official website and Kaveh was absolutely obsessed with the photo—it’s still one of his favorite and it doesn’t even show your faces

He still matches his archived story covers to his new pfp but his actual feed had become a lot more relaxed and natural now

He still slightly edits photos so they look as good as possible, but he doesn’t like using filters on photos of you or the two of you together because he thinks it would be a disservice to your natural beauty

Like Ajax, his posts and stories naturally become mostly about you whether scenes from your dates—candid photos he takes of you where he insists you look like art even though you’re just in pajamas with an unmade face—or even photos of things he sees throughout the day that remind him of you

Sometimes he posts stories of funny reels or art pieces he knows you’d like and tags you in them with messages like “@YN0709 omg remember when we were talking abt this?” and “me & @ YN0709💕”

Similar to Childe, leaves the most downbad, dramatic comments on your posts

YN0709 [swimsuit selfie]

YN0709 happy summer! ☀️🌊

kaveh.designs Oh my god my heart– 💘 I cannot believe I get to come home to this every night 👅💦

YN0709 @ kaveh.designs omg kaveh pls 💀

al_haitham @ kaveh.designs Every time I see one of your comments I regret ever learning how to read.

Alhaitham // @ al_haitham  

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Only made an account so his friends would stop bothering him about not keeping up with things tbh

Checks his feed a few times a day but skips through stories if they’re too long/too many

Absolutely hates concert stories the most cause they’d loud, long, and filled with off-key drunken singing

Never likes or comments on anything unless it’s really interesting to him

Occasionally shares reels in his story that are like interesting history facts or official Akademiya announcements

Has a few posts (and only cause Kaveh would not shut up about it) but they’re mostly just pictures of book covers he’d just finished reading with a detailed review or literary analysis as the caption—but he’s mindful of avoiding spoilers for those who haven’t read it

However, he does have one post that stands out quite a bit

He posted an unintentional gym third trap because he just happened to be working out, as is routine, and thought it might be nice to share some tips on proper rope pushdown form 

If you’re not a gym babe and don’t know what this is, I beg of you, please look up a gif or video and imagine Alhaitham doing this, shirtless. You’re welcome.

It has become his most popular post by far

His pfp is probably taken straight from his faculty ID card: plain background, bright lighting, neutral facial expression

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

After you two have become official and are pretty comfortably established in your relationship, he’ll post a photo of the two of you—probably one you took - with a simple caption like “Late night at Puspa Café with my favorite person 💚”

Everyone who knows him freaks out in the comments with variations of “omg hathie got an s/o???” and “wow he finally posted a normal pic of himself, y/n is a good influence” but he doesn’t reply to any of them lmao

If you use Instagram a lot, he’ll naturally become more active too because he enjoys learning more about what you like through your posts and stories

He likes all of your posts but never comments—if one of your posts interests him, he’d prefer to wait until he sees you later to ask you about it in person 

He just wants an excuse to talk to you more

As he becomes more active, little bits and pieces of your relationship naturally infiltrate his feed

His latest book review post has your favorite mug in the background because the two of you had breakfast together

His informational story post of an antique Sumerian emerald he found at a street vendor is being modeled by your pretty hands because you were with him when he saw it and later given to you after the vendor insisted on Alhaitham gifting it to his “beautiful spouse”

He changes his profile picture to the two of you from one of your many reading dates, comfortably lounging on a loveseat in a quiet corner of the library—and this time, he’s softly smiling

Tighnari // @ t1ghnar1

Surprisingly active on social media

He thinks social media is a great way to share information about the importance of forest conservation and get people to appreciate the beauty of Avidya forest

Makes one post almost every day and multiple stories

Needless to say, 90% of his posts are of plants or small animals he finds on his hikes or while working

His most popular posts are those of cute squirrels and birds that are being nursed back to health after being found wounded—animals just seem to naturally love him so the pictures are usually taken by his coworkers because his arms are full with cuddly animals that refuse to move

The other 10% of his posts are from the occasional hang outs with friends or coworkers after work—snaps of iced fruit teas from Puspa café or colorful clay plates overflowing with Collei’s homemade pita pockets. 

He makes sure to reply to or at least like every comment, particularly those from people asking questions about the plants he posts or how to become a forest ranger. Even simple “wow that's so cool” comments often get at least a “thanks, glad you liked it” from Tighnari

He tends to use some cute forest or food emoji when they fit with his posts. For example, 🍄,🥙,🦊,🐦, etc.

Also tends to use “:)” when replying to his followers because he knows it can be difficult to read tone in text-based communications

Tigh is basically a social media manager at this point oops

Because he is online so much, he naturally keeps up with almost everything his friends post and will like or comment on things he finds interesting

His pfp is a selfie of himself with a small yellow bird perched on his shoulder from one of his patrols

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

All Tighnaris written by me WILL follow the “fennec foxes mate for life” trope regardless of AU, it is an indisputable law of the universe

If you’re in a relationship with Tighnari, you should be prepared for stability and commitment in general

While he doesn’t go out of his way to make an official announcement post or anything like that, you become a regular feature on his page

Will tag you in anything you’re related to, unless you specifically ask him not to

t1ghnar1 [photo of a small, cream-colored fox brushing itself against Tighnari’s leg and looking up at the camera with large eyes]

t1ghnar1 On a walk with @ YN1229 this morning we spotted this cute little kit without her mom. 🦊 While adorable, foxes - even kits - are wild animals and should never be approached unless by professionals. We have informed the local animal control where she will be taken care of until we can locate her family. Photo by @ YN1229

He never outright announces you as his lover but he seems to spend so much time with you and refer to you so casually that his followers who don’t know him just assume you’re his spouse LOL

He doesn’t bother to correct them either :,)

bennie_boy Wow, that mountain is so high up - wasn’t ur spouse scared to go up there?

t1ghnar1 @ bennie_boy Y/n has been on so many trips like this with me that they’re pretty used to it. :)

Likes your posts as he see them on his feed and occasionally leaves a short comment like, “beautiful <3”

[moondirti]

Who from the 141 speaks the best arabic do you think? From one arab girl to another, it’d be so hot if any of them were fluent 🫠

if my memory serves me correctly, we get a bit in the first campaign from price. to me it seems to be a basic knowledge. a few sentences he picked up on the field and memorised to make his job easier. evac orders, cardinal directions, how to ask for water, food, medicine. that kind of stuff. pure utility, though that’s his approach to most things.

i like to believe (call it bias or whatever) that gaz is fluent. this ties in to my headcanon that he’s the only member who attended and graduated uni, but he strikes me as someone intensely curious about everything. introducing him to something, be it language or cuisine or a skill he hasn’t mastered yet, is like knocking down the floodgates. it’s his time in urzikstan that does it. hearing the way it rolls off farah’s tongue (let’s ignore doumit’s canon pronunciations), or how she’s able to translate a long, winding, clumsy sentence to something short. beautiful.

there’s a word for everything, he finds. one for the state of gossiping with your friends over morning coffee. one to congratulate someone on their cleanliness after a haircut. one that means may you be the one to bury me, for it would be unbearable to live without you – that is used so casually in conversation, kyle is stunned when he learns the true meaning. it doesn’t hold the same expectation, the same trepidation, as it does in english, though it retains its weight all the same. he wonders what makes a language so special that its intrinsic devotion has found a common place within its cultures, and he sets to find out.

this turns into a thing. more rambling under the cut.

the largest learning curve is the alphabet. the sounds that don’t exist in his mother tongue. he’s especially hard on himself when it comes to enunciating them properly – half the beauty is in the way words flow together, and there would really be no point in indulging in arabic’s more lyrical aspects if he’s off pitch. he gets the hang of it eventually, of course, one too many vocal exercises later.

the weathered dictionary he picks up at a second hand store teaches him that most words have three letter roots, and that it isn’t so easy as to look them up alphabetically. picking up new vocab becomes infinitesimally harder, then. for twelve million choices, the distinction between some words comes down to diacritical marks. necklace, decade, contract, held, complicated, and knots are all spelt the same way, yet pronounced ever so slightly different — a fact he learns the hard way when he tells the cashier at the kibbeh place he frequents that he likes her decade.

reading. reading is what helps him get over that.

(he probably should touch on basic grammar first — nouns, verbs, particles, sentence structure, that sort of stuff — but figures he'll pick it up as he goes, basing his methodology on an inability to remember any rules for the english language. he grew up hearing it, reading it, watching it, surrounded by it, so it just is what it is now. why work so hard on task books made for kids, then, when he can just get right into the meat of the matter? acclimatise through force.)

he picks up stacks of books upon books upon poetry. naguib mahfouz. ghada al-samman. al-mutanabbi. mahmoud darwish. it takes him a month to get through the first, and another month for the second. which only means he really takes his time with them, roving over the same line until it's etched into his memory. the cadence, the beats for pause, the way a word he has to punch from his throat is followed by one that lilts, all sing-songy. eventually, he starts to (inadvertently) mimic that sweeping manner of speech, employing it in contexts which certainly don't call for it.

the cashier — the very same one whose age he mistakenly stressed, despite the fact that she couldn't have been much younger than him — is far too nice to say anything about it, smiling instead, endeared, while he waxes poetic about meze.

farah calls him out immediately the next time they catch up.

apparently, no one speaks in classical arabic anymore, go figure. it would be like talking in shakespearean english, she tells him. he imagines it, iambic pentameter and all, and cringes, newly determined. his own research unearths (though it wasn't really a secret) the fact that there are roughly 25 different dialects belonging to different regions — and while some are pretty similar (syrian and lebanese), others could classify as a whole other language on their own (moroccan).

reddit tells him what he already knows; that the best way to learn is through exposure. there are no dictionaries for patois. and farah, despite her total enthusiasm at his interest, is far too busy of a woman to help.

(really, it just gives him an excuse to finally do what he's been meaning to.)

the next time he's craving kibbeh, he's fixed on not making a fool of himself when he asks the cashier out to lunch.

[causenessus]

Congrats on 1k!!! Well deserved! May I request fluffiest of fluff of 🏠 with Kenma? Just like him and reader’s everyday life after becoming newlyweds or something

Thank you ☺️

domesticity. | kozume k.

kenma x f! reader

written in 2nd pov

one word prompt from 1k followers event: 🏠 -> domesticity

"let's skip to the wedding, let's stay past the ending, i'm gonna be good to you <3" from let's skip to the wedding by eyedress

word count: 1.1k

notes: fluff!! and written as headcannons i hope that's alright <3 it was just kind of the way my brain immediately took the request. thank you so much for requesting! this was adorable to write i hope u enjoy <3 also, a mention of 10 cent bag rule that some states do lol. just wanted to explain it beforehand so no one is confused, it's just something mandatory some states do where either you bring a resuable bag or pay 10 cents for a plastic bag! also sorry for any weird formatting, tumblr is having a FIT rn

you guys are finally married!! what does your life as newlyweds look like? <3

kenma did NOT get up the day after your wedding. and he didn’t let you get up either. you guys cuddled the entire day and then got up at like 6pm to get takeout for your first meal as husband and wife LMAO

that was basically your honeymoon but if you want to actually go somewhere, that’s totally fine <3 he’ll go with you

but his love definitely comes out most in just plain domesticity

and if you guys started living with each other even before getting married, you’ve definitely gotten a taste of that simple life

domesticity with kenma looks like you guys sharing a lot of chores

if he washes the dishes, you put them away and vice versa

and he actually enjoys doing the dishes (maybe slightly just bc you squeal and can’t help but kiss his cheek every time you see him roll up his sleeves and tie his hair back. just maybe)

on the other hand, LAUNDRY is the bane of your guys’ existence which means folding + movie nights are a STAPLE in your household

you both definitely take turns picking out movies while folding clothes or while you mend his old nekoma sweats

laundry makes him feel like years are being taken off his life though. he loves being on stray sock duty (pulling out your giant bag of stray socks and trying to find matches when the pile gets big enough) or sometimes he just ends up cuddling you instead. usually its with his arms wrapped around your waist, and he loves putting his head in your lap

sometimes it gets hard folding laundry when he does that

but you can’t complain, watching a movie and cuddling? suddenly laundry’s not that bad

and he’s just so comfortable and has this crazy effect of always making you feel sleepy that you guys have fallen asleep countless times on the couch

although this also leads to you guys waking up and the most random movies playing most of the time

like the one time you guys woke up to the shining theme playing and literally thought you were about to die (IK I MENTIONED THIS IN COLD KISSES BEFORE BUT IT IS STILL SUCH A FUNNY MEMORY TO ME)

sometimes you guys throw in a blanket while drying your clothes just so that while you’re both folding laundry you can be under a warm blanket too <3

you definitely binged like all the conjuring movies while folding laundry too

my guy cannot be trusted in the kitchen but he will try his very best if you ask him for help

will for sure keep you company in the kitchen no matter what though

is sometimes on music duty or will just play his switch while you’re cooking and you both enjoy the peaceful moment <3

he can also make tea or coffee for both of you while you're cooking!! he's very good at that <3 and definitely helps grab plates when you're both ready to eat

and sometimes gets out of bed early in the morning so he can bring you a cup of tea while you're still waking <3

especially on cold mornings. will 100% get out of bed for you. you're both cold? you want the heater up? okay <3 he'll get out of bed to turn it up before getting straight back into bed and pulling you close, nuzzling his cold face into your warm neck

he’s very good in grocery stores

at pushing the cart.

and holding your grocery list if you really trust him

please don’t leave him he’ll literally go into panic mode and stand in the middle of the bread aisle until you come back

or he’ll do that thing where he walks past every aisle trying to find which one you’re in and then you guys will see each other from opposite ends

to be honest he’s more of a basket guy anyway

like you walk into the grocery store and he's immediately picking up a basket (bc no way is he letting you hold it)

“kenma we need like a week’s work of groceries they’re not all gonna fit in there”

“yeah it will. i'll make it fit.”

most of the time he can't LMAO or something ends up getting squished but it’s okay

bc you know why he likes baskets?

so he can hold your hand <3

loves loves loves to play with your wedding ring, fiddling with it or just running his thumb over it while holding your hand

at first he hated grocery stores bc there’s so many inconsiderate people and it just make him feel anxious but he started to like it when he came with you

he likes following you around because you always know where you're going and he's just there for the ride

and he likes being there so that whenever you put something in the basket and ask “what’s next on the list?” he can tell you <3 he takes his job as grocery list holder very seriously

also surprisingly good at remembering to bring reusable bags (or will insist on holding everything. he is NOT paying 10¢ for a bag)

he may also sneak a few snacks into the basket/cart (if you forced him to get one) which is always okay <3

dinner looks like him stopping everything to eat with you or inviting you to watch/play with him while you guys eat

because again quality time is such an important and prominent love language in your guys’ life

he loves to just have you there with him and it’s all you need as well <3

but especially by marriage, if you want one-on-one time he will absolutely give you his full attention. why would he pass up on a chance to stare at his wife's pretty face and listen to her talk?

his chat and fanbase are also definitely well acquainted with you and adore you

they’re always melting over your interactions and sometimes when you walk by the camera and they see you they’re all freaking out like “OMG IT’S Y/N!!!!” “CAN WE SAY HI TO Y/N”

he always laughs when he sees his chat, because sometimes he doesn’t even notice you walking around in the background but he always complies. “babe?” he’ll call out

“what’s up?” you ask, coming back into the room

“my chat just wants to say hi,” he answers and you always smile, walking closer to his desk and leaning over his shoulder to say hi

it literally warms his heart to see his wife interacting with his chat <3

and when his followers found out you guys were getting married? #ynxkenmaendgameishappening went viral on twitter

and nearly everytime he refers to you as his wife his chat still blows up

you probably join him for q&as most often, and he once again is usually holding your hand in his lap, fidgeting with the pretty ring on your finger while you talk to the stream

at night he’s definitely a late sleeper, but you’ve scolded him about looking at screens in the dark too many times for him to count

so oftentimes you’re curled up at his side, your face nuzzled into his torso to block out the light while he has a small lamp on and an arm resting you, holding you close

and when he finally goes to bed, he never fails to press a kiss to your head before wrapping his arms around u <3

[cuubism]

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

--

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

--

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire. 

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin. 

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it. 

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly. 

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.” 

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.” 

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.” 

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.” 

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.” 

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment. 

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—” 

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump. 

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century." 

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience." 

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being." 

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening. 

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this." 

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm." 

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment. 

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?” 

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much! 

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least. 

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub. 

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up. 

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle? 

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning. 

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths." 

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had. 

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack. 

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve." 

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent. 

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust. 

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair. 

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering. 

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it. 

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived. 

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke. 

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying. 

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?" 

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish." 

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it." 

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?” 

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Riddle, Rook: By Order of the Queen

I wrote this one during a very busy time for me irl so I apologize if I didn’t end off the Platinum Jacket line of imagines strongly 🙇‍♀️

A Tale as Old as Time.

A young girl, an older man, and an odd hare shared the same table. The latter two were sitting upon it, propping their feet on the cloth.

Pots of tea—each of a different design—did not match the cups. A mouse poked its head out of one, curiously staring at the girl. Bent spoons sat beside the saucers, gigantic sugar cubes floating in pools of tea.

Riddle stared at the painting intensely, picking apart the details, the rules being skirted or blatantly violated. The man and the hare are not in chairs, there’s far too much sugar in their drinks, and is there even jam properly smeared on that dormouse?

“Roi des Roses, what about this painting has captured your gaze so?”

He startled at the deep timbre at his ear, jolting back. His shoulders relaxed when he met a familiar face. His heart, still racing, was unable to be wrested under control.

Devious, tumultuous thing, the heart.

Riddle cleared his throat. “A roundabout way of asking for my opinion on this work, Rook-senpai.”

The grin the Pomefiore student wore stretched, reminding Riddle of his childhood days. Cheshire smiles and sugar-coated memories, tasting far sweeter than the hours he toiled at a desk.

“Ah, do forgive me for the sudden request! As an avid fan of art, I love to hear different interpretations of the same piece,” Rook rambled excitedly. “A painting that invokes joy in myself, for example, may bring about despair for you, or vice versa! The wellspring of human emotion, expression, and experience is just that vast.”

With an exasperated expression, Riddle folded his arms. “… Well, I was just thinking that I would never allow for this sort of behavior at an unbirthday party. It would be an affront to the spirit of Heartslabyul.”

And yet…

His chest ached so longing when he looked at the illustration. A taste that remained long after he tried to wash it down. It drew a word out of him, pulled thin.

“However… I must admit, I feel a little envious of their quaint little tea party. It looks…” He grasped for the correct adjective. “… fun.”

Rook’s brows sprung up. “Fun!”

“You disagree? Or does it perhaps surprise you that the rose-red tyrant would make such a remark?”

I know what they say about me. The thought was tinged bitter like medicine as he swallowed.

“Non, non.” Rook wagged a finger, his eyes half-lidded. “You are correct in every way!”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Pomefiore vice dorm leader placed a hand on his chest. “My immediate family is quite large and likes to keep busy. Those few precious times when we are able to steal away and sit down for a meal with one another… Those are the most magical of all.”

“We each fall into our seats and—like a match struck, the moment comes alive. Words and laughter flow like fine wine, enhancing the flavor of the food that touches our lips. The weariness of study and work melts away in the dishes and drinks, replaced with good company in a safe, warm haven.

Riddle squinted at his senior. Suspicious. “… What is it that your family does for a living again?” When met with Rook’s still dubious smile, he sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s fine so long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

“Fufufu. Roi des Roses, I see that you’ve considerably lightened your evaluation of the rules.”

Riddle made a pensive sound, not confirming nor denying. “Mmm. Lately I’ve come to a realization.”

“And what might that be?”

He hesitated. “That perhaps the world as I saw it is not as it truly is.”

It feels like waking up from a dream. Tendrils of it still clinging to him as he made to rub them from his eyes.

Rook silently nodded, watching him. Not the huntsman stalking his mark, but a silent observer.

“I wonder for just how long I’ve been living in that false reality. Seeing the tea party and thinking it a disgrace…”

Something slovenly. In need of fixing. Out of line.

Wrong.

“Ah, but—” Rook raised a finger, “what matters now is that the veil has lifted. The line between truth and lies is that much clearer to you. That is the first step to any story: the beginning.”

Then his hand fell and grasped Riddle’s.

“R-Rook-senpai…?!”

The man practically glowed, his grip firm. “Now the decision to stay on the path or to stray from it is yours.”

To renounce the party or to join it, given the invitationz

Riddle pulled himself away with a frown. “Of course, within the limits of what is acceptable,” he lectured. “A minimum level of decorum is expected, even at the most ‘fun’ of festivities. Should anyone cause a disturbance in the peace—”

He raised his arm, slashing at the air once, delivering a strong blow to an invisible victim. Riddle, in his element, brimmed with smugness, arrogant as an unchallenged queen.

“—it will be off with their head!”

Without an ounce of fear, Rook laughed and bowed his head. “As the queen commands, so shall I heed her orders,” he drawled. A tilt of the head, then came a suggestion. “And if I were to drop by an unbirthday party to observe?”

“Because you asked politely, I may consider it—but see to it that you attend as your normal self,” Riddle warned. “That means I expect you to be on time, your behind planted in a seat at the table. There will be no hiding out in the bushes, no watching us from a distance. You are to stay and engage in all manner of merrymaking with us.”

“Oh la la!” Rook feigned surprise, throwing both hands up in an exaggerated act. “Is that a rule?”

“No, but they are orders,” Riddle clarified with an all-knowing smirk. “After all, it would be a shame if you disobeyed and missed out on all the fun we shall have.”

[lonelywretchjervistetch]

The State Birds Initiative: Connecticut (#5)

Hoo boy, it's been a minute! But hey, here we are again, after taking some extra time to figure stuff out. Welcome to the fifth official poll of the State Birds Initiative! Before the poll, though, one thing real quick. My suggestion is that you read the post below before voting in the poll below. That's especially important if you're lacking any context about the birds being presented as the new (or old) State Bird of the Nutmeg State, Connecticut. This is to be fully informed as to why these are being presented, and to make your choices appropriately. Lastly, some of these birds, you will notice, may go against some of the rules listed in the introduction post. All is explained after the jump where the explanations are, I promise you that. And apologies in advance, the spiel before the actual bird selection is...long. But with that...OK! Here's the poll!

Welcome to the Nutmeg State! A small state, mostly known for being between Boston and New York City, this is one of the foundational states of southern New England, while also having a somewhat...divided identity, we'll say. So, I grew up in CT, for part of my childhood, in both the classic upscale suburbs, and in the middle of the goddamn woods, right on the Connecticut River. For the record, the name "Nutmeg State" is based off of salesmen from the state known for peddling nutmegs. However, there's some speculation that the nutmegs sold were actually made of wood, but that's also probably from people who didn't know that nutmegs were supposed to be grated, and instead assumed they had to be cracked like walnuts. They tried, that failed, and they accused Connecticut Yankees for selling fake nutmeg as a result. So, yeah, a confusing legend at the root of the state's nickname.

You'll notice my use of the word "Yankee" there. Well, despite New York's domination of the term, it should arguably be most associated with Connecticut. "Yankee Doodle" is literally the state song; people from CT were previously and historically referred to as Yankees (which was also an epithet applied to northerners in general, to be fair); and it's actually possible the word was first used by the Dutch in reference to Connecticut settlers, according to multiple theories and historical references. But maybe most prominently, Yankee was used as a demonym for people from CT by one of its most favorite residents: Samuel Clemens, AKA Mark Twain.

Twain is, of course, Connecticut's most famous author, having written some of his most famous works while living with his family in Connecticut in his West Hartford house (which every central Connecticut middle school kid has been to at least once, I guaran-goddamn-tee it). Fun fact, though! Did you know...uh...ah, fuck it. Why keep stalling at this point? Look, as much as I love talking about Mark Twain, he was nothing to do with this post. Fact of the matter is...this was a hard one.

Look, I love Connecticut. It was the first state I remember living in, having moved there when I was a kid from the United States Virgin Islands, which I had been really looking forward to for a bunch of reasons. Admittedly (and unsurprisingly), a lot of that was because I was looking forward to seeing the birds! As a kid, I was also obsessed with birds, and I had never seen the birds in the US mainland before. It was an exciting time for me, and I honestly enjoyed growing up in CT, for the most part. I'd be there for almost 6 years of my life, and I have a lot of fond memories of the state. But, uh...ironically enough...finding State Bird nominees for Connecticut has been HARD AS HELL.

We will, of course, talk in GREAT detail about the American Robin (Turdus migratorius), as it's an important bird for more states than just Connecticut, but I'll give you a spoiler now: this is a boring choice for a State Bird. For any state. Don't get me wrong, I love robins! They're an extremely charismatic and iconic bird, and everybody has seen them at least once in their life if they live in the USA. They're also most likely an early bird (pun slightly intended) for people to encounter on a personal standpoint. Again, we'll get to them, but they're a notable entry in this list. And if one of the states kept the American Robin, I would understand. But, uh...is that state Connecticut?

OK, let's look at the state in the same vein as we have others. I'm sure this won't be the last difficult state to examine in the future of this project, so why not do the same here? Starting with habitat, Connecticut is another state placed within the Northeastern Coastal Zone, with a ton of deciduous forests dominated by oak, chestnut, hemlock, and white pine. There was a lot of clearance during early settlement and beyond, but succession has taken over in recent years to grow the forests back. The state's cut in half by the Connecticut Valley, with large floodplains dominated by maple and cottonwood, with the large Connecticut River right in the center of the valley. Finally, the Berkshires in the northwest corner of the state give us some classic New England flair with sugar maple (Acer saccharum), ash, beech, birch, oak, and hemlock trees on higher-altitude slopes, creating a hilly area that turns beautiful colors in fall. Man, I love Connecticut autumns. And the rest of the year, for that matter.

OK, what are Nutmeggers most known for, culturally and historically? It's a diverse state with a lot of mixed culture, partially as a result of its proximity to New York City. A lot of people tend to joke that Connecticut is just New York City, especially people from elsewhere in New England. And having been to NYC a lot when I was a kid, with a mom who worked there part of the week, and an aunt who lived there all of the week...yeah, fair. But Connecticut has a much more detailed culture than that. It's the home of the cotton giiiAAAAAAH, bad place to start that list. Uh, let's see, it's the home of whaliiiiiiing. Jesus. Uh...home of Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe? OK, that's better. It's a major seat of the Industrial Revolution in the United States, leading to it being a production hub for textiles, clocks, typewriters, machining, sewing machines, steam engines, aircraft, and honestly, women's rights to a certain degree. After all, it's the home of the Radium...Girls. Huh. OK, CT's history has some bumps in it, but what state's history doesn't?

As for modern Nutmeggers, they're industrious, generally well-educated, and honestly quite a bit eccentric. I've gone back to the state a few times in the last couple of years, and I forgot how honestly weird people are there. In a good way, not in the fucked-up MAGA sense of the word. It's a state whose people are unafraid to express themselves, from my experience. Probably a result of the diversity in the state, and the diverse perspectives that result. Its political atmosphere is a bit complicated, but overall pretty liberal. Which...doesn't translate super-well into birds at first blush, but hey, we'll see what we get!

OK, with that, let's jump into the selection of the birds for this list. Real talk, if anybody has a suggestion that I hadn't brought up here, send it my way! I will absolutely add another poll if there are entries I think could bear fruit. But, in the meantime, read on if you're interested in the possible choices for the State Bird of Connecticut!

American Robin (Turdus migratorius)

I think you'd be hard-pressed to find an citizen of the United States of America who hasn't seen a robin. This is, by far, one of our most iconic songbirds, and is certainly one of the most common and widespread. For some of us, they're a sign of spring. For others, they used to be a sign of spring, until global warming prompted some individuals to stick around through the winter, shifting their diet to frugivory a bit more and brightening the snow as well. They're prolific breeders with bright blue-green eggs (which are iconic in their own right), and can have up to three broods in a given season! Extremely successful and very common. And that...is a problem, for our purposes.

See, Connecticut, Michigan, and Wisconsin have the American Robin (Turdus migratorius) for their state bird, and none of them actually have a good reason for that choice. In Wisconsin, it was chosen by schoolkids because it was recognizable. That was also the reason for the Michigan Audubon Society to choose it as state bird. And Connecticut? Absolutely no goddamn idea. It's almost certainly for the same reason, but there is no real recorded reason for the choice of the American Robin as a state bird, as far as I can tell. For literally all of those states, it's a pretty bad choice by virtue of not being a good choice, at the very least. But that said...I mean, it's not the worst possible choice for a State Bird. For one state, anyway.

Robins, for the record, were named after a different robin entirely: the European Robin (Erithacus rubecula). Another red-breasted and beloved songbird, the European Robin was an immediate thought when American settlers saw the American Robin, hence why I keep saying "American". The two are so often confused in pop-culture, even Mary Poppins was guilty of it! That GIF above comes from the film, and in case you haven't realized it yet, that's an American Robin in England. Yeah. Wrong bird to use as a model for your animatronic, Disney. That has bothered me since I was a little kid, I swear to GOD. Erroneous film biogeography is one of my biggest pet peeves...but that's a separate conversation.

Back to the American Robin. Personally, I love robins of all species, and even recently did some genomics work with them (DNA extraction is fun). They're a commonly seen species, and a great entry-level bird for kids to get into birdwatching and nature. As an American icon, I genuinely think these guys should get some recognition...but I'm hard-pressed to say Connecticut needs them as a State Bird. We'll see what people think, but there's not a great case for them to get the title. To keep it...like I said, we'll see. Maybe the others won't be deemed as good a fit for the state. For now, let's move on from a popular backyard bird to a MUCH less popular one.

Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera)

Here's the eBird pick for Connecticut, and for good reason! The vast majority of the Blue-winged Warbler's (Vermivora cyanoptera) breeding population is in...Wisconsin. Wait, what? Hold on...yeah, actually, Wisconsin, New York, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia all have higher shares of the population that Connecticut, with 5% overall. That's still a lot better than the American Robin's share in CT (0.2%), but still...seems like that eBird article is SEVERELY outdated, or I'm using the database wrong somehow. Either way...huh. Well, let's make an argument for the Blue-winged Warbler, anyway.

Blue-winged Warblers are a species of some conservation concern, making them automatically of interest. They're also extremely interesting to geneticists and ornithologists because of their relationship to other members of Vermivora, especially the Golden-wined Warbler (Vermivora chrysoptera) and extinct Bachman's Warbler (Vermivora bachmanii), with having documented hybrid offspring with the former that's of interest for various reasons. But outside of that, they of course breed in Connecticut, and represent an interesting bird to look for and find, with a recognizable song and appearance. It's also prized by birdwatchers, and would be a good bird for any aspiring or experienced birdwatchers. It also inhabits shrubland, which is of some conservation interest to CT government and environmental officials. But other than that...not too much else.

Connecticut Warbler (Oporornis agilis)

No. Look, I'm just gonna say this now: no. The Connecticut Warbler (Oporornis agilis) not only doesn't breed in the state (and possibly has never bred in the state), but it's pretty much not found there. Like, at all. This is not an easy warbler to get anywhere in its range in the US, but Connecticut isn't included in that distribution. "But lonelywretch," you scream at your computer screen, "why is it called the Connecticut goddamn Warbler if it isn't even from the state?" First of all, not to police your emotions, but stop screaming; way overboard for this situation. Second of all, it's called the Connecticut Warbler because its describer, ornithologist Alexander Wilson, first saw it in a fly-by during migration while in Connecticut. And...yeah, that's it. They do fly through the state very occasionally during migration, but it's definitely not a reliable bird to count on for local birders there. Honestly...bad bird for the state.

Side note here: there's a lot of talk about renaming birds that are named after people, and I agree with that in almost every case. But here's a hot take to elaborate on in another series: location-based names need to be re-examined. Not all of them are bad by any means, but the Connecticut Warbler is a great example of a bird whose name makes NO FUCKING SENSE. Rename this bird, I BEG of you. If anybody has suggestions for a renaming of this bird, throw them in notes for something! Keep in mind, Gray-headed Warbler is taken (by Myiothlypis griseiceps), so come up with somethin' else. Warranted inclusion in the list for its name, but we're gonna move on.

Osprey (Pandion halieetus)

It's at this point in the list where we get into some interesting candidates...and where I had the most trouble. But I'm fairly satisfied with what I've come up with, so let's move forward! This entry's a somewhat controversial pick for a few reasons, but an interesting one for a bunch of reasons. Now, I don't know about you, but I love Osprey (Pandion halieetus) a whole bunch. An iconic raptor, as well as a very unique one, they're a pescivorous bird found throughout the entire continent. And in Europe. And Asia. And Africa, Australia, and South America. Yeah, they're a cosmopolitan species, found in every continent except for Antarctica. That automatically should make them a bit dodgy of a choice for a State Bird, since they can be found in every state (yes, even occasionally Hawaii). So, why Connecticut?

First off, Connecticut has an intimate connection with the shore and rivers, especially the Connecticut River. Seemingly a loose reason, but the Osprey, AKA the river hawk or sea hawk (we'll get to that later) is an iconic riparian raptor, and a common sight in Connecticut. Having grown up on a river in the state, we used to see Osprey all the time, and it was awesome every time. But their commonness in the state is an important story in and of itself. And, if you know anything about Osprey at all, you know where this is headed. And Connecticut is a great example of this story.

The Osprey is one of the most iconic victims of the DDT crisis that hit the country, as well as a symbol of the environmental success story that resulted from its banning. I won't go into the full story if you haven't heard it, but the short of it is that the pesticide DDT was inadvertently ingested by fish-eating raptors, especially the Bald Eagle (Halieetus leucocephalus) and the Osprey, causing the eggs they laid to have weakened, soft shells. This caused a massive decrease in these and other species, nearly driving both into extinction. However, once environmental movements prompted by Rachel Carson and her book Silent Spring advocated for its eventual banning, the populations recovered. And in Connecticut, they've recovered A LOT.

In 1940, somewhere near 1,000 nests were recorded for Osprey between New York City and Boston. By 1970, the number in Connecticut was down...to 8. Jesus Christ, that's a hell of a crash! One of the worst in the country, in fact. However, today in Connecticut, there are 688 active nests in the state. Which, yeah, doesn't seem like the ultimate success compared to previous, but what's interesting is the rate of increase. Because in 2014, according to the Connecticut State Audubon, there were only 210. In ten years, the number of breeding ospreys known was more than tripled. That's incredible. This has quickly made the Osprey a symbol of conservation in the state, because of a massive amount of monitoring increase. There are states with more of a population, but Connecticut has a pretty good argument for having the Osprey. But that said...other states could also claim this species. Florida and Maryland definitely have claims on it for population size alone, not to mention, well...the most iconic state of all when it comes to having ospreys as a symbol. But we'll get to that one WAY later. just keep that in mind before you vote for Connecticut to have the Osprey.

Sharp-shinned Hawk (Accipiter striatus)

The Sharp-shinned Hawk (Accipiter striatus OR Astur striatus as of recent taxonomic proposals), on the other hand, is another bird of interest. The smallest hawk in the United States of America, this already seems a fitting choice for one of the smallest states in the country. It's listed as endangered in the state, immediately making it of interesting conservation focus. The reason for this status is likely because of window-strikes, which are common for the species in Connecticut, meaning that there's some public outreach needed to protect it. Protecting the forests they nest in (which are in danger) is one thing, but putting up protective window decals to help the species is another. Definitely a cause for focus.

However, there is one...minor detail that makes this a harder fight for public opinion, as well as a potentially ironic one. This is the first species we've discussed whose diet is basically exclusively birds. If you're in the Northeastern United States, and you've seen a bird get attacked and taken at your birdfeeders, it's almost certainly this guy. Which is cool, and important for the species' survival, but the average person being asked to protect a bird that kills other birds, especially birds like the American Robin, is...a palpable irony. Granted, it genuinely needs protecting, and has monitoring programs in the state, and it is a genuinely interesting raptor! But, this is a slightly harder fight to win because of that noncharismatic factor. But hey, it's a cool bird in genuine trouble in the state, it's a scrappy bird for a small state, and it's an interesting species to highlight!

American Black Duck (Anas rubripes)

This is another difficult bird to fight for, but one that needs attention, for God's sake. The American Black Duck (Anas rubripes) is a rapidly disappearing duck species, and not for the reason you think. Let's get to Connecticut representation first. It was the first bird to be used for the Connecticut Migratory Duck Stamp in 1993, the first one issued for the state. It's one of the few states in which it breeds (although it's not the primary state of focus, detracting from its candidacy). And, it's a controlled bird by Fish and Game, meaning hunting of the Black Duck is extremely limited. There is, surprisingly, a point to that statement, but I won't be elaborating here. We'll see how the vote goes, and I'll address it in the Results post.

So, why is this a potential issue? Well, Maine and New York arguably should get this bird instead, as they have a higher population. And the breeding population of this bird is incredibly important to promote, because it's disappearing. Why is it disappearing? Well, some of you may have looked at that picture and asked yourselves: "Wait...isn't that just a female Mallard?" And the answer is, no! But a lot of people think that. A lot of birds think that. Mallards think that. Which means that hybrids between Mallards and Black Ducks are incredibly high. SO high, in fact, the species is being bred and hybridized out of existence! They're so similar to Mallards on a genetic level at this point, that they'll be subsumed if their individual populations aren't preserved. So, yeah, these guys deserve some focus. Do I think they're a great Connecticut symbol? Well, to be fair, the state is regularly assumed to be either greater New York City or greater Massachusetts by outsiders. And it's not; it has its own identity that deserves to be preserved for what it is. So, yeah, maybe a good fit for Connecticut after all.

Also, it's the state in New England with the highest proportion of Black Americans (yes, even more than Massachusetts), so...I dunno, that's also something? Probably not, but as a black dude that grew up in CT, I felt the need to bring that up.

Snowy Egret (Egretta thula)

OK, sing it with me now!

Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony; Stuck a feather in his hat, and called it "macaroni"! Yankee Doodle, give it up! Yankee Doodle Dandy, Mind the music and the step, and with the girls be handy!

Ooh, that last line aged a little rough, but Yankee Doodle! The Connecticut state anthem! Yes, really. Most Americans in the Northeast know this song, but it's got a unique resonance for Nutmeggers, seeing as it was allegedly based on the son of a Connecticut mayor! The state chose it as their song in 1978, and it's been a beloved symbol ever since. But, for the uninitiated (and probably to most school kids like I was), there is one weird word in there that needs a little explanation: macaroni.

Now, this does not, of course, reference the easy cheesy favorite of every child (and college student). No, this is a reference to an old 18th century term for a form of fashion back in the day. It's what the 2000s called "extra", or bourgeious (pronounced "bougie", of course). Basically, it's somebody who dressed WAY over the top in high-designed clothes and accessories to the point of looking...well, extra. Another applicable 2000s term would be "metrosexual", I guess. The macaroni became a satirical character in British culture, and would later become another character known as the "dandy". It's sort of a class-related satire, to be honest. In any case, the macaroni was known for over-the-top fashion, including...wigs.

So, what does literally any of this have to do with the Snowy Egret (Egretta thula)? More than you'd expect, actually. First off, the egret has a pompodour-like crest of feathers that makes it look quite like a stereotypical macaroni, in my opinion. Secondly, it does breed in Connecticut, albeit extremely rarely, sparely, and barely. Its population in the state used to be a lot greater...until people came around and starting hunting it down. Why, you ask?

Let's just go ahead and call that macaroni now, while we're at it. To be clear here, quite a lot of birds were used in millinery back in the day, but the Snowy Egret (and the Great Egret (Ardea alba), for that matter) are special. Those long white feathery plumes were heavily prized as hat decorations, enough so that the species nearly went extinct from hunting them for the hat trade. As a result of that, people began to turn their eye towards conservation of the species, and the protection of birds in general. Two women, Harriet Hemenway and Minna B. Hall, got a group of women together to protect the birds. They rallied the troops, and their organization became fairly popular. Eventually when they sought to name it, they did so after one of the most famous ornithologists in American history at the time: John James Audubon. And from there...well, you can guess.

The Audubon Society is one of the premiere bird conservation organizations in the world, and especially in the United States, and is well-known to the public sector. And it was born right here in...Massachusetts. Oh. Wait, have I jumped the gun on this one? Maybe a little, yeah. But, in my defense, the macaroni is linked to Connecticut through its state anthem, and the Snowy Egret is linked to the macaroni, as mentioned. But, OK, maybe this is a better proposal for Massachusetts, not Connecticut. But, uh...there may be another contender. Kind of.

Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)

OK, here me out on this one. Look at this picture of a classic macaroni character (on the right, for the record). Does that hairdo not kinda look like the crest of the Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)? Like, just a little bit, at least? I dunno, I can definitely see it. But OK, outside of that, is there another reason for the Tufted Titmouse to be the State Bird of Connecticut? Well, they're extremely common, they've got some charisma to them, and they're definitely found breeding in Connecticut. But...I don't know. I think they're plenty charismatic, but I'm not sure that makes them a great contender.

Still...they should be represented somewhere, right? I mean, the species breeds entirely in the USA, even though it can be found in Canada as well. Plus, other than being very recognizable, they're also an easy bird to find and support with backyard birdfeeding. And, if you want a fun fact about them, they're prone to kleptotrichy. That means, they pluck the fur from mammals to use as insulation in their nests! Yeah! They actually pick the winter coat off of dogs, and use it for their nests! Adorable. But yeah, does this really count for a good State Bird of Connecticut? I doubt it, but I'll let you vote! And I swear to God, it better not be just because of the name that it gets votes.

There you have it. Some complex and controversial choices. I miss any that you think are a valid choice for the state? Do let me know, and I may just issue another poll if this one isn't good enough. We shall see. But, for now, I think it's time to move onto the next state. And lemme tell you, I'm real excited about that one, since...well, I live there! And I have some ideas, lemme tell you. And some people will...disagree with me. For sure. Anyway, see you next time in Boston, kid!

See you next time, and happy birding!

[stardancerluv]

When the Predator Becomes the Prey

Part One of ?

Notes/Warning: 18+ consensual act of implied sex, language, sexy fantasy, drinking, mentions of a possible kidnapping, mentions of pregnancy, sexist, domineering

I wanted to explore more of the Frank character. I gave him a real name. Yes, they say Adam in the film but I want that to be his deep cover name. So “reader” calls him Nick, Nicky. Also I plan on using alot of flashbacks..to flesh him out.

He is horrible, rotten person…but well..in the tradition of Roman Sionis…and more recently Gator Tillman (though he 🫣😬 not as bad as these Roman & Frank!). Here is a short take on “Frank” you could say its AU…so please don’t come after me.

Comments, ❤️, reblogs and any feedback is welcome!!!

The amber liquid sloshed in his glass. He twisted the cap back onto the bottle and took a swig. A bitterness filled him, he had been a well respected detective.

It had not taken long for him to discover the darker sides of his nature. It was very easy for him enter the world of the criminal.

“Can’t sleep?“ He felt as your arms wrapped around him. It did help somewhat.

He made an incoherent sound of agreement.

“You don’t have to take the job.”

The silence grew heavy before he took another swig. He glanced at you over his shoulder.

“I have to. If we want to disappear for good.”

You nodded.

He chewed his bottom lip.

“You’re still a good man.”

“A man who is about to become a fucking father who may or may not be weighing the options of kidnapping of some fucking twelve year old.”

“It was a good man who faced with unbelievable horror took me with him?”

He chuckled.

“It’s because you’re a cute piece of ass.”

You smacked him.

Placing the glass down, he shifted turning to you. In the muted, neon light that bled through the curtains; he could still make out your beauty. He remembered the first time he laid his eyes on you.

******

Glasses clinked, peels of laughter genuine and fake filled the air as men, women dark and brooding planned deeds that were unsavory. He was deep undercover. He relished the freedom it gave him. He had always been the law. Now he was above it. He was in the big leagues now.

Surveying the crowd, the ones he was meeting were not there. Taking a table in a corner, he would able to watch everything. He fiddled with his phone.

“Hello there handsome, is there anything I can get you?” A sweet voice, he didn’t recognize asked.

Glancing up, he saw your legs first. You had a curves he liked. The rest of you, damn. He bit the inside of his cheek. You had fresh face. Not worn or plastered like the other girls.

“Give me a twirl baby?” He pocketed his phone.

“I’m not for sale.” The smile left your eyes.

“Am I trying to buy you? No. Now give me a twirl.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.” The skirt flared just a bit and he liked even more what he saw.

He nodded. “Very nice.” He leaned forward, the soft scent of your perfume was pleasing like the rest of you. His lips curled into a smirk. Look, I got some important guys coming in. Wanna be the girl for our table tonight, and I’ll treat you right?”

You put a hand on your hip. He wanted it to be his, give you a squeeze. See the sounds you’d like. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

Your nervous glance around was endearing. Most of the girls would have been fuck the rules and happily accept his proposition.

“Go tell your boss, Adam is asking for you.” He sat back and smirked.

“Oh, alright.” You fluttered off.

Damn he wanted you already bouncing in his lap or kneeling between his legs. He didn’t want to wait.

******

“Are you getting sentimental, Nicky or are you committing my face to memory?”

He chuckled being brought back to the bedroom, the two of you shared. That night was a lifetime ago.

You had laid back down, the memory made him want you and now. He easily moved so he was between your legs.

He saw some hesitation flicker in your eyes.

“What? You don’t want me anymore since I knocked you up?”

You shook your head. “Just worried.

“Did the doctor say anything?” He blinked.

“No, he said it might actually be good for me.”

He smirked. “Then why are you worried.” He palmed himself.

“Because you’re rough.”

“I won’t be.”

He braced himself and leaned in close. His nose nuzzled your cheek. Your soft scent from you showering, lingered. You were good enough to eat.

“Don’t worry about that baby. I want to see the fruits of my seed.”

Your hand came up and caressed his cheek.

“Then, I’m all yours.”

“I knew you couldn’t say no.”

Her legs deliciously opened further for him. Easily, he took himself out of his sweats. He slid his tip between the petal softness of her folds.

“You want me just as badly.”

“Look at you. How could I not?”

“Well, here I come baby?”

********

He glanced around as he sat in the coffee shop. Lambert had yet to arrive.

He ordered himself an expresso and whipped cream. He stirred it before taking a sip.

********

You came shimmying up to him. Your short sparkly dress left little to his imagination. He knew what it barely hid. He was perched, at the high top table they chose.

“Nicky, come and dance with me.”

You tugged on his hand. It amused him. Compared to him, everything was so delicate and small. You were like a daisy compared the storm that he was.

“I’ll just sit here and watch you baby.”

A soft pout formed on your full lips.

“Now, don’t be pouting. We both know what happens when you do.”

“Then come dance with me.”

He grimaced, glancing around before he slid off.

“Just this one time.”

You wrapped your arms around his throat, he placed his hands in on your hips. Finding the rhythm and he began to move easily with you. You were easily the hottest woman on this dance floor and you were all his. The lights, twinkled and danced. The music ebbed and flowed and for the first time in his life, he relished dancing the night away.

*****

The bell on the door of the coffee shop chimed bringing him back to his expresso. He took a sip. Perfect, he mused.

Looking towards the door, he caught as Lambert cut a path over to him.

“So what have you decided Adam?”

He adjusted his glasses. “Cutting to quick, I see.”

The man nodded.

“What’s the exposure?”

“If you all do it right? None. You snatch her and then babysit her, twenty four hours tops.”

He pressed his lips together. “Alright. But I pick the muscle. I don’t want some psychotic ape losing his cool.”

Lambert nodded. “Fine. You have two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Impatience rose in him. He took a sip of the expresso to hid his disgust over the idea of waiting.

A bored look came over Lambert. “The subject is overseas. They are expected back in a week and a half. After that, you and the pack will be given the needed materials.”

He adjusted his glasses and nodded. “I just don’t like waiting.”

“Understandable.”

[pochapal]

hi there! Since you're currently Homestuck I'm writing in to ask you a favor: could you explain the truth/relevance/essentiality model of native integrity, for someone who has some experience with metafiction but hasn't read the Epilogues? I never got to that part of Homestuck and my attempts to Google explanations has left things very unclear in my head - in particular where each category ends and the other two begin.

okay so! caveat that a lot of this is going off memory and also 4 years of my own interpretation of the terms that may or may not correlate to actual reality, but truth/relevance/essentiality can be explained as follows:

as per the epilogues these things constitute the three pillars of canon - for a piece of fiction to attain canonicity it must be true relevant and essential to that which came before. in some ways this is as simple as if something like a sequel/spinoff passes the "he would not fucking say that" test and sometimes it's less simple.

for ease of understanding, each pillar can be understood as thus:

for something to be true, it must by definition not contradict either the literal or metaphorical truth of the canonical text. what comes after must be congruent with what came before. the easiest way to measure a story's truth value is to see if what is being said is verified as existing in some form within canon - if a character expresses interest in thing A, but this piece of fiction depicts them as both liking B and disliking A without even acknowledging their canonical enjoyment of A, then it loses its truth value.

for something to be relevant, it must have some matter of value or importance within the text itself. an example of something that is true but not relevant would be a side story that doesn't contradict the main canon but also doesn't add or change the core story in any way. inoffensive fluff of no consequence in other words.

for something to be essential, it must be in alignment with the themes and driving theses of the text. to make something essential, it must speak to the "why" of the source text in such a way that it either changes/becomes part of the central message. another understanding of essentiality is through audience impact - is this feature valued enough to stick in a reader's consciousness as a key component when recounting the story's details? in a lot of ways essentiality/relevance do share overlap, but my understanding is relevance = within the text and essentiality = outside of the text.

when thinking about these pillars, the important part is that these terms are also a loose metaphor for adherence to power structures/conformity to hierarchical norms. in homestuck, "canon" is a form of violence inflicted on its characters (the alpha timeline as a concept is the most accessible form of this) and so to adhere to canon is to perform existence in a way that the system views with approval. the pillars of canon are extrinsic validation that represent a total narrativising of reality, and thus the conflicts and hardships of canon continue to perpetuate (in homestuck epilogues terms, this comes in the form of sacrificing "happily ever after" for an intriguing and exciting sequel despite the suffering it will inflict on the characters).

what's interesting about this model is that truth/relevance/essentiality can also be self-generated and self-sustaining. a totally canon-divergent fanfiction will completely undermine the rules of its source to the point where if it were to be moored to canon it would damage the integrity of both texts, but it nonetheless continues to have its own internal consistency/structures. a queer AU means nothing to the source text, but it has meaning to itself and to the audience it exists for (audience response isn't very hashed out in the epilogues model, but i think it's important to consider for a more comprehensive picture - @hms-no-fun's godfeels touches a lot on this angle) and thus an alternative mode of being is formed in response.

the problem with a text that fails to adhere to these pillars is that, while it is afforded a greater structural freedom, it also fails to matter. a fanfiction that is canon-compliant has a greater value in the discourse surrounding its source text than a coffee shop au that only has character names and appearances as a shared commonality - even if this coffee shop au is a groundbreaking and moving piece of narrative, because it lacks any meaningful ties to canon it cannot be used to shape canon.

to give a clear example, a lot of this for me is most easily explored in the concept of june egbert who existed most prominently as a nebulous promise destined for the future of homestuck, but absent in its present. the question driving a lot of the fans with a vested interest in june during the 2019/2020 era was "june egbert is real, but how can june egbert be real? and what does june egbert being real mean?"

you can see this a lot with the two schools of fanworks depicting june egbert. on one hand you have what is loosely dubbed "hairclips june" - a version of june egbert who exists as the platonic ideal of transfeminine fantasy, who inhabits contemporary college aus and perfect femininity and coming out stories filled to the brim with queer coming of age tropes and feelgood trans girl archetypes. she is true and essential and relevant to the transgender experience (and indeed hairclips june *has* helped in cracking people's eggs and thus her validity and importance cannot be denied) but not the homestuck experience. in homestuck, june egbert will never come into being as an early 20's john egbert who realizes her depression is actually unaddressed dysphoria and who spends a great deal of time taking estrogen and wearing skirts and kissing her friends, but that doesn't mean there isn't a great deal of value in these texts existing regardless of their proximity to canon.

on the flipside you have "extant june" (a term i am inventing right now to categorize this character type in absence of official terminology), a version of june egbert focused much more on meaningfully addressing "how can june egbert come to be in a convincing way?", or "what canon and canon-adjacent avenues could june egbert take to come into being?". these june works are more dominated by the messy and heavy and dramatic rules that govern homestuck, and figuring out how to fit june egbert into that pattern. one such instance of this is godfeels, whose june comes about from a mind-meld with a sort of brain ghost vriska after a severe depressive episode and creates the composite "june eg8ert", a manifestation of vriska's influence on john during act 5 brought to its logical extreme. another instance is my own story, omelette route, which has june egbert come into being following her resurrection at the end of the epilogues and the canonical truth that "john egbert is dead"; freed from the narrative obligation of being john egbert, she is able to start examining the true shape of her feelings - this of course is an extension of the questions of selfhood posed over and over again by postcanon homestuck. you can even turn to homestuck^2 itself for what will almost certainly be "canon" june's entrance, through a 40 year old john egbert who, after sleepwalking his way into a miserable life and cruel world, has decided to once again give autonomy a chance.

extant june's stories are, for a better term, characterised in bleak and heavy and thematically dense brushstrokes, because homestuck itself is all of these things and more. to make a plausible june egbert that adheres to the rules of homestuck is to make june egbert compatible with the suffering of homestuck. june will never get a neat and happy coming out, but she might experience post-resurrection ego dissolution, or she might experience a personality-shifting psychic fusion, as these are all extreme character-defining moments common to homestuck's narrative language. yet there remains a controversy in these junes compared to hairclips june - these stories are often too complicated, too messy, too traumatic for an easy and palatable consumption. and yet they feel infinitely more tangible than a story about 21 year old college senior john egbert who is forcefemmed by his transfem roommate rose lalonde and has several feelings awoken as a result.

one version of june strives for truth and relevance and essentiality, and one does not. both junes contain an immense value for their respective audiences. in this way, you don't need the pillars of canon to have a conversation with a story's audience, but you do need them to have a conversation with the story itself. a story can only speak to its own pillars. if you discard those pillars either willingly or unwillingly, then you are distancing yourself from the possibility of dialogue. this is not to say that extant june is more "real" than hairclips june (they are both fanworks after all, and thus unable to ever attain absolute "truth" on their own due to not being canonically-authored texts), but that extant junes are more readily in direct dialogue and conversation with homestuck and thus have a greater potential for influence in this specific way. hairclips june through her essentiality can change your relationship to yourself, while extant june through her essentiality and relevance can change your relationship to homestuck.

i hope this helps in illuminating these concepts in a way that makes more tangible sense!

[fabled-lady-twilla]

Hi, I'm Twilla and I'm currently in the process of writing a ShigaDeku Dystopia/Soulmate AU fic that no one, and I mean literally NO ONE, asked for! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why do I always join fandoms late and why do I always somehow end up loving/shipping the rarepairs in fandoms that barely anyone likes or wants to read about lmao? 🥺👉👈

I just finished reading the latest manga chapter, watched all six seasons, and binged all three movies. I am absolutely BURSTING with ideas of where I want this story to go. I want to at least post the first chapter by the time ShigaDeku Week 2024 is here next month. :)

In my fic timeline, the MHA canon story line doesn't happen until Class 1-A's third year, and since my story is set six years after their graduation, most of the main characters are in their mid to late twenties. My story starts after the Quirk Affliction, a strange illness that begins killing off Quirk-users all around to world, resulting in a massive a death toll that causes civilized society to collapse.

Anyways, here's the general synopsis:

The Final War was over before it had even begun. With the onset of the Quirk Affliction, a mysterious illness that disproportionately targeted the Quirks of heroes over the Quirks of villains, the world was left defenseless as it plunged into a new era of chaos and devastation.

It’s been six years since the onset of the Affliction and the death of All Might. Six years since the world’s heroes, and the society they desperately fought to protect, have crumbled into dust in Shigaraki Tomura’s hands.

From the ashes of this destruction, Japan’s new regime was born. The country was split into three territories, each with its own Grand Commander, united in nothing save for one singular rule: life for those who submit, and death for those who do not.

As Grand Commander of the largest and most plentiful of Japan’s territories, Shigaraki has lived the last six years reaping the fruits of his labors and taking pride in helping his Sensei accomplish his dream. But as of late, Tomura has been having strange dreams of his own: hazy memories of an abandoned park, of blooming wisteria trees, of laughter and freckles and forest green eyes.

Midoriya Izuku, now Quirkless due to the Affliction, has not stopped his pursuit of helping others, despite the world — and everything in it — turning itself upside down. Izuku dreams of a brighter future, and strangely enough, dreams of his long-lost childhood friend, Shimura Tenko.

The same Tenko that Izuku had unknowingly befriended as a young boy. The same Tenko who’d stopped him from jumping off the rooftop all those years ago. The same Tenko that, Izuku realized with horror, was now the monster known as Shigaraki Tomura.

Unfortunately, Izuku learns all too late that having a Soulbond with the King of Villains comes with a heavy cost. Shigaraki seems hell-bent on keeping Izuku as close to him as possible, believing Izuku to be his Soulmate, and thus, Shigaraki’s only true weakness, stirring up an ill-fated romance that neither has prepared themselves for.

As a new calamity encroaches upon them in the form of a mad man attempting to become a god, the heroes and villains must find a way to work together and solve the mystery of the Affliction before it destroys the world and everything they hold dear.

✨ P l e a s e ✨ let me know if you're interested in hearing about this by either, liking, reblogging, or sending me a PM. I'm working really hard to get the first chapter of this out by ShigaDeku Week 2024 in May!

Thank you so much for reading. 💚💚💚

[bonefall]

heyyyy bonefallll!!! So uhm. Wind released. And if you read it, what do you think of it?

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I started ASC off with a lot of excitement. I had known to not get my hopes up, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like they actually had something meaningful to say about the problems in Clan society. For once, it felt fresh.

A conflict based on a murder mystery and a power struggle, political radicalization within another Clan with anti-Clanswapper bigotry turning violent, and the reluctant heir of a legacy sprawling several generations. Like a dark echo of TPB, implying the root issues had never been truly addressed by Darkest Hour. The Clans still have a terrible ruling system. The culture is still bigoted. Firestar failed to destroy the obsession with legacy-- he just founded a new bloodline.

And even if it wasn't THAT deep, it was at least a grounded plot that was based in the characters more than faith in StarClan. If Nightheart's arc about legacy fell apart, I'd still enjoy watching him struggle, lose people, grow, and find his purpose. Or seeing Splashtail juggle the power he'd managed to snatch and was just not smart enough to hold onto. Or the cool fights that would surely result from an invasion of RiverClan.

Wind tossed it. It was already having a downturn in the previous book, but this is a book that seems so afraid of having interesting conflict that it spends 75% of its time debating if something interesting should happen, and 25% of its time barking, "EVIL HEATHENS WHO HATE GOD WILL DESTROY OUR SOCIETY!!"

I can't get over how awful Splashtail's "descent" is. He's having a dumbass atheist stoner debate with Podlight when they go to the Moonpool, musing that maybe you have to eat 9 mice to get 9 lives, and then 2 appearances later he's foaming at the mouth with a dictator speech and kills harelight no miss.

They even seem to have tried to replicate Stonefur's execution but badly. It's jarring. Splashtail had a big dictator speech, killed the beloved deputy suddenly, and the whole camp looks Super Scared and Upset so that you know it's the Evil Leader and not a systemic problem.

His "TALENT FOR MANIPULATION" is saying he heard Curlfeather murmur evil plans in her sleep and (apropos of nothing) accusing her teenage daughter of "getting the wrong idea" about his adult romantic interest in her. I keep coming back to this because the ENTIRE book's plot is based on this successfully smearing Frostpaw's reputation.

you may be tired of hearing it, but I'm definitely more tired than you because I had to read and analyze an ENTIRE BOOK founded on it.

The plot is endlessly arguing over if they can trust Frostpaw or not, gathering "evidence" to this end, while Sunbeam and Nightheart's POVs uselessly languish in ThunderClan doing mentoring stuff.

Im SO sick of being forced to sit in thunderclan while more interesting things happen offscreen. stop adding MORE cats to ThunderClan, you already have Stormcloud and you do NOTHING with him why are they also getting WAFFLEPAW

Everyone's praising the fact that the book can remember previous entries, but actually, I'm going to drop a hot take; It's actually bad if they CAN obviously reference old material, and then it doesn't influence the actions the characters take. They namedrop Nightstar several times and then come up with excuses for why they still need to sit around and do nothing!!

THAT'S WORSE, ACTUALLY.

SCALDING TAKE, I'd RATHER see the cats have the memories of goldfish if the alternative is "We remember Nightstar! We're simply going to purposefully disregard Nightstar, because the plot needs to happen"

They also muse that maybe Splashtail's evilness is making all the RiverClan cats act evil, and they'll go back to normal once he's removed. This has been implied before, but never so blatantly stated.

But most of all, I can't stop going back to "Godless Heathen Bloodlust." What a fucking joke. For a shining minute it looked like we were going to have interesting villains, but no, they really are just coming out and saying that lacking faith is an indicator of a moral failing. What makes Splashtail so uniquely bad and scary is that he "disrespects the ancestors" (hey podlight. what if eating 9 magic mice gives you 9 lives? woah dude look at this. the bugle chips look like claws. lol haha) and hates love and peace and won't even let Jesus guide him.

The scenes with Frostpaw and her allies are the only parts of this book worth reading. Shadowsight, tigerHeartstar. Clinging to Whistlepaw like she's a life preserver. save me windclan

[misscammiedawn]

Ange Ushiromiya's Recontextualized Memory and Unprocessed Trauma in Umineko No Naku Kori Ni

CW: Full spoilers for Umineko, a mystery visual novel game which is best enjoyed without knowing spoilers in advance. The game and thus this essay will feature discussion of child abuse and suicide.

For those unfamiliar with my blog I have a tag called Media, Myself and I where I talk about positive/accurate representation of dissociative disorders in media.

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Today I want to talk about Umineko No Naku Kori Ni the third and fourth titles in 07th Expansion's "When They Cry" franchise. The game is a multi-layered fiction that starts off as an Agatha Christie inspired closed circle murder mystery taking place during the weekend of October 4th 1986. The murder mystery displayed has no more than 18 humans stranded on an island in the middle of a storm and the audience is invited to try to work out the mystery of what happened.

As the story progresses the audience are presented with a number of different possibilities, each an in-universe attempt to rationalize the tragedy that took place and killed all but two members of the Ushiromiya family.

It is eventually revealed that to the eyes of the world, no more than 18 humans were on the island that weekend and only one returned to their life afterwards. Some in the world have been quite focused on working out what happened during that weekend.

It's a complicated narrative that has multiple layers and each layer communicates not only with the audience reading the game but an audience of people in-universe trying to solve the mystery as well. When we first experienced the game we had joked that it was sold to us as Anime Homestuck but it ended up being Anime House of Leaves.

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The easiest way to describe the narrative structure is that the first 7 episodes of the game, each containing about 20 hours of narrative, have within them a fictionalized version of events written in-universe by people who may or may not have been present at the event with episode 8 is mostly its own thing. To explain in further detail would distract. The point is Umineko is a complicated narrative and there is too much to cover a play-by-play.

The narrative is intentionally convoluted and contradictory with part of the fun of playing the game being to work out what events are true and what the rules are for discerning "magic" from "truth".

Even with a concept as seemingly opaque as Truth, there is the often quoted "Without love it cannot be seen" motif, that our emotional connection to events will always color how we interpret events.

The story is remarkably long. How Long To Beat puts each half of the game up at about 60 hours. So that's 120 hours of pure reading with very little gameplay.

There are multiple plural characters ("Oh, I am one yet many", indeed) and we shall discuss them in due course, but for clarity I wish to focus my discussion today upon the relationship between a survivor and their histories. The novel has much to say on the topic.

The above image discussing the nature of truth is from Episode 4, the chapter where the protagonist is Ange Ushiromiya. Younger sister of the protagonist of the first Episodes, Battler Ushiromiya.

Ange, 6 years old at the time, was sick on the weekend of October 4th 1986 and was not present on the island for the massacre. One weekend she had a full and lively family and then in the span of a single week everyone she had a connection to was killed in unknowable circumstances, she was whisked away to live with her aunt, the sole survivor of the tragedy, and would live the life of a cursed child, forever haunted by the tragedy that stole away her life.

Ange's story takes place in "The World of 1998" where she seeks The Truth. She states multiple times how she is incapable of going on with her life until she knows The Truth.

The events of 1986 are presented via "forgeries", published stories which tell the story of the 1986 tragedy utilizing facts that are known about the family. Ange pours through them, attempting to uncover the truth. She suspects her aunt may be responsible. Why wouldn't she harbor suspicions? Aunt Eva was the only one of the no more than 18 humans to leave the island and became the sole inheritor of the Ushiromiya family fortune.

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is formed when an individual endures long-lasting and repeated bouts of ongoing trauma, typically in childhood. Survivors often find themselves caught in an inescapable cycle of grieving that lasts months and years beyond the loss and remains fresh and raw in spite of the time and changes that have occurred since the event. The individual is tethered to the past by an inability to move on from their loss. In psychology this is referred to as Complicated Grief and though it is most commonly discussed with death, it can present itself for grieving lost time, stolen youth and lives unlived.

Ange is riddled with Complicated Grief. Her story takes place 12 years after the events on the island of Rokkenjima and yet she constantly tells those around her that she is unable to live without knowing the truth. Ange's unprocessed grief is unearthed when her aunt, the only survivor of the massacre, passes away while maliciously refusing to give Ange any insight into the truth that she alone knew, twisting the knife as she turned over the family fortune to a child that was not her own beloved George.

Ange's sole reason for existing is to make peace with the tragedy of her past and Eva's final act was to tell her she would never have it and would instead live a cursed life of a victim in the public's eye. Eternally scrutinized and criticized.

Ange, now knowing that the only chance she had to be given the truth and still feeling that she needs it in order to live her life, runs away and starts a journey to either make peace with her tortured past or end her own life.

Ange's suicidal tendencies are played up dramatically and much of the final episode is the conflict between Ange's inability to live with her grief being played out in hyperbolic fiction. The stakes of the story amounting to "will she be able to live after learning The Truth."

But what is Truth? Would learning who is responsible for her family's death truly give her peace or would it only serve to trap her further in her endless cycle of grief?

Trauma therapy tends not to focus on Talk Therapy for the most part as such therapy indulges a survivor to dwell on their unprocessed traumas and will only serve to retraumatize the client. In many cases it is detrimental to perform Motivational Interviewing (reflective statements designed to display to a client that the clinician is listening and interpreting their words without offering direct guidance or intervention) or Rogerian "person centered" (a similar tactic designed to keep a client talking without engaging in a back-and-forth, every reply should be a prompt that inspires the client to continue sharing without boundaries and reach their own conclusions) techniques.

The reason why is that these forms of therapy have a belief that "the client holds all of the answers" and the clinician's job is to let the client get out of their own way and walk towards the answer. It is a solutions based therapy where the client is trusted to clear cognitive distortions and navigate around mental blocks between themselves and what they need.

Ange's stated goals are far from healthy.

In survivors their Core Beliefs are informed by their trauma. Those who were raised in a house of neglect may have an unresolved core belief that they are unworthy of love, those who feel shame and guilt for what happened/how they were treated may have a belief that "I should have..." - A helpful list of common negative core beliefs and positive beliefs that can be instilled, click here.

Trauma therapy contains an element of identifying these beliefs and where they originated and working to overcome them. There are many different therapies in the world that attempt to do this but they all include some element of processing trauma, accepting trauma and committing to the future.

In Ange's case she does not need to know what happened in order to live. She has to accept what happened and live.

To make this clear, should Ange learn what is presented to be The Truth it will break her and she will be unable to accept it and in doing so ends up unable to live.

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All of this is a prologue to talk about acceptance and our emotional connection to memory.

Prior to Eva's death, Ange was raised in a boarding school where she was ruthlessly bullied by the other students. Both Ange and her aunt are in the public eye for the scandal associated with the Rokkenjima massacre and Eva actively despises Ange and refuses to give her the care, nurture and privilege that the other students of the rich academy enjoy.

She lives a lonely and cursed life. Her one solace is getting to find time alone to sit and read her cousin Maria's "Grimoire", her journal. When she reads the journal she can clearly picture her cousin in her mind and interact with her. A form of "magic" that Maria taught Ange back when the two of them were friends, prior to the massacre in which Maria lost her life. In the past Maria had created a magical society called Mariage Sorciere and Ange was one of the members before being excommunicated.

We'll discuss it further in a while however while introducing Maria I wish to note that she was most likely forming a dissociative disorder prior to the massacre. The series writer Ryukishi07 was a social worker prior to his career in visual novels. He does a remarkably good job of displaying how abusive and neglectful family dynamics can impact a young mind. Maria, despite being 9 years old, has speech patterns linked to an infant's maturity, she often switches into a "witch" persona and she will hold up her stuffed animals and voice out their speech, treating them like separate individuals. She is bullied at school and her mother hits her when she does this but she is incapable of acting any other way. It's who she is.

A small portion of the second chapter even having some of the cousins stop to discuss the possibility that her overactive imagination and play-acting may contain elements of dissociative identity disorder. It's never fully confirmed and she dies at age 9, but Ryukishi07 displays a convincing depiction of extreme childhood neglect that would lead to a severe dissociative disorder had she have grown up.

We learn throughout the story that her journal contains sketches of many magical entities impressed upon the servants of the island and toys that Maria has. These entities becoming the magical cast of the "Gameboard".

Though not the focus of this particular essay, each episode of the game is depicted as a chess match between a game master (representing the author of a murder mystery) and an opponent (representing the reader trying to solve the mystery) and these matches take place in a world of purgatory. This world is populated by a magical cast of characters each of whom is paired with a member of the mundane cast on the island.

The game often repeats that it takes "two to create a universe". There needs to be one to imagine it and one to perceive it and mark it as real. This is displayed on the gameboard but it is also displayed with the way that for every imagined character who exists as part of the magical cast, there is the one who imagines and then there is one who their imagination is displayed onto.

Maria is a child of extreme neglect, as we will discuss soon, she had no one to displace her imagination upon (spare for her mother who she imagined as being possessed by an evil witch when she became violently abusive) and so she imbued life into her toys. Bringing Sakutarou, her stuffed lion doll, and her band of toy rabbits to life. This earned her the title "Witch of origins".

The magic in the game's universe operates on a rule that "it takes two to create a universe" logic. The concepts of Magic and Love being intertwined. "Without love it cannot be seen" has many meanings but in terms of creation it means that anyone can apply "the anti-magic toxin" of mistrust/disbelief by simply rejecting another person's reality.

So much of the magic and love in this world is built on trust and being able to believe in that which is shared. The concept is explored from many angles throughout the game, Episode 6 focusing on love in the form of trust between a writer and a reader and the contract between them requiring a murder mystery to be solvable and for a reader to earnestly engage with the fiction and accept it as it is written.

Within Mariage Sorciere, this love is to accept that the characters and imaginings of its members. To be a member is to accept all as it is presented. Sakutarou is a magical lion boy who speaks. To doubt this is to be excommunicated from the order, which is why Ange was kicked out of the witches alliance. To say Sakutarou wasn't real was tantamount to trying to kill him.

Maria's love is without doubt. In Episode 7 we learn that she is not capable of viewing people as anything more than how they present to the world. Her imagination paints how she perceives the world. When her mother's behavior drastically shifts when she enters a violent and abusive rage she firmly believes that her mother has been possessed by a cruel witch.

When a familiar adult approaches her speaking as the Golden Witch Beatrice, she does not see the adult. She only sees Beato. This is vital to her testimony throughout the game regarding the murder mysteries.

One last thing I wish to go over during this analysis of Ange and Maria and their relationship to their traumatic childhoods. That is the title of witch.

By now I hope it's been made clear that magic is imagination and love is trust. Whether it be testimony being believed, the contract between author and reader or the inner reality of one being seen and regarded and acknowledged by another.

As someone with DID, I like this concept a lot. It would be so easy to simply dismiss our condition and the presentations. But with love it can be seen.

The game shows a number of different types of witch. From the witch of origins who can make new imaginings that do not require another person to validate them to the Golden witch who has enough money to make reality via sheer financial coercion or the witch of truth who can make reality by asserting it to be so or witch of resurrection who can keep those who died alive in their memory.

Each witch is using their magical ability to "create" by taking their imagination and moving it out into the world. The Witch of Truth is a detective whose deductions are believed to be fact even if the accused disagrees. The Golden Witch can take any scheme or desire and pay people to make it a reality.

And Ange, the Witch of Resurrections, can bring back the dead by remembering them and keeping their voices in her heart. They live on in her writing. In her words. In her memory. So when she reads Maria's journal she can bring the Maria of 1986 into the world of 1998. When she reads of Maria's magical companions they can accompany her.

With this context, we return to Ange in her teen years.

Lonely and consumed by grief she is only able to find solace in imagining Maria with her, imagining Maria having forgiven her for saying Sakutarou wasn't real.

As she accepts the role of apprentice witch she is allowed to perceive Maria and her menagerie of imaginary friends.

Though there's a certain amount of strain and physical discomfort in maintaining the thought process of so many at once. Maria is able to do it remarkably easy but Ange has to struggle.

It's okay, Ange, dissociation headaches are an absolute bitch. They get better after a certain amount of stabilizing and communication work.

All the while she reads about Maria's home life.

To break the essay structure and be real for a moment. This segment hit me hard. I choked up crying and needed to take a break from the game for a while. The depiction of child neglect and abuse was too real and I feel it serves the fiction to depict it as such but it is a hard read. Please be kind to yourself as you read on.

Rosa Ushiromiya is the youngest of the Ushiromiya children, furthest from the inheritance and least respected of Kinzo's progeny. She likely suffered a large amount of abuse and neglect in her own childhood both physical from the eldest sibling, Kraus, emotional/psychological from her sister Eva and a combination of both from her other brother Rudolf.

Children raised in abusive households are more likely to develop personality disorders born from attachment trauma. A typical display of this is dichotomous thinking, praising and devaluing the same subject in waves based on stimulus. Within Borderline Personality Disorder, for instance, this is where the concept of Splitting and Black and White Thinking come from.

For Rosa, this manifests with her mood swings that have her violently scream and hit her daughter before lavishing her with apologies, affection and attention.

Every character in Umineko is burdened with a painful past. Each character feels the need to displace that pain outwards and project it onto other people. For instance Rosa displaces her pain onto Maria. Both of Ange's aunts displace theirs onto her. Kyrie displaces hers onto Battler.

Generational trauma is a heavy theme of this game.

Rosa makes her way as the head of a small fashion design label though she does not see a lot of success in her role. Early in adulthood she had a relationship that ended with her pregnant with Maria. Maria's father, upon learning of the pregnancy, left.

Rosa is young, lonely and feels that having a child makes it difficult for her to find love; in the time and culture of 1980s Japan being a single mother was seen as shameful. She finds that the best way she is able to date is to act like she does not have a daughter and take extended vacations across the country on weekends with her dates.

Leaving her daughter home alone.

Rosa has a number of hang-ups about the optics of leaving Maria in someone else's care, she is shown on multiple occasions in the story to fly into a rage when her ability to be a parent is put into question and she has massive cognitive dissonance in that she cannot bare to be seen as a bad mother and so she acts like a horrible mother to avoid looking bad.

I have seen a lot of debate on the logic here and first off, anyone who approaches this story with a view of "it does not make sense that a character acted this way" lacks the Love required to enjoy this story in full. The author enters a firm agreement with the audience to work within the confines of the fiction and not to disrespect the fiction by rejecting that which is offered. He will deceive us but never lie. In that we have to believe in the story.

But it's also a sign of those who have grown up with a proud optics obsessed parent and those who did not. Sad to say, I have experienced a few of the things which happen in this chapter and I have no doubt that Ryukishi07 saw some of it in his social worker career.

When Rosa leaves Maria alone at home, for days at a time, she orders her to never make anyone aware of her situation. More important than anything else never speak to the police about what goes on in this house.

That. I have lived that one.

What Ange reads and what Maria shows us in this episode is a weekend where Maria is home alone, her mother having forgotten a promise that was made to her and Maria is locked out of her house. She spends an entire evening searching for the lost key and eventually needs to seek a friendly store worker who recognizes her to get help.

This leads to police intervention, a social worker showing up at Rosa's house and...

I glossed over a lot. This is a dense book and this story takes up much of Episode 4. Suffice to say, Maria's friend Sakutarou was murdered in retaliation for Maria summoning attention of Rosa's bad parenting. Rosa abandoned her daughter for a full weekend after breaking a promise and when she was locked out and defenseless she asked for help and was violently punished for doing so.

Another function of the witch of origins is the ability to break the cycle of generational abuse. She does not take her pain and push it into someone else, she creates an imagined evil mother to hate and fear while continuing to love her 'real' mother. This way she never has to doubt the love she has for the mother who she has happy memories of and who custom crafted a lovely plush lion just for her.

Which leads to the discussion of trauma, memory and processing.

Ange, upon reading this story is crestfallen. She views Maria as a pitiable child, only to be confronted by MARIA who defends Rosa. Arguing that she legitimately forgot her promise, rather than deciding that her daughter was not worth the time or effort.

She claims constantly that Rosa is a good mother and that she is happy.

Maria, a being who can only view the world with love, despite being abused and hurt; chose to be happy and so through her magic it was so. She was happy.

There's a misconception I have seen and I will admit I held for myself upon reading Episode 4 that Maria was preaching to deceive ones own self in order to be happy. That it was enabling and accepting of her own abuse.

But this is actually one of the deepest things Umineko has to say about generational trauma...

Chapter 8 revisits the idea with a version of the gameboard where the Ange of 1986 is allowed to be on the island, something which was impossible because in truth she was not. Not even the witch of miracles could change that which is certain.

In this game, set by Ange's older brother BATTLER, the 6 year old Ange is treated to a fun halloween party with her aunt Eva run by her loving family. Throughout the entire story Grandfather Kinzo was made out to be the source of all evil and in this episode he is displayed as a kind and loving grandfather.

The entire reason I wanted to write this post and include it in my Media, Myself and I series (in lieu of discussing the overt plurality in the game, even) was due to a conversation Ange has with Battler about this deception.

Source: LP Archives - The full conversation can be found on this page for anyone who wants the full breakdown.

The entire story of Umineko is a struggle for those who experienced horrors to be able to come to terms with their memories and process them. This is true for Ange, it is true for Maria and it is true for the other members of the cast also.

Memory is malleable and uncertain and can and does become distorted due to understandings and contexts gained at a later stage, particularly when bias is in play.

For a graphic of how this works please look at this:

Source

The more a memory is reactivated the more it is eroded of its initial context and additional contexts bleed in. For Ange's circumstance she remembers her parents through the lens of knowing that her father was embroiled in legal troubles from his womanizing behavior. It is unlikely a 6 year old Ange remembers Rudolf in this light but her view of her father is painted through this lens and thus when she retrieves these memories the present context forces itself into the past.

This is just how the human mind works.

EMDR and other trauma treatments are focused on hijacking this system. When a traumatic memory plays out the amygdala processes the emotions and sense of danger which activates the nervous system. This process does not even require a conscious recollection; should a trauma memory be associated with a certain scent the nervous system will activate upon smelling it even if the survivor does not recall the event attached to the stimulus, the amygdala most certainly does.

I have spent too much of my life considering which of our memories had lavender scenting…

For EMDR the process involves retrieving the traumatic memory without allowing the client to reexperience it while ensuring they do so within the context of the present while highlighting safety and security. This allows the memory to be filtered through without the activating the nervous system. In some therapies this can be a process of re-parenting in which the emotional absence is provided either by the self or via a proxy. The idea is to allow the memory to break association with the trauma and be decontextualize until the memory no longer has negative associations.

Where I had assumed Maria's choice to be happy and think the best of her abuser was an act of enabling and self-deception, I now see was an attempt to stop dwelling on the negatives of the situation and allowing the past trauma to become a defining point within the present.

Maria cannot choose what happened to her. She can choose how she intends to live with what happened with her. She cannot know for certain what Rosa's motivation was in her actions. In fact as we go through the game the audience comes to be given some sympathetic information which though can never redeem Rosa's terrible parenting, can allow one inclined to feel sympathy for her. Like everyone else in the game, she's a victim too. Quite literally in 1986.

There's no way of knowing if she maliciously lied to her child and went off on vacation abandoning her or if she legitimately forgot her promise. No one is arguing that what Rosa did was forgivable. But it helps Maria continue living a happy existence knowing that she was loved and that the good memories she has of her mother are true, even if the bad ones are also true.

Maria, filled with love as she is, elected to see The Good Mommy and The Bad Mommy. Is this right or wrong? It's unimportant. What matters is if Maria can be happy.

Sakutarou was a stuffed lion said to be handcrafted by Rosa. Given as a gift and beloved above all things for Maria. When Rosa destroyed the Sakutarou doll the lion cub boy died and could not be resurrected by Beatrice because it was a unique item created by Rosa.

In Chapter 4's conclusion, Ange does the impossible and resurrects Sakutarou. She does this because Sakutarou was never a custom made doll crafed with love. He was a mass produced toy sold in travel gift stores that Rosa happened to pick up on her way home. She lied. Ange never tells Maria this. The miracle of Sakutarou's rebirth is enough. Knowing that the beloved handmade toy was not hand-crafted would not make Maria's life any better. Sometimes believing in magic is the best thing for someone living in a world painted by despair.

Funny that Ange understood that much for Maria and yet still sought after the One Truth up until the very end.

The finale of the game comes down to presenting this option to the player and by proxy Ange herself.

In a world where you cannot change the past and you cannot fully accept what happened, is it better to continue digging up the past and re-experiencing the trauma in hopes that there lays a truth that will make it all finally make sense or to try to make peace with the past and find moments of peace to hold onto. Holding to hate and pain only serves to bring the pain of the past into the present.

Ange, the witch of resurrection, has the ability to keep her family with her long after their death. Should she be haunted by the family that she was deprived or be happy for the limited memories she had and not be tethered to a world of the past she could never have possibly been part of.

Healing in Umineko is accepting love and making peace with loss. It is learning to live unburdened by tragedy and do the best with what was done to us.

If we cannot let go then we'll continue living in the world of the past turning over the events over and over trying to make sense of it and even if we are somehow granted the magical context, the one and only shining truth... it will only serve to make things worse. You can keep the past alive without letting the past control your future.

And Umineko does a remarkably good job of showing that.

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Gosh... that took far longer than I'd hoped. Umineko is a difficult piece of fiction to type about because so much of it is subjective and hard to present to a broad audience without providing ample context.

I'd hoped to talk about Yasu's DID but I suppose that shall have to await another update. My original draft for this discussion was to discuss the different forms of dissociative amnesia with Ange's story serving as an example of how recontextualizing memory works. I may yet go back and do a full amnesia based ramble in the coming months. I just needed to get at least one aspect of Umineko drafted as it's been living rent free in my brain since December.

If you enjoyed this breakdown and found it interesting, please check out some of my other Media, Myself and I essays.

Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal gear Solid 2 - Describing the sensation of derealization where the brain stops connecting associations between the self and the things one perceives in their surroundings. One example displaying how this impacts a person living with DPDR and the other showing an example of a game attempting to make a player share the experience with the player character.

DID and the healing process in Mr. Robot - A run down of the experiences of discovery, exploration, rejection and healing within DID as displayed in each season of Mr. Robot, along with a disappointed rundown of why the final episode fumbled the ball.

Bruce Banner and the roles of his alters - A breakdown of the formation of The Incredible Hulk's DID and what roles his many alters play.

Romantic relationships with systems - A look at the marriage between Bruce Banner and Betty Talbot-Ross Banner in Hulk comics and a frank discussion between Betty and one of Bruce's alters about how relationships function in a system.

Personality Play in Penlight - A review of one of the routes for a hypnokink visual novel called Penlight in which the protagonist hypnotizes a woman to have an alter personality, along with some descriptions of how dangerous play like that works in real life and what the consequences could be.

[witchysfics]

Hey! I loved your fic a lot, thank u for adding some fluff to his romance <3

You mentioned the requests are possible, what about Gale and Tav spending one of their nights in town? Maybe cafe, tavern or restaurant? Or just a slow walking promenade through the alleys? Or slow dancing somewhere near musicians? Whatever inspires you the most :D

Thanks!

author's note : Thank you so much for requesting!! I will be finishing up other requests and finishing my rules soon. Feel free to keep requesting for now! I love all your ideas!! this is not proofread and may have many mistakes. It was soooo late when I was writing this. enjoy <3

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The party had stopped at a quaint little town for the evening. You had practically begged to rest here. Why be outside in the cold dark night when you all could cozy up a fire and warm up to a little a drink. It would be great!

And you were right. The tiny town was filled with happy families, couples strolling along and a quaint tavern, perfect for your traveling party.

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon and night filled the air the town grew even more bustling.

Now the patrons of the tavern sat outside nursing their drinks and watching the locals dance to the music.

The party had settled on some outdoor seating as well, Karalach and Wyll loading up on ale, laughing boisterously. Astarion hung to the shadows, probably looking for a snack out of one of the clueless town's persons. And you sat with Shadowheart chatting like a couple of gossiping old ladies while Gale sat with you two, listening.

An upbeat song began, drawing your attention to the dancers.

"The aroma of the night is relaxing. It's a nice change of pace isn't it?" Gale asks, turning to you and Shadowheart.

You nod, smiling. You could definitely agree, after the countless battles and hours of exploring the party really needed this off time.

A sudden bump of your table had startled the three of you.

"Op! s-sorry!" A giddy, and possibly drunk, Karlach called as she dragged a nervous Wyll to the dance floor. "I told you Wyll, Blade of Frontiers. You will be bested by me! Karlach! ... uhh The Dancing Demon!"

You and Gale chuckled at their antics while Shadowheart shakes her head, amused.

"How long do you think before Wyll finds competing with Karlach is too hot to handle?" Gale asks jokingly.

You shake your head at that, "Haha, I thought you were a Wizard, not a comedic bard." You quip.

"I can be anything you'd like my dear. Maybe even a proficient dancer?" He look expectantly at you. His delivery is confident but the message in his eyes holds of other, more nervous intension.

You blush slightly at the implication of the statement. Opening your mouth, trying to formulate something to say but nothing comes out.

"I- uh."

"I can't remember the last time I danced." Shadowheart sighs, gazing at the dancers.

You turn to her and fan your heating face. Thankful that she unknowing shifted attention to herself you ask, "Really? Shar doesn't like dancing?" You joke, smiling a little at her.

"I wouldn't say that, its just... I can't remember the last time I danced, because of the...you know" She gestures to her head, "memory spell"

You make a silent 'oh' in realization.

"I'm not too sad about it though, I know I'll get my memories back. And in the mean time," She suddenly stands from her seat, standing in front of you. "I get to make new memories now. Starting with you!" She makes a quick motion for you hands and pulls you up to her.

You let out a surprised yelp as she laughs and she drags you over to dance. You look over your shoulder to Gale, who looks just as surprised but recovers and mouths for you to 'go on it's fine' with a smile. You give a apologetic smile in return.

Shadowheart, still holding your hands, spins the two of you. Dancing in a way that is reminiscent of young school girls. Twirling, spinning, jumping and laughing all the while.

You spot Karlach an Wyll who both shoot you friendly smiles. Wyll's a little more crooked and weary while Karlach gives you two red thumbs up.

Eventually you have traded dance partners as more people join the group. You switch from Shadowheart, to Karlach to Wyll. Even Halsin joins in during a slower song. You danced with strangers too, some old some young. Some flirted with you and some you made a friendly banter. You had noticed Gal tried to slip in a few times only for you or him to snatched up by a different partner. Both of you expressing contrite smiles to one another.

By the time you got back to your table, and Gale the whole town might as well have turned in for the night. The music was slower and the dance floor was lighted by dancing fireflies and the occasional ground lantern.

"Well, it's been a while." He says looking over to you. "You seem very popular."

You sigh falling into the chair, exhasuted. "I'm so sorry!" You exclaim, slumping to your knees and placing one of your hands on his own that sat on his high. "I had meant to answer you question ages ago, but well..." You chuckle, "I just I was preoccupied."

"Oh no my dear, I completely understand. Of course everyone would want to dance with a beautiful individual like yourself."

His voice is smooth, like a stream gliding over flat stones. His face is soft though his tone is flirty.

You gulp and roll your bottom lip between your teeth. You've danced with strangers all night, how could he make just taking to him overwhelming?

"Is something the matter? You seem, stunned." He asks a smug smile spreading across his lips

"Oh! No no. Not at all." You clear your throat. "Sorry I just...." You trail off, unsure of what to say.

"You know," he begins, taking your hand into his. "You never did answer my question. Would you like me to be your dancer?"

You nod breathlessly and he smiles down at you. His eyes filled with an indescribable softness.

He pulls you gentally to the dance floor and a song kicks up as you wrap your arms around his neck and he placed his hands on your waist. His chest presses to yours and the warmth from the contact warms the cool air around you. His shoulder is soft as you place your head upon it. Drinking in the smell of his, now clean, robes. They have a hint of petrichor and vanilla, as well as a slight lingering smell of ale. But that is to be expected near a tavern.

The playing song is cheerful, but romantic as it belows out it's slow rhythmed melody.

Gale's eyes haven't left you once since you'd begun dancing. Taking in the view of your eyes as they sparked from the light of firefies.

It's only when he begins speaking are you snapped out of your trance.

"You know, I've been trying to get to dance with you all night. I was almost convinced I wasn't going to just because I couldn't seem to even catch a small moment with you." He chuckles. "But I'm glad I waited. Dancing with you then would have been a privilege but I would have had lost you as soon as I got you. But this, dancing with you, watching your darling face lit up by the stars? This, this is a dream."

Footnote : Thank you so much for requesting! I hope this is sufficient to what you had in mind, this was really fun to write. Had me kicking my own feet. Sorry it took me so long to get to, midterms have been biting my ass. Love ya! - Witchy