#ego death implies that what you are dies

[cat-marshmallow]

z

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Nikolai Lantsov x gn! Reader - Kings and fools

A/n: whoops, cannon? she died yesterday. also translations at the end

Summary: Being trapped in a Fjerdan lab isn't much fun, but things do start to get interesting when someone you recognize shows up.

Warnings: Swearing, implied death, implied torture, beating people up, prolly ptsd, just all around fun times.

[Pronouns used: You/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) nikolai x reader]

You were going to laugh because of the sheer hilariousness of this situation. Never-mind, you were currently laughing your head off.

One of the guard's turned around to look at you with fierce eyes and smacked your face thrice just for little a giggle slipping past your lips.

"Tig!" He shouts at you in Fjerdan after hitting your face repeatedly. "Tig!"

But you could care less, because they obviously didn't realize who they had just captured, because if they had, they would be carrying a body bag instead. War would start between Ravka and Fjerda, or perhaps they would keep it a secret and invade Ravka knowing they had a dead king.

The King of fucking Ravka was shoved into your cell.

The Fjerdan guard scampered off probably because he had spent too much time on such a lowly prisoner not knowing if he used his fucking eyes he would see that he would be getting a raise within the hour.

Alas, he didn't and now you were stuck with an unwanted roommate.

"Are you okay?" He whispered to you, and your breath stopped.

You had not expected that, you had expected some arrogant fool, as kings usually were. Kings and fools were one in the same after all.

"What?"

"He hit you."

Blinking a couple of times, you just shook your head. "He was being kind."

The King narrowed his eyes. "Unless I'm mistaken, kind people do not hurt someone."

You wanted to say that it didn't hurt, but you were weak. The bruises forming would say otherwise, and lying wouldn't get you anywhere. Even so, the only way to survive this place was to be strong, someone slapping you three times because you laughed wasn't the worst you've experienced or seen. A slap was child's play.

"You'll soon find out kindness comes in more forms then one."

___________

It was Nikolai Lantsov's first true day in this hellish Fjerdan laboratory.

Now he would find out what you were used for.

"Get up." You kick his side as he groans on the dirt floor. "Get up, you babink!"

He throws his head up to look at you with curled lips.

"I certainly won't if you don't ask me nicely."

You have heard of his ability to charm, and you've heard of his large ego, you've found the only thing that's true is the latter. Nikolai has an incredible ego whether it be a facade or not it didn't matter. It was going to cost him his first real beating, and make all the other ones look like mercy.

"Unless you want one of the guards to kick the shit out of you, get up!"

He sighed, but quickly followed your orders and you vaguely wondered if he was used to giving orders rather then receiving them, or if he let all his generals do it for him.

You shouldn't be helping this poor fool, but some part of you still burned with the need to protect your country, and by extension of that the king. It was a part of you that dared to hope, it was weak, and the reason you were in this situation. You thought that hopeful part of you had died the first week you were here, and you knew they weren't coming for you. Despite being their best.

You should have known better then, just like you should know better know.

But you're a fool.

Somehow, for the next five months you manage to shield Nikolai away from the brunt of the nasty atrocities in this lab-rat prison. Both of you do your labor with no foul-language, or whimpers escaping. You manage to stay quiet and to get the guards off his, and your backs. It's a miracle considering he talks so much.

You just hope you can keep him out of the lab.

"So, you know how to speak Ravkan?"

Your back stiffens, and the cuts there sting a little as you do but you manage to ignore it in favor of glaring at the man who's sitting in your cell beside you. How he managed to remember you cursing at him in Ravkan that first morning is beyond you. Usually time will seep deep into bones until there's nothing but the memory of pain, and the moments of suffering. Having someone else there is dangerous, because it lessens the load and makes you a fool, for it gives you hope.

"You should stop asking questions you know the answer to." You muttered while rolling your eyes at him.

"That wasn't my question." He shoved your shoulder, if you weren't here he would have had more strength to not shove it so weakly. If you weren't here, you wouldn't wince slightly anyways, if he hadn't shown up this would have never happened.

His bright piercing gaze meet yours and you wanted to curse for your heart stuttering in your chest. At least you knew there weren't any grisha around to hear it.

Now, that very thought made you sick.

"What do you want to ask me then?" You ask him, as his eyes glint dangerously and you wonder whether kings are the fools, or if it's just the people who get caught in their snare that are.

"Three questions," He bargains. "Then I'll let you sleep."

Pursing your lips, you think about what could go wrong, but you find you don't care. You've been fearing for your life, and pain for over three years, if your name was still uttered around Ravka then Alina Starkov was going to come running for your rescue. It didn't matter if he found out who you were through some silly questions, it was just leveling the playing field. It wasn't fair, you mused, that you knew his identity, but he didn't know yours.

"Fine." You snap.

Plus, you were feeling slightly more sappy tonight, if he wanted to hear your sob story that he's already been told but has forgotten then he could be your guest.

"Where did you live?"

"Fjerda, then Ravka."

"What did you used to, do before all of this." He gestured towards the cell.

"I hunted down the people I used to work for." You speak rather curtly before facing away from him, unwanted memories flickering behind your irises. "I think that's enough questions for tonight."

But he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him as he shifts his body closer to yours so you were only a breath apart.

"I have one more question left."

"I hate you."

He smiled, "No you don't, drüskelle maleni."

You slapped his hand away from your face, and moved away from him with a furious expression written with the frown on your lips.

You thought if anything, he would know you as the spy, not as the drüskelle maleni - the drüskelle ghost.

That's what you were before, someone who had been raised to kill without thought, to someone who found humanity again. Then lost it as they had to repent for their sins.

"I'm sorry lapushka, I shouldn't have-" Nikolai tries to reach out for you, but even in your tiny cell do you manage to move away from him.

"Don't Moi Tsar." You hissed, quickly silencing the King. You didn't hear from him again that night

_____________

Of course the next day was shit.

Nikolai refused to follow any orders and you knew the guards were getting fed up with his behavior. Currently, so were you, did he just forget every lesson you taught him to stay quiet? Was he such a fool as to not realize that if he didn't stay hidden enough they would figure out who he was and he would be dead by morning?

Yet it was not in Nikolai Lantsov's nature to stay quiet, saints, you doubted he even knew the word.

If he was going to be this reckless than you couldn't help him, you wouldn't help him. What's the point if he was bargaining with his own life?

That's what you repeated to yourself anyways, as he was slowly getting dragged off.

"We're taking this demjin to the lab." One grumbled as they pulled Nikolai with a group of soldiers.

Your blood went cold, and your eyes started to fill with dread.

You had been in the lab, once, but they decided they didn't actually need you. Still, you got to see the people being put under terrible things, testing them to see how much the body could handle. There were crimes not even imaginable, so bad that when someone opened their mouth to speak about them, a scream got let out instead.

The unlucky ones would disappear once they crossed the border into the lab. The lucky ones would come back alive, maybe even a little maimed, but alive.

Maybe they weren't so lucky than, maybe the real curse is going through it than surviving it.

Djel, You prayed. Please let this work, for once let me save something instead of kill. Don't use me as your blade but as your shield. Just this once.

You ran up to the guards and tore them off of Nikolai, breaking their grip on him.

"Me jer jonink." You whispered to the King in your mother tongue, not quite knowing what you were asking forgiveness for. Perhaps it was for the way you snapped, or for the lives you've stolen, you don't quite know. Maybe it was for the way he laid his eyes on you, and you on him. The way you've protected him, and the way he's given you hope.

Kings and fools are one in the same.

"What do you think you're doing!" One growled, while the other two held down your arms against your thrashing.

Saving him. "Helping my country, Fjerda." You lifted your chin staring defiantly into their faces. Knowing that you were like them once, killing grisha, only to be shown mercy, and turned into a weapon against the Drüskelle. You could be that one last time, you could serve Ravka, even if it meant death.

You could serve your love.

"You should know that grisha anything but vile, they are good, they are-"

The guard not holding you down, knees you in the gut, causing your knees to tremble and your strength to waiver. Yet the men gripping your arms forced your legs to work, lest you break them.

"Grisha will run this country to the ground!" He yells at you, spit hitting your face.

You knew you had to go further if you wanted them to forget about Nikolai and his stunt of, existing.

Taking a breath you opened your eyes and hoped.

"Fel holm ve koop djet."

Immediately they start to drag you away from Nikolai who tries to shout, to get them to stop, but they ignore the King. Instead they seem to find enjoyment with bruising you up on your way to the lab.

Now you truly understood why you asked for forgiveness, because the look in his eyes as they pulled you away could only scream love.

Words 1843

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Translations:

Fjerdan:

Tig - Shut up

Drüskelle - Witchhunter

Demjin - Demon

Me jer jonink. - Forgive me

Fel holm ve koop djet. - Our home is better for it

Ravkan:

Babink - Barbarian

Maleni - ghost

Lapushka - Darling

Moi Tsar - My King

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: The story of how you, the bastard daughter of the Hiiragi clan, gain power in a country at constant war — and how, just as quickly, you lose it, too.

Chapter Synopsis: An introduction to you, Y/N L/N, the unwanted daughter of a serving maid and a daimyo.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Content Warnings: sengoku period au, character death, angst, sad ending, implied abuse, lots of political content, violence and war, the characters will probably be ooc a bit (as is to be expected when you put a bunch of soccer freaks into the warring states period), they are all morally questionable AT BEST, i promise i don’t hate your fav if they act heinous it’s just that someone has to, the prose here is so purple you might confuse it for reo mikage, i may or may not include original characters, i do try and do a bit of research but this is a bllk reader insert fanfic so please keep your expectations for historical accuracy and whatnot at a minimum, possibly a bit suggestive eventually

A/N: erm…hey guys…this one’s for the three otoya stans out there 🤞🏻 listen i don’t even like him that much (prefer his bff tbh) but for some reason i can’t stop thinking about him and i had this idea for a fic that just wouldn’t let me go so uhh here we are!! but this is one i really don’t know how i feel about so lmk if you liked it/think i should continue

On the day you were born, a star died. It was like a great gash in the sky, supposedly, a bloody smear of fire against the blue of the afternoon, which flickered to the rise and fall of your wails and only vanished once you had been taken to your mother’s breast. The story was told to you so often that you could picture it as vividly as if you had been there, though of course your recall of the event was non-existent. But your half-brother, who had barely been more than a child at your birth, took a particular pleasure in reminding you that you were the star-killer, the ill-portended bastard who was a curse on his family.

He was relentless like a hornet, that half-brother of yours. A better man would’ve ignored you completely, would’ve taken satisfaction in his own supremacy and left you, who were no threat to his position nor his ego, alone. Yet it remained that it was your half-brother’s favorite pastime to follow you around and whisper things in your ears, striking you swiftly if you dared to respond.

“You’re a monster,” he’d murmur when he wanted to amuse himself. “Little witch-thing. You were just a babe when you murdered your surrogate…I wonder, is it truly the same blood which runs in both our veins? No, I am sure that you are just a demon who has taken the place of my sweet half-sister. Did you kill her, too? May she rest in peace. Greedy child. Devil child. A star and a woman and a little girl — how many more until you are satisfied?”

Though you had learnt long ago the value of your silence, there were still occasions when you would tell him no, that it was not the case. It was a meaningless form of retribution. He knew the truth, knew it as well as you did or maybe better, but he did not care. It was a little play of yours, this argument and its various other forms, and if you were to deviate from your script, you’d be met with the consequences of displeasing your audience of one.

“You killed her,” he would say, your cheek stinging where he had slapped it, his pale irises gleaming at the tremble of your lower lip, which even after so many years you could not quell completely. “You killed them both, didn’t you? Apologize for it. Repent for the sin.”

The relationship between you and your half-brother was of little consequence to your father. If he hurt you or if he loved you — what did it matter to the man whose adoption of you was so reluctantly done as to be all but forced? Your half-brother was the one who shared his name, who was his perfect heir, who had twin moons for eyes and was born at the stroke of midnight. You were the one who had killed a star and a surrogate alike, whose name was common and plain, as was fitting for the daughter of a dead serving girl. Certainly, the sacrifice was easy to make, and likely it was not even a sacrifice in the first place. The closest he ever got to reprimanding your half-brother was letting out a heavy sigh when he walked past your frozen form, reminding him that ought to keep better company.

You could not say the same about yourself. You lived in the Hiiragi manor only on account of your father’s charity, and so you were expected to conduct yourself in a manner that invited the highest praise — though you never received this praise, naturally. If you were behaving in an exemplary way, then you were only doing as you ought to, and anything lesser was met with cold correction.

According to your father, you were an embarrassment, but one he had to display as if he were proud. He was a daimyo, the lord of your province, and so he was meant to be the perfect example of an honorable man. Nobody batted an eye when he lay with his own servants — it was typical, anyways, especially since his own wife had died in the service of his first and only son — but when the stomach of the maid who swept the kitchens began to swell, the whispers abounded. What would happen to the child, who was undoubtedly of the Hiiragi line? Would he acknowledge her, or would he throw her to her death in the streets?

Well, it would’ve been worse if he cast her away, so reluctantly, your father watched over your mother, caring for her until you were born. That day, he snatched you away, your lips still wet from milk, your thin hair plastered to your tiny brow, and he handed you to the waiting surrogate. After that, he had your mother killed, taken to the back and burnt alive when she was too weak to fight back.

It was easy for him to disguise the murder by claiming that she, too, had faced the same fate as his beloved wife. Hiiragi blood claws at the womb. Though of course you were no Hiiragi — you were Y/N L/N, undeserving of a nobler address — it was true that, despite your circumstances, you were still half a lady, a daimyo’s daughter as much as you were a maid’s. So your father blamed her death on you, and only a select few knew the truth, all of whom shared blood and two of whom shared a name.

Though it was impossible for him to remember it, your half-brother would describe the gray of the smoke to you, the way your mother’s ashes had swirled into the air and her screams had faded into the crackling of embers. Only when your eyes welled with tears would he snicker and leave you to your own devices, ruffling your hair fraternally, though the gesture was anything but.

“What cause do you have to cry?” he’d call out over his shoulder. “You hardly knew the woman. At least her death at Father’s hand was quick; were she left to you, she would’ve suffered for longer and longer. It was a mercy, though I am sure you know not what that word means.”

Once you had grown older, you began to understand, in pieces and then all in a rush, what purpose you served for your father, why he had kept you at his side so many years after propriety demanded. Your father, who had never had any other children bar your half-brother…if he wanted to secure an alliance with one or another of the neighboring daimyos, who were ever clamoring for more territory, more land, more wealth, more more more, what was the best option? It was you.

Mere days after you turned of age, the men began to arrive at the Hiiragi manor. These conversations were like dancing with snakes for your father and half-brother, each word a baring of their fangs, each sly remark a biting challenge, each exchanged glance a seeping of their poison. You were relegated to pouring tea and keeping your gaze lowered, a showpiece more than a participant.

The more foolish of the supplicants, in their earnest desires to appease the serpent-kin Hiiragis, would seek to compliment you, claiming that no more beautiful woman existed in all the world, insisting to your father that, were they given your hand and thus the support of the Hiiragis, they would build a palace grand enough to contain even one such as yourself.

This was when your half-brother would make himself known, his expression coy and playful, his voice a smooth hiss as he reminded the suitor that you were a bastard. The daughter of a maid, he’d say with a laugh, the sound jarring and devoid of mirth. You find her so lovely? You must not have very high standards, then.

Their faces would go white, and the corners of your father’s lips would twitch as he commanded them to leave at once. The Hiiragi would not ally themselves with those who had such lofty but baseless aspirations, not when they themselves had their own goals which they pursued so staunchly — only an equal or greater would receive the honor of their support, of their only daughter, who was barely classified as such but nevertheless had attained at least that much in her lifetime.

“There’s a suitor coming to see you,” your half-brother said, the painted screen door pushed aside, his arms crossed as he peered into your room. “Hey. Shitty Y/N. Get dressed; Father seems to think this one might have some merit to him.”

“Might you send a maid to assist me?” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat when he raised his eyebrows. “Reiji, you must realize that it is difficult for me to ready myself to that extent.”

Reiji’s lip curled as he regarded you, but finally, to your relief, he nodded at you. “Very well, though only because this meeting is of import and it would not do for you to have a shoddy appearance.“

“Thank you,” you said, pressing your forehead to the floor until you heard the whoosh of the door as it slid shut. Curling your fists, you pushed yourself up until you were kneeling in front of your dressing table, staring into the mirror and wincing when you noticed that there were dark hollows under your eyes.

“Miss L/N,” a soft voice called from the other side of the screen. “Shall I enter?”

“You may,” you said. You recognized her gentle intonations; she was, after all, the only maid in the manor who treated you as if you were a true-born Hiiragi and not some other, accursed thing.

The door opened once again, but she stood alone, her tiny figure such a contrast to Reiji’s boasting frame. Her bright hair was tied back, her eyelids lowering in disappointment when she glanced at you.

“Ah, Miss L/N, you must endeavor to sleep earlier,” she said, crouching behind you, her clever fingers beginning to weave through your hair. “Are those terrors plaguing you anew?”

“Is it so obvious?” you said.

“Rather, it is that I know you so well,” she said. “So, that is the reason?”

“It is,” you said, pursing your lips. “But that is enough questioning on the matter, Anri. I should not like to speak of it.”

“Perhaps it would be helpful if you did,” she suggested. “Do you not agree? Recounting them could ward them away.”

“It has never worked in the past, so why should it work now? I think that you are disguising your curiosity as concern,” you said.

“I—I—I would do no such thing! Miss L/N, how could you even suggest it?” she sputtered.

“It was only a jest,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Anyways, I suppose that this terror is of a different nature, so it may yet vanish if I speak it aloud.”

For as long as you could remember, you had had fitful episodes, lasting a week but never longer, in which you dreamt of terrible things that haunted you even in your waking hours. None of these visions ever had much coherence, but there was a sense of doom interspersed throughout, a personal doom, as if they held a sort of significance to you that you were too naive to understand.

“This time, there was a man,” you said. “I saw him vividly, though I cannot recall him any longer.”

“A man!” Anri said.

“Yes, and I believe a comely one, to answer what I know you will not speak aloud. His face has been lost to me, but I was frightened of him, or perhaps for him,” you said. “It is the first time I have watched someone other than my mother die in the fire. He embraced her as it happened, but despite their familiarity, I am certain it was not my father.”

Every single nightmare ended in the same way: a woman’s immolation, flames licking up her dress and lashing against her face, which resembled yours so greatly that you knew she could be no one else but your mother. Her expression was stony and set, though her eyes danced with a wild sort of panic as she burned, her jaw twitching from the efforts of silencing the screams that Reiji had claimed he had heard.

This was the first time that she had not been alone, her taut muscles releasing as the man appeared. Though your mother’s face never left your mind — you could not escape it when a facsimile stared back at you whenever you gazed at your reflection — the man was out of your grasp, a slippery sort of person who you wanted very badly to remember but simply could not.

He had had his back to you, facing your mother at her end, and then he had gathered her in his arms, clutching her tightly and allowing the fire to take them both. And though tears had dripped from her eyes, though she had shivered from the pain of their shared death, you had noticed that for the first time, your mother had seemed happy, as if her impending doom meant nothing in face of what you got the sense was a long-anticipated reunion.

“Did your mother have another lover?” Anri said.

“How should I know?” you said, harsher than you had intended. Anri flinched from surprise, and you frowned. “I apologize.”

“No, the error is mine, Miss L/N,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be forgiven. You were merely expressing your interest in the subject, and I had the gall to snap at you for it. To tell you the truth, he did hold her in the way a lover might, but I have never heard much if anything about my mother’s past, so that does nothing to solve the mystery of his identity. Anyways, if ever he did exist, he’s likely long dead, so it does not warrant further investigation,” you said.

“Of course not,” she said, pressing a cake of powder against your face, blowing the excess away. “Do you think that this discussion has assuaged you?”

“That’s a question I can only answer after tonight, you know,” you said.

“Oh, I have spoken hastily,” she said. “Forgive me.”

“You needn’t apologize,” you said. “I am not Reiji nor my father. It isn’t possible for you to wrong me. For if you could, then I would not be Y/N L/N but Y/N Hiiragi, and as I am not, you ought to worry less.”

“You are still Lord Hiiragi’s daughter, and as such, I will give you the respect that that position demands,” she said.

“Am I?” you said. “What if I am that man’s daughter?”

“Were there even a hint of uncertainty as to your parentage, I do not doubt that Lord Hiiragi would’ve long ago sent you away,” Anri said. “Without question, you are his. A name cannot change that.”

“It is a reminder better given to my half-brother,” you said. “Reiji believes me to be a devil, one of the star-killing variety.”

“Well, that half-brother of yours—” Anri began before silencing herself. “Regardless. Not even the Shogun himself could take your inheritance from you.”

“Thank you, Anri,” you said, recognizing that she had put herself into danger just for the sake of your reassurance. It wasn’t fair of you to demand, so you mustered a grin in the hope that she did not continue to worry. “Am I ready, then? Reiji said that Father believes this suitor to be a genuine prospect, so I do not wish to tarry.”

“You are as lovely as ever,” she said. “The hollyhock of the Hiiragi.”

You could not see that supposed beauty, not in yourself, but if Anri said it, then it was definitely there. Clasping your hands, you nodded at her, your face warm at the comparison to your family’s flower.

“Thank you,” you said. “You may go fetch Reiji now. I am sure that he wishes to escort me, as is proper.”

“I will return at once,” she said.

You inhaled and exhaled, counting the seconds in between to calm your nerves. Your father had never once spoken favorably of a candidate for your hand until now — did that mean this was it, then? Had he finally found the family that he wished to align himself with? Which would it be, and would their son be cruel? You did not mind running the household, but if your husband were unkind or overly interested in your affairs, then you were unsure of whether you could handle it. And children, what of children? Would you be expected to have many? Would it be a demon which you carried, a star-killer like yourself or a Hiiragi which clawed at your womb as it left? All of these things and more you considered, the endless loop playing as you waited for Reiji and Anri to return.

“You look acceptable, sister,” Reiji said, his charade well-perfected at this point. If your marriage was meant to unite two clans, then you could not be referred to with the usual indignity. Of course, you could not be a Hiiragi, but you had to be considered the sister of one, or else your father’s efforts would be for naught, and given the instability of the country at the moment, that would be a fatal mistake.

“Thank you, Reiji — brother,” you said, correcting yourself when you stumbled over his name and he shot you a dark glare. The iciness of his eyes, which might’ve entranced anyone else, seemed sinister and dull to you, and you did everything you could to ensure that they were not settled upon you for too long.

Your father sat across from a boy with dark, wavy hair, who turned to look at you when you entered. He had wide eyes that were the burnished color of a gourd, and his face was appealingly structured, his shoulders broad and a sword strapped at his waist. When he noticed that it was only you and Reiji, he dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Mister Reiji Hiiragi,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has spoken highly of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir…?” Reiji said.

“Kenyu Yukimiya,” the boy said. On closer inspection, he was nearing the cusp of manhood; several years your elder and likely even wiser than Reiji, he was hardly a boy at all anymore. “My father is daimyo of the neighboring province, and I am his heir. Am I to assume that that woman is your sister?”

“Y/N L/N,” Reiji said, maneuvering you in front of him so that your charms could be on display for Yukimiya. “Greet him, sister.”

“Welcome, Mister Yukimiya. It is an honor. Would you like some tea?” you said.

“I should not say no, I think,” he said. “In the face of such generous hospitality, who could refuse?”

As was traditional, all three of them quieted, contemplating and meditating on their woven mats as you prepared the tea, pressing your whisk against the powdered leaves and boiling the water. It was a soothing ritual, the billowing steam clearing your head of the migraine which threatened to build behind your temples, the easy motions of the preparation allowing your hands to work mindlessly and simply at the task.

After the tea was prepared, you bowed before Yukimiya. He raised his cup for you, and you filled it carefully, ensuring that you did not spill even a drop. Holding the pot steady until the liquid reached the rim, you bowed again and then repeated the actions for your father, after which came your half-brother. Then, you stowed the pot and the tea-making materials away; it would be improper if you, as the official host of this meeting despite contributing almost nothing to it, partook as well.

“That was elegantly done,” Yukimiya said as you returned to your place at Reiji’s side. “I’m impressed. For only being half-highborn, you have taken to the customs quite well, Miss L/N.”

He said it bluntly. Half-highborn. This was, after all, a person who did not have to fear your father’s rage, not when his own family was of a comparable status. The Hiiragis could not raise a hand against him, not if they wished to avoid a war with the Yukimiyas, and as that would be costly, your father could not respond to an insult even when it was so plainly given.

“She is a quick learner,” your father said, and instead of offense, there was interest twinkling in his mien. Yukimiya took a sip from his cup, mulling over the taste and your father’s response alike.

“Might I inquire why she has the name L/N, and not Hiiragi? If she is your daughter, then surely the latter is her birthright,” he said.

“She is a bastard,” your father said. “You know that already.”

“I was aware,” Yukimiya affirmed.

“Her mother died upon her birth; my daughter chose to take her name instead, as a way to keep her memory alive,” your father said.

“I see,” Yukimiya said. Whether or not he saw through the obvious lie was irrelevant; your father had given him a weapon with which he could defend himself to those who might question his future wife’s parentage, should he choose to take you. That was all that he needed. “She must be of a more sensitive temperament.”

“As a lady, it’s to be expected,” your father said genially.

“I confess I grew up without a sister, so I am not used to the inclinations of young women,” Yukimiya said. “I shall take you at your word, Lord Hiiragi.”

“I thank you for your trust,” your father said. He might’ve seemed indifferent, but in truth there was a great joy to the heaviness of his forehead and the set of his cheeks, which only you and Reiji could detect.

“If you are not opposed to me asking for your trust in return, and if the lady agrees to it, then I would like it if she might show me around your gardens,” Yukimiya said. “It’d allay any misgivings of mine if I could speak to her in private before I make a decision one way or another.”

“Neither my daughter nor I would deny such a gently given request, especially not coming from a guest,” your father said. “Y/N, please see Mister Yukimiya to the gardens at once.”

“Yes, Father. Please follow me, sir,” you said, standing and bowing at Yukimiya once more. He stood as well, walking purposefully after you. He was careful to pace his longer strides with yours, so that you were not gasping and racing to keep up with him, as you often were with Reiji. The casual tact warmed you to him, and as the two of you entered the gardens, you took a moment to sneak a glance at him.

“Your innocence is fascinating,” Yukimiya said when he caught you peering at him. “At first, I was convinced that it was an act you put on in front of your father, but it seems to be genuine.”

You cringed. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no disrespect by it.”

“It’s really interesting,” he said. “Do you think I mean to hurt you?”

“If you did, I could not stop you,” you said. “Our families are not on the best of terms, are they?”

“Who told you that?” he said in alarm.

“It is commonly known that the daimyos do not get along,” you said. “Why should your father and mine be any different?”

“The relationship is awkward, but it is not as bad as it could be, or as some are,” Yukimiya said, relaxing. “Were it any worse, I’d be a fool to come here alone in the pursuit of a mere girl.”

“A mere girl?” you said. “But is the alliance not what you are truly after? If so, then it would have been in pursuit of that which you rode, not of me, and so it would’ve been far less foolish and more pacifistic in nature.”

“True,” he admitted freely. “You are only an additional benefit, but one I am not opposed to. I would have accepted your father’s proposal regardless, but I must confess I am pleased to find you so agreeable.”

He meant to win you over with his kindness, as surely as he had won over your father with his stoic maturity. Reiji had instructed you in these things, told you to be wary of men who treated you well, but you could not help the fluttering in your stomach at the unprecedented tenderness Yukimiya was showing you.

“I find you agreeable as well,” you said. He let out a laugh, full-bodied and musical, suiting him exactly.

“Take me to your favorite place in these gardens. You must wander them often, yes?” he said.

“When I am given the opportunity,” you said, leading him down the path, past a copse of camphor trees and towards a low wall where hollyhocks burst from the ground, profusely flowering in shades of red and pink. They were towering, some arching above even Yukimiya, and a few bees darted around their blooms, paying you both no mind as you admired their work.

You preferred this location above all others, for the curve of the route and the height of the hollyhocks meant that you could, for a moment or two, be hidden away from Reiji and the rest of the Hiiragi household.

“And which flower do you find the loveliest?” Yukimiya said. You cocked your head before pointing at one so pale it was almost white, its petals reaching towards the sun and a butterfly resting at its center. Abruptly, Yukimiya drew his sword, and before you could cry out from shock, he brought it down on the stem of the blossom. The butterfly fluttered away, and the flower fell into his waiting palm, which he then extended to you.

“For you,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, though your heart was still pounding from how quickly it had all been done. He tucked the flower behind your ear and stroked your cheek.

“We should return before your father grows worried about how long we are taking,” he said.

“Father wouldn’t worry,” you said, with only a tinge of rebelliousness.

“Oh?” Yukimiya said. “Is that so?”

“Er, I mean, well, it’s only that I’m in good company, and he is likely delighted by our camaraderie, so, ah…” you stammered when you realized how dangerous that simple misinterpretation could be. Thankfully, he only smiled at you.

“Of course, but fathers get protective over their daughters, and I would not like to fall from his favor when that very favor is so important to our success,” he said.

“It is sound reasoning,” you said. “Let us be off at once.”

You were dismissed to your chambers as the terms of the marriage were set, and this time Reiji did not come with you, so you allowed yourself to feel giddy. How you had been so frightened! If only you had known that Yukimiya would turn out in the way that he had, you would not have feared so greatly.

Anri came to help you undress that evening, and though she did not inquire, you knew she could tell from your uncharacteristic jumpiness that you were thrilled at the course of events. Being wedded to Yukimiya was not only a livable fate, it was one you could genuinely look forward to — if you were his wife, then you’d command a far greater respect than you ever had in the Hiiragi manor. You would no longer be the bastard-born Y/N L/N; instead, you’d be the next Lady Yukimiya, whose ancestry did not matter nearly as much as her progeny did.

As you settled down on your mat to sleep, pulling the duvet up around your shoulders and facing the window so your face could be bathed in the light of the moon, you hoped that you’d have a peaceful night. Whether your conversation with Anri or your joy at the engagement with Yukimiya…one or another of these things, you prayed, would have been enough to chase off your nightmares until the next week of fits came about.

To your eternal gratitude, it was a dreamless sleep you fell into, and indeed when you awoke to darkness, you could not discern what had caused you to stir. Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, your duvet falling in a puddle around your lap, you yawned, contemplating the notion of going to fetch a glass of water before attempting to return to your earlier state.

Before you could make up your mind either way, you became horrifyingly aware of a firm presence against your back. An arm wrapped around the side of your face, a gloved hand covering your mouth and a kunai pressing against the skin of your neck, angled so that it could pierce your throat if you moved even a centimeter. You did not even scream for fear of its wicked tip, and your breath came in harsh, short pants, the taste of linen washing over your tongue as you shuddered in the deadly embrace.

“Shh,” your invisible assailant murmured. “I’m good at this. It’ll be quick, young Hiiragi. You won’t even know it happened.”

Young Hiiragi. Not once in your life had you ever been called that, and before you could stop yourself, you were shaking your head, pulling back from the kunai, though he did not let you get very far.

“Plead all you want,” he said. “Go on, then. It’s late, so no one else will hear us. I don’t mind if you want to try; maybe if you offer to pay me more than my current employer, I’ll consider sparing you. Don’t think about calling for help, though. I’ll kill you before you can make a sound.”

He parted his fingers, though he still held you in place, staring ahead at the wall. You squeezed your eyes shut. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t, it wasn’t, you just had to go along with it and then you’d actually wake up and things would be fine.

“I’m not a Hiiragi,” you said. “I’m Y/N L/N. The bastard — the bastard girl. What good comes of you killing me? No one will care.”

He stiffened, you felt it against your body, though he tried to disguise it the moment that it happened. His voice was low and cold when he spoke next, as if you were the one who had wronged him and not the other way around.

“You’re the fucking girl,” he said. “That incompetent piece of shit. He told me he knew exactly which room the Hiiragi heir slept in before sending me, and you’re telling me he got it wrong?”

“Who?” you ventured to say. “Who wants to kill Reiji — my half-brother?”

“As if I’d tell you,” he said, and then the hand holding the kunai was balling into a fist and knocking against the top of your head lightly, almost teasingly. “Maybe if you think about it hard enough, though, you’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t — I don’t — are you going to kill me?”

You wished that in these last moments, you could’ve kept some kind of composure, could’ve held your head high the way your mother had, but you were nowhere near as strong as the woman in your dreams. You were a bumbling mess, tripping over your words, clinging desperately to a life you had never cared for in the first place.

“What to do, indeed?” he mused. “If I kill you, it’ll be ten times as difficult for me to come back to this place, but then again, you know of a plot against your half-brother, so how can I let you live? It’ll be a real weight on my conscience.”

“What conscience?” you said. “If you are a murderer-for-hire, then how can you claim to have anything resembling that?”

“I prefer being called a ninja, though as you please, lady,” he said. “By the way, this is generally when you would beg for me to spare you.”

“Will it matter? Will the course of your deliberations change if I beg?” you said.

“Give me something,” he said. “Something that makes letting you live worth it.”

“I have nothing of the sort. Only my own life, and even that is not so precious. I want to live, I cannot deny it; I want to live more than anything. It is a miserable life, yet it is mine, and I cannot bear to let go of it quite yet, so if begging is enough, then I shall fall to my knees gladly, but that is all I have to offer,” you said.

“Hm,” he said.

“They won’t believe me,” you tried. “Even if I tell them. Everyone knows I’ve been having nightmares this week. This is just another one of those terrors, isn’t it? If you think Reiji or my father would take me seriously in the best of days, then I’d call you delusional, but at a time when I am prisoner to my own visions, they are more likely to seek counsel from a quail.”

“How sorry,” he said. “To think that they would ignore their own daughter’s warnings. It’s only that kind of clan that could be killed by its own neighbors.”

“Yukimiya,” you breathed, the realization like a bucket of ice water over your head. This earned you an amused exhale.

“Smart girl,” he said.

“They sent you? But what about—”

“An excuse,” he said, before you could complete the inquiry. “For the son to come to the manor and grow familiar with its layout, so that he could direct me to Reiji Hiiragi’s quarters. It was a plan not without risk, but in this world, isn’t that the only way to succeed? Ah, I really should get rid of you now. I cannot believe that incompetent dimwit has put me in this kind of situation. I hate killing women.”

The kunai was back at your throat, this time the breadth of it resting against your pulse. You swallowed.

“Then don’t kill me,” you said. “Hurt me or take me hostage, but let me live.”

“A hostage?” he said. “Hostages are generally people who are wanted, Miss L/N. Taking you as one would bring me far more trouble than anything.”

“I don’t want to die,” you said. “What do you want from me? You said if I could give you something that makes letting me live worth it, you’d spare me.”

“There’s nothing,” he said. “That doesn’t exist. I was being cruel to you, lady, for no other reason than my personal entertainment. It’s like how a child might pry off the wings of a butterfly, causing it to suffer just because they can.”

“I won’t betray you,” you said. “Please, sir, I won’t. I really won’t.”

“Sir? I’ll admit I’ve never been called that before,” he said. “Would your opinion of me be lower if I said that I liked it? On second thoughts, don’t answer that. It’ll only hurt my feelings.”

“Have you no empathy?” you said. “You are joking around as if my life is not in your hands.”

“Empathy? For you and your kind, I feel none,” he said. “Hiiragi or not, you have spent your entire life in a walled off manor. We are so different as to be entirely separate species. Asking me to feel empathy for you is akin to asking me to move the sun a degree to the right. I cannot do it, I am not capable, and furthermore I think of you as grossly ignorant just for making the request.”

“Please,” you said, long ago having run out of anything else to say. He scoffed.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Let’s get on with it. I’ve wasted enough time here.”

“I’ll take you to my half-brother!” you said, the delicate flesh of your neck smarting from the shallow cut he had torn into it. “Reiji’s quarters. I will show you where they are.”

“You would trade his life for your own?” he said, pulling his kunai back, voice lilting with interest.

“Yes,” you said. He was silent for so long that, were it not for the crush of his chest against your spine, you would’ve thought he had vanished. Then, suddenly, he chuckled.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he said. “Here I was, thinking you’d be the self-sacrificing type.”

“Kill him if you must,” you said. “But release me.”

Live. Live. Live. It was an imperative in your mind — you had to live. You could not die yet. You could not die here. If that meant latching onto your half-brother and draining him of his own existence, then you would do just that. If it meant you could survive, then you’d do it again and again, as many times as you had to.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You did so promptly, and your obedience was met with a condescending pat on the head. “Do not open them again until dawn. I shall let you live on the assumption that you are true to your word — but mind you, I will come to collect. Not today, but someday, I will kill Reiji Hiiragi, and you will be the one who gives me leave to do it.”

[gingerylangylang1979]

Does Carmy die in the end? Don't hate me.

Ok @thoughtfulchaos773, here's the post.

I've been thinking for a while that Carmy may die in the finale. I may not be able to write this post as intelligently as it deserves but here it go.

You know how shows tend to end how they begin? The pilot begins with Carmy on a bridge with the bear in a cage. This is a dream and seems like a final showdown with his nemesis/alter ego. They are about to battle and then a car horn and swerving sound breaks the dream state and Carmy wakes up in his reality. We also get a scene of a body in a morgue. We assume it's Mikey but what if it's Carmy. We also hear voices from Micheal as if him and Carmy are in the same realm.

All throughout the show driving is a theme. It always seemed noteworthy to me because it's a show themed around cooking. Why is driving so important?

In "Hands" there is a lot of emphasis on who can drive and who can't. In "Dogs", there is confusion on where Cicero lives. Cicero later discusses a dream about Carmy's dad driving and what seems to imply Carmy is the little boy flying forever in the air. Sounds ominous. Syd names her catering company Sheridan Road. In season two Carmy and Claire make random trips out to the suburbs and needing a ride is central. Why do either of them really need a ride to do these errands? Donna crashes her car into the family home. Syd tells Richie to drive friends and family night.

Now back to it all coming full circle. There has been a lot of speculation of Carmy leaving for a different career or not. If we fully accept that he doesn't leave by choice, he could leave due to death. Why does everyone from the health inspector to Mr. Sirsky (sp?) confuse Carmy as the dead brother?

Carmy seems to be gradually handing the place over and disappearing but it doesn't seem to be conscious. That would make him seem suicidal like Mikey. But it's not that, he has no idea he's setting up his departure. He gives Tina the knife. His new whites have his initials in san serif white font, not the pronounced blue cursive, like he's a ghost. Syd's scenes parallel his as if she is meant to take over. He tells her it's her ship and I'll dial business you are everything else. Syd and Carmy are often shown in ethereal light, like Mikey looking back at Carmy in 1.8. Do they both pass on and Syd is the new hope/destiny?

And then, again there is the reference back to the pilot if this all comes true and full circle. Anybody who watched Six Feet Under gets it. I always found these two stories very similar. In the pilot Nate (Carmy) has an aneurysm. We kind of forget about it because the story shifts to him coming back home as the prodigal son and the whole family dealing with the death of the patriarch and the passing over of the family business. The brother who stayed (Richie) is resentful. He stayed. He didn't really want to be a mortician but it was how he stayed close to the family and tried to bond with the dad. The business is in shambles and they have to "change the chemistry" to make it work. A new talent (Sydney) comes in that makes it all better and offers a different perspective. I won't go into the entire plot but in the end what happens? Nate dies. Aneurysm. Full circle. This is often how shows end. There are often clues.

My theory is that somehow Cicero and his dad tie into some sort of trip to the suburbs. I honestly think Cicero is Carmy's real dad. I feel somehow this will come to light and he makes a trip to see one of them. Why was Carmy confused about where Cicero lives? I don't think that was a throwaway line.

Does Carmy die in a car accident in the suburbs?

I may have left out a few things but I dunno, thoughts?

[cucumberteapot]

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse - Afterthoughts

On Friday evening, I bought a ticket for ATSV and it wasn't until the remaining five minutes of the film did I hear gasps and squeals among the audience. Generally, theaters in my country are quiet during screening. It's only on rare occasions did I bare witness to my theater reacting in real-time to something that encapsulates the film and what it could mean for the characters in the future.

Warning!! Please watch the film before reading. This post will go into some heavy spoilers about the finale and some predictions for BTSV!!

It's truly astonishing how talented the crew for ATSV was to convey so much subtle information about Earth-42 Aaron Davis and Prowler!Miles with only five minutes left of runtime. However this analysis is around 1000 words long and I'd like to keep it as readable as possible. From the view of Earth-42's skyscrapers, it's clear this different New York has been overrun by the Sinister Six and we can theorise they'll be the primary antagonists of the next installment. However, until we get more information on them in the lead up to March 2024, I'd like to focus on our two new antagonists and not only their dynamic with Spider!Miles but with also each other.

If Spider!Miles takes after Aaron as Jefferson implies in this film and (honestly) the entirety of ITSV reinforces, then Miles G takes after his father. Or did. Which if we take the brief two minutes we meet him, this kind of tracks. Miles seems to have ITSV's Jefferson's no-nonsense attitude that's been informed by the death of his dad and Aaron's career. It would make sense if Prowler!Miles was more similar to Miles prior to his dad dying before being corrupted by Aaron's influence and the absence of a Spider-Man, where in Aaron's case he was enabled by Jefferson's death to go full villain-mode. When watching ITSV again and comparing to ATSV, it's so wild to see how different Earth 42-Aaron is not only with Spider!Miles but with Prowler!Miles.

In Earth-1610, he wanted to separate Miles from his life as the Prowler to protect him all the while serving as his laid-back, artistic uncle, but here the front is entirely for Rio. It's why when Spider!Miles hugs him, he's not caught off-guard because it's such an intense reaction from what should just be another day coming home from "work". It's because he's not his Miles. Spider!Miles has a lot of love for the people in his life and what he enjoys, whether it's his art, music and surrounding himself with friends and family although its hard. We see Prowler!Miles' room in Spider!Miles' conversation with 42-Rio and all the posters, action figures and journals are replaced with milk crates, a few books and a speed bag. Whoever this other Miles is has fully adopted the identity of the Prowler to the point where "Miles Morales" is the alter-ego - "I'm Miles Morales. But you... You can call me The Prowler."

But now we know who this Prowler!Miles is - What does he want?

Pull a Kingpin and find another dimension to bring back his dad.

Intercept Spider!Miles' dimension and take his place there.

Use Spider!Miles as a bargaining chip for the Sinister Six.

Or just straight up kill Miles Morales. Because why not?

Spider!Miles doesn't tell Aaron his uncle died in his dimension. He says, "I have an Uncle Aaron, too. I had one." The use of "had" is purposeful here because the writers are making a point of not revealing to Aaron (or Prowler!Miles who is listening in all this time) that his counterpart is dead because working as a villain got him killed. If Prowler!Miles doesn't respond to the knowledge of his father existing still alive and well in another dimension, then how would he reaction to knowing his mentor and uncle is dead there, too?

When Spider!Miles reveals his Aaron was the Prowler, we see 42-Aaron's eyes sink in the reflection. It's minor but it delivers so much characterisation as to what kind of person this Aaron is and his relationship to Prowler!Miles. For all of Aaron's faults in ITSV, he always assumed responsibility by concealing the truth from Miles and in his final moments, pulls Miles mask back over to conceal his truth from Kingpin. While this Aaron is far more terrifying, he's trying so hard to hide his own cowardice by letting his nephew take on the mantle of Prowler instead. It's why he smashes the punching bag near Miles' head when he says, "I know you don't want to be the Prowler."

Because, yeah. He doesn't.

And it's why he chuckles sardonically when Miles tells him he could be a "good guy"... because it's not about that.

This entire movie has never been about being a "good guy".

Miles hides the truth about being Spiderman from his parents when it's clearly harming his relationship with them. Gwen and Peter hide the truth from Miles about being an anomaly. Miguel is a hypocrite and attacks Miles out of self-projection and Jess just goes along with it. As for the other Spider-people, they also just follow Miguel's orders except for Hobie and Margo who are the only ones to help Miles escape Nueva York. Both characters take responsibility not by allowing Miles as an anomaly to cause havoc and destroy dimensions, but by identifying that Miguel has neglected his own responsibilities by acting as the aggressor in this situation and trying to control and exclude Miles' identity as a Spider-Man.

Before Gwen is forcefully returned to her own dimension, she shoots back at Miguel's principles, "We are supposed to be the good guys." and it makes him pause for a moment before repeating he and the Spider-people are just to convince himself they are doing the right thing.

By the end of ATSV, Gwen reconciles with her father about being Spider-Woman and collects allies in their search for Miles. While Miles, who has reclaimed his sense of identity and accepts both halves of who he is, unflinchingly stares down this shadow of himself that is equally self-assured in his own responsibility as Prowler but far more dangerous than any antagonist he's encountered.

It should be obvious by this point but this is why the phrase, "With great power comes great responsibility", is the thematic core of every Spider-Man film. It was throughout ITSV and ATSV and now waiting less than a year for BTSV in 2024, this theme of responsibility will resonate with every single character as they enter the third act of this trilogy. And whether it's living their authentic truth with the people they love and love them, or about owning up to their mistakes and choosing to do better...

I, for one, can't wait to watch.

[zeerohpunk]

milo and sweetheart stans, come out pls. i got yalls bread crumbs ✨️

this fic takes place shortly after the inversion, around the time milo got his ability to shift back. at a security team meetup, sweetheart overhears christian gossiping about milos actions during the inversion and decides to take measures into their own hands. it features swearing, a mild threat, and fade to black content where nothing 18+ is seen, but is implied.

word count is 1.3k!

tags: @no-see-um-incorrect @mrsmiagreer

David kept his conversations about Milo's actions during the inversions quiet around prying ears, he knew he couldn't let that information fall into the wrong lap.

However, he didn't shy away from taking a... closer, friendly interest in Milo's (and his mates') wellbeing since that night.

Most people understood, the inversion took a huge mental, and physical, toll on everyone at the games that night. The scars speak for themselves, but that only counted for the visual, bodily damage.

"We all faced death that night, and some of us didn't think we'd see the light of day again," David spoke, glancing towards Asher, "and some of us watched others make choices that nearly sealed that fate." He spoke and looked between Sweetheart and Milo, the look lasting just a second too long.

Christian didn't understand what was happening. Something was being hidden from the rest of the security team, he just didn't know why. Milo and his mate weren't inside the ward, they were safe.

David wasn't one for close affection, especially amongst his pack mates. He couldn't show that type of care with them, instead he concluded his speech with a cheers, a celebration of everyone who put up the tough fight that night.

The pack mates spent the rest of the night mingling amongst each other. Most spent time with their mates like David and his, Asher with his, etc. Christian and Amanda were huddled in a corner, as usual. No one really batted an eye at it, this was normal by this point.

Milo and Sweetheart had spent the night chitchatting with Asher and his mate, talking about anything and everything, real life shit and banter included.

"I'll be right back, Miles." Sweetheart tapped his shoulder, pecking his cheek as they got up to leave for the bathroom.

They wandered the large place, walking down one hallway when they overheard a familiar voice.

"I just don't understand what David's playing at. Milo wasn't even inside the ward, what did he of all people do that was so dangerous that he risked his life for it?" Christian spoke. He kept his voice low, he wasn't trying to get reamed by David or Asher for talking shit about Milo. Again. What he didn't expect was Milo's mate overhearing the two shifters gossip.

Sweetheart took a moment to think about how they could handle Christian's comments. They didn't want to act on a whim. They could get angry and make a scene in front of everyone, but that would just make things worse. With a quick wave of their hand, they were cloaked and walking towards the Australian shifter.

"I mean, Asher nearly died in David's arms, I just-" His words cut off. His mouth was moving, but nothing could come out, no matter how hard he strained for sound.

Sweetheart had taken his ability to speak, momentarily, as they decloaked in front of the totally-not-couple with a devious smile. The sudden appearance made both him and Amanda jump.

"If you speak about my mate again tonight, I will break your fragile ego down to dust, Chrissy. With a lovely, sizeable audience to watch. Am I understood?" They asked, his ability to talk had been returned to him.

"Y-yes." He answered, relieved that his voice was back. Trying to speak while being unable to was a straining, painful feeling. His face was drained of color, as if he had seen the devil before him.

Sweetheart nodded with a death glare, stepping away to return to what they were doing previously. "You two really do smell like each other, by the way." They rubbed it in as they pranced away, a shit eating grin across their face as they walked.

The night grew old as the pack mingled about, and pack members slowly dwindled, heading home for the night.

Christian and Amanda tried to not make it look obvious that they were leaving together, but their efforts continued to fail. They said their goodbyes, and Chris even attempted to make a nice gesture towards Milo as they left the building.

"Hey, uh... 'm glad you're alright, y'know. After the... that night." He stammered out, reaching his fist out to Milo. What can he say? He's trying to be nice (even if it's more of an attempt to stay on the stealth's good side).

Miles couldn't help but also be caught off guard by this behavior, but he returned the fist bump with a half smile.

"You too, man. I mean- I'm glad you're okay too." The interaction was concluded with a couple of nods between them and the stealth, who made no effort to hide the shit eating grin on their face from either shifter.

Milo and Sweetheart were next to head out, both mates had work in the morning. Once they reached the car, Milo looked over at his mate curiously.

"Now what the hell was that? Christian doesn't... do all that. I mean, he's a cool guy, but that's just... so outta character for him." He stated, tilting his head as he began trying to put the puzzle pieces together. "And you... You had somethin' to do with it."

Sweetheart smiled wide and shrugged, playing innocent.

"Dunno what you mean." They said simply, climbing into the passenger seat with a soft laugh. They knew Milo could see through their bullshit, but they enjoyed the banter.

"Oh, is that so?" He returned, fully playing into the joke now as well.

Sweetheart shrugged again, the smile never leaving their face.

"You know, when I'm working cases with the department, the people I'm after like to play up a big game. And sometimes, you have to remind them that you're playing chess, not checkers, and that you're not the pawn in the game. You hold the power, like the queen does." They sat up, checking their reflection in the visor mirror.

"And maybe you have to rub it in when one dog smells like another." They added with a chuckle, which earned them a laugh from their mate.

Milo didn't even know what to do with all this information. He was entertained by the idea of their mate teasing the Aussie shifter and his totally-not-girlfriend, but was also very attracted to this protective side displayed by his mate. He didn't know what went down that earned Christian that unfortunate wake up call, but he almost wished he could have witnessed it.

"So uh... you gonna tell me what he did to earn an assumedly earned rude awakening?" He asked as he put the car in drive, his free hand still tangled up with his mates.

"I'll put it like this. No one, and I really mean no one, gets to talk down about the people I love. 'Specially my mate." They affirmed with certainty, feeling the tingle of magic surging through their core, smiling when they felt Milo's core answer theirs.

Milo nearly growled at how they described their protective behavior to him. He couldn't help it, he found it SO attractive. He loved when they were like this. His mate had a confidence about them when they'd done something they felt strongly about, and he found it both hot and well deserved.

"My god, sweetheart... you are somethin' else, you know that?" He smiled with a shake of his head and a gentle but firm squeeze of their hand. He mumbled something against the back of their hand like 'My fuckin' mate,' and 'all mine,' between kisses, taking in how the magic swirled around in each of their cores.

"I love you, Sweetheart." He turned to them as he put the car in park, holding back from nearly tackling them right there in the passenger seat. He did pepper kisses all over their face, though.

"I love you too, Milo." They giggled, leaning into each kiss. "Let's get inside?" They asked, pulling away just a touch, earning them a small head tilt from Milo. They smiled, reaching their hands around his neck as they leaned in to whisper just amongst them.

"Wanna show you how much I love you."

[lu-is-not-ok]

do you think that what EGO someone manifests is based on what caused them to reach the crossroads of Distortion and Manifestation? because distortions are pretty clearly based at least a little around that given... Phillip, but I'm not familiar enough with Xiao's story to make a conclusion about that.

Soooo I know you've only asked about like, the form a manifested E.G.O takes and what might affect it, but uh, I really want to just ramble about everything we know thus far about Distortions and Manifested/Effloresced E.G.O, so I hope you don't mind me hijacking your over a month old ask for that.

Alright? Alright. Under cut because I want to pop off. Oh, also, I'm going to spoil the fuck out of Lobotomy Corporation, Wonderlab, Library of Ruina, and Leviathan. Be warned.

Let's start from the basics. What causes one to Distort and/or Manifest E.G.O?

If you've gone through LobCorp and/or Ruina, your answer is most likely going to be the Light, the final product of Carmen and Ayin's research that was released during the White Nights and Dark Days, and which currently houses the essence of both of them. However, I don't think that's the full picture.

First of all, and probably most importantly, there have been cases of both E.G.O Manifestations and Distortions before the White Nights and Dark Days, that being Kali's E.G.O, and the Bloodfiend lineages.

Now, I have not read Distortion Detective yet, so all of my sources on this are second-hand, but from my understanding Bloodfiends are a kind of Distortion that has existed far before LobCorp took place. The process in which one joins this lineage is by "recieving blood from a certain mansion", apparently implied to belonging to an Abnormality called Nosferatu.

But wait, those who have played LobCorp might be asking, aren't Abnormalities created by L Corp? How can Abnormalities exist before the events of LobCorp?

Here, allow me to talk about Cogito.

For those who don't know, Cogito was the Singularity of L Corp. A substance that, upon being injected into a person, would materialize concepts and ideas from that person's mind into the form of Abnormalities. This process is described as using Cogito as a sort of "bucket" to draw these concepts and ideas like water from the Well of Humanity, aka the (implied to be collective) human subconscious.

While I don't recall if we're ever told what the initial source of Cogito was for Ayin and Carmen's experiments, we do know that after Carmen's "death", her disembodied nervous system became a constant source of it for L Corp.

So, this tells us something important: Abnormalities are concepts and ideas that float around in this Well of Humanity given physical form, which makes sense considering how many of them are based on things such as fairytales, folktales, legends, fears, events in the City's recent history, and other general ideas that the people living in the City may have.

However, it is important to note that not all Abnormalities come from Cogito specifically. In fact, we see an example of one such Abnormality in Chapter 19 of Leviathan. We see an Abnormality we see in LobCorp, Schadenfreude, burst out of Distorted Jumsoon when the beliefs and desires he held and which were the fuel for his Distortion were completely broken down.

Notably, there is a thematic similarity between Jumsoon's Distortion and Schadenfreude, that is being the theme of observing every moment in the world.

What we see is an Abnormality being born out of a Distortion's ego death, where the moment a Distortion loses its desires and beliefs, its identity, the wish that pushed them into Distorting in the first place is the only thing left, that physical manifestation of a concept taking place of that missing self.

Did that make any sense?

Basically what I'm saying is: an Abnormality is a concept that became the self in its entirety.

As such, anything that would be able to give a concept or idea by itself physical form or sense of self, like Cogito or the ego death of Distortion, could potentially form an Abnormality. Which, laid out like that, means it's absolutely not impossible for some proto-Abnormality to form on its own, whether due to a concept acquiring a sense of self naturally, or due to the interference of some other factor we currently might not know about.

So, now that we know what Abnormalities are about, let's go back to what we were talking about: where the pre White Nights and Dark Days Distortions and Manifested E.G.Os could have come from.

We already established that Bloodfiends join the lineage due to ingesting a substance (blood) that came directly from an Abnormality.

Now, let's talk about Kali. Luckily, we get a much clearer picture on what led her to manifest an E.G.O thanks to the story on the Red Mist Key Page. Kali was the first person to wield a prototype of an E.G.O weapon, a weapon and a byproduct that was able to be extracted from the Abnormality called Nothing There. As Kali used this weapon, the ego of the Abnormality would seem to speak to her, its words becoming clearer the longer Kali used it. It would ask if Kali wanted a shell, a form of armor to protect her flesh. Though initially ignoring it, Kali started to interpret its words with her own bias, becoming torn between how much blood she spilled, and how much of it was for protecting others. This eventually leads to her momentarily breaking down, only to steel her resolve and vow to protect Carmen at all cost, this desire of which leads to her manifesting her own E.G.O in the form of an armor, a "shell" to protect her while she protects others.

So, to summarize, Kali had direct contact with an unstable version of E.G.O gear extracted from an Abnormality. Upon being broken down by this gear, seemingly on the verge of Corrosion, Kali instead steels herself in her resolve, and her desire to protect others mixed with the influence of the E.G.O weapon allow her to manifest a shell to protect herself.

Effectively, both pre White Night and Dark Days are caused because of some sort of contact with something extracted from an Abnormality. For Bloodfiends, it was physically consuming Nosferatu's blood. For Kali, it was being in prolonged contact with an unstable Nothing There E.G.O, almost becoming Corroded, but staving it off by focusing on her own desires.

Now, some of you may be asking, why is that important? That's that and this is this, the current Distortion Phenomenon is different because the Light, right?

And here, dear reader, is where you would be wrong.

Let's recap what the Light is, shall we?

From what we know, the Light is the product of the Seed of Light. Carmen's thought process was this: to save humanity, people need to be cured of a "disease of the mind" and have light returned to their souls. The Seed of Light is meant to be the medicine to this disease, something that would draw out from the human subconscious, a formless concept taking shape and becoming a literal seed that could be planted and bloom within people's minds (...is that where the term Effloresced comes from, I wonder).

We know two things that the Seed of Light requires to be fully created: the emotional catharsis of all the Sephirah and A himself overcoming their pasts, and energy in the form of Enkephalin, which is extracted from Abnormalities. Upon being released in the form of Light shining over the City, Carmen and Ayin would enter the Light itself, their essences becoming a part of it.

Interestingly enough, one of the bad, non-canon endings to LobCorp reveals that the incomplete Seed of Light would have the effect of turning people into Abnormalities! Which, makes sense, considering the main power of this Seed is to draw out formless concepts from the human subconscious and give them shape, literally the exact process that Abnormalities are created through.

However, this isn't what I want to focus on here. I want to focus on one of the components of the Seed of Light - Enkephalin. A substance that is extracted from Abnormalities, in the same process that results in E.G.O as a byproduct.

Can you see the pattern yet? Nosferatu's blood, an unstable E.G.O weapon, a Seed of Light created using Enkephalin. All of the sources of Distortions and Manifested E.G.Os are themselves either substances extracted from Abnormalities, or something created using substances extracted from Abnormalities.

Another funny thing to consider is the alternate source of Enkephalin we learn about from Limbus Company - human nervous systems. You know what other substance was extracted from a human nervous system? That's right, Cogito.

Perhaps that's why the Seed of Light had to also include emotional catharsis as an ingredient. Perhaps Enkephalin on its own being used makes it too close to Cogito, thus resulting in the same outcome. And perhaps, it's also why the Light is able to make people give form to thoughts in their own minds on such a wide scale. But, that's just speculation on my part.

So, now that this whole preamble is out of the way and we roughly know How the Light is able to cause people to Distort and Manifest E.G.Os, let's take a bit of a closer look. After all, the Light itself wasn't enough to make everyone Distort/Effloresce all at once, perhaps because it was cut short by Angela. No, the Light in its current actual form merely allows people to Distort/Effloresce, it's not the actual trigger.

Which, begs the question: what is the trigger?

From what we see in Wonderlab, Library of Ruina, Limbus Company, and Leviathan, there are two main variables that one needs to reach the threshold of either Distorting or Efflorescing.

The first is being in a state of high emotions.

Catt learning that all of the suffering their coworkers had gone through was for nothing due to the Manager having been dead all this time. Philip being at his lowest after the people who he cared about and who tried to protect him had died. Xiao losing the man she loved and her coworkers/friends one by one. Yan being forced to face where the Prescripts truly come from, and realizing that all of his attempts at working against them were in vain. Roland finally arriving at the moment he could make Angela suffer for what her actions caused. Vergilius losing Garnet and being reminded of the reason why he cared for the orphanage in the first place. Dongbeak being reminded of why she's doing what she's doing in the face of Dongrang's mocking and the possibility of her defeat. Dongrang being reminded of the better times and being forced to face just how far he has fallen.

The second is having strong, sincere desires, and the resolve to follow them.

Catt wishing that the heart could have done something in the face of this meaninglessness. Philip initially wishing to selfishly avenge those he lost, only to then break down and wish to shut the world out at all cost. Xiao wishing to not let her loved ones' deaths be in vain, to be someone that people can rely on despite her missteps. Yan's desires becoming one with the will of the City after falling into despair. Roland's desire to make Angela truly suffer as revenge for Angelica's death. Vergilius wishing to carry his sins and the suffering he's seen with him. Dongbaek wishing to be the soil that a new world could bloom upon. Dongrang initially wishing to run away from the shadow other people's accomplishments put him under, and then deciding to instead find his own path towards reaching success.

But then comes the question, what is the difference? What decides whether someone Distorts or Manifests E.G.O? Funnily enough, Chapter 18 of Leviathan spells it out.

To Distort is to fully become one with one's desire. It's to expel everything that isn't the "self", and to paint the world with that desire as well. It's making one's desires and thoughts take form through one's body, the self becomes unified and true.

On the other hand, to Manifest E.G.O is to "show restraint", as Carmen puts it. To understand and face reality as it is, yet still let one's desires take physical form, in this case as "clothes and tools". Using those thoughts and wishes rather than becoming one with them.

And this, well, succintly explains what form a Distortion or E.G.O takes on, doesn't it? It's entirely based on what desire triggered this process, as that's the concept that is given physical form thanks to the Light.

This isn't even speculation at this point. This is actually something directly spelled out in Leviathan as well.

To quote Vergilius describing his Effloresced E.G.O:

"I wear a crown of thorns upon my head, so that I may shoulder everything until my future victory. Faded laurel leaves sprout to cover all of the thorns on my head, and tears of blood flow from my eyes so I may see all the sins I'll have to bear from now on.  And the thorny path I shall travel is a curtain of blood containing my karma, a crimson cloth that covers my whole being."

...

Yeah I think this is a good point to end this post off. This already took me several hours to write, dear lord.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 1: Rings)

Well, it’s finally happened: I wrote a story for a movie rather than YouTube Egos. (Not that this is gonna become a regular thing, mind you. Lisa Frankenstein just so happened to check all the right boxes for my hyperfixation and brainrot.) 

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him— just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his "true," pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belongs to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of electrocution and fire, scars, body horror, dismemberment. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The soil was loose and soft. It yielded to the shovel’s rusty spade quite easily.

Though many emotions were thrumming through Callum’s skull at the moment, surprise wasn’t one of them. 

While dark clouds had clogged up the night sky, hiding the stars and moon and bloating with rain that would fall sooner or later, the current season was warm, and so the ground wasn’t too firm. 

This plot had only been filled hours ago. This grave was fresh; infinitely fresher than his had been.

By now, Callum estimated that it’d taken at least half a day for him to crawl up through the ground and breach the surface like one of the several worms slithering around inside him.

He hadn’t exactly been in the right headspace to consider it at first; back then, all he’d been able to know was light and electricity and shuddering and pain and. . .Lisa’s words. 

Lisa’s words. 

The same thing that fueled Callum to escape his tomb was now guiding him to free Lisa from hers, all with the same amount of violent tremors and desperation.

It was poetic, honestly. 

Perhaps it would’ve been a bit more poetic if he didn’t have to get so filthy in the process.

Oh, well. He could take care of that later. (Besides, the stains on his clothes were nothing compared to the layers of grime and mold and fungus that had been caked all over him on that first, fateful night.)

Right now, unearthing his beloved without getting caught seemed like a much more important thing to focus on.

His grip was vicelike around the wooden handle as he threw one shovelful after another to the side.

Almost there, Callum thought. (If he could speak, he’d be repeating that mantra in a whisper like his life depended on it. Which. . .well, it logically didn’t, but it technically did. The same went for Lisa.) Almost there. 

He’d wanted to take her away sooner. He would’ve been perfectly fine with forcing her family to waste money on a casket. Really, what good was a casket if you buried it empty? 

But the distinct lack of a corpse would have just caused more problems. As dense as her family seemed to be, they’d still know that the shiny, glowing box (Lisa had called it a. . .tanning bed? If memory served?) wouldn’t have been capable of reducing a person to ashes no matter how dangerous it was. 

He knew she wasn’t dead. Not completely; not truly. Yes, the combination of electrical currents and fire may have worked its horrific magic on her body. . .but that magic just hadn’t followed through altogether as it probably should have. 

The way the bed had convinced foreign limbs to function as intended mere minutes after Lisa sewed them onto him. . .the way it had rejuvenated his centuries-dead flesh bit by bit. . .

It had some kind of similar effect on Lisa. The vast majority of her had died, but there was still a strong, stubborn ember of something in her that was very much determined to live. 

Callum knew that very well. He’d seen proof of it before being forced to flee from the fire.

But Lisa’s family didn’t. As far as they knew, she was gone and never coming back. So, if she just disappeared before they could bury her, then they’d have an excuse to try and track her down. And if that happened, neither she nor her husband would get another chance. . .

Callum ground his jaw, putting even more force behind the shovel. 

The hole grew deeper.

The pile of disturbed earth beside it grew bigger. 

The dull, scraping tempo of grave-robbery began to sound like hitching gasps and sobs.

Just as the clouds started ominously humming about their plans for the night, the shovel reverberated after finally, finally, finally striking something much more solid than dirt.

Callum tossed the tool aside in favor of getting down on his knees, now using his hands to clear away a blanket of finer, thinner soil. 

He hoped Lisa could hear him digging. (Though if that was the case, then the state of her brain could potentially make her think that the sounds were echoing from somewhere farther beneath her. Which would be. . .less than ideal, as Callum didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring her again. )

Even in his anxiety, he subconsciously shook his head. Lisa had taken him in and repaired him even after being initially terrified. Lisa trusted him, loved him; if she didn’t, then he never would have woken up in the first place.

More time passed, and a soft, cold gleam suddenly manifested in the darkness.

Glossy wood. 

The coffin’s upper door. 

Callum groped at the edge of it, tugging with all his strength.

An odd, warm feeling skittered up his spine and shook through his ribcage. 

A low creeeeaaak rattled through the air as the lid was pried open.

. . .And there she was.

___

Callum had always been a fast learner, and yet he still had no idea what to make of his pulse. 

It’d been extremely jarring when he’d first awoken. The days that followed, it was irregular. Sometimes he could feel it, sometimes he couldn’t. It was always soft—following more of a murmur than a steady beat—always irregular, barely there at all.

Right now, however, it both sounded and felt very far away. More present than it had been when he’d performed a highly unorthodox beheading on that stain of a man who’d upset Lisa. 

Hell, it almost seemed louder and stronger than it had been on the most recent evening he’d spent with Lisa; the one that saw the two of them embracing and reeling and dreaming together. . .

Everything else was a blur as he brought her to her new bed, carrying her like the bride she was. He had to move slowly, carefully, feeling more anxious and unwieldy than ever. 

Well, at least until he laid her down, making sure the pillow offered enough support for her neck.

After that, he was much, much more erratic.

He sprinted about the house, tearing almost every other room apart as he searched. It felt like several hours had passed by the time he finally found what he—what his beloved—needed: a white, sterile-looking container. He opened it, just to be certain, then tucked it under one arm and hurried back over to the bedroom.

Every square inch of Lisa’s body was blistered to hell and back, adorned by a network of puffy, angry-looking veins that, had her heart still been beating, would have more or less threatened to burst at any given moment. Red and raw, several sections on her arms, legs, and chest having peeled off to reveal glistening tissue.

Her mane of thick, curly auburn hair had been reduced to a few small, fried patches that clung to the charred flesh of her scalp with a strength similar to bubblegum and well-intentioned vibes. There was a possibility that she’d died with her eyes open, but the awful swelling of the skin around their sockets had sealed them shut. 

None of that mattered, of course. 

Lisa was still just as beautiful as when Callum had first met her. She always, always would be. 

. . .Even so, those injuries had to be dealt with. Despite what Lisa had said before about accepting a person’s flaws, Callum’s instincts told him she wouldn’t appreciate being left to resemble a puppet made of half-raw-half-cooked steaks.

Callum set the medical kit down on the nightstand, ferreting out generous rolls of gauze as he loomed over the side of the bed. 

The world finally seemed to slow back down as he got to work.

It didn’t take long for him to find a gentle, precise cadence as he wrapped bandage after bandage after bandage around his beloved’s form. Something in the back of his mind wondered if this was what spiders felt like when they spun strands of silk together to make their webs.

Although Lisa’s skin hadn’t been rendered translucent, the burns in some places went deep enough for Callum to catch a glimpse of her organs. Both of her lungs were blackened, seared, sunken. Her heart was equally misshapen, now boasting a similar appearance to a blob of melted wax, looking like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself. 

But even as all the carnage was swallowed up by more strips of gauze, Callum could still see the heart twitch. The movement only lasted for half a second or so, but there was no doubting that it’d happened. . .

Lisa still had a chance. She would never be truly alive again, but she could still come back.

She couldn’t wake up by herself. . .but she wouldn’t have to.

He’d find a way to help, just as she’d done for him. 

Callum blinked for the first time all night, and his hands were suddenly free; he was suddenly sitting at the foot of the new bed.

Lisa was cloaked quite literally from head to toe in clean, snow-white bandages. It was like he'd made the perfect combination of shroud and wedding dress for her to wear.

The thought made a small smile tug at his lips. 

Then he shook his head.

He couldn’t relax just yet. There were other things to be taken care of right now. Two other things, to be specific. 

Callum got to his feet and crossed the new bedroom to quietly close the door. He ventured down a narrow hallway, peering at an assortment of unfamiliar pictures hanging on the walls around him. Disposing of them would probably be another chore for him later.

His footsteps sounded hollow and heavy as he descended the staircase. (Unlike Lisa’s former home, the floors of this house were all hardwood rather than carpet. True, they wouldn’t muffle noise very well, but it was still quite a lucky coincidence.) 

He’d found this house completely by accident, when he’d still been trying to follow Lisa’s path. 

Even with the remnants of that lightning bolt sparking in his stagnant blood, even with Lisa’s voice echoing through his resurrected mind, it’d still taken so much time for him to truly wake up. He grimaced at the thought of how long he’d had to crawl around the cemetery before he could stand upright. 

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the state his vision had been in. The layers of rancid slime and dirt clinging to his face had made everything around him blurry and distorted. The fact that his eyes were also full of maggots at the time certainly hadn’t helped.)

He’d had to wander the surrounding woods for hours and hours before he could finally walk. The rot in his bones had kept his movement slow and uneven, but a bad limp was still better than collapsing every other moment. 

Callum wasn’t sure how the house’s previous owners hadn’t seen or heard him that night. They certainly had a few hours ago, but that wasn’t a factor anymore. 

He crept into the living room, where he paced a few slow circles around the fresh corpse lying in the center of all the controlled chaos. The crimson splatters now adorning the floor, the walls, the sofa’s floral print almost seemed to glitter.

Another carcass could be found just a few feet away, sprawled across the wide threshold that led into the dining room. The face was obscured, as blood was still leaking out to add to a large puddle that continued to slowly spread, inch-by-inch. 

Callum folded his arms across his chest, drumming the nails of his replacement hand against his cheek. He remembered what Lisa had said when he’d silently begged her to help him find new parts; a contemplative murmur about there being bad people in the world. . .

Her relief and gratitude when he’d bludgeoned that horrible excuse for a mother to death.

Her cathartic happiness when he’d dismembered the scum who’d tried to put his filthy hands on her.

Her tearful joy when she eventually realized why he’d risked so much to take a particularly crucial piece from the ignoramus who’d dared to play with her emotions. . .

It had all been so wonderful to see.

Those victims had all hurt Lisa, and they likely would've hurt others as well. Their deaths wouldn’t be an actual loss to the community.

But this. . .

Lisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of this. Yes, she’d understand why Callum had done what he’d done; after everything they’d been through, of course the two of them needed a quiet place to stay, if only for a while until they found somewhere better. A place that was a fair distance from both the town and the cemetery. A place just like this.

But. . .

A raspy sigh escaped Callum’s lips. 

He'd work with more tact in the future. 

Once Lisa was awake, things would be better. He’d listen to her input. They would make important decisions together.

Callum’s eyes wandered about, eventually settling on the axe—the same one Lisa had taken from her father’s garage—he’d left propped up against the adjacent wall. It was slathered in gore, to the point that its wooden handle was just as red as the paint on its blade. 

He approached to pick it up, letting the weapon’s belly rest on his shoulder. Then he stooped down, using his free hand to take hold of the first corpse’s wrists. More of the floor was painted red as he dragged it into the kitchen. He retraced his steps to collect the second body, coming dangerously close to slipping on the blood as he hefted his victim onto the countertop.

The next hour or so was filled with dull thuds, with splintery pops and cra-A-a-cks, with the drip-drip-drip of thick fluid oozing down the lower cabinets and plopping onto the floor. 

The axe was too heavy to be the most precise tool, but it was still efficient. It only took a few good swings to sever limbs from torsos and heads from necks. 

Callum couldn’t bury either of these bodies. Not right away, at least. Fortunately, he soon discovered that there were more than enough black trash bags under the sink to work with. 

Lisa’s body obviously needed repair, but he wasn’t sure which repairs should come first. (He knew she’d require a new pair of eyes, but he didn’t want to risk forcing her current ones open just yet.) Would it be better to take off her old limbs and put new ones in their place, or to simply slice off layers of skin and attach a new barrier to her burnt flesh?

Wait and see, a voice in his head suggested. Callum nodded to himself; when Lisa was able to communicate again, he’d organize these plans with her. It was only right, after all. 

Callum set the axe down by the sink, now focusing on wrapping up the detached pieces of human in tight, layered cocoons that crinkled with every second. Packing all the bundles into the freezer and refrigerator in a way that kept them from sliding right back out was far more aggravating than he would’ve cared to admit, but he managed. 

He gave pause, however, when it came to the two remaining pieces. 

A pair of forearms, to be specific, with their hands still attached. 

One from each corpse. 

Something small and metallic glinted around the fourth finger on each of them. 

The first ring had a very simple design: just a smooth, golden band. 

The second ring, meanwhile, was silver, mounted with a shiny stone.

It wasn’t a diamond by any means. Callum couldn’t tell what kind of gem it was, honestly. But it was gorgeous—it’d been carved into a smooth, perfect orb. It reminded him of an ember at the heart of a firepit, boasting a graceful mix of orange and red with a few soft hints of yellow.

The colors reminded him of that one night. 

Callum shoved the forearms into hiding with all the other parts, the two rings now nestled in his palm. With that, he exited the kitchen, an unfamiliar spring in his step as he ventured back up the staircase. Yes, he still had an enormous bloody mess to clean up, but this took priority. 

His odd, partial heartbeat echoed in his ears as he re-entered the new bedroom and knelt down beside the bed. 

Slowly, delicately, Callum took one of Lisa’s hands in his. He pressed a small kiss to her bandaged knuckles before sliding the new ring onto her finger. 

It fit perfectly. Just like the gold ring did for him. 

As for the odd-yet-sweet candy loop he’d made do with for the original proposal. . .well, he decided to leave it on the nightstand. 

Just in case Lisa wanted to keep it when she woke up.

@mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @radisyn @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

[thewertsearch]

EB: jade is not answering! [...] AG: She sure seems to sleep a lot. She sort of reminds me of my goo8er teamm8. AG: He napped through most of the adventure, and was practically useless. [...] EB: you mean carcino geneticist? AG: Hahahaha, no way! Karkat is so up tight, he hardly slept a wink over the whole 600 hour span of our quest.

Vriska will happily answer any question John has about her teammates. She's quite unlike the Act 4 trolls, who were unable to provide details Hussie hadn't written yet angrier and less cooperative.

AG: Why don't you tell me what you were just dreaming a8out that was so important, fellow Prospit dreamer???????? AG: Prospit is the 8est. Derse is where all the rejects hang out. Am I right?

Notably, her ego outshines her hatred of Tavros here - she just inadvertently implied that he's not entirely useless.

EB: i never even saw prospit. EB: aside from flaming bits and pieces of it i guess. EB: something happened, and it blew up, and dream jade died, and then i was wandering around this place that was like a chess board with a huge crater in it, with loads of dead black and white guys everywhere.

"Something happened, and Dream Jade died."

John's completely out of the loop on [S]: Descend, despite being one of its major players. He doesn't even really understand Jack's involvement - all he saw when Prospit fell was chaos and death.

AG: Yes, I know all that! That place is the 8attlefield, which is where your dream self lives now. You will appear there any time you go to sleep. AG: Prospit dreamers are supposed to end up there eventually. If they're any good, that is. ::::)

If you're looking to improve your cloud scrying, it makes sense that you'd want to seek out the source of your visions. Maybe Prospit Dreamers are supposed to evolve their abilities in some way, by communing with Skaia directly.

Do Derse Dreamers also change their spawn point, I wonder? I would like to see the Furthest Ring for myself, at some point, even if the blondes have to take a little psychic damage to get there.

[seviinoxiel]

I have a theory that all the characters in MILGRAM are subversions,or at least a deeper dissection, of popular murderer tropes (not necessarily in media). They are all guilty, but there is more nuance to it than what can be initially seen.

Prisoner 01, Haruka, is the psychopath trope. It's heavily implied he's neurodivergent and has a lot of childish tendencies. His mother's abuse (which looks to be neglect) is highlighted a lot because Haruka's condition isn't the thing that pushed him to kill, it's how that condition was treated by the people around him. He wasn't given the proper care and it's that system which perpetuates the dismissal of mental health that set him off.

Prisoner 02, Yuno, tackles the abortion debate. She knows what she was going into when she entered sex work and she was willing to abort any unwanted byproducts of that work. Although she herself claims that she wasn't innocent and that she is guilty, she was taken advantage of. She was a high school student allowed to engage in compensated dating. Her reasons may have been selfish but the fact that compensated dating is a thing in the first place really detracts from her guilt.

Prisoner 03, Futa, is an online harasser and a cyberbully (for the lack of a better term). He has a strong sense of justice, but he is largely misguided. The online culture surrounding harassment rewards people for call outs and such regardless of if it's uncalled for or not. Futa was always validated by his following and never saw anything wrong with what he was doing, leading witchhunts and doxxing people. He was blinded by his own sense of justice, ego, and the approval of everyone around him.

Prisoner 04, Mu, is a victim of bullying. We are shown that she was friends with her bullies and that she may have had a crush on one of them. They didn't care about her, though, and they simply bullied her (for reasons we don't know) which led her to killing the one she was closest to. However, her behavior and attitude tells us that she herself may have also been a not-so-good person. She was simply unable to do anything because her tormentors was stronger than her. But now, with Haruka, she found someone to dominate. A person can simultaneously be unsavory and a victim of bullying, and neither of those justifies the other.

Prisoner 05, Shidou, the killer doctor. His story is still a bit unclear but it appears to have something to do with him using the lives of his other patients in order to help one person recover. A futile attempt as the person seems to have still died in the end. Rather than tackling any contemporary social issues I think his case, instead, asks us a philosophical question opposite of the organ transplant ethical dilemma. Instead of arguing for utilitarian ethics, his character argues for egoism. The question is, "Are you willing to sacrifice other people to save one life which you cherish?" and if you are then, "Will it all truly be worth it?"

Prisoner 06, Mahiru, is a selfish lover who thinks she's selfless. She views herself to be the only one giving in her relationship, wanting more from it, ignorant to the fact that her partner is unable to keep up with her and is already suffering. She keeps bombarding her partner with her everything and this, most likely, made said partner feel extremely suffocated. There was no malicious intent on her part but she unknowingly brought her relationship to a halt when her partner committed suicide. Her idea of love was severely misguided. It may have been more akin to obsession, but she genuinely believed that it was love and that it was healthy.

Prisoner 07, Kazui, is someone who we admittedly don't know anything concrete about. It seems clear, however, that he feels guilty for the death he caused because he let himself tell a destructive truth, at least to their relationship. He may have fallen out of love or not have been in love with his wife in the first place. He kept imagining and dreaming for her to break-up but she never did. In the end, he acted according to his emotions which somehow led to her death. I personally think he's gay as it would then become a case of someone so deep in the closet they try to deny who they really are which led to grave consequences.

Prisoner 08, Amane, a child brainwashed by a cult. It wasn't through any fault of her own that she committed what she had done. She was raised by, and possibly was even the poster child for, a cult and it completely warped her sense of morality and self. Her cult's beliefs are so ingrained into her that she embodies it wholeheartedly and without any doubt. Her character is a look into cult members and the cult mentality, how it permeates and warps your entire perception of the world, made more poignant by the fact that she's a child. "Does she truly deserve any blame?"

Prisoner 09, Mikoto, subverts the evil alter trope. DID has been a largely misrepresented mental disorder in media and, while Mikoto's character seems like it's following the trope, I get a feeling that there is more to it. The alter is not necessary evil nor does it kill for no reason. They're a protector who only resorted to murder to help Mikoto out of the bad situations he might have found himself in. Alternatively, it may be Mikoto himself who have committed the murders, the alter only being there to clean up the aftermath. Either way, it's all a trauma response and proper care and therapy would have helped the system better.

Prisoner 10, Kotoko, is an extremely violent vigilante. She, much like Futa, has a strong sense of righteousness and a black and white view of justice. She thinks that she's doing the right thing and that she has authority to fight for what she thinks is right. Beating up the other prisoners and sucking up to Es, however, tells us that she might be doing it more as a way to satisfy herself. Her self-worth is tied to a moral obligation to punish the people she sees as wrong. From what we saw in her music video, this may be rooted in a past trauma and overall dissatisfaction with how justice is legally served.

I may have missed some crucial details regarding their characters and I do still have a lot more to say about them but this post is so long already. But, yeah, these are my thoughts on their characters and what they represent, either as commentary or as an exploration of a popular media trope. I hope I worded it properly.

Anyway keep Yuno, Futa, and Kazui innocent please. My girlboss, babygirl, and DILF trinity amen.

[luluwquidprocrow]

sometimes a family is three orphans, their adopted daughter, one not-so-sad writer, and two triplets

frank, beatrice the second, the baudelaires, lemony, ernest, implied ernest/lemony

gen

3,598 words

In the grand tradition of all parents, the extended baudelaire family find themselves trying to pull a fast one. 

for @asouefanworkevent's woevember day 4, the hotel denouement! some rambling headcanon nonsense half-fic about post-canon family that i had great fun doing. my favorite thing in the whole world is post-canon babybea interacting with her absurd enormous family. i love them all so much.

okay. so bear with me here 

so i think most parents/guardians are at one point or another faced with Pulling The Ultimate Fast One on their children. this is related to Your Beloved Pet Died But We’re Telling You We Sent Them To Live On The Farm, but this version, in particular, is infinitely easier and harder. this one is The Switch. The Replacement. The Double. when the intrepid parent or guardian, under the cover of night, goes to the pet store to purchase The Exact Same Animal because the first animal had an untimely death. i will admit, this is the easiest with like, a goldfish, or something else small where you can usually get one that looks very similar. 

now, for babybea, it’s a pumpkin. 

so babybea (who is twelve at the time this story takes place), at the very end of september, carves a pumpkin, and she goes in with a VISION. she spends a couple hours on this pumpkin, carving an owl. It’s not, yknow, a realistic owl, but she adds a lot of tiny details, lots of lines for the feathers, and she carves a little mouse on the side too, and even gets the side of a tree in there, and the pumpkin carving kit the baudelaires purchased that year came with these little stick lights, to put in the owl eyes after carving, so it has orange eyes!! this is!!!! The neatest thing babybea has ever seen, and she is so thrilled with the results and very proud of this pumpkin. (for the record – violet carves a few pumpkins into a starry night with a moon, klaus carves monstera leaves, and. let’s be real. sunny bites a series of turnips into jack-o-lanterns.) (and then she stabs a couple white pumpkins into bigger jack-o-lanterns, for variety. all of them get different expressions!

sunny, arranging her carved vegetation on the baudelaire porch in order of emotion: perfect.) (no, i don’t know what order of emotion means. But sunny does.)

Then they all pile into violet’s car – pumpkin included!! – and drive almost an hour out of the city to the bildungsroman bed and breakfast. (frank and ernest decided, at this point in their lives, if they were going to commit to anything, it may as well be The Bit.) (it has a local reputation as a place with solid wifi, stellar bread, and great mattresses. The owners are considered minorly eccentric, mostly for the portrait they have in the lobby, of, just one of them. 

some impassioned yelp review: okay so the stay was great big recommend PLEASE try the bread but i cannot figure out the story behind the portrait in the lobby????? it's just one one of the owners?????? but I don't understand why bc they're twins and it's just ONE of them?????? and he's wearing this frog-patterned tie in the painting and when you see them like in person. neither of them wear the tie. what's the deal here 

the locals are sure it's not an ego thing, bc the owners don't seem to be self-centered or anything like that. In fact, if asked about the painting, both of them will say, “oh, that's a painting of my brother.” 

an additional yelp comment: I think. there's THREE of them  a third yelp comment: don't be silly, they're definitely twins.) 

frank and ernest have a very elaborate series of outdoor autumn decorations, with lots of pumpkins and mini gourds and hay bales over the front steps and corn stalks on all the porch posts, and babybea wants to not only show her uncles her hard work, but also put the pumpkin on their steps where everyone can see it!! 

(her uncles also include lemony, of course – I think he did live with the baudelaires for some time after reuniting babybea with them, but has recently moved into ernest's side of the private apartment at the back of the hotel. this was mildly distressing to babybea, who likes everyone she loves under the same roof, but she can't deny that lemony is very happy. and so is ernest. and now she can see all her uncles in the same place whenever she wants!! so the baudelaires tend to spend weekends at the bed and breakfast, because they also miss lemony. and they get to know frank and ernest better, which is very important to them, as people who are important to babybea, and to lemony, and, to the baudelaire's past.) (not to like, detract from the sentiment here, but i do need everyone to know that i imagine ernest spends like, 80% of his working hours just making out with lemony.) (okay maybe not 80%. ernest does legitimately get work done, it’s his hotel too. ………but like, a lot of time.) 

AND SO. the baudelaires arrive at the bed and breakfast, and frank and ernest and lemony are very proud of their niece's pumpkin. they take a lot of pictures. (re: my previous post-canon thoughts, frank has actually acquired a phone now, and does text. it is a flip phone.) babybea places it, very gently, on the third front step, and is so pleased. sunny steals two mini gourds while looking ernest dead in the eye. ernest approves. 

But october turns out to be unseasonably warm, and babybea’s pumpkin, while lovingly carved but now lacking the support an uncarved pumpkin has to keep itself A Pumpkin, does not take kindly to the weather, and babybea actually becomes very distressed at the smallest signs of rot beginning to form in her pumpkin, when it is only the second week of october. She doesn’t TELL anybody, because there’s not really much you can do about a pumpkin doing what a pumpkin does in warm weather, but she’s very upset. (almost uncharacteristically so. usually she’d say, oh, well that’s how it happens, and rather pleasantly move on, but lately, she’s been kind of. quieter than usual.) And frank, who spends a great deal of time at the front desk, closest to the pumpkins, becomes Concerned. 

now, in general, babybea’s family is like, pretty good at being realistic with her. She is of course an optimist, but still Aware of a great deal of the ways of the world, given her family, her upbringing, lemony’s books, her own adventures, everything. You can’t really shield this twelve year old from the ways of the world, even if that way of the world is, a rotting vegetable. All things have their time, and it cannot be stopped. Including seasons, and in-season foods. 

However. She put SO MUCH WORK into that pumpkin, and as the week goes by and the pumpkin starts to shrink in on itself, turning all of babybea’s work black from the inside out, those charming little glowstick eyes CAVING IN, and the baudelaire’s weekly weekend visit grows closer and closer, frank has been imagining her devastated reaction when she sees the pumpkin, and decides, He Must Pull The Fast One. he will re-carve the pumpkin, exactly as babybea carved it, replace the pumpkin, and no one will be the wiser. They get a little more time with the pumpkin, presumably at least until halloween, and his niece gets to see her beautiful handiwork as much as she likes. Maybe, you know, there is a little magic in the world after all, to make a pumpkin look so nice. 

(also, i think frank has. A shaky relationship with babybea, from his end. She loves him, as much as she loves everyone else in her family, and babybea herself would NEVER rank her uncles in order of how well she knows or admires them, but i, lulu vandelay, putting this together, have no qualms in saying she knows lemony the best, bc she has spent the most time with him, between trying to find him and both of them trying to find the baudelaires and all of them having lived together, and she’s rather deeply attached to him – ernest is very personable, and funny, so he’s easy to get along with – and she and frank both like tiny detail work, so they have things in common, but frank always seems very awkward around her. And he is. It’s bc he’s very nervous around her. Frank doesn’t think he’s good with kids. And he is usually acutely aware that in an ideal world, he isn’t the one she’d be spending her time with, that dewey would be so much better at all of this than he is. A better parent, a better brother, a better everything. Because dewey always was, to frank. but, dewey would probably want frank to do as much as he could for her, and would believe him absolutely capable of doing it, without a doubt. So he wants to be a proper uncle to her and THIS is his opportunity, he thinks. He so desperately wants to do something kind and considerate and important for her, like family is supposed to do for each other.) 

the thing about pumpkins, though, is that, for some reason, mid-october, THEY ALL DISAPPEAR. I’m serious, you ever try and find a good pumpkin even like a little over halfway through october? It can be hard. 

frank: i need your assistance. ernest: i’ve killed my quota for the month. frank: i – ernest, please.  ernest: alright, my apologies. What do you need?  frank: a pumpkin. lemony, from the kitchen: jarrahdale or red warty?  frank: no, i mean a carving pumpkin. 

The three of them take a good, long look at babybea’s pumpkin. Uncle Instincts Have Activated. They, very solemnly, bury the pumpkin in the back garden (lemony is the one who takes one for the team and removes the glowstick eyes from the depths of sad, sad pumpkin). And then embark on a mission. Please imagine the three of them packed into a mint green 1960 chevy corvette. Sunglasses optional. Who’s driving? That is up to you, my friend. Oh, google informs me it is cascade green. Imagine accordingly. (yes, no corvette has ever been made with more than two seats, but isn’t that just funnier? They really are packed in there. Lemony sits in the middle.) 

The hunt for the right pumpkin is long. Grueling! Kinda chilly! This is october!! Much comparison is made between potential pumpkins and the pictures they took of babybea’s pumpkin. Snacks are purchased. (lemony, who has recently been introduced to instagram, posts a picture of his pretzel. [ernest is out of focus in the corner, eating a chocolate ice cream cone.] [#pretzel.] 

sunbad: what is that lemonysnicket: I have purchased a pretzel sunbad: without me sunbad: you’re dead to me.) 

(it was actually not sunny who introduced lemony to instagram, although she was his first follower. It was klaus.) (klaus uses instagram mainly to never post anything ever, just to follow his favorite authors, so he wanted lemony to have an instagram, especially since he just moved out.) (klaus……..my heart………..) (oh, frank bought chex mix. he likes those gross rye bread pieces.) 

(don’t get me started on lemony with an instagram……….I think this is a hilarious but also heartwarming thought – this man who has avoided being photographed for years and years and years and YEARS (yes that much repetition was in fact necessary) is at a point in his life here he is not only comfortable of taking pictures of his life, but he is capable of doing it, he’s allowed!! It’s still probably mostly food and it’s so good!!!!!!!! and think of the amount of pictures he keeps just in his phone gallery, too!!! violet’s inventions and klaus’ library displays and sunny’s baking and babybea’s school projects and ernest’s record collection and frank’s breakfast spreads, and nature shots with lemony’s thumb in the corner, AAAAAAAAAAAA) (uh, anyway, these men are on a mission. back to the mission.) 

Eventually, they do find a comparable replacement pumpkin! Does it fit in the car? Lemony, by virtue of sitting in the middle, holds the pumpkin. 

They return to the bed and breakfast. Between the three of them, many different knives, and all of their photos, frank and ernest and lemony painstakingly recreate babybea’s pumpkin, down to the last, smallest detail. Including the little mouse and the side of the tree and the feathers and everything. (frank does do most of the work, because ernest and lemony very much see that this is important to him, but he doesn’t mind them helping, because, yknow. This is about family, and babybea is their family too.) (frank feels like he owes lemony a lot. for trying to set the record straight about their past. or as straight as one could try and set it, with what all of them did. for their niece. for making ernest happy.) (ernest deserves to be happy, with everything they put each other through. ernest thinks the same for frank, too.) 

(ugggggg if you told the three of them when they were so much younger that one day they’d stay up late recreating their niece’s perfect pumpkin masterpiece so she’s not upset about the passage of time………..) 

(who’s in charge of the bed and breakfast while all of this is happening?? 

ernest: mallory, you’re in charge. mallory, a twenty-two year old with a major in hotel management who runs the front desk when ernest and frank can’t: sounds like a plan. 

mallory has a deep respect for the denouements. meanwhile – 

mallory: so you’re lemony snicket. lemony: i am, yes. mallory: you don’t look like your photo. lemony: that’s my legal representative. he has a stamp.) 

meanwhile meanwhile – it is not necessarily about the pumpkin. 

For babybea’s part, she already firmly believes that there is some sort of magic in the world. Even at twelve. Especially at twelve!! Look, she knows it wasn’t magic that reunited her with her family, that it was her and lemony’s hard work, but she wound up with SO much more family than she expected, when she first contacted lemony. And like, that is what there’s magic in. this whole group of people who care about her and love her and want to spend time with her. Babybea thinks she has the best family in the whole entire world. (AND SHE’S RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!) 

But that is also babybea’s problem right now. She loves her family so much, and she loves having them, and it’s been a couple months but she is still not entirely comfortable with people she loves being so far away from her. Not now! Not when they’re all supposed to be in the same space, like they’re supposed to be!! And some kids at school have teased her, not so much about her puzzle-piece family but that she talks about her uncles so much. She’s just proud of her family and she loves them!! But middle schoolers are like, rude as fuck sometimes, okay. And they don’t even think they’re saying anything wrong, just offhand comments about how much she talks about them. They don’t even know anything about her parents, not really, but babybea starts to feel like, it’s the unspoken throughline in what they’re saying, why doesn’t she ever talk about them? Why only her uncles, her guardians? They’re her family, but – 

she feels almost guilty, that she goes through periods where she doesn’t even think of her parents at all, and periods where she can’t stop thinking about what they would look like and what they would be like, and that makes her feel like she doesn’t value the family she DOES have. So it’s not necessarily about the pumpkin starting to rot, what’s making her upset. It’s that, the pumpkin is another thing in a line of things babybea is Thinking about, things that aren’t Going the way she thought they were supposed to go. Her uncle moving out, missing somebody who was supposed to be there, her pumpkin not staying like it’s supposed to, she’s SUPPOSED to love her family but is she loving them right? Is she loving the right people right? Can you miss people you didn’t even know? And babybea has it very set in her head, the things she knows and is supposed to do – this is something she hasn’t quite worked on, but she’ll get to it eventually, she is still twelve – and they keep not happening like that. And now. Something else she worked really, really, really hard on, that isn’t going right either. 

So she spends the week a little gloomy about her pumpkin, and worrying the whole ride friday afternoon after school to the bildungsroman bed and breakfast. Violet and klaus and sunny are very aware of babybea’s mood, and try to cheer her up by asking her about what she’ll be for halloween, but babybea’s heart is not super into this conversation. (she has ideas about a big group costume where they’re all different local birds, but now she’s not even sure about that.) 

And then! She sees her pumpkin!! Glowy eyes and all!!!!! And, mysteriously, those little spots of rot she’d noticed the week before are gone, and, in fact, it looks a little sharper than it had before? And she didn’t think she’d cut the lid quite like that, but! That’s her pumpkin, exactly where it’s supposed to be!!! And it makes her feel just a little better. That’s good. That’s right. But she still can’t, entirely shake off all her previous feelings, about family. But. right now. Her pumpkin still looks very special. 

Later, babybea can’t sleep. So she sneaks out of bed and goes down to the lobby, and sits down on the floor in front of the front desk, and looks at the big painting on the wall, that ernest did of her father. 

This, of course, is where frank finds her. (because frank has never been very good at sleeping consistently, even when there’s nothing to worry about now, and he likes to walk through the hotel to make sure it’s secure.) 

(ernest would say something very clever, like, aha, with a raised eyebrow, but all frank says is – )

frank: hello, beatrice.  beatrice: oh!  beatrice: hello, uncle frank.  frank: may i sit down?  beatrice: yes, please. 

They spend a little while looking at the portrait.

beatrice: um –  beatrice: does it – 

What she wants to ask is, does it look very much like my father, which she then realizes is such a STUPID question if her father was a TRIPLET and she has a mirror image of him right in front of her, who acts like she thinks a father is supposed to act, so, but, it’s not like that doesn’t mean dewey didn’t look like dewey. Just because dewey looked like frank doesn’t mean he only looked like frank. And beatrice forgets, sometimes, that he would’ve just looked just like her uncles. But still! 

beatrice: i mean – the painting, is it – 

But she thinks it’s such a terrible thing to ask!! But frank knows EXACTLY what she means. 

(some time ago, when the hotel had just opened and ernest had just painted the portrait of dewey – 

ernest: i wanted it to look like him. And, it’s not like i, don’t know what he looks like. Looked like. I mean – that could just be me or you up there, couldn’t it. It doesn’t look like it’s him.  frank: no, it does.  frank, knowing exactly what he means and feeling like, he needs to make ernest Not look so abjectly miserable: you don’t look nearly as happy.  ernest, in tears, very amused and touched and still terribly upset: wow! 

The point being, god of course it looks like dewey. It couldn’t be anybody but dewey, even if dewey looks like other people. Dewey looks like himself, he looks like his family, he looks like beatrice, around the eyes. And family means lots of things. It means your guardians raising you, and your uncles raising you, and your father’s portrait on the wall and never knowing him at all, and loving so many people and being loved back by them, whether or not it’s Supposed to be a specific way, and sometimes it means missing somebody, sometimes it means missing different people, sometimes it means being sad for something you’re not sure if you should or could miss, sometimes it means not missing anyone at all, sometimes it means your uncle going to live with his definitely boyfriend even if they won’t say the words out loud who’s also your uncle just on the other side of your family and that doesn’t mean anyone’s going anywhere. Sometimes it means your pumpkin rotting, because things change. uh, does this make sense.) (admittedly, i put a lot of things in this.)

frank: yes, it looks very much like him.  frank: i think about him a lot.  beatrice: ......would he like my pumpkin? frank, without hesitation: absolutely. beatrice: do you like it? frank: i do.

of course babybea already knew that, but it's nice to hear. it's just. nice. it's not, like, everything? just like before. but beatrice is loved by a lot of people, and she loves them, too, and. she feels loved, right here, like she's supposed to, and that's what's Supposed to happen.

beatrice hugs him, and it's not the first time she's hugged frank, but it means more? frank hugs her back.

beatrice: thanks for fixing my pumpkin.  frank: i’m sure i don’t know what you mean, beatrice. 

beatrice hugs him again, and then goes back upstairs. frank looks a little longer at the portrait, and then goes to bed himself, and doesn't get back up until his alarm goes off.

[beevean]

Ok hear me out:

I want you to rank the NFCV villains (Nocturne included) from "best" to worst :)

Oh, that's easy! They get worse and worse with each season! :D

Dracula is the best one. Sure, he got hit with a bad case of Idiot Plot in S2, but he's actually a believable menace in the first and last episode. He also benefits from having the best voice in the cast, so I don't want to tear out my ears when I listen to him - yeah yeah i'm killing my boy we've heard that one to death, but it is one of the most emotional moments in the show.

Then Carmilla. I don't like Carmilla one bit: she is a parody of a radfem, a generic #girlboss, and overall a large idiot with an inflated ego who only served to make Dracula and his boytoys look like imbeciles. However, I will commend one thing: she is an unrepentant bastard. In a series that wants you to go all 🥺 at all sorts of murderers and abusers, it's refreshing how hateable Carmilla is from start to finish. Sure, I question why a woman victim of all sorts of implied abuses is treated less fairly than a man who wanted to destroy all mankind and humankind because wife died, but hey, #feminism.

Lenore would have been #1 if the story didn't point at the vilest woman concievable, a disgusting abusive gaslighting lying condescending rapist only concerned with power over people and feeling good about herself, and asked me to pwease feel sowwy for her because she's kinda cute when she tells the man she raped that he can't complain about her enslaving him because he was having fun getting raped by deception 🥺 she isn't at the bottom because she is sadly effective in S3, and she could be a nice character in a story not written by a sex pest.

Since I'm including Miss "please find the rapist sympathetic", I'll include Mister "please find the jihadist sympathetic". Isaac is a giant pretentious hypocritical prick who thinks he's deep because he bleats HUMANS BAD until he wakes up and decides he wants to be Jesus instead, because you know, killing the magician gave him a big boner to stroke while he thinks about the great character development he had. He was also completely pointless to the story, to the point that they had to force a fight against Carmilla to pretend he earned his victory.

Death is so throw out there that I would almost say that his legendary manners of speech was included just so that people would remember him. He's literally a consolation prize to pretend Trevor is still relevant. Oh, and he gives us the stupidest finale possible by bringing back Dracula and Lisa, so that doesn't endear me to him.

Sun Thundercat is a wet fart. She is a 12 yo's Mary Sue, and that's assuming said 12 yo had shit taste to boot.

The Abbot is a complete moron that defies all human logic and no amount of "this time we'll make the CHURCH BAD nuanced" will convince me of the contrary. Give me a good reason as to why a priest who hates the Revolution for being godless would even consider to team up with godless demons.

Vaublanc will always be remembered for his hilarious fish eye frames and that's it.

Not worthy of note are the Bishop, Sala, the Japanese not-twins and the Judge. They are nothing more than walking HUMAN BAD and CHURCH BAD stereotypes, and I don't consider them characters, only plot devices. Oh, and uhhh the Magician? I guess? What a great roster. I won't count Olrox because his role is still unclear.

[maripr]

I would like to give a coherent writing about the episode as opposed to the screeching I've done on Twitter for the past... Hours?? But i don't think i can still.

Some Ozpin and Oscar related thoughts:

Neo's take on Ozpin is so ooc it hurts more than everyone else bc his first interaction with Ruby is giving her cookies. What he does with broken children is FEED THEM BC FOOD MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER. But. We have seen him pissed off to the point of shouting and it was against Hazel in vol 5. I think the surefire way to make Ozpin this royally pissed off would be using him against his students, which is what hazel did in vol 5 and what neo is doing here, so she's VERY lucky that Oscar didn't fall along with all the others.

Anyway i also happen to think that the only person he would actually be this violent in action and words is himself. I bet this very image of being gruesomely beaten down and berated by him happens regularly in his mind, except he's both the executioner and the victim. And maybe, in his darkest thoughts, Oscar accidentally dies because of him, same as Ruby's fears.

Or maybe Ozma imagines all the reincarnates taking turns beating and insulting him for what he did to them and their families. Point is, Neo may have accidentally performed a perfectly characterized Ozpin, but not against the correct person.

SO UHM i watched my fave violently beating down his future daughter in law to the point she bled, how are you all?

It's also!!! Delicious!!! That he's not just someone Ruby cares about and feels responsible for his death!!! And also someone she resents, but not bc OH OZPIN'S SO EVIL SHE HATES HIM BC HE'S EVIL, but because... The entire volume... Has been very subtly implying she's as afraid of Oscar experiencing ego death in the merge than he himself is (and then she CHOOSES to experience ego death herself at the end. "I don't want to be me anymore"). Holy cow. If you had told me that before vol 9, i would have replied "look rosegarden is my otp too but that feels a bit like reaching" and IT'S NOT. And Neo has used him against Ruby TWICE. And accidentally killing him after slashing at Ozpin can be read in so many fucked up levels and it's what finally break her????

This episode was just so brutal but in a way that i personally found exceptionally intriguing. I love this kind of horror. This couldn't have been possible if not in the ever after. I got to see my oz Bois again and Ozpin's maya model finally being put to use, and Shannon actually shouting in his voice, but at what cost, but it was perfect.

Also glad they finally gave the man his lips back. I was wondering where they went after vol 2. Thank you Neo. Also, for giving Oscar his melanin back.

[shannonsketches]

Sonia was a casualty to Rauru's bullshit, not Ganondorf’s lust for power. As said by the Big Gan himself.

She was seen as the weakest link in power sense with her secret stone, her only seen ability being moving things to where they were just a couple of seconds ago. Being (based solely off her tone) in the role of the pacifier and the link between Rauru and her people, not his, her death was an easy powder keg for a war.

Was Ganondorf wrong to kill her? For sure, she was a sweetheart, and I love her, and want to give her lots of hugs and kisses. But if he thought it could prove how easily Rauru could potentially abuse his godlike power in a flood of emotions and hog it all for himself, Ganondorf wanted to prove a point. Then stealing the Secret Stone to take godlike power for himself is what ultimately corrupted him, as any mortal with sudden access to unlimited power would be.

I agree with most of this, although I hadn't considered her being a pacifier! I assumed that Hylians still looked to Zonai as god-adjacent beings, but I like your framing a lot.

And to your point, Ganondorf is not just any mortal. He was implied to be unmatched in his power and ability just as a Gerudo, so the amplification he got from the stone, too, would've been more than any other being would've experienced (without eating it).

And same, I love Sonia. She's adorable.

Is it Ganondorf's fault she died? 100% Yes. He murdered her, that's on him.

Is Rauru responsible for consistently prodding someone he knew held malice for him, and then waving off Zelda's warnings with his own ego? 'Yeah I know he's got bad intentions zelda thanks so much off you go' Also 100%

Is Sonia complicit in Rauru and Hyrule's dealings, and not some an innocent bystander that Ganondorf just happened to attack because she was weak? No. She was someone who could control points in time, and contribute to Rauru's light magic. She also knew about the puppet and chose hubris, instead of exercising any basic defense protocols.

Therefore, do I firmly believe Sonia was extremely high entire game?

Absolutely.

This woman is so blazed she didn't even know she got stabbed.

Her stone gave Ganondorf a contact high and that's why the power got corrupted.

[yaeggravate]

VERY messy thoughts on arlecchino based on what we've learned from the unfinished comedy world quest.

i believe she is connected to the narzissenkreuz ordo or rene himself, and might be the result of an experiment to create neohumans.

while theres no confirmation that she's connected to narzissenkreuz both her and caterpillar having the same-ish blackened arms and being called a "wolf in sheep's clothing" are hints that she might be in a similar situation. plus i don't think it's a coincidence that arlecchino has kreuze (crosses) in her eyes.

similar to caterpillar, i think arlecchino might have been involved in soul transmigration.

Caterpillar: "The body is just a shell. Even the body of a hilichurl can bear sentient consciousness."

we're not sure yet what happened to caterpillar aka carter, but i suspect upon his death, rene transferred his original soul into the body of a hilichurl to give him a chance at rebirth. arlecchino could then also be a human who died (which her hand of glory constellation implies) but whose soul was transferred into an inhuman body. or it could even be the opposite: transferring the soul of some powerful being into the (possibly dead) body of a human.

she's the fourth harbinger, ranked just below those that have powers that rival gods, so if she can transform herself it's not going to be a hilichurl 💀 or an abyss lector. maybe something more akin to a dragon/oceanid or something.

however, another possibility for what happened to carter is that he turned into a hilichurl because of rene giving him elynas' blood. and rene simply found a way to partly reverse what happened to him. in that case, arlecchino could have been injected with abyssal blood but couldn't fully adapt to it hence the black arms.

if you look closer, aside from the necrosis, her arms have these strange kind of markings tattooed on them. maybe it's some kind of seal or... it might have been to perform a ritual...

Caterpillar: Narzissenkreuz (Rene) would lead ceremonies with the Holy Blade, in accordance with the ancient dictates. They call it "Tri-Factor Excision" in Liyue, and in Sumeru, "Shattering Atmagraha." He called it "Renunciation of the Ego."

there's also an unmarked enkanomiyan ruin on the map, where a treasure hoarder found someone trapped inside a barrier. initially i thought that might have been carter until we found out he was in prison all this time.

"Didn't find aught else but this arcane formation and the peculiar barriers around it, and after all that effort, too... There seems to be someone trapped inside the barriers... Can't tell if they are alive or not. Well, I'm not going back empty-handed, not after how far I've gone. That's just not my style..." (The remaining pages are filled with black stains, making the text unreadable.)

it's possible this could have just been the rifthounds but maybe this person was arlecchino.

[nikkiruncks]

Probably better off a personal post, but I figured you'd get a kick out of this:

I want to believe the Founding Families of TVD's past have some intricate stories since they leave behind mysteries that we only see solved in in the 21st century. And I like to make some hidden history:

In TVD 3x17, we learn that Meredith Fell had Samantha Gilbert's journal via her grandmother. Typically we assume they (Founding Families) just took her belongings after her death or at least the Gilbert Family would've. But instead, it was a Fell (whom I called "Marjorie Ann Fell") who had it - or rather, she inherited the diary from her mother ("Margaret Ruth Fell"), Meredith's great-grandmother.

Here's what I think happened: Samantha and Margaret were in love in 1912. Samantha worked as a bookkeeper and Margaret worked as a nurse at an asylum - though her family didn't initially approve. While she worked in the daytime, Samantha was an avid vampire hunter at night and used her family heirloom, The Gilbert Ring, to come back to life. However, when the ring took a toll on her psyche after reviving many times - creating an alter ego and killing members of the council - Samantha kept a diary of her spiral & worried she'd hurt the woman she loved. Her nightmare eventually came to head 10 years later in 1922 when she nearly killed Margaret. Full of remorse, she told her about what she was going through, which helped piece together that she was the killer. Margaret convinced Samantha to reveal the truth about the ring to the council, which was how she ended up in the asylum Margaret worked at and even got assigned as her nurse. Samantha struggled from the negative side effects of the ring with Margaret by her side until one day it became too much. She has a breakdown and cried in tears, professing her love and making her promise to keep her diary safe should anything happen to her. Tearfully understanding Samantha was at her limits, she professed her love back and took her diary. That night, Samantha took the knitting needles used during the day and killed herself via forced lobotomy and died of blood loss. Margaret, as her nurse, was questioned but ultimately quit due to losing the love of her life at 36. Another 10 years later in 1932, she had her daughter, Marjorie Ann (Meredith's grandmother) at 46. She died in the 1960 and left Samantha's diary to her in hopes that if the Gilbert Rings - that was given to Samantha's next of kin despite her disapproval - ever caused the same problems that cost Samantha her life, a Fell would ensure it got to the right person to prevent it from happening again...

As it did in 2010 with Alaric Saltzman.

Now, wouldn't this romance be in Samantha's diary? I would think that, but in typical forbidden romance fashion, I believe Margaret tore out any pages implying their love. Perhaps there would be a time when people like her and Samantha would be accepted, but in the time period they lived, the risk of anyone knowing was too great.

(Heads up, in Legacies S1, the Necromancer summoned a witch to get him the knife he needed. I dated her outfit - she was very likely from the 1910s and I wouldn't be surprised if she manipulated Samantha to kill Zachariah Salvatore. He was probably related to or covered up her death and used Samantha as revenge. Yeah, that's what I'm going with!)

So, what do you think?

Honestly I don't have super strong opinions on this, but I like the idea of Meredith's grandmother being in love with a Gilbert. The way you describe their story is so compelling and giving star crossed lovers. Reminds me of Stelena. I love a good forbidden romance.