#hunter goes back and forth between the demon and human realm

[danimals666]

Vee and Hunter could SO pass off as half siblings to make it easier to explain the situation in the human realm. Like. I feel like Vee would be the one to quickfire responses that just ends up being their "story".

People see that Camila is fostering/adopted one child. But then here comes another boy that seems to come and go as he pleases but the entire family seems to refer to him as their brother/son so easily.

Im imagining like, a family gathering where Hunter's invited and someone asks about Hunter and theyre all kinda sweating at the questions being asked until Vee pulls out some shit like "Oh Hunter's actually my half brother. Yeah. Same mom different dad. We lived with our uh... not so great uncle for a WHILE.. after our... mom.. died.. and we got adopted by two different people but we're still siblings yknow? He comes around and we treat him like our own.. cuz he is our own.. yeah."

Then just like that, there's the easiest way to explain it!! Vee and Hunter def pass as half siblings to me.

[sepublic]

From LEK to Hexsquad and Back

            Clouds on the Horizon is an interesting episode in that it marks a shift for the show’s usual main cast from the trio of Luz, Eda, and King –LEK, as I like to call them- to the Hexsquad, who temporarily take over as the main protagonists, if that makes sense?

            LEK themselves kind of acknowledge it, during that final scene in the Latissa hideout before they split up; They’re going to be separated for a while, and while they didn’t exactly anticipate the hiatus being as long as it turned out, on some meta and in-universe level, they could tell something was about to happen. But no matter what, they knew and promised they’d make it back to each other, one way or another, and they did.

            And so Luz and King go off to Blight Manor, and Eda goes off with the rebellion. Luz and King meet up with the Hexsquad, while Eda becomes more involved with her fellow CATTs; I think it’s appropriate because it hearkens back to Eda’s Requiem, and how Eda had her own storyline with her own cast going on there. Another life to dedicate herself to as she prepared for Luz and King potentially leaving her.

            And with the transition from BATTs to CATTs, there’s also Darius and Lilith, who were childhood classmates of Eda’s; In the season finale right after, the show even reiterates this with Eda’s brief flashback, which itself was also a teaser for a potential spin-off in which Eda and her childhood classmates would’ve been a separate main cast.

            Back on Luz and King’s side, we get the setup for the Hexsquad to properly come together for the first time, ever; We have Luz and Hunter’s secrets, Amity taking on her parents, and later Willow’s baggage and Gus grappling with this knowledge as he figures out what to do with it. They’re the ones who take on Belos, they’re the ones we follow as they get trapped in the human realm.

            Thanks to Them is entirely about the Hexsquad as the protagonists; Eda and King return in For the Future, with their storylines having Raine, Lilith, Odalia, and a cameo for Darius. But it isn’t until the series finale that the show’s focus finally shifts back to LEK; At the same time, we’ve had all this time with the Hexsquad as this alternate main cast, and just as secondary protagonists in general, so they have their own B-plot of directly protecting the people of the isles within the Archives, too!

            And the split of LEK between Luz in the human realm, and Eda in the demon realm, is symbolic; Meanwhile there’s King, who’s going back and forth! At first he’s with Luz but he ends up with Eda. King’s an interesting outlier, the third one; From a meta perspective, the show originated from the initial premise of just Luz and Eda, a young girl and her older witch mentor. King was more of a later addition, and is alas overlooked by the fandom at times.

            He inhabits an unusual role as not quite witch or human, but a third category that’s been in the background since forever; Quite literally, because he’s the son of the Titan! So it’s neat how he navigates between Luz and Eda as his own entity, because the unknowable quality of King and him being overlooked culminate in King saving the day at the end of season 2, his season.

            And with how the show was originally Luz and Eda, and focused a lot more on them, it’s neat how the end of the show later provides more focus on Luz and King, with King’s whole dynamic with the Collector, Luz trying to go back to him, and them having their big arcs with both the Collector and Titan because older mentor Eda’s already gone through most of hers (and could’ve had hers explored in that suggested spin-off). As the tritagonist who could theoretically be left out if you had to trim down the main cast to just two characters, it’s quite meta how King steps up. And the show’s ending reiterates that it always come back to the three of them; Luz, Eda, and King.

[teehee-vibes]

Alright, list of headcanons/ideas/hopes for The Owl House cast after Belos is defeated and locked away or dead due to his own ambitions (give me your additions and thoughts, I will if I come up with more):

The Portal Door is recreated, but kept a secret from all human realm dwellers (sans Camilla and Vee). Luz travels back and forth between realms regularly, and sometimes, people tag along with her. She introduces demon realm culture to her family, and human world culture to her second family.

By extension, Gus indulges in human culture with ecstasy! He plans to one day foster a mindset where the demon realm can be well received by humans. However, he acknowledges that not all humans are open to the idea quite yet. In the meantime, he visits zoos for giraffe feedings and travels to major cities to visit prestigious museums. He shows off a lot of his findings, replicating them with illusions, and he inspires fascination with the other world across the entire Boiling Isles.

Luz fulfills her secondary dream of becoming a an author. She writes a narrative about her childhood AND her time in the Boiling Isles. In the human realm, it’s a best-selling fictional narrative about coming of age, found family, and trust. In the demon realm, it’s still a best-seller, but it’s treated as it really is: an autobiography and primary source from the rebellion against the tyrant, Emperor Belos.

Luz actually publishes additions to the original work, including additional history and other primary sources (like a replica of Darius’ draining spell diagram, sheet music for “Raine’s Rhapsody,” Luz’s various artworks regarding the major plot). The sources were put together with cool aunt Lilith’s assistance. In the human realm, she is, unfortunately, credited as anonymous for the sake of witch kind.

Eda and Raine get married. This one’s just a given. Luz helps plan it, and it’s very human and witchy at the same time. It makes Eda happy to see Luz happy, so she and Raine go along with a lot of the plans. Lilith is maid of honor, while Luz and Amity are both bridesmaids. Darius is the best man, and he gives a surprisingly tender speech about his friendship with Raine while also roasting the hell out of them. He doesn’t cry (he does cry). Hunter is a spouse’s man. So are the BATTs. Willow handles the flora. King and Eberwolf are flower girls. Hooty is the ring bearer, to everyone’s chagrin.

Eda remains an excellent mother and wild witch. She continues her life pretty normally, flaunting her prowess and scamming people (teaming up with Edric more often). She is treated with more respect, and she’s seen as a champion for those with life-altering curses. She helps those affected with one live with it, telling how she learned to accept her own.

King begins seeking out the history and real strength of Titans, learning to fully embrace his lineage. He also strives to help others treat “idols” with respect and empathy.

Raine goes back to being the teacher they wanted to be originally! They apply to be a bard teacher at Hexside, so they can give good education to Hexside students. All of the Bard-track students brag about how good Professor Whispers-Clawthorne is. They teach their students the whistle trick, and they all swear to not share the trick with others. They never do. They keep an orange flower in a pot on their windowsill at all times. Before moving in with Eda, they fly/walk with Hunter to school everyday.

Speaking of Hunter, he enrolls at Hexside. The environment there made him feel unsafe, but in the safer way! The people there are good to him, too. The teachers love having him in class because of his utter passion for learning. Like Luz, the curious overachiever, he tries to study all the tracks at once. Principal Bump, still in charge, takes quite a liking to him. In addition to participating in Flyer Derby with the Emerald Entrails, he joins the Clawthornes and Bat Queen and volunteers to help with Palisman adoptions, helping those like his beloved Flapjack find good matches for themselves after tragedy.

Darius’s excellent skincare routine can only do so much. Eventually, being middle aged catches up to him. Barely. He develops smile lines on his cheeks. At first, he frets a bit. But he gets used to them eventually. After all, it’s just a sign that he’s been laughing more. He does play a major role in Hunter’s life, primary caretaker or not.

Willow proceeds as Captain of the Emerald Entrails. After she graduates from Hexside, while most of the others move on for other things (Hunter still holds a passion for the game and keeps at it with her for longer), she continues with the sport! Not only does she go on to the big leagues as an adult, as the witch she wants to be, but she’s basically an inspiration to other young witches. She campaigns proudly for the sport, hoping that it will one day be just as embraced as Grudgby and that others can use it as a mental outlet.

Lilith strives to right Belos’s and Flora’s wrongs. She publishes book after book debunking Belos’s praise and the incorrect history he wrote. She makes exhibits in museums about the culture that was lost on the Isles, hoping that truthful education will encourage others to embrace the good parts. She also eventually accepts Steve’s therapy recommendation and learns not to undervalue herself to so-called superiors.

This is all I can think of right now! I’ll probably add more eventually, and I want to hear other ideas too.

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

Now, when it comes to Hunter’s parental figure, I love the idea of Dadrius as much as anyone else. I also love Mama Eda, Raven Mom Lilith, Politely Confused Stepdad Alador, Exasperated Parental Unit Raine, and of course, Mamì Camila.

So like….why can’t we have them all?

No, I’m not talking about some weird mega-ship. I’m talking the most chaotic coparenting anyone’s ever seen. Hunter went from no parents to too many parents. And as to what that looks like…

- Post-DOU, once everything worked out and all the families were reunited, there were at least a few sets of custody battles. Alador and Odalia had a huge, drawn-out fight involving multiple sets of lawyers from both the Human and Demon Realms, Eda and Camila went through a very awkward phase of deciding where Luz would live (they settled on sharing a house with a door installed to the human realm so Vee could come and go as she pleased) and Amber’s aunt and uncle appeared out of the woodworks briefly to cause issues for Raine*. However, the biggest argument ended up being over Hunter. After a lot of bickering, some name-calling, and one impromptu sparring match, they settled on a split custody schedule where Hunter would go back and forth between Alador and Darius’s apartment and the Owl House with Eda, Raine and Camila (Lilith gets every other weekend). Hunter was incredibly confused as to what all the fuss was about.

- Hunter wasn’t sure who exactly he was supposed to call Mom and Dad at first. In fact, he was actually really nervous about it. Of course, when he came clean about it, everyone was incredibly supportive. One of the few things all of the adults actually agreed on was that they’d love him no matter what. Eventually, he settled on calling Camila ‘Mom’ or ‘Mamí’ (Luz taught him some Spanish) and Darius various versions of ‘Dad’. Eda and Raine he addresses by their first names (though he had to be talked out of calling them ‘Ms’ or ‘Mx’ Clawthorne-Whispers in the beginning) and he eventually started calling Lilith ‘Auntie’ like Luz and King. He insists on calling Alador ‘Stepfather’. No one can convince him otherwise. 

-Camila is the BIGGEST soccer mom when it comes to her babies having sports games (though she isn’t exactly the biggest fan of the Gland Prix- racing is just such a dangerous sport even when it’s not a hundred feet in the air). Hunter has a whole cheering section at his flyer derby games, and Camila is always the loudest. She and Eda also always help each other put on Emerald Entrails facepaint. 

- The parents have unspoken designations for who helps Hunter with what. Darius is the one to take him shopping and help him with his clothes and possessions. Camila is there for friendship drama and girl troubles (cough cough, Captain, cough). Raine takes him to therapy and sometimes sits through it with him, Eda is in charge of checking on him when he has nightmares, and Alador and Lilith tag-team homework duties. Lilith has also made it a personal goal to make sure Hunter doesn’t grow up to be like her. 

- Hunter has SO MANY STEP/ADOPTED SIBLINGS. So, so many. Siblings list includes

Amity (stepsister)

The twins (stepsiblings)

Gus (unofficial little brother)

Luz (adopted sister)

King (adopted step(?)brother)

Vee (adopted stepsister...half sister? I dunno?) 

The baby BATTs- Derwin, Amber and Katya- (yeah no I’m done doing this)

Steve (Steve doesn’t belong to any of the parents, Steve’s just everyone’s big brother)

Hunter has mastered the art of being a big brother. Being a little brother, on the other hand? That’s new, and he’s not really sure how to feel about it. Steve and the older two BATTs are very persistent, however, and he grows to like it- especially the part where they gang up on the younger ones a bit. Luz, Amber, King, Amity and Vee don’t like that part as much (they’re still grumpy about the last family pillow war). 

- Hunter goes through his teen rebel stage a bit late. Glasses of apple blood are often shared between parents over the exasperated exchanging of stories about loud music, ripped clothes and dyed hair. No one will admit to having taken him to get his ears pierced, though they all have their suspicions (and they’re so busy shooting looks in Eda’s direction that they don’t notice how red her spouse’s ears have turned). 

- Gwendolyn and Dell ADORE their scraggly teenage grandson. Gwendolyn often fusses over him, asking if he’s eating enough or tutting over the bags under his eyes. Dell is thrilled when Hunter expresses an interest in learning about Palismen and his own origins, and immediately offered to take him with him on his trips into the Palistrom groves. They now go every Friday night together. 

In conclusion...I dunno, found families make the brain go brrrrrr. 

*Amber, Katya and Derwin are Raine’s kids and I won’t be taking criticism. Also, I’ve made up a lot of head canons about Amber and that’s one of them. It’s not super important. 

[smokestarrules]

Amphibia & The Owl House’s Finales

So, I've been seeing a lot of nervousness since Amphibia’s finale, which (spoilers) consisted of the three main girls leaving the world they’d been having adventures in for assumedly the rest of their lives. Because Amphibia and The Owl House have been airing beside each other for years now, with a somewhat similar idea between them, there seems to be a lot of concern that The Owl House will go down the same route. 

Personally, I highly doubt it. Here’s why. 

Firstly, they are not the same show.

Good lord. I know that they both have their similarities and it’s very easy to compare them against each other, but as someone who has watched both shows, I find their differences more interesting than the ways they’re the same. Amphibia is generally (though not always) more high-spirited than The Owl House, especially in their respective season twos. But you can’t really contrast those against each other as well, because Amphibia has 3 full seasons, and The Owl House will not. Therefore, they are at different points in their narratives at all times. 

Truthfully, I believe there is absolutely no way they will have the same ending, because most importantly, the narratives being pushed in these two shows are completely the opposite from each other. 

Amphibia has always been a story about letting go and moving forward. It’s a startlingly unique take on the “torn between two worlds” scenario in my opinion, at least from Disney’s angle (looking at you, svtfoe) and I’m... not mad about it (And if you consider that the finale has its issues, which is a valid opinion, I would say that Amphibia’s problem was not that the show betrayed its original themes, but that it executed them in a less-than-perfect manner. But I digress.)

The show gave us the narrative, repeatedly hammered in its themes, and delivered on those promises, because that's how shows go. Whether it was done well or not is up to debate, but that’s not the point. Amphibia’s themes have always lead up to an ending like this. 

but The Owl House, on the other hand, has never been about moving on and living your life on your own terms. You know what it has been about?

Finding a family. 

“Us weirdos need to stick together” is said in literally the first episode. And that is the entire point of the show! The entire show has been about Luz both finding a family in this horrifying Demon Realm, and reconnecting with her mother (which is pending, yes, but come on, you can't convince me it won’t happen.) Luz, who feels like an outcast back at home, finds people she’s capable of connecting with. Eda and King. Willow and Gus. Amity. Hunter. The list goes on, because that’s the point. 

The Owl House is about a family finding each other, and it always has been. I don’t know how it’s going to end; whether the Demon and Human Realms will bleed into each other or Luz will be able to go back and forth between them at her own leisure. But she will not be forced to choose between them, because that would be betraying the show’s pivotal idea. 

And The Owl House’s writing has been too consistently good to betray their own ideas at the last second like that. 

[inky-for-a-bit]

Thanks to Them last minute theories! Put it under the cut because it got long and it mentions a few of the leaks

General character/thematic theories:

-Hunter and Luz won't reveal their secrets this episode

-Dealing with guilt and protecting loved ones by keeping secrets will be a big theme

-Hunter will be accepted by the Noceda family (well this one's pretty much confirmed by the review lol but still)

-Halloween/Scooby Doo vibes

-This episode will be largely focused on exploring the Wittebane brothers and their backstory

-We won't get any scenes on the Boiling Isles/the gang won't return there this episode

Part 1:

-So we know that the episode opens right after King's Tide, with the gang catching Camila up on what's happened and getting ready for bed

-Then the montage!!

-Luz goes to school, struggles to adjust to human school again, misses Eda and King, maybe gets teased/bullied by the kids there

-Meanwhile, the others are working on the portal back at the old house. The first part of the episode jumps back and forth between school and the witches. Flapjack makes a hole in the boards, where they find the box thing that Amity holds in the trailer.

After a while they figure it out, revealing this clue to the Wittebane brothers' past that we see in this promo pic:

Could this paper be the one we see with the grimwalker hand and a few other symbols? My guess is this paper was something left behind by either the Wittebanes or Caleb's wife before Belos lost the portal.

It looks about the same color and shape, and we see Amity, Gus's, and either Hunter or Willow's hands here- all people who are in the above scene. They're also pointing at the hand, which could be the grimwalker hand reach??

Just to continue this train of thought, we also see Hunter with a rake in the old house with a bandaged finger:

Perhaps grimwalker blood could be used to open a portal?

-Anyways, moving on with the plot. We see Vee's friends, maybe Luz meets them, Vee flirts with someone (!?!?)

-Then we have some fluff and angst slice of life stuff. We get some costume/human clothing stuff:

Over the evening and next day we get some character-focused scenes that Jade King mentioned:

Hopefully we'll get some information on Luz's dad! And halloween stuff here!

Part 2:

-I think in the second half of the episode the Hexsquad will split up. To continue the theme of keeping secrets, Luz and Hunter decide to investigate the old house and test the grimwalker theory without telling the others. Meanwhile, the others take a trip to the library and zoo to do research on Gravesfield's history and giraffes to see if either could help.

-I also believe it will be in this part of the episode that we get Wittebane flashbacks, due to that creepy witch hunter promo. These flashbacks could be just plain old flashbacks, an illusion Gus conjures up (after seeing Belos's memories in King's Tide), or done in a hand-drawn narrated story sort of way based on what the characters discover

-Fire might be involved in opening the portal, because of the fire in the witch hunter promo and what could be smoke in this crew art:

-As Luz and Hunter investigate, they stumble upon Goop Belos (which is why they have their trusty bat, rake, and masks!)

-While Luz and Hunter find and fight Belos, the others find out some important piece of information while doing human stuff and rush back. Camila joins them as they find Luz and Hunter to help get rid of Belos

-During the climactic battle they manage to open the portal. Just a wild theory here- maybe the opening of the portal is connected to Halloween night/full moon/something spooky like that, and Belos confronts them then not only to get revenge, but to get back to his human form (with help from the energy of that night) or return to the demon realm.

-The gang manages to capture/scare off Belos as the portal opens, and the last shot of the episode is them staring at the opened portal. Cliffhanger!

Questions I have

-not quite sure how Hunter saying "did you know that he was here?" fits in. I think he's either talking about the statues or Belos goop

-why didn't Hunter bring Flapjack to the mission??

-unsure of what will happen to Belos at the end of the episode. I doubt they'll kill him off this soon though

-Luz's Azura cosplay- where does that fit in?

-That leak with Hunter and Belos. Idk if it's real or how it will play out for sure

[ivy-kissobryos]

Charon, the Lord of Death

According to Britannica:

In Etruscan mythology [Charon] was known as Charun and appeared as a death demon, armed with a hammer. Eventually he came to be regarded as the image of death and of the world below. As such he survives in Charos, or Charontas, the angel of death in modern Greek folklore.

This is further explored in Modern Greek folklore and ancient Greek religion: a study in survivals by John Cuthbert Lawson. According to Lawson:

There is no ancient deity whose name is so frequently on the lips of the modern peasant as that of Charon. About Charos the peasants will always, according to my experience, converse freely. Neither superstitious awe nor fear of ridicule imposes any restraint. They feel perhaps that the existence of Charos is one of the stern facts which men must face; and even the more educated classes retain sometimes, I think, an instinctive fear of making light of his name, lest he should assert his reality. For Charos is Death. He is not now, what classical literature would have him to be, merely the ferryman of the Styx. He is the god of death and of the lower world.

Lawson then goes on to describe how the importance of Charos has been elevated, for ‘Hades is no longer a person but a place, the realm over which Charos rules’. The author then goes into details surrounding Charos’ family.

On his physical depiction:

Sometimes he is depicted as an old man, tall and spare, white of hair and harsh of feature; but more often he is a lusty warrior, with locks of raven-black or gleaming gold [...] ‘his glance is as lightning and his face as fire, his shoulders are like twin mountains and his head like a tower’. His raiment is usually black as befits the lord of death, but anon it is depicted bright as his sunlit hair, for though he brings death he is a god and glorious.

On his functions, Lawson states:

His functions are clearly defined. He visits this upper world to carry off those whose allotted time has run, and guards them in the lower world as in a prison whose keys they vainly essay to steal and to escape therefrom. But the spirit in which he performs those duties varies according as he is conceived to be a free agent responsible to none or merely a minister of the supreme God. Which of these is the true conception is a question to which the common-folk as a whole have given no final answer; and the character of Charos consequently depends upon the view locally preferred.

The depiction of Charos has also been influenced by Christianity.

Those who regard him as simply the servant and messenger of God, find no difficulty in accommodating him to his Christian surroundings; for, as I have said, the peasant does not distinguish between the Christian and the pagan elements in his faith which together make his polytheism so luxuriant. We have already seen Charos' name with the prefix of ‘saint’; and though this Christian title is not often accorded him, yet his name appears commonly on tomb-stones in Christian churchyards. At Leonidi, on the east coast of the Peloponnese, I noted the couplet: 'Me too Charos pitied not but took, even me the fondly-cherished flower of my home.'

So too in popular story and song he is represented as working in concord with the Angels and Archangels, to whom sometimes falls the task of carrying children to his realm-. Indeed one of the archangels, Michael, who as we saw above has ousted Hermes, the escorter of souls, and assumed his functions, is charged with exactly the same duties as Charos in the conveyance of men's souls to the nether world, so that in popular parlance the phrases ‘he is wrestling with Charos’ and 'he is struggling with an angel' are both alike used of a man in his death-agony.

The author goes on to describe how the Christianized conception of Charon has made him appear kinder, as evidenced by many folk tales where it is shown that:

‘The duties imposed upon him by the will of God are sometimes repugnant to him, and he would willingly spare those whom he is sent to slay’

Some folk tales are then described. Also:

‘Sometimes then the doomed man will seek to tempt Charos with meat and drink, that he may grant a few hours' delay, but against offers of hospitality he is obdurate. Or again his victim refuses to yield to death 'without weakness or sickness' and challenges him to a trial of athletic skill, in wrestling or leaping, whereon each shall stake his own soul. And to this Charos sometimes gives consent, for he knows that he will.

In contrast...

The other and more pagan conception of Charos excludes all traits of kindness and mercy; and men do not stint the expression of their hatred of him. He is 'black,' 'bitter,' 'hateful’. He is the merciless potentate of the nether world, independent of the God of heaven, equally powerful in his own domain, but more terrible, more inexorable: for his work is death and his abode is Hades. Thence he issues forth at will, as a hunter to the chase. ‘Against the wounds that Charos deals herbs avail not, physicians give no cure, nor saints protection’ [...] But most commonly he is the warrior preeminent in all manner of prowess—archer, wrestler, horseman.

Charos is sometimes depicted to be collecting souls to adorn his kingdom. Examples being:

[...] he gathers children from the earth to be the flowers of it and young men to be its tall slim cypresses; more rarely he is a vintager, and tramples men in his vat that their blood may be his red wine, or again he carries a sickle and reaps a human harvest.

It became evident that ‘Charos of modern Greece would seem to have little in common with the Charon of ancient Greece’. Fauriel believes that ‘the usual tendencies of tradition have been reversed, in that it is the name that has survived, while the attributes have been changed’. However, Lawson disagrees. He states that:

I suspect that in ancient times the literary presentation of Charon was far more circumscribed than the popular, and that out of a profusion of imaginative portraitures as varied as those seen in the folk-songs of to-day one aspect of Charon became accepted among educated men as the correct and fashionable presentment. Hades was, in literature, the despot of the lower world, and for Charon no place could be found save that of ferryman. But this, I think, was only one out of the many guises in which the ancient Charon was figured by popular imagination; for at the present day the remnants of such a conception are small, in spite of the fact that there has remained a custom which should have kept it alive—the custom of putting a coin in the mouth of the dead.

In Alcestis, a play written by Euripides, Death seemed to have taken on the role of Charon, to the point where ‘the copyist of one of the extant manuscripts of the Alcestis was so impressed with the likeness of Death to Charon as he knew him, that he altered the name of the dramatis persona accordingly’. The conception of Charon as a Lord of Death occurs even further back than that though.

On the Etruscan Charun:

Hesychius states that the title [greek word] was shared by two gods, Charon and Uranus. Charon therefore, as son of Acmon and brother of Uranus, is earlier by two long generations of gods than Zeus himself, and belongs to the old Pelasgian order of deities. Was Charon then the god of death among the old Pelasgian population of Greece, before ever the name of Hades or Pluto had been invented or imported? Yes, if the corroboration from another Pelasgian source, the Etruscans, is to count for anything. On an Etruscan monument figures the god of death with the inscription 'Charun'; and the same person is frequently depicted on urns, sarcophagi, and vases [...] In appearance he is most often an old bearded man (though a more youthful type is also known) bearing an axe or mallet, and more rarely a sword as well, wherewith he pursues men and slays them. In effect the Etruscan Charun closely corresponds with the modern Greek Charos in functions as well as in name.

In classical times the primitive conception of Charon was in abeyance. Hades had assumed the reins of government in the nether world; and a literary legend, which confined Charon to the work of ferryman, had gained vogue and supplanted or rather temporarily suppressed the older conception. But this version, it appears, never gained complete mastery of the popular imagination, and to the common-folk of Greece from the Pelasgian era down to this day Charon has ever been more warrior than ferryman, and his equipment an axe or sword or bow rather than a pair of sculls. More is to be learnt of the real Charon of antiquity from modern folk-lore than from all the allusions of classical literature.

[tinybibmpreg]

here’s chapter 6 of Bed of Thorns, properly posted! be warned that this chapter has an instance of dub-con (a character goes to give consent, but is knocked unconscious via magic)

Bed of Thorns: Treasure (Part 6)

Shortly after arriving through a small portal to the right realm after multiple mishaps, Faust made his way to where his friend could often be found if he was even in his home realm at all. He was rather hopeful that the man would be out and about. It’d been a while since they’d last seen each other, and usually, his friend would manage to get time off after such a long period of absence.

On a trail on the edge of a forest, he saw the silhouette of a person in the distance. He kept his distance until he was certain it was who he was looking for. Squinting against the darkness, he recognized the long tail and many horns. He counted the horns and knew then he’d been right to trust his gut. His friend was indeed headed for his usual spot. Thrilled, he stepped onto the trail.

Jogging up to his friend, Faust smiled wide and grabbed the other man’s hand. “Attor! How have you been?” He pulled his wings tight against his back to avoid bumping into his friend. It was quite difficult to walk alongside someone with eight sets of wings if one wasn’t careful.

Attor startled slightly but then returned his smile with a sharp-toothed one of his own once he realized who had come up from behind him. The demon squeezed his hand back, careful not to hurt him with his claws. He kissed Faust’s cheek and then stayed leaning in close. “Very bored without you around, mon cheri. I’m ssso-” Attor tended to hiss his S’s when he was excited.  “-glad you’re here. My dear Uncle Otton has been simply overbearing recently and I need a break.”

“Ah. The family business?”

“Exactly, darling.” Attor’s family was quite affluent, he’d once told Faust. They owned a large business in the demon realm, and Attor was training to take over for his uncle one day. His uncle was a very strict teacher, so Attor spent most of his days doing work in preparation for his future position, going back and forth between different realms. He had confessed to Faust that he was basically his uncle’s personal assistant, and Faust had shot back that he sounded more like an errand boy. That had gotten him a playful shove.

Attor had tried to explain what the family business was, but couldn’t find the words for it. It was something exclusively demonic, an intrinsicality that needed to be maintained at all costs. He couldn’t sum it up, because it was too broad, what the business was. But it brought him often to the human realm, where they had met and quickly become close friends.

There was a strange sound in the distance. Faust glanced in the direction of it but saw nothing. Just the dead, dark landscape of the demon realm. As always, everything was completely still. All the times he had visited, there had never been any wind. Poor conditions for flying, he thought. Attor had laughed when he said so. Demons had no wings, so he’d never thought of that before.

-

Samil looked out from the edge of a balcony at the dismal landscape before her and thought to herself that if she leapt off the side, she wouldn’t enjoy soaring through the stagnant air. There was no wind in Loralei’s kingdom, and she’d always had such difficulty with her wings even in excellent conditions.

Loralei grabbed her shoulder and turned her around after she clenched her fists around the railing. She realized that her wings were bristling, the feathers ruffled. Sighing, she let go of the railing and followed him inside, casting one last look at the dead forest below. She knew it would be her last true look at it unobscured by window panes as Loralei locked the balcony doors behind them with the tip of his tail.

He couldn’t risk her jumping. Samil mourned, knowing she had gone from one prison to another. At least in her first prison, she had been allowed outside, had been allowed to use her weak, aberrant wings to fly.

“It isn’t safe to fly here, child. You would plummet.”

“How would you know?” she asked, staring down at the floor, tears in her eyes. “You don’t have wings.”

The demon sighed, his long tail lashing, touching hers as it swayed back and forth in irritation. His hand rested on the back of her neck. She suddenly wished she hadn’t forced her cousin to cut her hair short. Even if only to keep this man from touching her, skin to skin. His clawed thumb stroked the nape of her neck as if she was a pet, and he responded, “You forget I was once friends with an angel, darling. He proved to me that only an eight-set white feathered angel can fly here.”

“You weren’t friends with my father’s great-uncle. He’s the only angel like that.”

Loralei stopped. She looked up at him and was confused when she saw he had an amused expression on his face. Like he knew something that she didn’t. Samil dropped her gaze back to the ground, her throat burning. She hugged herself, wishing she wasn’t with this man, this creature that had bargained for her like she was some lost treasure of his. Samil thought of the books she’d been read, of dragons that kept hoards of treasure and kidnapped princesses. She felt very much like one of those princesses now. Loralei was certainly like a dragon, his house and body adorned with treasures, having ten horns and a long, serpentine tail.

All he was missing was wings. She had those for him, she supposed.

-

Attor had always been far too touchy, but Faust didn’t mind after a while of knowing him and growing used to his affection. When he’d asked about it, Attor had said demons were just like that. He’d never seen that before, and he’d seen plenty of people going up to and talking to Attor, but then Attor added that they were only like that to family and the dearest of friends. He was happy to be considered as such, and Attor laughed at the pink that rose on his cheeks, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, taking his hands in his own.

One day, after accidentally getting his friend in the face with one of his wings and leaving behind a remarkable bruise, he got to see first hand where exactly Attor had gotten his lack of personal space from. They’d gone back to Attor’s home and snuck to his room so no one could see Faust nor the steadily forming bruise he had caused. Then, as they were talking,  there was a loud knock on the door. A raspy voice asked, “Attor? Puis-je rentrer?” Faust didn’t know much French, but he thought it was something like, ‘may I come in?’ that was being said.

Attor shoved him in the closet, hissing, “Hide!”

Though he was confused, Faust trusted Attor and went in without any hesitation. Attor shut the closet and there was a click of a lock. He could see through the slats of the door, so he grabbed a blanket off of the closet floor and wrapped it around himself. Only leaving enough space for his mouth and eye, he hunkered down and stayed still. Peering through, he watched as Attor smoothed down the front of his jacket and called towards the door, “Come in, Uncle!”

Ah, Faust thought, no wonder he’d been told to hide.

The bedroom door opened and Attor’s uncle strode in. He wore elaborate, old fashioned clothes, a style Faust had never seen before. On his shoulders was a short cape, reaching just past his hips; adorned with feathers that made Faust’s heart drop, of many different shapes, sizes, and colors. Angel feathers. His tail was the longest of any demon Faust had seen, and ten jewel-decorated horns curved skywards from his head like a crown. Attor occasionally wore jewelry on his horns and tail, but never anywhere near as much as his uncle. The man looked like he was trying to be a luxurious king, with an entire treasure chest’s worth of jewels adorning him. He set aside his cane and opened his arms wide. Attor stepped forward and was pulled into a big embrace.

“Uncle Otton! I thought you were on a trip to the human realm. What’s brought you home so soon?”

Otton gave Attor a kiss on both cheeks and released him from the hug before answering, “I finished my work early, little one! And I couldn’t leave my dearest petit neveu all alone down here. You’re such a lonesome boy.” His hands stayed on Attor’s arms. His pupil-less eyes widened as he noticed the bruise on his nephew’s face. Otton used the tip of his long tail to tilt Attor’s face so he could look at the injury more closely. “What happened, Attor?”

Faust was nervous as Attor opened his mouth wordlessly, unprepared to give an answer. Since Attor had shoved him into the closet to keep him hidden from his uncle, Faust was sure his friend wouldn’t be willing to tell the truth. Faust knew from experience how hard it was to lie to a family head, especially about something that needed to be made up on the spot. He didn’t have high hopes in his friend’s ability to lie, especially as his hesitant silence stretched on.

Raising a brow, Otton frowned at his nephew. His eyes scanned the room, looking for any sign of a clue that would let him find out what had bruised Attor. His gaze settled on the direction of the closet. Faust held his breath, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Otton took a few steps in the direction of the closet, the tail still touching his nephew’s cheek resting on his shoulder as if to keep him in place. He stopped in front of the closet and knelt down. Faust tried to stay as motionless as possible as Otton reached his eye level, even holding his breath. Now that the man was close, Faust could tell that there was something different about the demon besides his strange sense of fashion and trophy cape that marked him as an experienced hunter.

Attor was obviously of high standing, and clearly held a lot of power. Otton, however, radiated power. This is a dangerous man, Faust thought. Though Otton had sounded so cheerful while greeting his beloved nephew, his presence made Faust’s skin crawl and his feathers ruffle. And even as Otton was physically smaller than his nephew when one ignored his horns and tail, he was so much more than Attor, like what Faust’s family had always warned. He’d thought his great-uncle was foolish when he said that demons gave off a sense of wrongness, of danger. He had never been afraid of Attor.

Faust was terrified of Otton.

Suddenly, Otton stood back up. He was holding a white feather in his hand, one of Faust’s primary feathers. He stared at it for a moment, an odd expression on his face. Then he grinned, exposing too many rows of sharp teeth. He turned to Attor and asked, “Nephew! Were you out hunting?”

Attor visibly sagged with relief at his uncle’s conclusion, smiling as he now had something to run with. “Yes, Uncle,” he lied. “But all I got for my efforts was that feather and this bruise. I’m embarrassed.”

His uncle didn’t doubt him, practically radiating with excitement. “This is from a pure angel! Even just a feather from one is nothing to scoff at!” Otton went back to Attor’s side and wrapped an arm around him. He squeezed him, very proud. His tail wrapped around Attor’s. “That’s my boy! Following in my footsteps, I see- I once tried to hunt down a pure angel when I was your age, you know. It almost killed me!”

Faust felt cold. His great-uncle was covered in scars he never spoke of the origin of. Lacerations, strange circles, and lengthy slashes that would have matched perfectly with Otton’s claws, teeth, and tail, years ago. It must have been his great-uncle that Otton had hunted.

He looked at Attor. If Otton had been his age… Faust wasn’t sure he would be able to escape alive if Attor was a hunter. It was an unpleasant thought, imagining his dear friend treating him as though he were prey. Faust wasn’t a fighter, and Attor had been raised by someone who clearly loved hunting. He bit his tongue to force the train of thought to stop. He wasn’t prone to such dismal musings. Otton’s presence was affecting him.

“This one just hit me and ran when I tried to hunt him, admittedly…” Attor laughed sheepishly.

“Ah! A young one, then. Young purebloods are the most bloodthirsty of the bunch. The older ones are the most lethal, of course, but the young ones tend to lose control when confronted. You should count yourself lucky it ran- though I’m sure you would have prevailed in a fight if it had stayed.”

“You’re too kind, Uncle.”

“I mean it, mon neveu.” Otton patted Attor on the chest. “You are just like me. In time you will be able to create your own display, I am certain. Like my cape, your dear departed mother’s tapestry… You will create something to outshine us both. Add that feather to your collection.” And Faust didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“I will, Uncle,” Attor promised, and Faust couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. He hoped he was, hoped his friend would keep his promise to him that he wouldn’t hunt anymore. Otton beamed and gave his nephew another kiss on the cheek before squeezing his tail with his own and then striding out of the room, feathered cape billowing out behind him.

-

Loralei showed Samil to a room that she knew she would be spending the majority of the rest of her life in. The second she saw how carefully it’d been set up for her, she started to sob. Loralei patted her head and then gently nudged her in. He closed the door behind her, saying he’d give her time to settle in on her own, and once more she heard the gentle click of a lock. Her wings sagging behind her, she stepped further into the room.

“I- I don’t want to be here,” she said, to no one. “I want to go home.”

The second part was a lie, she thought. Samil didn’t want to go home now that she was no longer there. She didn’t know where she would rather be. Anywhere, really. She did not want to be somewhere Loralei could find her. But she also did not want to return to the family property. Her father’s family had allowed her to be taken, and ever loyal to the family head, her father had given up struggling to go and try to save her.

A bargain had been struck. An old deal, from a distant childhood memory that only appeared in foggy dreams and whispers of forbidden things she was not meant to overhear. Vague mentions from Loralei, recollections triggered by portraits and displays in the demon’s home.

The family head had once set her, little more than an infant, on his knee and shown her to a man who frightened her terribly. There was to be a fight. Whoever won would keep her. But Loralei had demanded the horrible man throw in an extra condition. Her father was unfit to be the next family head. If he had no children by the time she reached a certain age, if he was the only surviving heir, the family head was to break her curse and allow Loralei to steal her away at last. That way, her father could move on, as Loralei had told her when he struck her down.

Samil recalled how her father, even when ignorant to the whole bargain and believing her to be in mortal danger, had not tried to save her.

He was supposed to love her, protect her. Like when she was little. They’d been so happy when she was little. A father-daughter team, not letting anyone upset them, enjoying their prison to the best of their abilities. But then his family had gotten into his head, convinced him that the one good thing that had resulted from the betrayal he’d experienced wasn’t such a good thing at all. She knew she wasn’t always the best child, too introverted and easily frustrated or depressed, disobedient at times, but she wasn’t a burden or monster like they had said. She tried to be a good daughter, tried to behave even when it was so clear her father’s family hated her just because she wasn’t purebred like all of them.

But he had let his family convince him to give up on her, let Loralei take her away. To let Loralei kill her.

She wondered if he’d even grieve. Or if his family would convince him to forget all about her like Loralei had said. He was to move on. Her father would take a wife and have more children, angelic children. The purity of the family line would continue, without her mixed heritage to tarnish things. Samil didn’t want her father to be unhappy, but she didn’t want him to forget about her either. It was impossible, a foolish hope, but maybe if he didn’t forget about her, one day he could save her. But he was trapped in the family home, and would never willingly set foot in the demonic realm even if he wasn’t.

Samil went to her new bed, hating how large it was, how unused it was. The blankets were crisp and new, and it was obvious no one had ever used the mattress or pillows. They were perfectly shaped, too firm. She missed the worn-out, overused bed she’d slept in at home. It had gone through many children in the family, and she’d worn her own divot into the mattress. Still, she curled up on the new bed and pulled a soft grey blanket over herself, resolving not to emerge until she was forced to.

-

“I need to disprove the theory of Purity.” a very interesting human said to the scrollmaster before they could kill him for entering their office without an appointment while they were working. They never actually agreed to appointments with anyone but superiors, as they were always working. Still, it was the principle of the thing. A scrollmaster was always very busy, and it was phenomenally rude to just barge in asking for a contract. Contrary to popular opinion, faery lords only made contracts when they had something that needed to be done and they found someone who could be manipulated into fulfilling it, with few exceptions.

The human’s demand was most certainly an exception.

They sat down at their desk, thinking, going through every word and memory they’d consumed. To disprove such an archaic but core angelic belief… It would require years and years of work, to write down enough of the knowledge they had onto paper for anyone to peruse. Years of opportunity to truly gorge themself on this human’s memory as he worked, years to try to satisfy their endless, increasing hunger. Surely disproving such a theory would also show all their superiors that they could work on their own as much as they wanted, that they didn’t need to follow all the rules and protocol. Of course, they would have to register this contract and let auditors come in periodically to ask his assistants about its progress, but it would be worth it.

Having the Control Officials off their back… the scrollmaster grinned and held out a hand to the human. “I can do that. I just need you to write down what I know.”

The human was shocked. “You mean- it’s definitely false?”

“Yes, of course. Ridiculously so. But I can’t say it. I consumed all the evidence. You have to write it down, so everyone can see.”

Flustered, the human shook the faery lord’s hand. “O-of course!” he stammered. “Whatever it takes!”

The magic words for this type of deal, and the human’s downfall. The scrollmaster pressed a button on their phone to call in an assistant. A long minute passed, and they were just about to press the button again when the woman darted in. All six of her eyes were wide and glancing between the two of them as she took her place off to the side. She wrung her many hands together. Seeing that they were waiting for her, she scooted over to make sure she got a better view of the two of them, that she was close enough to hear them properly. The scrollmaster felt proud that their staff was so well trained, even if this assistant had been late.

“Optai, I need you to audit this contract. Now, my new research partner… you agreed to disprove the theory of purity, correct?”

“I, uh-” The human glanced at their assistant.

“Nod, say yes,” the scrollmaster coaxed, snapping him out his staring. “Whatever. Give affirmation.”

He nodded, wringing his hands.

“And you will do or give whatever it takes to disprove this theory, using my knowledge?”

“Yes!” the human said, eager. “I need to do it.”

“Good. I’ll write up a contract for you. Optai-” Before they could even finish their command, Optai was dutifully darting to their side of the desk to watch as they wrote the contract. They didn’t bother to praise her, pulling out a length of paper and grabbing a quill.

The human stood in silence while they wrote the contract. Optai was careful not to blink all her eyes at once throughout the process.

“What’s your name?”

“Devon, sir. Devon Perez.” He spelt it out as well.

They finished the last few lines and then signed ‘Scrollmaster’ at the bottom. Optai cleared her throat a bit. They exhaled forcefully and added their given name next to their title. Then, they turned the contract towards Devon and held out the quill to them. Devon took it, his hand shaking. He clenched his other fist and took a few slow breaths, steeling himself. The scrollmaster bit the inside of their lip, their hunger clawing at them from deep within. As soon as the human signed, they would have access to everything.

Devon looked at the top of the contract and started to read it.

“Sign your name.”

The man’s determination vanished. “But shouldn’t I read it?” he asked, no doubt fully aware that everyone in all the realms knew you were never supposed to make contracts with faeries.

“If you must. It’s what we agreed to. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Devon echoed. An odd expression crossed his features, one the scrollmaster could not place. They’d seen it before on members of the lower castes but had yet to consume information about what would cause such a look. “You knew this would be scary, would mean losing everything… but it’s for Hope,” the man whispered to himself.

He signed his name and set down the quill. The expression changed again, his eyes growing moist. “Thank you, Mr. Axen.”

They tapped the contract and Devon went completely still. “Ugh. I can’t believe he’d call me that,” Scrollmaster Axen whined, immediately picking out the memories of reading their name and assuming they would be using ‘mister’ when they weren’t even wearing an overcoat at all from Devon’s mind and devouring them. It soured the taste. After dismissing the man and having him head to the front desk to be sent home, they turned on Optai. “And what took you so long to get here?” Axen demanded.

She looked far too startled by the question. “I’m sorry, Lord Scrollmaster!” she squeaked.

“I expect more from my staff.”

“Of course, sir! I was just completing a form for the Control Official that sent a fax this morning-”

They stood up, snarling. Yet again, their superiors interfered with everything. Axen turned and lunged at the first thing that wasn’t his assistant. With a loud crash, their coatrack hit the floor. All of their coats came off their hooks. Optai quickly knelt down to help them pick the coats up as they sighed and put the rack back onto the wall, rage dissipating. They were still too irritated to bother putting the coats in order, however.

“Make a copy of the contract and store it in the library. Bring it right back to me as soon as you’re done. Have Bits review it and write a client-friendly summary of it while you complete your task. Also, bring that to me.” Axen handed the scroll to Optai and watched as she took it carefully but securely and left the room. Alone once again, Axen sat down at their desk and flicked at a stray pencil. They scratched at the markings on their face, already hungry again. They doubted they would be in a decent mood again until the scroll was back and Devon was ready to be devoured, piece by piece.

-

“What is all of this?” Boniface asked, glancing around their apartment, entire body tense. His wings pulled tight against his back underneath his shawl and his ears twitched. Shifting his hold on their daughter to one that was far more protective, Boniface didn’t step past the doorway. Devon was certain that underneath his hat, Boniface’s head feathers were ruffled.

At first, Devon had no idea why his lover was so horrified. Then the feeling returned to his limbs, an ache spreading from the tips of his fingers to his shoulders. Blisters burned on his hands, and blood seeped from raw wounds. His eyes felt dry and his back ached from being hunched over for too long. All he was aware of was that his body hurt, and then he was capable of taking in his surroundings.

Devon had woken up that morning to the first rays of sunshine streaming through his window. He’d prepared a small breakfast for himself, gotten ready for the day, and then glanced down at the streets below to see the start of the morning rush. The only light came from the dismal fixtures on the ceiling and the dim city lights from the darkness outside. The neon sign of the pizza restaurant they lived across from flickered and clung to life in the bottom corner, advertising tasty slices from dawn to dusk to dawn again.

And of course, there was the state of the apartment. As he reeled from the knowledge that he’d somehow lost an entire day, he was stricken by the amount of work that was all over everything. Papers were littered across the floor, taped haphazardly to the walls with no rhyme or reason. His laptop was open, the battery drained to nearly empty, and had so many tabs open that he couldn’t even tell what they were supposed to be. The open window was a picture of angel anatomy, and on the coffee table next to it, there was a partially finished, picture-perfect drawing of one of the images on the screen. Pens and pencils were scattered everywhere, his new boxes from his desk drawer ripped open.

There were crumbled papers spotted with blood, half-finished work and pages filled with characters of languages he didn’t recognize. He looked down at himself and there was blood smeared on his shirt and pants, as though he’d been wiping his hands so he could keep writing. On the floor by his feet were pens and pencils with dark stains smeared down them like he hadn’t been able to hold them properly anymore.

As he looked back up at Boniface and their daughter, he realized what had happened. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“What happened?” the angel repeated.

“I…” he didn’t know how to tell him what he’d done to cause this. “I inflicted myself with a curse.”

“Why?” Boniface demanded, grief-stricken. “Humans aren’t supposed to agree to curses.”

He stood up and immediately fell to his knees. Boniface rushed over to help him. Their daughter whined. “H-hey, Hope. How are you, sweetie?”

Boniface helped him back onto the couch and sat next to him. Devon took the baby from him, and Boniface grabbed his hands. The pain immediately began to fade, his wounds healing. “She’s worried about her papa, I’m sure. Why would you do this? I told you you didn’t need to get in over your head with your research.”

Devon looked down at their daughter. Golden eyes stared up at him. Though he was frightened about coming to like this, it was a sign that he was right to make a contract. He wasn’t wasting his time risking his life, hadn’t foolishly signed away everything for nothing. All the papers, the endless tabs on his laptop, the pages of work and half-finished scrawlings… The scrollmaster was fulfilling their end of the bargain, starting their research project with a bang.

“It’s important, Boniface. If I can disprove the theory of Purity, Hope will be safe. I found a scrollmaster that knew all the answers. They’ll give me their knowledge as long as I work for them writing it down. Then they can present it to their superiors, who can distribute the work in the correct circles. We went a bit overboard today, but once I manage the infection, we’ll be able to work steadily. We can prove to everyone that a nephilim isn’t something shameful.”

Boniface’s lips thinned. He searched Devon’s eyes, looking for something. When he didn’t find it, he sighed and leaned against him. Quietly, he said, “Okay. I trust you. As long as you promise it won’t hurt our family.”

“My work will save our family, Bonnie. I swear it.”

“How long will your research take?” The angel looked down at their daughter as well. Hope reached for him with one tiny hand. He gave her his finger.

“I’m supposed to be getting a follow-up form about that, I think. That’s what the receptionist said when I left the scrollmaster’s office.”

-

After arguing with a number of his relatives about how much time he spent in other realms when he could have been preparing for being the family head when he wasn’t even next or even second in line, Faust felt rather lonely. It wasn’t fair that he was so restricted and constantly spied on. His great-uncle’s first son was next in line, and then his second daughter. Faust doubted he would ever be family head, so he didn’t understand why all of his non-white feathered, eight-set family members were so hard on him. He’d only been trying to bond with his relatives, but they all had been so quick to start interrogating him.

Only his great-uncle hadn’t been so sharp, which Faust thought said a lot about the current state of the family. If his great-uncle was alright with his travels, then everyone else should have been. It was how it was supposed to be, according to the law of their religion. He was grateful his great-uncle was so mellow and he could have at least one person at home he could count on. But his great-uncle couldn’t comfort him now. He didn’t want to make a big fuss over everyone questioning him. It’d be embarrassing for his great-uncle to have to tell the family to lay off. He could handle it.

He just needed someone else to help him cope with it that wasn’t his ageing, family head great-uncle. Someone his own age who understood what it was like to have so much pressure put on you, who encouraged him to live life and enjoy himself, who never forced him into anything or manipulated him.

Going off of the family property, he found his portal and stepped through it, hoping that it would lead him to where he wanted on his first try.

His eyes widened as the portal deposited him right outside of Attor’s house. He’d always landed at the edge of the forest, down the path leading to Attor’s clan estate. He felt for his portal and found that it had been tampered with. It was magic he almost didn’t recognize until he felt something faintly familiar. Attor’s magic.

Faust smiled. His friend truly cared about him, to use such a complex spell to make it so they could see each other easier.

It was darker than usual in the demon realm. Nightfall, then. Where it’d only been late afternoon at his house, it was a few hours ahead in Attor’s territory. He’d almost forgotten about the different timezones. Hoping he wouldn’t be waking up Attor, he flew up to his friend’s bedroom window and knocked on it. It was a bit difficult to stay up in the air, waiting for Attor to respond. The air in the demon realm was so heavy. But he had sixteen wings to do the hard work of keeping him up.

The curtains on the window were pulled away. Attor looked surprised for a moment and then grinned. He unlatched the window and pushed it open. He reached out with a clawed hand and Faust took it, letting his friend pull him inside. He stumbled as he touched the floor, falling forward into Attor.

His friend laughed, pulling him into a hug. “Mon cheri! What a delight- I wasss jussst thinking of you!” Faust squeezed him tightly, finding himself tearing up. Attor was happy to see him, always so happy to see him. His own family was never so glad. If only they didn’t have to worry about Attor’s uncle and any of the estate staff or visitors, then he would want to spend as much time as he could with his dearest friend. It was so nice to feel wanted, to feel loved. His family loved him, but only because of what he was. A pure angel, gifted to them by their goddess. They worshipped him as commanded, put him on a pedestal, but Attor -pressing kisses to his neck and jaw, purring deep in his chest as his tail wrapped around Faust’s leg, his claws digging gentle but firm into his feathers- worshipped him, elevated him only because he loved him so dearly and thought the world of him.

A tear slid down his cheek as Attor tipped his chin up to look at him. His wide smile faded, red eyes filled with worry. “What’s wrong, Faust?”

“Sometimes I wish I could stay with you,” he admitted.

Attor’s eyes went wide, his slit pupils blowing into near circles. A new grin spread across his face, all sharp teeth and some strong emotion Faust couldn’t see through tears.

“Sometimes I wish you could stay forever as well, mon amour.” Attor’s hand brushed his cheek and then his friend was kissing him. Faust almost pulled away but didn’t. If Attor felt so strongly about him to call him the one bit of French he did know, my love, to kiss him… He couldn’t feel the same, but he wanted to. Wanted to live in this moment, forget about everything else. About his family, his expectations. How wrong this was-

His heart was racing when Attor lifted his head. The demon was breathing strangely. His pupils were so wide Faust could only see the barest hint of red around them. His tears gone, Faust could now see what had consumed Attor. Desire.

It scared him a bit, to be so wanted. He didn’t know what to do. His family would have plenty to say if they knew.

“I want you, mon cheri. In every way I can have you. For so long, I’ve wanted you to be mine, mon cheri, ma vie, mon cœur-” Guilt started to build up deep inside of Faust. He couldn’t do this, indulge Attor like this. Though he knew he felt similarly, if not as strongly, he couldn’t. He loved his friend, but Attor could never hope to become part of his family. And he couldn’t leave his family to be part of Attor’s clan, even if Otton and the other demons weren’t an issue.

Still, he stood up on his toes to kiss Attor again, cutting off his rambling declaration. Maybe he could forget about everything, just for now. Then he could explain later, that he couldn’t belong to Attor. He would understand. Faust belonged to his goddess, his faith, just as Attor belonged to whatever important work he and his uncle did in the demon realm. They were just kissing and talking. It wasn’t like Attor was trying to get him to stay with him, leave everything behind.

They were young, they could be reckless, indulgent. It wouldn’t hurt either of them, except for some rebuffed feelings afterwards. And Faust was certain Attor would forgive him for not reciprocating, since they were such good friends.

Before he knew it, he was sitting on Attor’s bed, spreading his wings so he was more comfortable. Attor followed him down, nipping at his neck, one knee pressed against the bed beside him. A sharp bite and claws shoved under his shirt made Faust wince, and he put a hand on Attor’s chest to try to settle him. The touch only spurred the man on, and Faust made a surprised sound as Attor pushed him down onto his back, ripping his shirt open in the process.

Angels weren’t meant to lay on their wings, so it was quite uncomfortable, even on the soft pillows and blankets of Attor’s bed.

Enough was enough, then. “Attor, stop.”

The demon stopped, but he was still pinning him down, kneeling over him. “Mon cœur, please.”

“We- we can’t do this.”

“Of course we can, mon cheri. No one comes near my room at night.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Faust mumbled. “We can’t belong to each other.”

Attor frowned, his expression growing pained. “I’ve wanted you for so long. You have to be mine. Please, Faust. You could stay here with me. If I tell my clan that you’re mine, no one will ever try to hurt you. They’ll let you stay here, as my d...” He made an odd sound. “As my love.”

“Attor, we’re just friends, good friends. I can’t- I can’t throw away my family for you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Faust relented. “I just can’t-”

“Please,” Attor begged. “I need you to be mine more than anything. You’re everything, my muse, my treasure.”

“It’s too much, Attor. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m scared.”

“At… at least let me have you tonight.”

For one night… That would be okay, Faust thought. It was reasonable, one night. Then he could think about it. But Attor was too eager, and he was nervous. So he’d ask him to slow down, to make things more comfortable. Let him off of his wings, first of all. He felt less afraid. Once things were going slower, he was sure his fear would melt away. And after one night, Attor was sure to settle, be less excited about his confession.

He opened his mouth to agree, but Attor grabbed his face with his claws and put a spell on him.

Everything went black.

-

Samil spent three weeks in her room, being brought food and receiving at least one short visit a day from Loralei, before she couldn’t take it anymore and went exploring. All the windows and balcony doors were shut and latched. The ground floor was in a similar state, every door to the outside of the clan house locked. Most of the rooms in the large house were open, free for her to access. Those that were locked she didn’t bother trying to break into. She’d figured out lock-picking when she was younger but had no strong desire as of yet to explore Loralei’s house that thoroughly.

She dug her nails into her palms at the thought that she’d be here for so long that eventually she’d be too familiar with the rest of the house and want to see more.

Before she could make her hands bleed, she stumbled upon a lavish door. The frame was adorned with intricate carvings, lined with gold. She pushed the door open and it creaked against ancient hinges. Different colored lanterns lit themselves, illuminating the room with magic.

Samil nearly ran right back to her room.

On the walls and on pedestals and mannequins were different items. She saw things like a cloak, a cape, a half-finished tapestry, a blanket, wire and carved sculptures, among other things. Most appeared to be finished, completely covered. Some were half done, and a few were missing some patches. All were covered in feathers of every shape and size and color, angel feathers. And every one had at least one pure white feather, long and sleek. Each item, each trophy, was carefully preserved and set on display in the room, a small plague with each one.

Samil didn’t step up to any of them to get a closer look at who created each Hunting trophy. She didn’t care to learn about Loralei’s family or clan anymore than she already had. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the end of the room, where a wall was taken up by a huge canvas. On the canvas was the painting of an angelic man, with sixteen wings spread out behind him. The wings were incomplete. All had feathers stuck onto the canvas, but only a few wings were full.

Unlike all the other items, this trophy’s creator had tampered with the feathers. Where the others proudly displayed all the colors of the feathers they’d captured, this one had painted over every color but white with a dark black. They were messy as well, the paint slathered on to hide what must have been considered imperfections. She could make out handprints among the frenzied smears.

The man in the painting was holding his abdomen, where a single white feather had been fixed to the canvas, surrounded by a glow. As Samil looked at the man’s face, framed by blond hair with dipped-in-black feathers pinned to it, she realized she recognized who he was supposed to be.

“Admiring my display, child? I’m afraid it’s still incomplete.” She jumped, spinning around to see Loralei had snuck up behind her. He looked at his painting with an odd expression. Then he looked down at her, smiling softly. “It would be much more beautiful if your father had agreed to stay with me as my treasure, years ago. I would probably even be finished by now. Imagine that… an entire display, with the fallen feathers of a Pure angel.”

“My father wasn’t pure. He has black feathers.”

Loralei chuckled. “I have some old pictures of him that might change your mind, child.”

“What do you mean?”

“Angels don’t naturally have black feathers,” he told her. “He only started to grow them when he conceived you.”

“I… But I have black feathers, and I’m a half-angel. I got them from him.”

“You’re a nephalem, mon oisillon. You got those lovely black feathers from me.”

-

Faust woke up in an instant but was able to keep himself from jumping up like he wanted to. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around. Still in Attor’s bedroom. Said demon was asleep next to him, clothed in pyjamas. Faust looked down and could see he was in pyjamas as well, oversized ones that definitely did not belong to him. There was no sign of his clothes.

He forced himself not to think about what had happened. All he needed to think about was getting out of bed and going home. Faust sat up, careful not to disturb Attor. He winced, his body sore. His wings ached from being laid on all night, and he bit his lip as he tucked them against his back.

As he went to crawl over Attor, the demon shifted in his sleep and bumped against him. Faust held his breath and pulled his hand away, but it was too late. Attor’s eyes opened. He took in the sight of Faust trying to escape quietly and sighed. “Good morning, Faust,” he said, as if nothing had happened. He stretched and then got up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. The tip of his tail curled and uncurled as he went to his vanity. Attor looked into the mirror and then fixed his hair. He looked through a jewelry box and picked out a few rings to slide onto his horns.

A variety of emotions threatened to topple Faust over at Attor’s complete disregard for him. He couldn’t even form any words, even though he wanted to scream at his friend. Former friend, he thought. Last night had proved he was wrong about Attor. He was just as selfish and manipulative as his relatives, deceitful. All this time Faust had thought they were friends, Attor had just been waiting to capture him. He’d been so swept up in feeling wanted that he’d completely missed Attor almost saying aloud that he wanted Faust as his display. As a hunting trophy, a living version of something like Otton’s horrible cape.

He’d called him a muse, a treasure. Those weren’t just sweet words like all his other endearments.

After putting on earrings and a necklace, Attor spoke, voice devoid of any feeling, “I won’t stop you if you leave.”

“How could you?” Faust demanded. “I thought you were my friend!”

“I’m a Pure demon, mon cheri. I can’t help it.”

“Liar! If you really couldn’t help it you would have used your magic on me from the start!”

Attor shrugged, clasping a bracelet on his wrist. “Just go already. You’re strong enough to make a proper portal. I didn’t hurt you that badly.”

Faust got off of the bed. His legs shook. Attor continued to root through his jewelry box, not even turning to look at him. “Was our whole friendship fake? Was I always prey to you?”

“I do love you, you know.”

“You just want me as a trophy!”

“Same thing. Come on, Faust. I thought you’d understand. Does anyone in your family actually love the mates they’re assigned? You told me about that. I thought it’d be perfect- a willing display.”

He clenched his fists at his side. “I was going to agree, you know. I just wanted you to go slower.”

That got a bit of a reaction out of Attor. He stood up straight and turned slightly. “Oh.”

“But then you used your magic on me. You betrayed me.”

Attor smiled, the same grin as when Faust first came to his window. “You’ll be mine someday, mon cheri. You’ll see.”

“I don’t want you near me ever again! I don’t even want to see you again! I hate you!” Attor hissed a bit. Before anything could happen, Faust forced open a portal right there, letting himself fall through.

He landed in the middle of the family home, tears falling from his eyes. Everyone stared at him, and he could hear them start to whisper. Any of them could sense that the portal was from the demon realm, and he was certain he looked utterly debauched, bruised and bitten and in someone else’s clothes.

Even his great-uncle gaped at him. “Faust? My goodness-”

He fell to his knees in front of his great-uncle, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, I was so stupid, ‘m sorry, I thought he was my friend, but…” He barely noticed his great-uncle gesturing for everyone to leave as he knelt down. His great-uncle patted his head.

His great-uncle waited for him to calm down enough to talk before asking, “What have you done, Faust?”

“I just wanted to make a friend. I didn’t think… I thought he cared about me.”

“What do you mean, boy?”

“He just wanted me as prey. He never really loved me, he was just hunting. I was so fooled I was going to say yes, but then he used his magic on me to force me to… And he didn’t even care that he’d betrayed me.”

“A demon hunted you? Who?”

“Attor Loralei.”

[aion-rsa]

Blood Communion Review: Anne Rice Brings a Brat to Court

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Anne Rice lets the Brat Prince, Lestat de Lioncourt, off without even a simple spanking.

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Lestat, is there nothing he can't do? The age old vampire has been around forever and, while he didn't write the first song, he did front a metal band in during the hair band heyday. He could probably act, although he burnt that bridge a long time ago along with many bloodsuckers far older than he. In Anne Rice's latest installment of the vampire chronicles, Blood Communion, old age is having a go at relative youth.

Over the course of eleven books, we've become quite accustomed to the chronicled vampire. He began as a secondary character in the first book Interview with a Vampire, the midnight hunter who turned Louis into an immortal bloodsucker. Lestat quickly became the favorite of the writer and the readers. Coarse yet refined, ruthless yet sentimental, he played with his food and sometimes became enamored of his playthings. He sired his own mother, a big no-no in sanguine circles, and proceeded to break every rule made by man, woman or former men and women. Given godlike powers, he came to see himself as a god. Soon, others saw him similarly, not the least of all, the author herself.

Anne Rice is more than in love with her creation. Lestat de Lioncourt is a masturbatory fantasy who can do no wrong for the author, even at his most erroneous. Lestat is a narcissist and Rice is his biggest enabler. He has the power of life and death in his hands, which he wrings in anguish over their responsibility. And when he decides to kill, or not to kill, imprison or enslave, free or charge for past grievances, Rice accepts any answer he gives. The book is told in first person, by de Lioncourt, and no justification he makes for himself comes anywhere close to a gavel.

Further reading: Interview With The Vampire and the Origin of Remorseful Bloodsuckers

Blood Communion is a romance novel told in treacherous waters. Not the same waters Lestat circumnavigated to follow the Atalantaya spirit and the self-cloning Replimoids in Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis (2016), though he does fly over them. In Blood Communion, after positively gorging himself on the blood of Rhoshamandes, Lestat flies over oceans to get home. He has conquered ancient vampires, Atlanteans, humans, demons and spectral intruders. He has given and taken life on sheer whim. But his flight over the Pacific, those few paragraphs describing how he occasionally falls asleep and is held aloft by forces greater than himself, is where he is at his most celestial. He reminds this reviewer of another literary spiritual deliverer, Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Richard Bach's 1973 novel, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, is as responsible for the New Age movement as Autobiography of a Yogi. The hero of the book is a young rebellious seagull who is banished from his flock for flying too high and diving too deep. He finds the tastiest morsels further under the surface of the ocean than his feathered friends. When he is kicked out of the community he flies and flies, awake and asleep, faster and faster, until he comes to the realization that thinking is the best way to travel, to paraphrase the Moody Blues. He comes back to the flock a guru, leading them higher into the atmosphere.

Further reading: The Vampire Chronicles TV Series Set to Arrive on Hulu

So it is with Lestat. His rebellion began long before he set fire to the Théâtre des Vampires or turned poor young Claudia into an eternal porcelain doll. He went into a final sleep, but like The Who or Cher, no retirement tour will ever be his last. He came back a savior to the plasma-challenged crowd, giving them hope, and throwing marvelous parties in his Court. Lestat is now The Brat Prince, as every vampire calls him to his face and hides telepathically, but some older members of the blood community still remember his youthful tantrums. Most have forgiven him and celebrate the enthusiasm he brings to the Elders Court but some are unmoved. Like the stones they will become as they finally age.

Lestat declared himself godlike a few books ago and he is a loving god. He falls in love every few pages. Whether he is moved by flesh, wardrobe, intellect or architecture, Lestat tumbles head over heels at the slightest provocation. Even when provoked by the flaming breath of vampire executioners, he still marvels at the technique. It's part of the problem according to his bodyguard Cyril, who prefers wrapping hot vamps in iron. Lestat admires beauty more than strength. Vampires have a habit of only turning the most attractive prospects undead and Lestat takes this very seriously. In the early part of the book, he is very impressed by Dmitri Fontayne, who prefers to be called Mitka, the part Russian, part French blood drinker made in Russia in the time of Great Catherine. But like many pretty things, Mitka is soon put on a shelf to collect dust or, in his case, ash, as he is quickly relegated to the corners of the action.

Further reading: Underworld’s Vampire/Werewolf War Is Not a Universal Battle

Some of the most interesting characters are dispatched too quickly. Baudwin's torch goes out pretty quick, snuffed by his maker, the legendary Gundesanth, who insists the vampires just call him Santh. Santh hangs around to be one of the hangers-on in the court, his history told in whispers out of Lestat's hearing range. To be fair, with so many vampires sticking around from earlier books, and all of hovering around the Court, Rice would be hard-pressed to give them all page time.

Armand is at his passive aggressive best in the book. An actor through and through, he punctures ever line of a poignant harangue against Lestat with gushes of admiration and undying love. But then, everyone loves Lestat. He is told that over and over. It's a good thing he is so charmingly self-effacing that it doesn't go to his head.

Rice isn't stingy with the violence. Lestat surprises Rhosh with a tacky impromptu head butt but he has the follow through to take the head off, and even vomits up his flame-broiled brain and eyes. The beloved Benedict makes a grand and gory exit. No sun-gazing for him. He prefers to take his eyes out to the throbbing beat of kettledrums.

For a sociopathic serial killer, Lestat has a lot of nerve passing judgment on which human criminals he keeps in his dungeon, although it does doubles as a walk-in pantry as they are only kept around for dinners. The ancients might have a point about the civility of Lestat's Blood Communion. The children of the court he envisions for the future may turn out to produce lazy vampires who can't fend for themselves.

Rice has always played fast and loose with the undead nature of vampires. At one point, Lestat and some fellow vampires hear the heartbeats of his mother Gabrielle, Marius and Louis. They have been kidnapped, had their necks broken and were entombed in iron-based steel plates. Vampires are dead. Their lifeblood is taken by their maker, who replaces it with their own, and they die. He also hears the heartbeats of all the visiting vampires dancing at his communal castle. The undead give up the right to a heartbeat after death. They also give up the right to smoke, because they don't have working lungs.

Further reading: Anne Rice Drops Snippet of Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

Lestat is pretty talky in the book, which has a lot more dialogue than Rice's previous works. The novel works as a travelogue as Lestat nips back and forth between his ancestral castle in the mountains of France and the troubling landscape of Rice's Louisiana, with descriptive stops in 18th-Century St. Petersburg.

Blood Communion is short for Rice, at 257 pages, and it begins and ends slow. Lestat is now in charge of all the vampires and he makes his decisions like he has all the time in the world, an occupational hazard for immortal beings. The first two chapters rehash the earlier books in The Vampire Chronicles, and Lestat, whose story was supposed to end in Anne Rice's Mayfair Witches novel franchise, always stays for the last dance at the winter ball.

Anne Rice's Blood Communion was published Oct. 2, 2018.

Culture Editor Tony Sokol cut his teeth on the wire services and also wrote and produced New York City's Vampyr Theatre and the rock opera AssassiNation: We Killed JFK. Read more of his work here or find him on Twitter @tsokol.

3.5/5

Vampires

Anne Rice

The Vampire Chronicles

Interview with the Vampire

Review Tony Sokol

Oct 2, 2018

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