#i do believe that would be a genuinely fascinating conversation

[yesiknowimshort]

as someone who was born into east orthodox, baptised anglican, did 13 years of catholic school and still ended up without faith in christ, i would LOVE to have a conversation with jason, who was brutally tortured and murdered, and still holds his faith

[a-mess-of-an-archive]

Yknow I’m kind of surprised at all the people complaining that hotd is fire and blood fanfiction. because. you can say that about any adaptation ever. it’s just storytelling. every reenactment and change of a play is fanfic. Shakespeare wrote fanfic. Hadestown is Ovid fanfic. Hadestown is actually a good example because imagine if people yelled at Anais Mitchell for projecting America onto Greek myth and ‘tainting the source’ in the process.

[aliosne]

My mother tells a lot of stories and admittedly my memory is undependable but every now and then she’ll start an anecdote like “as I’m sure you’re tired of me saying” as tho it’s going to be the most boring fact ever conceived and then drop “i met Tommy Douglas multiple times as a child”

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[anneapocalypse]

I cannot help feeling like the tendency to see Inquisition!Leliana in stark contrast to Origins!Leliana has led to some people forgetting what... Leliana is actually like in Origins.

In fairness, as in all Dragon Age games some very revealing character moments happen in party banter which makes it easy to miss. But the gentle-hearted mystic who desires only to draw others unto the love of the Maker has never been all that Leliana is, and it's always been in direct conflict with the side of her that is not only adept at intrigue and yes, violence, but enjoys those things. This is the central conflict of her whole character, and it's not a trivial conflict, because there is not one simple answer to who Leliana truly is. She is both of these things. She is deeply religious and finds comfort in her faith, and thinks it should bring comfort to others as well. She's also prone to gossip and pettiness and all the qualities that helped her thrive as a bard.

There's this one particularly revealing piece of banter with Alistair if the Warden is in a romance with Morrigan:

Alistair: So have you heard? Morrigan and him are... you know. Leliana: Have you nothing better to do than to spread idle gossip? And besides, he can probably hear us both. You're not being very discreet. Alistair: No, look, he's not even paying attention. Leliana: Hmmm. maybe. You don't... think that he's serious about it, do you? The woman is a vile fiend. Alistair: Well, look here, now who's an idle gossip? Me-ow! Leliana: You're the one who started this, I might remind you. And I'm... well, I'm ending it!

I once had the especially entertaining experience of getting this banter, and minutes later hearing Leliana turn to Morrigan to give her the "It's so nice that you're together, isn't love wonderful?" line. But whether or not you have the pleasure of hearing them back to back, I think this dialogue make it pretty clear that while Leliana would like not to think of herself as a gossip, it takes very little prompting from Alistair to get her to slip back into that mean girl persona. And Alistair (who is more perceptive than he often gets credit for), calls her on it immediately, clearly embarrassing Leliana--who realizes that her mask has slipped.

I don't think it follows from this that Leliana necessarily hates Morrigan unilaterally. There's something much more complex going on between them, in my opinion, because they are such distinct opposites in upbringing and personality. Both Leliana's faith and her life of courtly intrigue are nonsense to Morrigan, who neither believes in the Maker nor has much patience for intricate social graces (at least, not yet). Meanwhile, I think Morrigan's outward self-possession and the sense of power she exudes is a source of both fascination and frustration for Leliana, who thinks she understands power, both social and divine--but finds in Morrigan a kind she cannot fully comprehend. (I also think you can definitely feel some sexual tension into their banter, especially the much-beloved banter about the velvet dress.) Ultimately, both of them are very concerned with power, but approach that concept very differently. And Leliana responds to this clash of ideals in a particular way because her own self-image is so conflicted.

As all great Dragon Age foils do, Leliana and Morrigan needle one another, push each other's buttons, challenge one another's sense of self, and in doing so reveal one another in their complexity and sometimes in their ugliness. It is perhaps easy to write this off as the tired trope of women being unable to get along with one another, or conversely to claim that they get along just fine and fandom has fabricated the tensions between them; I think to do either of those things diminishes a genuinely complex and sticky relationship that serves to reveal a lot about both characters.

[choerypetal]

Love at first Sight / Billy The Kid

summary : billy assumed the role of your father's right-hand man, working for a man rooted in tradition and possessing a distasteful approach toward women, especially you. as he engaged in conversations with his boss expressing displeasure regarding you, billy found himself increasingly interested in you. your situation, bound by an arranged marriage to the mayor's son—a union you adamantly rejected—created a unique backdrop. It was during a specific event that billy had the opportunity to meet your father's daughter, and in that moment, he became a firm believer in the existence of love at first sight. this entire journey began with his enduring fascination with the scent of your perfume back at your mother's stable.

ps : english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes and grammar errors. please don't copy my work without giving proper credit. thank you!

Billy never experienced a genuine sense of belonging, whether he was away or striving to improve the situation for his family. He was acutely aware of society's treatment of outliers. As the affluent men from the village strolled through the suburbs, they, too, recognized the presence of criminals in their midst, and Billy found himself among them. And yet, he blended himself quite well with the wealth too. 

Although you had expected to be the new talk of the town, an arranged marriage with the mayor's son was not on your list of future goals. Furthermore, being wedded to an arrogant individual who was well aware that it was merely a strategic move, and behind closed doors, he had no qualms about bringing his mistress into the same house, was beyond anything you had envisioned. Especially considering that if you had dared to do the same, your father would unleash his fury and shame at dawn, calling you the same names he had directed at your mother. She, in a desperate attempt, had reluctantly embraced the notion of marriage solely to preserve the family legacy. 

"She will marry him, no questions asked." Uttered your father, the day before the marriage. And even in this assertion, it was the most affectionate sentiment he could muster towards his wife. Over time, you began to harbor suspicions that he, too, maintained a relationship outside the confines of home. In contrast to your newly arranged husband, your father, at least, displayed a modicum of dignity and refrained from entirely demeaning his wife in the presence of someone he found more alluring. 

While the mere rumor of the mayor's son getting married spread, it didn't take long for the news to reach even those living close to your mansion. It was an announcement that resonated beyond the village. Citizens from the village, including yourself, were invited to celebrate this new union. Despite wanting to find humor in the irony of the situation, you found yourself gazing at your reflection in the mirror that very morning. Your hair was styled more meticulously than usual, and your maid affectionately applied a touch of powdered blush on your cheeks, suggesting that you should also apply a shade of red to your lips—apparently, your husband's favorite color. However, this notion raised suspicions that he might have mentioned it merely as a reminder of his own extramarital affair. 

On the contrary, Billy found himself deeply engrossed in his pursuit of a plan to earn money and provide for his family back home. What he failed to mention was that he had been working for a member of your family since the very beginning. However, he soon found himself bewildered, troubled by the revelation that your father had a daughter. Despite being accustomed to your father's often proudly expressed family affairs, what offended Billy the most was the notion of witnessing such a beautiful girl tethered to a man he could hardly bear to part with—your new husband. 

As your father's right-hand man, Billy was privy to more information than he probably should have been. He spent countless hours in conversations, observing how your new husband seemed enamored with the notion of having you as his wife. He openly entertained the idea that his mistress was even more alluring, describing her in rather explicit terms. This perspective left Billy contemplating the disdain these two men harbored—not only for their wealth but also for their audacity in talking about  you with so much filth coming from their mouth. 

Unbeknownst to both of you, there was a transparent tension in the air. Your father, having the audacity, warned Billy to tread carefully. "She's a spicy one, you know." He casually remarked one night at the pub, with your mother expressing concern over your father's prolonged absence. "She could make any man fall in love, a seductress she is." The words of your husband tempted Billy to rise and deliver a punch to his face, but he understood that such an act would cost him his job. Driven by the determination to catch a glimpse of your beautiful face on your wedding day, he suppressed his impulse. "You seem quiet tonight, boy." Your father's voice resonated in Billy's already agitated mind. Despite his initial disdain for the man who employed him, this time, Billy managed a smile. Aware that alcohol had taken its toll on the two affluent men, he began to entertain the thought that perhaps even the most sought-after criminal could outsmart every wealthy aristocrat, including your father and your husband.

As the reality of today being the wedding day sank in, you were expected to catch a glimpse of your husband before the ceremony. How mistaken you were when you decided to step out for a breath of fresh air. Suppressing tears, you tried not to panic at the thought of soon saying "Yes" to your husband, officially binding yourself to him. It was at that moment that Billy saw you in full. Carrying out a discreet surveillance as per your father's instructions, he had to halt his horse to avoid causing a disturbance in your courtyard. Dressed in his customary attire, a matching hat and blouse with his curls peeking through, he stood under the humid weather. His piercing blue eyes locked onto your silhouette. In that moment, Billy realized that love at first sight was indeed a reality. 

Your thoughts were consumed by anxiety as you made every effort not to appear completely distraught. Amidst the constant pressure to present perfection, a seemingly inconsequential decision loomed large, poised to alter your life entirely. You were on the verge of declaring your desire to escape this distressing situation forever. If it weren't for your mother's insistence on keeping her daughter by her side, you might have left the wretchedness long before venturing into the wilderness. It was during this tumultuous time that the sound of a horse approaching caught your attention, guided to a halt. A boy of your age emerged, and there was a sense that he might be an outlaw in the employ of your husband's family. His gentle gaze met yours, prompting you to approach cautiously. "May I help you?" You inquired, hoping your recent tears had dried by this point, and the dryness in your voice was simply a result of dehydration. 

"I reckon I should be askin' you the same question, darlin'." The accent hinted that the boy hailed from the South. A man of his demeanor might be viewed with disdain or seen as one who relishes the rugged existence of the wilderness as a mere challenge. However, his mannerisms suggested that this same man was well-acquainted with the nomadic lifestyle. Perhaps, if you were an unattached lady with enough daring in your spirit to break free, you could run away—with or without a total stranger—just as long as it meant being far away from home. "Billy's the name. Your father hired me to be..." He paused momentarily, conscious of your father's confession the previous night about you being the woman he envisioned. However, Billy wanted to witness it with his own eyes and found himself captivated by your subtle vulnerability and the fearlessness you displayed in conversing with someone of lesser means, not to mention a criminal. "His right-hand man. I reckon we haven't been properly introduced. You must be Y/N.” 

Your eyes widened in shock, almost in disbelief, though it wasn't entirely surprising that your father would enlist someone to handle his less savory tasks. It wasn't until today's events that you truly learned about the man your father had only briefly mentioned, leaving you to think he was nothing more than an urban legend. Considering the amount of alcohol in his system, you were hardly surprised. Yet, there he stood—the man your father boasted about during lengthy dinners with his men: Billy the Kid. A figure with a shrewd skill for shooting intruders without hesitation, coupled with a charming demeanor. "I am..." You confessed, your admiration for his demeanor evident as you approached. You became conscious of the horse, realizing it was from your mother's stable. "She's been fed properly." Billy remarked, noting your gesture as you began to caress the braided hair of Billy's horse—a routine you had always done, realizing it was all along the horse reserved for him. "Love the braids, by the way." 

His compliment sent a warm flush to your cheeks. "I've always wanted to know the owner's skill in braiding. I wanted to thank them, but a little bird told me it was someone's daughter who's about to get married. And upon hearing that, I was sad to hear such news." Among all the men you had encountered in your life, something distinctive resonated in Billy, acknowledging the small gesture. He was aware of your presence only at the wrong times and different hours, lamenting the missed opportunity of not meeting you sooner, especially after learning the news of you becoming a recognized wife.

The news struck Billy deeply. In all honesty, he meant every word he spoke. He realized it was merely a matter of being there at the right time, and he could have been the one to offer you in marriage. The thought of heritage and the possibility of being dismissed due to your father's demise didn't concern him. Billy began to believe that if you had been with him all along, you could have been a free lady. Unlike many men in the wilderness, he would have treated you as the woman you were meant to be—a princess in his eyes. Cheating, for him, was a sin. Despite his own involvement in many crime, he was determined not to tolerate disloyalty and would damn well wage a war against any men who prioritized their sins over loyalty. 

"I—" You were so taken aback by Billy's sudden interest that unfamiliar feelings stirred within you, emotions you hadn't experienced in a long time. You had convinced yourself that love was a distant memory, and the idea of loving your own husband seemed utterly ridiculous. "Y/N! The ceremony is about to start!" Your mother's voice interrupted, drawing attention to Billy's presence. A formal smile appeared on her face, indicating that they knew each other long before you did. After all, he was involved in your father's business, and your father was adept at keeping his affairs away from you. "Billy." Your mother called out his name, prompting a respectful bow from him. "Miss." He acknowledged. "I'll leave you two ladies for the preparations, going back to duty." He announced, to which your mother responded. "Oh, you know you're always welcomed, boy. We even kept a plate for you. You're family." 

"You're family." The words echoed in your mind as your mother gently took your arm, guiding you back inside to try on your wedding dress. Before stepping fully inside, you stole a final glance at Billy. He acknowledged your gaze with a brief nod, and you could have sworn you saw a soft smile, implying that everything was going to be okay. 

But it didn't. The marriage turned out to be a complete spectacle. The meticulously arranged plates, with the white and red combination your husband had chosen, were even more distasteful than the concept of marriage itself. Despite having said "Yes," anticipating your father's intense gaze throughout the entire wedding, you were proven wrong. To no one's surprise, after a few drinks, he was already drunk and couldn't care less. However, you sensed someone's gaze shifting entirely from your mother to you from afar. It was Billy's gaze, his usual blue eyes looking at you so lovingly that he began to curse himself for not being the fortunate man to propose. "Don't they make a loving pair," your mother would say to him, although it was only for show. Your mother had shown signs of concern that your husband had already found a mistress back at home. She wanted to ensure that you felt the love your husband supposedly felt for the other ladies, and that man turned out to be Billy.

You came to the realization that throughout dinner, you had been putting on a façade, performing an act solely to appease the affluent company. The discomfort gradually intensified until it manifested as a nauseating twist in your stomach, making it impossible to consume such an excessive amount of food in such a short span. The moment your husband, adorned with a forced smile and a trace of alcohol on his breath, attempted to lean in, you swiftly rose from your seat. A disconcerting sensation lingered as you tried to evade his touch. Meanwhile, you couldn't help but notice Billy's unwavering gaze, indicating his awareness that something was amiss. True to his character as a loyal confidant, he patiently bided his time until you excused yourself, following suit shortly after. However, Billy's departure did not go unnoticed by your father, who inquired about his early exit. "Just need some fresh air." Was Billy's offered explanation.

Only upon reaching the back door did your eyes well up with tears, the very tears you had struggled desperately to conceal both before and after the wedding. As you brushed your fingers against a ring that didn't rightfully belong to you, an overwhelming desire to scream surged within. The pain and desperation begged for an outlet, a release, but no words emerged. Collapsing to your knees, vulnerability engulfed you completely. 

Billy trailed behind, intending to afford you some privacy and a moment alone. However, what he hadn't anticipated was stumbling upon you in such a distressed state. Witnessing you in such a condition was beyond his comprehension. It was inconceivable for him to imagine seeing someone as beautiful and wise as you in such turmoil, especially considering that even his own boss, your father, would allow such a fate. You only became aware of his presence when the rhythmic thud of boots on the wooden planks reached your ears near the back door. Swiftly turning around, you flinched at the sudden noise, relieved to find it was only Billy, signaling there was no need for concern. “Woah there Darlin’. It’s just me…” 

The casual and frequent use of "Darling" as a term of address by you was a mannerism you couldn't envision any other man adopting. The way he effortlessly and elegantly incorporated it into his speech hinted at an attraction that went beyond mere details. It was apparent that he harbored a profound desire to get to know you better, suggesting a possibility of rediscovering the love you believed was lost. This, of course, hinged on your continued role as a dutiful wife to your husband. However, Billy had his own agenda and plans in motion. That you would come with him, back home. 

Your hands strained to reach out, desperate for a connection or anything tangible that could restore the emotions you longed to feel. You yearned to be loved for the woman you truly were, not merely a decorative statue to be admired at someone else's convenience. "Hey—" He noticed your discomfort, limping in an attempt to maintain the facade of perfection. "Shh... Come here." His arms tenderly encircled your waist, a stark contrast to his robust frame, displaying a genuine fear of causing harm. A true gentleman, he was. As he caught the scent of your delicate perfume, a vivid memory surfaced—the first time he encountered it was when your father had gifted him his retired horse. That same fragrance lingered in the horse's mane. Back then, he couldn't put a face to the scent, but now, he was fortunate to not only have a face to associate it with but also a person to cherish. 

"I feel so disgusted... A woman with a husband should not sin." You confessed to him, torn between the desire to have Billy all to yourself and the looming temptation. The notion of love at first sight seemed undeniable, but Billy, with genuine concern, attempted to steer you away from such thoughts. "And let your husband be with that whore back home without even worrying about his own wife? I call that bullshit." His Southern accent became more pronounced, his breath closer beneath your face, and his eyes gleaming in the bright sun of the wilderness. "I wouldn't mind making the husband regret something." He added nonchalantly. 

Tilting your head, your gaze was solely fixed on him. "And what sort of action do you propose to make my husband regret so profoundly?" You teased him with a hushed tone. This banter was a familiar game for you, reminiscent of the numerous long dinners accompanying your father, where many men sought your hand in marriage. Yet, all those efforts went to waste, leading your father to plead with you to consider marrying the mayor's son. "Will you love me the way you're looking at me right now?" You inquired, playfully challenging. 

"I'll do whatever it takes." He asserted confidently, his thumb tracing the line of your chin, lifting it gently to meet your gaze. Your eyes momentarily wandered to the slightly exposed chest, a sight he might have deliberately unveiled for your eyes only. "Anything within my power to claim you as mine. Even if the consequences become their own, I'm willing to make you feel at home once again."

The notion of feeling at home had eluded you for quite some time, a sensation you hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity. The concept of home seemed so distant that even your own residence became something almost unfathomable, much like the tears that had once dried only to resurface now. It occurred to you that perhaps Billy was the man you had longed to find in your life. If not for that realization, you would be compelled to thank your father for hiring Billy during that critical moment. Fortunately for both of you, Billy shared the same fervor to bring you home with him, even if it meant sneaking out or feigning vacations. 

“Wouldn’t, they suspect of my absent? My husband could care less anyway…” Billy chuckled slightly at the irony of the situation. Something he too found oddly ironic by the subject of you being the object of another wedding that in the end was only to keep the money aligned. “I might have a few tricks up to my sleeve, darlin’. How do we say? By dawn tomorrow? I’ll come pick you up.” 

As you contemplated the excuse, fully aware that you would scrutinize it, he pressed on. "Mother said she'll keep this a secret. She mentioned you'd been in contact with a distant cousin, and the plan was for you to spend a few weeks there and such. Oddly enough, your husband didn't seem to mind and even agreed." Your eyes registered disbelief. Did you hear correctly? Your mother? The same mother who appeared so vulnerable and hesitant, had orchestrated everything behind your father’s back. She was likely cognizant of Billy's admiration for you since his initial visit to the stable, where he expressed a desire to confront your father whenever he spoke of you in a distasteful manner. 

"I promised her that I'd protect you and play the part of an unsuspecting ally upon returning to your husband. Your father tasked me with being your right-hand man this time, but it seems our luck had something even more significant in store." He confessed with softened eyes. A part of you yearned to embrace him, to acknowledge and reciprocate his admiration. However, your gaze shifted to his lips, a desire he sensed had been lingering since your first meeting. Without hesitation, he gently held your chin with one hand, drawing your lips closer to his, fully immersing both of you in a passionate kiss. It was a kiss you had no intention of ending, a kiss that spoke of love—something noticeably absent in your husband's crude and repulsive attempts to win your favor. “Mine…” You whispered so softly, begging for more kisses through it all. 

“Mine forever… Señorita.”

[akirathedramaqueen]

The bias is not always conscious

And that's the case with Stolas. That's it, that's basically the post, so you can count it as your tl;dr, but let me elaborate. :)

(A little gratitude note! Sorry @tealvenetianmask, I failed being concise here, but I thank you for encouraging me to put it all together :3 I also thank you for our conversations about Stolas and about museums in particular which heavily contributed to it)

I think there's some misunderstanding when people get offended by the suggestion that Stolas acts classist/racist. It seems that people assume we’re implying he is malicious and intentional with it, but the actual problem is that he doesn't think.

S2EP2, Seeing Stars, 1:29

The problematic behavior we're discussing is reflexive and internalized. Stolas was raised in an environment where the lower demon class is looked down upon, and while he believes he expresses nothing but deep respect for Blitzø and treats him as an equal…

Goodnight, Blitzø. S1EP7, Ozzie's, 14:50

And while you can see from this bow that this intention is sincere, which is both wonderful and fascinating—he preserved this profound gesture ever since he was a kid, despite being actively discouraged from doing so!...

[Stolas]: I'm Stolas! It's nice... Ouch! [Paimon]: Don't bow to that one! He bows to us! Idiot! S2EP1, The Circus, 7:40

He was still raised in privilege and influenced by the narratives around him. For him, it's acceptable because that's what he was taught is fine. It's part of his everyday speech, and he never actually asks Blitzø, or anyone else, how they feel about the literally belittling nicknames (like literally—do you notice how often he uses the word "little" when referring to imps?).

I mean... there's a lot, okay? I'm just going to pull out some examples off the top of my head. All of them are from Season 1, and I'll explain why later.

I was hoping you brave little imps would accompany us! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 5:15

Ugh, that's better... Where's Blitzy? He's my knight in shining armor, not you, littler ones! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 13:22

And it [grimoire] isn't supposed to be lent out to itty-bitty imps like yourself. S1EP5, The Harvest Moon Festival, 0:30

Greetings, tiny Wrath Ring imps! S1EP5, The Harvest Moon Festival, 8:22

[Stolas, in the background]: Who dares threaten my little impish plaything? S1EP6, Truth Seekers, 18:20

How the fuck did you get caught by humans? Are you little creatures not being careful up here? S1EP6, Truth Seekers, 19:38

He also takes pride in being part of Ars Goetia. That pride seeps into his mind whether he wants it to or not. He lives in a huge palace, never worries about money, can arrange a seat in a club that’s always booked out, and gets admitted to a hospital immediately, while hellhounds wait five years for a Hellbies shot.

Being part of the Goetia family is rather valuable, you know. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 4:39

Most of these examples come from Season 1 because, after the disastrous Ozzie’s date, Stolas begins to unconsciously cut back on this language. He seems to sense that something is wrong, though he doesn’t fully understand why. However, he is acutely aware of the problems with the transaction and the unfair dynamics it creates, and he is serious about putting Blitzø on equal ground by providing him with the means to run his business independently of Stolas.

And still, he maintains full control over the conversation during the Full Moon meeting, immediately dismisses Blitzø after one mistake, and throws him out. He continues to impose his narrative on Blitzø and…

I don't look down on you! How many times do I— When have I ever?! S2EP9, Apology Tour, 2:45

When have you ever indeed, Stolas? You literally look down on Blitzø saying that. This moment illustrates the problem clearly. He isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t look down on Blitzø because he genuinely believes he doesn’t.

Despite all said, Stolas is making a tremendous effort and is progressing, and he is far ahead of Stella, who is openly classist/racist and very conscious of her biases. So I believe—no, I know—he will get there one day. But not today.

This is something I take quite seriously, and I think people need to understand how dangerous this subtlety can be, as it happens all the time in real life too.

How often do you ask yourself why medical research groups are predominantly represented by white, cis, upper-middle-class males, and how this affects the efficiency of treatments suggested in these studies for everyone else—women, people of color, non-binary folks, and those who struggle financially?

How often do you visit museums and see art created by wealthy aristocrats who defined what constitutes 'fine art,' while 'folk art'—often created by marginalized communities—is overlooked and lost to time?

I could elaborate further on how deep and cruel this bias is, but I’ll stop here. I just ask you to consider why you might get offended when someone points out Stolas's subtle bigotry and why you might downplay it compared to the loud, aggressive Blitzø, whose anger and avoidant issues are obvious.

Just sit with it.

[vulpisnocturna]

Heyyy so I actually just finished reading your Chrollo works and I would love to maybe brainstorm with you on having one where the reader actually is pursuing his affections, and maybe he doesn't know how to deal with it because its foreign. I would love to see him experience requited love, and the way you write is so beautiful!!

You’re too sweet! 🥹

Chrollo would be so cute in love and in a “healthy” relationship.

My headcanons are around this:

- Chrollo would be so confused at first. He would wonder what they see in him, what version or “character” he thinks he’s playing they are infatuated with. Do they see something clear about his personality? Do they ignore his amoral tendencies, or do they embrace them? Do they know his darker sides, do they see them, do they accept them?

- I think he’d look for a way to exploit this at first. If he was infatuated too, he’d probably feel like he won the lottery and play into those character traits they like to ensure the best chances of keeping them around

- If they called him out on it and told him to just be himself, he’d be impressed but also confused. Would probably ask something along the lines of “and what do you believe is “being me”?”

- Upon receiving an answer, Chrollo would do a lot of thinking about who he is, how he appears to people, how the one they are infatuated with sees them. He would probably test their “loyalty” or their infatuation by leaning more into his less savoury traits to see if they would leave, get scared or stay, whilst trying to keep himself as detached as possible to account for possible rejection

- To him, they would become so fascinating, and possibly the key to understanding himself. And yes, he would get attached, whether he tries to or not

- If they stay no matter what, Chrollo would start to become so attached to them and so fearful of a hypothetical betrayal on their part

- He would also start worrying about something happening to them, and would in turn become almost overprotective, to the point he would stalk his partner without them knowing and do background research on everyone they meet

- I feel like he would be extra jealous because he would fear being left for someone more morally acceptable. Chrollo is a confident guy, but when it comes to relationships where the control is not all in his hands, he gets nervous that his partner might choose someone who aligns with society’s morals

- He would seek them out for comfort after he begins to trust them. It would take a long while, but if he was sure they were in love with him, and he was in love with them, he’d like unwinding with them, cuddling and reading books, having them brush his hair, watching a film together etc.

- He’d try to be romantic. The poor guy would pick up some romance novels and steal “tips” from there, which would feel so forced and stilted 💀 They’d see his true romantic side in things he’d do genuinely, like stealing first editions of their favourite books, showing interest in their hobbies and conversing about them, intimacy and being a good listener as they vent or rant about something (watch the mansplaining though)

- I do believe Chrollo would treat his SO like royalty. So many dates, stolen gifts and nice food. He likes the finer things in life, and he likes to appear as a sophisticated, well-mannered gentleman. His flaws lie mostly on his morals, his arrogant, self-serving, jealous nature which stems from Meteor City ways of having to fend off others trying to steal things he has claimed as soon as he lowers his guard, and the fact that once you’re with Chrollo there is no way out unless he too gets bored. If his partner tried to leave him, he would see it as a betrayal, and turn to more drastic measures to keep them— see Yandere Chrollo.

[doublekanble]

heart

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 5.5k

or, alastor is a man of many things, and you believed he can never love without hurting his love. tw: a small paragraph of al eating your heart.

1. “–I was right.”  you coughed, the more you do, the more your voice choked on itself. Your body seized and shuddered with every beat of your heart as blood spew from the wound, already giving up on getting yourself away when you can barely breathe. He wishes he could’ve made it easier for you, but he got caught up. “you really are selfish…”

As the hand he’s holding onto quickly grew cold, Alastor hoped, for all its worth, that when he fall, however long it’ll takes, you’ll find the strength to finally accept his love for you. For now, he set his left ear over your heart, his hair stained red, Alastor listened closely for what he thought was the last time, as you and your life stops entirely.

(having done this time and time again, for the first time in a long time, he felt a longing for warmth, your warmth, the one seeping from you and dissipating with the cold air in the night.)

2. If there is ever a need to described himself, then Alastor would be the first to say that he is a man of many thing.

The charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor second to none. He’s your friendly neighbor who greets you with a smile and a caring friend. He’s the perfect son and an amiable stranger. Everything you want, he will be. Everything, except all you ever wanted from him is someone to talk to.

You’ve always a strong fascination for writing from years gone by. From the gloomy and miserable words of a poor but astute poet, riddled with nihilism and pain, to a long-gone romanticist who wrote fairy tales and chasing love he couldn’t held in his hand, or a myth, lost to time and rewritten over and over again. All the books you ever care to curated in your home is that of the classic and the dead.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so attached to you and the poetry you sewn into existence with clumsy words.

With his unfortunate lot in life despite his mother’s best effort –god bless that woman, Alastor would, in time, learn how to play charade better than anyone else, barely remembering the last time he bother to show care to anyone else with love and honesty rather than bemusement. He doesn’t need moth-bitten books to guide him through conversation when he can just as easily play the role of a salesman, granting you the option to pick between a piece of stale bread or the last supper. But only a salesman in the end, his words and gestures is with all the saccharine and none of the sugar.

Although he could never hope to weaves paintings with his word, ever only a mockery of one, Alastor welcome his shortcoming in strides, as long as people bought into his act. For the love he lacks in his heart, valuable you, his treasured companion, would make up for it all.

In stark contrast to his hidden callousness, you were a much more genuine person. The books and stories you gathered throughout your short-lived life give you a means to convey the feelings that made up your whole existence. In the occasion where he manage to pick the right topic, you would choose to hastily penned out your thoughts, writings border-on obsessive as you speak of vivid strokes of emotions no single word in any language can ever hope to capture. And yet, your heart, enraptured by the scenery, frantically beat so loudly in your chest as you speak of worlds end and death departed with shared poison; it would also spoke of a love so ordinary and mundane.

You’d never mourned the Danish storyteller that chased love endlessly, simple deeming it a life worth living. He wondered if you ever regretted telling him that.

(you sing praises to the odds and the out of sort while cursing at the commonplace of life, Alastor charmed the ordinary and laugh at the macabre death brings. as long as you’re there by his side, he have no need to love anything else.)

 3. Just like everything else about you, your close proximity to Alastor is not the standard, and should always be seen as an exception.

That evening, you both got shooed away after a particularly early dinner, his mother’s only excuses was that you, the esteemed and beloved guest, already help with cooking, so it’s only natural you’ll get to spend the rest of the stay resting up. Even if the most you ever did was being so horrendous at chopping veggies, Alastor ended up taking over your load instead.

He laugh about it, saying that you’re pretending so you don’t have to do the work. His mother slapped him on the back of his head, while he nearly chop off his own fingers, she comforts you about your culinary skill. You smile at him when she turns her back on you both, knowing full well Alastor’s fighting his instinct to throw the first thing in his hand at you.

You two stand awkwardly on the porch and stare at the only available seat before Alastor argues that he did the most work so he should take the rocking chair. You point out how he’s practically whispering in the hope of his mother not noticing, he doesn’t bother to deny it.

After some mindless chatter, Alastor would suddenly joke about how if he were to ever read the same works as you, maybe he’ll be able to conceived a love so vicious and gentle too. You, sitting just by his feet, only gives him a sheepish smile. It wasn’t until before you’re at the front of his door, already bid his mother goodbye and ready to go back, that you would throw a remark at him.

“I think you’re a pretty vicious guy on your own,” you walk the three step down and continued through the front walk nonchalantly, hands in your coat pocket instead of linking with his like usual. “If you were to love someone, you’ll hurt them in the end. Even if you were to read all of my books.”

You stand at his gate. Although you’re waiting to see whether he’s going to go with you, you might as well have been gauging his reaction. Unconsciously, as he catches your gaze, he relaxed his grip and stride towards you like a panther to a sitting duck.

“You’re welcomed to, by the way. Just don’t dog-tag them.” Faint stinging shot through the heart of his hands from where his nails was digging into. His laugh sounds more like choking as he ignores your offer for now.

“Now, I wasn’t aware you have such a dreadful view of me, let alone thinking I can’t – what?” incredulously, Alastor barks “Love?! HAH!I supposed one of us are going to have to break that pathetic news to my mother.”

The moment he reach you, he catches a soft sigh falling from your lips, “It’s not that I think you can’t, Al.” the nickname that he imprinted on your frontal lobe sounded like nails on chalkboard, “It’s that I think you shouldn’t.”

“How delightful…”

You turned and began to walk on your own. If Alastor was anyone else, he would’ve taken this at face value and get offended at your eccentricity.

“And where, pray tell, does these impressions of yours come from?” He snatched your left arm, pulling it from its resting place and do the job himself. You give him a look, he smiles.

“I’ve been watching you.” His expression must’ve been something, enough for you to instantly stop on the sidewalk as you stammered and tries to pull your arm from him. “Not like that you deviant! I was just trying to get a read on you, since everyone kept talking about you being unattached and all.”

“Yes, yes, I know. What now, you want in on the chase? It’s ok dear, I know I’m utterly irresistible!” Refusing to let go of you, he only laugh on as you scowl. It’s well known to everyone that Alastor have been available for the longest time since anyone ever known him. It was also a well-kept mystery, the fact he have never courted a single person throughout his entire life.

“Utterly hogwash, that’s what you are.” Huffing to yourself, you finally would relent your arm to him. Your shared steps echoing across the darkening street, it’s near curfew. “I do have to say, I see what they meant, about you being a good spouse and all that,” He smiles a bit brighter at that, “But I just can’t see you being vulnerable with anyone else. You despises things not going your way, and love just have too much uncertainty!”

“Yes, yes,” he repeats, as if soothing you from a tantrum, “Weak and frail Alastor, the poor soot of New Orleans, unable to tear his ribcages open and show everyone his organs the same way his beloved whimsical friend here does every day ~.” You hiss as he settled his own weight against you with his head on your shoulder, nearly knocking the both onto the ground, “I guess you’ll just have to be with me for the rest of your life then! If you don’t, I’ll simply drown in my own piled up misery! What a life it’ll be!”

“Sure you will. Now get off and take me back home you dramatic coot.”

4. At that time, there was no need for Alastor to inquire your meaning of “vicious”.

In direct contrast to your trusting nature, you’re also perceptive and doubtful to a fault. The first slight of your tongue was a comment on how he can stop smiling around you. Always with that same gaze as you have now, lying underneath him. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he said to you that day. But it was enough for you to stood up and walked from the table with a ten-dollar bill pin under your half-finished lemon tea. The issue was quickly resolved with a phone call to your home, but he quickly learned that you don’t take kindly to – and quite frankly, refused to participate in – saccharine sweet insult.

But at what point did he stop hiding himself and let you read him freely, he thought. If he bit down on his tongue until he bleeds and shut you out like how he did to so many others who couldn’t even take one step near him, then maybe something could’ve turn out differently.

Replaying that moment over and over in his head, for the first time in his life, Alastor think about the concept of love, really think about it. It simply was an aspect of life that he never pay mind to, equating it with romance book and kissing under starry skies, and thus, utterly useless. When he think of love, all he have to go off of is his dear old mother, who sacrifices and suffers so much for him, which, in time, he pay her back with everything he have. His life was only about her and himself and the bodies under the forest floor and it was everything he wanted and more. Until one rainy day, with his eyes on the script he’s writing out for tomorrow’s broadcast, bleary-eyed and hearing the bed calling his name, he thought about you.

When he came to, he already dropped his coffee cup. The brown liquid burns, even through his slipper.

After that, Alastor would start picking out books from your carefully curated shelves, sitting in your armchair and skims through the lines while you spread across the ground like an old cat, he tried to find the feelings that you described to him in the same page you’d read a million times and over. But as he does so, he would soon find that there’s not a single word in any of those old and yellowed pages of yours that is able to captured the quickly spreading rot in his heart. In a frenzied, Alastor would burn through your small library faster than you could ever hope for.

(Alastor knows that time and time, again and again, as long as you’re willing to reach for his hand, he will never let go of yours.

at some point, he’d stop caring about whether you’re willing to at all. why would he, when the meaning of being able to love you became all he care to know at all.)

5.

“You don’t need to love like I do, you know that, right?”

He turns to you, on your stomach, lying in your nest of blankets and pillows with a pencil in hand putting down incomprehensible charcoal shape.

“Bragging now, are we?” he gets up from the armchair and settled down by your side, eyes watching your hand while propping the book he was reading in his lap. You crank your neck and stare at him with a look, “And how are you so sure I want to love like you, dear?”

“You’ve been plowing through my books.”

He sends you a beaming smile, acting innocent while playing with your hair.

“You offered.”

“Aren’t they all the one I told you about?”

Your eyes on the book he’s holding, then the one he just placed back into the shelves. It feels like he’s back in his mother’s kitchen, with his dirty nails behind his back and a poor excuse for the missing bread on the dinner table. Except this time, there’s just you and him in your small living room, and you’re looking awfully smug about it.

Raising his hand in the air, he sigh pitifully, “Ah~, guilty as charged, darling.” and offers nothing else. The silence afterward is enough of a white flag anyway.

Pleased with what you got from him, you turn back to your work, seemingly unaware (or even worse, maybe you don’t care at all) about the gnawing in his chest and the storm raging in his head while his hand weaves through your hair.

The last time you talked to him about love, you more-or-less called him and his love hazardous. While Alastor have no trouble with accepting it from anyone else, with you, it feels as if you’re discarding a part of him to the dogs. Although his knowledge on many topics far exceeds yours, when it came to pure and genuine emotions from the heart, you’d know enough to examine him under all type of love there is, and time after time you’d deemed him impossible to ever love. And despite knowing loving and love is wholly separate, it tears him open to even considers that you’d thought of him as unable to love and be loved and something about it is just so incredibly agonizing to the point of wanting to rip you open so you can see just how unlovable you are too.

But in your living room, sitting right next to you the way no one else is allowed to. He sigh, making sure his words doesn’t come off as unpleasant as he feels.

“If I don’t have to love like you, then how do you supposed I should be doing it?”

“I’m not sure, but hopefully not at all.” You said offhandedly, but you might as well just drove a knife through his stomach, but it’s you, so he let it be, “If you can’t help yourself though, you’ll probably do something really horrible.”

“What do you supposed I’ll do?”

You turn to him, a hint of surprise in your eyes at how close he is now, but you let him be, “Undecided. But you seems like the type to let it eats you alive.”

“I’ll let my love eats me?” Laughing in disbelief, he could almost call you cute with how you nodded to yourself, resolute in your idea about him.

“You’ll let it eats you, yes.”

Alastor chuckled to himself as he tap your sketchbook twice, you hand it to him.

“Well, I’ll need to make sure that I won’t be alone, aren’t I?”

You laugh openly and said that’s true, he’s too selfish to be taken alone. Alastor couldn’t care about how much of that was just more of your usual jest and how much of it is your view of who he is. If you, who love so selflessly and readily, agrees without push back, that someone as selfish as him will doomed whoever it is that he loves so much, then who is he to deny.

At that time, the line of charcoal you put onto the paper come together to show a shadow of a small man dragging a coat by his unseen feet, a mock-up from one of the stories that you loved. Alastor stop wondering if he ever could love something like the poems and stories you’ve read a million times over, instead, he think it’s best if he loves the way you expected him to, the way he can see himself doing.

6. To be loved is to be changed.

You told him this while he stand in your kitchen, trying to shoo you back to the table so he can work without fuzzing over you. And now, while he’s holding you, so cold and so unlike you, Alastor wondered whether you would like it if your bones were to be buried in the same spot as the others.

As much as he’d love to keep it near with him, there’s not a single excuse in the whole round earth that can ever help him convinced his mother of letting him uprooted the garden out back and buried you down there, neither can he bring you with him everywhere. Alastor wants to try taking you to the morgue after he’s done, but how do you explain bringing in a set of skeleton with missing ribs? It’s simple, really.

You don’t.

He lifted you up in his arms and sat back on his sofa, your lulling head settled just below his chin, wanted to savor what’s left of you for just a bit more before rigor mortis sets in and makes you even less of what you are now. The gramophone in the corner of his room spewed utter nonsense as Alastor closes his eyes.

It’s Tuesday tomorrow, but he will have to roll up his sleeves and get to work on cleaning out one of the guest room in his hunting lodge if he doesn’t want the ants to take you first. He’ll have to call in sick, too. Alastor likes to think that when he sees you again, you’ll at least have the will to appreciate the troubles he went through for you and not complaint about being locked up inside. You and the love you have for him, akin to small river, a gentle stream, with orange and yellow leaves floating across, tucked in a forest somewhere. It widdled down the rocks and carved a path for itself. The same one that you oh so heartlessly withheld from Alastor.

You'd appreciate being bury in such a scenery, it’s a shame you won’t be, though your body would’ve made way for the prettiest flowers. But you’ll have to take what he can afford to give. To be loved is to be changed, after all.

(when, not if. having gone on for this long, he’s sure that you’re suspended in between life and death in the hell you refuses to ever believe in. half of him prayed that there’s not a river there so you can drown yourself in it just to forget all about him. the other half prayed you’ll remember nothing at all, even of the literature you love so much.

at some point, where will you stop being yourself? when you forget enough of yourself? Alastor doesn’t need to care about the semantics. he knows he’ll choose you time and again, even if you forget how you love.)

7. You take your time reading through farewell letters.

Unless the cats and dogs on the street can write, then there’s only a few, you kept a significantly smaller number of friends by your side. But it must’ve been hard to even focus with Alastor sitting right next to you.

“Darling, surely we can-“

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already was, Alastor.”

Desperately holding onto your wrist and halted your pace for just a second, he all but plead a hopeless case.

“You’re not thinking straight! Are you really just going to up and leave because someone told you so? After living your whole life here?!”

Your hand, moving like clockwork, already finished with the letters, refusing to stay in his. You pulled back from him and place the rest of the letters in a small wooden box with a deer carved on its lid. “You know it’s not just that.”

In times like these, he wonders if it was himself who have gone mad. As if the whole world is in on one big joke and you are just following along with it. Any moment now, you’ll burst into laughter and tell him that everything is a lie. You’re not moving to Washington to help a friend you know for some years with their business, and you’re not leaving him, not after everything he showed you. But you’re holding onto the letter with his mother’s name written on the front with misty eyes as if you have no other choice. So he held you by the shoulders to the point digging his nails into it and turned you to look at him.

“Then what else is there?! For Christ sakes-“ you look as if this is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do in your life, he felt as if this is the hardest battle he have to fight, “Please, mon Chéri, talk to me...”

Alastor collapse onto you, his whole weight pins you down on your small couch. Head on your chest, he listens as your heart beats just a bit faster. You let him.

“…what do you think we are, Alastor?”

Without hesitation, he reply.

“We are whatever you want us to be. Whatever it takes for you to stay.”

For someone like you, a romantic at heart, just like who he is now, that should’ve been enough for you to at least considers the possibility of forgetting about what’s right and wrong. For sure, it would’ve been enough for you to stay, if you were anyone else.

But you’re you, and he’s only himself. The romantic in you see through his act for the longest time and still fall in love with him, but just like how your love is selfless and kind, it’s also viciously rational. If you were anyone else, you would’ve ignored the rational part of yours.

“I’m sorry, Alastor.” All this time, he was desperately proving himself to you. Doing everything in his power just so you’re willing to forget your rationale and love him just as much as he loves you. “We’ll die loving each other.”

He doesn’t care if he die, Alastor wants to scream out. He’s ready to die to love you, he have been screaming out all this time. But despite all of his effort, you deemed him a love not worth chasing after till death, while he already planned the path to hell with you.

Your fingers, shaky and gentle, brush through his hair. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have to place himself bare and vulnerable like this. But if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t have love you at all. And if it’s death holding you back from loving him, then so be it.

8. For a long time now, Alastor knows you more than anyone else.

You were never a dancer, not by choice either. Its pathetic in the cutest way, how you froze up and refused to move, the way you stutters and try to pull from him only ever makes him want to bully you more. But from the way your brows draws together, to the way you’d tripped over yourself chasing after his footstep, all of it, Alastor earned from you.

From the way you stayed up overnight, to how the bottom of your shoes dragged against the pavement as you walk. From the tip of your pencil, to the bottom of your bookshelves. Every books on your shelves and every sketches. Alastor swear with all his life that no one else knows better than him when it came to you.

He knows intimately the curves you’d penned on your signatures; he knows how you’d change your mind at a moment notice about anything, he knows how you take with you small things on the side of the road that you deemed pretty enough and he knows you still have a lot you want to do here that you’ve told your lovely friend. So it’s only normal for Alastor, the person you grown to love so much, to know exactly why you refuses to even considers being by his side, and it’s just his luck that he also knows just how to write a letter with words just like yours.

So when was it that you got a friend you trusted so wholeheartedly, so faithfully, so much so, you’re your dearly cherished Alastor became a second thought in your mind? Weren’t you a romantic? Weren’t romantics idiots who can’t think straight when it come to love? So why was it that you alone refuses to let yourself love him and remained so loyal to someone you only considered a friend, someone who couldn’t even tell your lettering from his? Was it them? Who fed you lies after lies to captured you in their own hands? Was it them who taught you the telling and sign of a madman? Is that why your view of him was so horrible, you' refused to ever fathom life with him?

He knows you would’ve hated him for this, but Alastor adores you, and sometimes you just don’t know what’s best for you, even when it’s staring at you from across the front walk and following you to your home.

So if someone as rational as you can be swayed back to his lodge for just one more visit, then your friend surely can be swayed too, to come and visit you some other time, down here in your beloved New Orleans.

9. If anyone ever ask anyone else, then they will say that Alastor, beloved local radio host of New Orleans, is a man of many things. But if they were to ask you, then he’s one of the person you cherished the most, and your dearest friend.

He’s everything, the charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor that’s second to none. Alastor plays himself as your friendly neighbor who will always greets you with a smile and a clenched fist behind his back, hiding a stain just on the cuff of his sleeve in the early morning, a caring friend that offers you help just in the nick of time. Alastor is his mother’s perfect son, who spent more time comforting her about your whereabouts than to care for his own fracturing mind; an amiable stranger, gripping the newspaper detailing yet another disappearance with a bit too much force. Everything you have ever wanted him to be, he was. And yet, to his utter bewilderment and maddening grief, you refused to let him be anyone other than a friend you talked to about everything.

In the letters you saved from your beloved pen pal-turn-missing person, they would call you mature and wise. Sentimental words and kind, to his eyes, all are but hollowed gestures advising, agreeing, and offering you a place up in Washington until you can forget all about him and move on with your life, leaving Alastor to be nothing more than a nostalgic blot on the tablecloth, nothing more than yearning in early Junes. Until you forget the fact you ever love him at all, all because you decided that you couldn’t afford to let yourself be love by him.

Keeping all of it in mind, Alastor decides your dear friend should be bury far away from the comfort of your room. Three years, seven months and eleven days after your death, Alastor dragged a body into the woods. Not just any old one like usual, but not anything else too special.

It’s odd, even though you’ve been gone for the more than a year by now, it’s almost as if you’ve neve left his side. Maybe it’s the rest of you, lying peacefully in your nest of pillows and blankets, in your room that he diligently maintain. Maybe it’s your shared books he sometimes takes from his shelves and skims through in the dead of night after a hard day. Maybe it’s the locked box, sitting by his work desk welcoming him home after a night out, the same one he held in his hands, void of blood and anything else.

Or maybe it’s the reverberating sounds of heartbeat, so unlike his own. In both his waking days, in his reveries, over the sounds of the jazz band down in his favorite speakeasy and following him into the woods. Ever so silently, oh-so gently, utterly viciously in his left ear.

In any other case, Alastor finds he absolutely adores the idea of your ghost haunting him until his fell into his grave.

(you said that he should never love because he couldn’t be in control. he mourn the fact you never even let him prove you wrong. Alastor would’ve let you dance on his rotting corpse if that’s what it takes for you to let him call you his.)

10.

Somewhere in his heart, Alastor had hoped that you of all people can evade the hand of rots.

It’s a genuine shame that in the end, all of the words in the world will do nothing to stop you from sharing the lot with the others, he thought, staring down from where he straddled you with his hand peeling off layers of skins and fat. Warm fingers brushes against your hollowed cheek, before raising a small hammer and bringing down onto your bare chest. Alastor wants to preserve you for as long as possible, but to do that properly, he might as well take all of your innards out and sewn you up. It’s not that he’s not open to that idea, Alastor love every part of you. It’s just that he’s sure you’ll be extremely upset when you find out. So he’ll have to get comfortable with doing things the hard way, no matter how hard it is to do so.

With steady fingers in spite of the drumming in his ears, Alastor patiently picks out every pieces of bones he could, placing them into a small, wooden box. With a wistful smile, he closes the lid and set it aside. He miss you already.

Pushing your lungs out of the way, he dig his hands in. With blood runs up to his wrist, Alastor tries to be as gentle as he can while pulling your heart out. One hand holding onto it, another carefully cutting away everything that ties it to your body.

Distinctly, every part of you was always warm, and over time, Alastor, who’s hands are as cold as winter itself, find comfort in your touch. It was almost like you were made just for him, and him, you. And now, with your heart, cold and silent in his hand, Alastor realized what a miserable life it will be to go on living without your warmth with him from now on until he’s six feet under. But it’s ok, he’s sure of it, because above all else, what he’s been chasing after this whole time is in his hand.

For a brief moment, Alastor wondered if he were to meet you in another lifetime, one where you aren’t so complicated and so in love with the idea of living a fair life and a right love, would you have let yourself be wrong and love him. But he’s glad that your love, with all its beautiful intricacies that causes him this much pain, with a wound in it, still look as beautiful as he hoped.

Sinking his teeth into it, into you, the taste of iron and metallic flooded his mouth and drown his senses as he closed his eyes shut and nearly buckled under the taste of you. There’s not a single word in the book to describe the visceral sensations running through his blood and spreading through his every veins. Alastor shivers, the back of his head felt numb, his fever grows as he desperately takes his time and savor you. It’s a shame you can’t last forever, but he’ll take what he can get for now.

(as his teeth tears into your veins, he hears a sounds, so familiar, somewhere in the corner of his ears. it wasn’t until he caught his own heart beating that he realized that the rhythm he’s hearing isn’t his at all.

until the day you two can meet again, until then. he pray he will never forget the sounds of your heart, beating so gently.)

[lemotmo]

Ask box is still closed but they commented on the deleted scene. First activity from them in days.

Technically I'm still on blog sabbatical but that deleted clip was a wild choice. There's a lot to unpack in that very short scene and none of it is very flattering for Tommy. The medal comment when Hen and Karen asked about his intentions was immature and blatant deflection. It was also cringe, the wtf facial pout he added didn't help. What I don't know though is if the lines are meant to come across as cringey or if his delivery is what's off. And that was just the first cringe moment. He only made it worse after that. Saying they're going slow, and he's letting Buck set the pace was good, he should be following Buck's lead, but then he immediately made a sexual innuendo joke, and yet another wtf facial expression choice. I know the rule tends to be that since it was deleted we can't count it as canon, but knowing that he saw the way Hen and Karen reacted to that conversation, and still followed it up by turning another meaningful conversation attempt, this time by Buck, into another sex joke, an even more immature and gross one, is certainly a writing choice. And clearly a deliberate one.

That wasn't even the most alarming part of that scene though. The diet comment about Buck is a warning siren if ever there was one. That line was concerning because it is absolutely a call back to Buck 1.0 who believed the only thing he could offer anyone was his physical appeal and he was obsessed with keeping his body to a certain standard. The fact that we now have Tommy making multiple comments about their physical relationship, and Buck's appearance, is not good. Especially when you couple those comments with the other scenes of him dismissing Buck's excitement and overzealous personality. None of that spells a healthy relationship for Buck, the character the show cares about. It continues to show Buck's very unhealthy dating pattern of settling for people who are physically attracted to him but don't seem to genuinely like the person he actually is. It's actually kind of fascinating.

I genuinely liked the Tommy of episodes 1-4, probably not coincidentally the length of his originally planned arc. He was written well in those episodes, he worked. I'm also now pretty convinced that those first 4 scripts were kept pretty much intact to when Eddie was the plan. They clearly put effort into him originally. Everything that came after 7x4 went increasingly downhill, and that's because they hadn't actually planned anything for him after that episode. If they had been able to stick with the original Eddie plan he would have been gone after episode 4 because the kiss would have been all that was required to initiate Eddie's spiral. Once they had to swap Eddie for Buck they had to change their plan because Buck was already searching for something so the kiss wasn't going to be enough to make Buck spiral. Which means they still need to get Buck to whatever the plan for him was but now they have to do it through Tommy. They're not going to put effort into Tommy because after 7x4 he became a textbook plot device. His scenes and dialogue are now strictly to move the story forward, and nothing more. It's why he seems so different now. What's interesting is if Buck's spiral is now going to result from him back sliding from all the personel growth he has had since Buck 1.0. All the work Buck has put into growing himself as a person and working on himself. That's why the diet comment was so concerning. It's the old Buck. If he thought figuring out he was bi was the last piece of the puzzle and he should feel 'fixed' now, but Tommy and their relationship still feels mostly physical he may revert back to believing he really doesn't have anything else to offer. A return of Buck 1.0, and a version of himself that Buck has referenced frequently he believes Eddie wouldn't have liked. I'm probably giving the show way too much credit but this would work and it would be fascinating to watch.

Thank you so much for sending this and the next one to me Nonny! :)

A day after the first one, the anonymous OP made another post about the deleted scene. I will paste it here as well, so these two posts can be read together.

I put it under a cut to save all your dashboards from clogging up. :)

All right, so first of all, I agree on so many things in these two posts. In the beginning Tommy was 'okay'. I didn't love him, but he was an okay character and love interest for Buck. But as the show went on he just became worse and worse as a character. To the point where a lot of people who liked him in the beginning actively started disliking and hating him. And most of it is tied in with the way he treats Buck and talks about Buck.

And ultimately I do think this is the whole goal of the show. They are doing their absolute best to show us that Tommy is NOT a good guy and definitely not a good match for Buck. By posting this deleted scene they are once again trying to make that point.

Unfortunately this message just flies over some people's heads and all they see is a this fantasy headcanon Lou told them about. They aren't watching the show as it is, they are actively trying to mold the show and BT into something it isn't.

I can't possibly explain any of this better than the OP, especially the part about Buck's body image. So I'll let them speak, but I agree so much with what they say.

One last thing I personally want to add is this:

Whenever Tommy opens his mouth, everything gets reduced to sexual innuendo and/or a dumb sex joke. And when it isn't about sex, it's him being extremely dismissive and negative in anything he says to Buck or some of the other characters.

This is also a thing that got transferred to the BT fandom in general. Everything Tommy does or says is over sexualised by a lot of the fans, in posts, messages, pictures and fics it quite often boils down to sex.

Now, I have nothing against sex. I realise sex is a part of the human experience, even for fictional characters, but to make it so that all that ties this couple together is sex? That is not what Buck is about. We know that about him. He has canonically been established as someone who is looking for love, a connection, a family...

So, why don't they talk more about the real deep canon love connection BT have on screen? I'll tell you why. It's because there is no canon love connection between them whatsoever. Tommy has no depth as a character. He is there for a specific purpose, a plot device to help Buck navigate his way through a new phase in life. That's it. The only emotional connection Buck and Tommy have is fabricated in, yet again, a Lou cameo headcanon that probably cost 200 dollars.

In the deleted scene between Tommy and Henren we see him at his worst and it's clear that Henren do not like or trust him. And yes, I kinda get why the OP would have wanted that scene in the episode, because it would have shown us -once again- that Tommy's intentions for Buck are mostly just about sex. This isn't anything serious. This is about sex. He tried with Eddie, realised it didn't work so he moved on to Buck when he saw how confused Buck was about whose attention he was trying to get.

I have no doubt he probably likes Buck, but he has no deeper intention beyond the sexual aspect of the relationship.

I said what I said. Don't come at me. This is my blog and I can respectfully blog about my opinion here. No ship hate here. Just common sense.

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[stellanix]

something i saw once that has stuck with me ever since was a comment on a post about some scientific discovery made by the mars rover perseverance that said "why are we wasting time looking at rocks when we should be preparing for colonization?

another comment was on a post about the environmental issues surrounding the spacex launch site in southern texas, which said "human expansion to mars delayed to protect some turtles"

and comments like these perplexed me. space is a subject of science, and people interested in space are always talking about the wonders of the unknown, and how many fascinating and beautiful things are out there. so how could people interested in space be so fundamentally uncaring and incurious not only about the places they're supposedly interested in, but about nature in general?

it's not just random people in twitter replies who are like this. elon musk once posted this picture:

thing is, that's not mars, that's the moon during a lunar eclipse (when sunlight tinted red after passing through earth's atmosphere lights up the moon in earth's shadow). you'd think that someone known for wanting to bring people, himself included, to mars would care enough about mars to at least know what it looks like, but apparently not

he also rather infamously says he wants to nuke the ice caps of mars to warm the planet up. the ice caps of mars look like this, by the way (image credit: ESA/DLR/FU Berlin/Aster Cowart):

they are beautiful places, that hold an irreplaceable scientific record of the geologically recent martian climate, and are shaped by unique processes. there's no other place quite like them in our solar system. but elon musk thinks we should nuke them. again, no care, no curiosity

nothing has made me feel jaded and cynical about the entire enterprise of spaceflight quite like learning that the people ultimately in charge of it and funding it don't give a shit about space. it's not just elon musk. space nerds love quoting kennedy's "we choose to go the moon" speech as inspiration, but kennedy is also on record saying "I'm not that interested in space" in a conversation where he was arguing to the nasa administrator that they should prioritize beating the soviets to the moon over space science. no curiosity, only a desire for geopolitical showmanship and maintaining hegemony. it's the same thing when many modern politicians only seem to care about space exploration as a way of keeping a technological lead over china

this leaves the people who do genuinely love and care about space in an awkward position. they basically have two choices: A) become jaded and give up on space exploration, or at least parts of it (abandoning human spaceflight but maintaining interest in robotic science missions, for example) or B) give in. work with military contractors. spout the jingoistic rhetoric that the politicians writing the checks want to hear, even if you don't believe it. go along with the colonialist ideology, the hypercapitalism, and the extractivism. sell your soul for pictures of mars and let your passions be exploited for the ends of powerful people who don't care

the sad reality is that our society only values those things deemed useful or profitable. we hear it all the time. the idea that schools should only teach things useful for jobs, that people who try to make a living in fields like art, the humanities, or philosophy are all getting useless degrees and will inevitably end up stuck working retail, and of course, the idea that space exploration is a waste of time and money

space nerds are often deeply insecure about their greatest passion, because it's true, space exploration offers no immediate practical benefit. but they still love space and want to explore it

so they believe the lies. they repeat the colonialist ideology. they say there's money in mining asteroids, that we can terraform planets and let number go up forever. they let themselves be exploited by companies and governments that see everything in the universe and all the people in it as things to be used, and that will ultimately chew them up and spit them out if it's expedient to do so. and those who reject the ideology and keep their love for the cosmos pure often find themselves with no place in the project of space exploration

i don't know how to fix this, but i do hope that i will live to see the day when our curiosity and interest and love for the wider universe is valued for its own sake, and no longer shackled by colonialism, capitalism, and political ambitions

[chatonarya]

Let’s talk about Degenbrecher’s module. 

It’s called ‘Footnotes of The Past.’ The title itself is worth mentioning due to her battle line, “Still soaking yourself in the past?” The past is also referenced in her EP, “Blade Catcher”: “There’s a shadow I can’t keep at bay in my past but I don’t let it shake me; cut the cord with the edge of my sword but I’ll never find escape. That’s the key to the fortress you see, when it all knocks me down I’m still upright.” 

Degenbrecher doesn’t hold onto the past: although this “shadow” of hers (her hard childhood and status as an outcast) has made her who she is today, she doesn’t let it drag her down, but rather, her refusal to shy away from it is the source of her strength. So these stories that she’s sharing can indeed be said to be footnotes: anecdotes of a chequered past which remain fond memories of an ongoing tale.

The text itself is about her most-frequently worn medals, for which she has a case exclusively for storing them, and her sharing their significance with Rhodes HR. For easier reference, I’ve included a high resolution image of her medals alongside, so that we might get a closer look at them compared to her sprite. 

Knight-Champion of Kazimierz Medal

Black medal of crossed swordbreakers, lying unassumingly in center of case. Design makes it immediately clear that Kazimierz tailored this champion's medal to her. She reigned for three straight years and so was given three, but only the first was personally awarded to her by the Grand Knight after usurping the defender. Which is why she didn't throw it away, and why it's the one artifact of Kazimierz she still carries with her. 'Commemorative enough, barely.'

The one artifact of Kazimierz Degenbrecher yet retains: her first medal of her first championship, specifically made for her. This is the only one that matters to her. Per her own words, her first victory was to prove herself, and perhaps only her first still holds any importance or significance to her, not in the least because of the Grand Knight giving her the medal. Naturally, Degenbrecher’s first victory would be the most significant, as she basically came from nowhere as the challenger and defeated the previous champion. This victory probably feels the most like a genuine achievement for her, before Kazimierz became “boring,” in her own words, and the other knights gave up on even attempting to defeat her. 

Secondly, it would appear, and I hypothesize, that it wasn’t merely the fact that the Grand Knight—Ioleta Russell—personally gave Degenbrecher this medal, but rather, something occurred during this event that left a mark on Degenbrecher. Degenbrecher does not care for status, but she respects strength and she is fascinated by the aspirations of the strong. I believe it’s possible that she felt some recognition in being presented with this medal by Ioleta (who would appear to be very strong to Degenbrecher), but in addition, that perhaps they shared some enlightening conversation that left a mark on her and perhaps began to steer her thoughts elsewhere in her quest to find a suitable aspiration and see how the lives of people who have them end, even before Degenbrecher herself grew disenchanted and disappointed with Kazimierz.

'Thanks'

Inverted triangle inscribed with Kjerag's holy Mount Karlan. Not issued by any official organization, rather forged for her by clan head Ratatos at the request of a household under Browntail rule. Degenbrecher had rescued said household's members from an avalanche. 'This first one was almost ten years ago now. I know they meant it nicely, and I don't mind how it looks. But the news spread, and now I get one of these medals from the Tri-Clans any time I do something similar. The cupboard at home is full of them.'

A simple medal of gratitude, almost ten years old, thereby dating it to not long after Degenbrecher arrived in Kjerag. It’s likely either her first or second medal after the Silverashes’, and the fact that it was the very first one is probably why she wears it, particularly given that it sparked a trend of the three clans gifting her medals on the regular—something which is quite adorable, I must say. Degenbrecher performs an act of heroism, and she receives a medal. Does she receive them even for minor things, I wonder? Do the clans squabble over who gets to give her medals, who’s given her more? She apparently has a whole collection now!

But this one—this one retains sentimental value for her. I speculate that perhaps it’s because this was the first token of genuine gratitude from complete strangers that she received, and perhaps the fact that the people rescued desperately wanted to do something to thank her touched her in some way.

‘The Silverashes’ Sword and Shield.’

Second medal from the left, sword and shield motif. All of Karlan Trade knows that those wearing this medal are free to act unimpeded wherever Karlan Trade is concerned. Initially a pass designed expressly for her by Enciodes, but as soon became apparent, nobody simply overlooks the presence of Degenbrecher. Its worth these days is instead in gently reminding others that she is affiliated with Karlan Trade. 'One day, I forgot to wear this one. Enciodes went that entire day quieter than usual, then in the end asked if I had any complaints with the company.'

It’s incredibly adorable how Enciodes apparently personally and “expressly” designed this medal for Degenbrecher as a token of their friendship to allow her to come and go freely through Karlan Trade, and basically anywhere Silverash-affiliated: it’s basically a friendship bracelet—I mean, badge, despite its name. Also, look at just how cute it is—it has a little pawprint in the center! Suddenly, the reason he named his secret squadron Tschäggättä is clear—he’s still twelve years inside.

Even more hilarious, the one day she forgot to wear it, he immediately had an internal meltdown and overreaction assuming that surely it was because she didn’t like him anymore, and he spent the whole day effectively moping and panicking about it until he mustered up the courage to ask her if she had any problems with him. “Oh no, she's not wearing my friendship medal, she must hate me now!” Never mind that Degenbrecher of all people would never hesitate to tell him if she had any problems with him. I wonder how that conversation went down at the end of the day.

But actually, let’s think about it a little further. Degenbrecher has apparently faithfully worn this medal day in and day out for years and years, yet one day, she goes without it. Would it not be natural for Enciodes’s thoughts to stray towards the idea that she is holding some sort grudge towards him or is upset about something? And while it’s almost certainly his own dramatic nature flaring up here, I can’t help but feel this is also a marker of how much he values Degenbrecher’s friendship that he so worries over her potential offense in regards to something so small.

Finally, note the mention that now, instead of the medal giving her pass through Karlan Trade, it serves to remind others of her affiliation: she’s become so integrated in Kjerag that perhaps people forget that she actually has allegiance to the company (which we can see in RS). (It also explains more about Enciodes’s internal unease, though it’s not really clear when specifically that anecdote happened.)

'Kjeragandr's Soldier'

Third medal, honorary decoration issued by the Vine-Bear Court, was worn by Enya herself when she formally became the Saintess. 'This was the biggest protest the Saintess could make back then. I don't think much in particular about Kjeragandr—at most, I think I'd like to take Her on.'

We see Degenbrecher here echoing her comments from RS: if given a chance, she would like to fight Kjeragandr, but other than that, she doesn’t have any strong feelings about her. Nevertheless, Degenbrecher accepted this medal, and wears it for what I speculate is either a feeling of empathy or solidarity: Sharp calls Degenbrecher a “symbol of rebellion” in Break The Ice, and we know how much she hates being controlled. Perhaps she saw Enya’s rebellion against the stifling Court by giving away her medal to a non-Kjerag, and accepted it because she could understand or because she felt it would be ungracious not to. Wearing it now, perhaps she feels at this time that she is a soldier of Kjeragandr, or at least, of Kjerag, which after the events of RS doesn’t seem that far-fetched either, and now the medal has at last achieved its meaning in the most literal way.

Finally, I’d like to note that this medal shares its emblem with the one on Enciodes’s belt buckle in his newest skin Never-Melting Ice, where I’m guessing he’s taken on the role of commander of the Walnut battleship. As I speculated before, that he has it is a symbol of recognition from a party which has historically opposed him—the Vine-Bear Court—though it’s unknown at the moment specifically why he has it.

‘Ten Years.’

To mark ten years of acquaintance, Enciodes rustled up a little gift for her, effectively commemorating her Karlan Trade decennial at the same time. It may not have been founded when they first met, but the blueprints were already laid out in his heart. 'I didn't even recall what it was commemorating when he gave me this. A token of thanks, I suppose, but I'm sure he just wanted to let me know that he still remembered the big words he said back when it all began.'

Her fourth most valued medal, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s from Enciodes again. A gesture of commemorating their friendship, her ten years with Karlan Trade, and effectively Karlan Trade’s ten years as well as the company got off the ground with her aid. It’s only too bad that I can’t quite make out the design of it despite best efforts.

It’s interesting and in fact quite sweet that Degenbrecher can easily infer the meaning behind Enciodes’s gesture, though he does not say so. She understands him very well, to the point where her first thought was not regarding the Karlan Trade decennial, but rather, even beyond her guessing it was a gesture of gratitude like her numerous other medals, she immediately grasps with certainty that he meant something more: he’s reminding her that he still remembers how everything began, and he feels it necessary and appropriate to remind her of this, and likely, he also knows that she will understand its meaning. Effectively, through this gift, Enciodes is telling her, “It’s been ten years, but I still hold the same convictions, aspirations, and motivations I still held when we first met. I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten any of those things despite the time. I may have changed since then, but this part of me has not.”

In addition, Enciodes making this gesture of gratitude almost seems to echo Enya’s comments to Kjera at the end of RS about how taking things for granted means one loses respect for them, and also alludes to Enciodes’s comments about his debt to Degenbrecher growing and growing. He knows he has no way to repay her, but he’s trying to at least express his gratitude although she doesn’t care about debt, and to show he doesn’t take her continued presence for granted either. It’s yet another instance of Enciodes treating Degenbrecher as his friend rather than the “sword” she claims she is to him; he genuinely wishes to remind her that despite it all, at heart he’s still the person she met back then.

And Degenbrecher acknowledges and appreciates this sentiment and this gesture, and so she also has placed this medal upon her breast as among her most valued. One medal from him when Karlan Trade first began, and another for the decennial. Fitting, isn’t it? Much like the way her first one shows her affiliation with Karlan Trade, this one is proof of her continued allegiance—an allegiance which will continue further on in the future.

Finally, let’s round this out by looking at the other items in the artwork, as they were surely included because they’re of some importance to her. Although it’s unfortunately difficult to make out what else is in the case other than her Kazimierz badge (likely it’s more medals), we can see a few other things on the side just beneath the case. What are they?

Just beneath the case’s handle, we can see a dagger, likely the one she wears on her thigh. One of Gnosis’s, perhaps? It’s almost assured he gave her one, given their close relationship, and that would be reason alone for it to be considered special to her. Remember, Degenbrecher uses her swordbreakers because they are instruments of blunt damage and it’s easier for her to control her strength when she needs to avoid killing someone. Yet here is an item that would likely be small and fiddly for her, not to mention fragile and largely unneeded—why would Degenbrecher of all people need a self-defense dagger, even in the worst case scenario? Nevertheless, it’s there on her leg, and there amongst her most prized items, effectively all of which were gifts as well. Clearly, it must be of some sentimental value, and ergo I postulate it’s from Gnosis.

Next up, under the dagger is her Kjerag armband. We don’t know who gave her this, but we do know it’s an emblem of allegiance that many Kjerag-affiliated characters and NPCs wear. The fact that she chooses to wear it is yet another marker of her belonging to Kjerag.

Beneath her armband is a coiled chain; it’s difficult to tell what it is, precisely, if it’s a necklace or if it’s the chain that functions as the strap of her broadsword. I’m inclined to think that’s what it is, as Degenbrecher doesn’t strike me as someone who cares very much for jewelry, and her sword would naturally be packed for travel.

And of course, front and center, her trademark swordbreakers. Interestingly, her promotion file states that she had no weapon but the hilt of her greatsword when she left Kazimierz, broken by a Darksteel arrow, and upon arrival to Kjerag her swordbreakers were “crafted by the Karlan Trade artisans.” Given that Karlan Trade at the time didn’t really comprise of much or many people, and given that their initial product was bottled spring water, I can’t help but wonder who those artisans were—or if it was, in fact, Gnosis once again. After all, if he knows how to make daggers, surely he would know how to make swords (or swordbreakers) as well?

And there we have it—a few more interesting little tidbits about Kjerag’s big sister that add some more to her character. :)

[lightlycareless]

Omg the toji threesome fic is just...wtf there's no other worlds to describe it it's wtf in a good way omg what if she gets pregnant? What if it's not naoya's?! WHAT WILL TOJI FJCKING SAY?! GET RID OF IT?! GIVE BIRTH AND GIVE IT TO ME?! WHAT WILL NAOYA DO?! OMGGGGG PLEASE MAKE A FIC ABOUT THE AFTERMATH AHHHH!!!!! if you want baby no pressure <3

Hello! :>

I don't know if you saw my sneak peak, but I ended up writing a sequel to this heheh I'm so glad you liked it!!

Ngl, I wasn't planning on writing more of it, but then I saw this ask and... you know, I just had to do it to 'em.

Anyways I won't say anything more; except for the warnings: mentions of infidelity. mentions of smut (the word cunt is used) angst I believe. it's sad at the end, or I try to make it sad lol. Mentions of pregnancy. Also, I am no expert relating to pregnancy matters so take it with a grain of salt and lots of plot convenience 😅.

Happy reading!!

sequel to this.

Toji’s not to disclose if you or Naoya came back for a repeat of that night’s succession, though he will admit your pregnancy was not surprising.

It’s not like he could run away from it either, for as soon as news graced the elders’ ears, it’s all the estate spoke of.

From enthusiasm to welcome the next generation of Zen’in sorcerers, to the ever-growing hope of recovering their prized cursed technique, which has been absent for hundreds of years…

Expectations for this child were at an all-time high.

But to you and Naoya, all you could care about was the blessing this baby represented.

A family.

The pinnacle of all their yearnings, the fruits of their never-ending efforts finally appearing as the positive pregnancy test you took one morning after feeling particularly nauseous…

Or Toji’s, perhaps.

Toji initially didn’t think much of the “shocking” announcement. Not even after his behavior that night—they were just heat of the moment things, nothing that he meant nor really cared about, simply said to get a rise out of Naoya; and oh, was his reaction satisfying.

In other words, he really, genuinely, couldn’t care less about what the wimpy heir and his ditzy wife were to face from that point forward.

But when their behavior towards him, the engaging conversations, invitations to drink tea, amongst other activities, drastically ceased, to the point of them turning on their heel and going the opposite way when bumping into him…

It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place, and when the puzzle was complete, Toji could only laugh.

It’s like an open secret, albeit solely for those involved.

The baby inside you wasn’t Naoya’s.

It was Toji’s.

And this filled him with morbid fascination no other high had been able to provide.

To know that the baby everyone was praising as the future of the Zen’in, a promising sorcerer, as expected of the heir, was the ultimate irony, the exact anti-thesis of all they once declared of Toji.

He was very tempted to let everyone know.

Proudly announce the truth to the world, screaming to the top of his lungs that that baby isn’t Naoya’s, it’s mine.

The scandal this revelation would bring was nothing short of earth-shattering, and more likely than not, the elders wouldn’t even know where to start from. Although your infidelity could be a good reference.

Followed by the fact that no matter how much they try to get rid of him, he’ll always find a way to haunt them—like a ghost shackled to the estate walls, Toji would always remain in the back of their minds, unsettling them whenever they did as much as breathe.

Although for this to work, he’d have to wait until the child was born, officiated as son of Naoya, before he could do any true damage.

To see the kind of face the Zen’in would make upon finding out the truth… is one that makes his prolonged stay all but worthwhile.

As well as knowing your reaction towards the whole ordeal—if you’ve even been able to sleep knowing well that your life was on the line by carrying such a frightening secret in your womb.

Considering the way you frequently sought him out during those lonely nights where your husband would be away for long periods of time, this probably didn’t perturb you as much. After all, what did you expect after receiving his seed as constantly as you did? That nothing would happen? No consequences to be suffered?

You were many things, but he never thought you as delusional.

Or perhaps, you were hoping for this. To have his child. He’d come to believe so after the tight way your cunt squeezed him.

Well, that would only make him the delusional one.

Either way, he suspects that while your secret might’ve prickled the back of your mind from time to time, it didn’t bother you as much as he hoped—not with the way your staff coddled your every move, how the clan would gift you expensive items to celebrate the future head of the clan, per tradition, or how happy you appeared to be with your growing bump, gently caressing it and beaming while confessing oh how much you longed to finally hold your baby.

It irked him.

To see that even through this deceit, you were still blissful.

It was undeserving. Wrong.

At least to the man who has been sentenced to nothing but pain and disgrace since the moment he was born, that’s how it was.

Because it was impossible for him to grasp the innocence of others—To accept that some were just simply… with better luck. Free to live as they desired, and without having to pay for the prejudice of others.

Toji, now more than ever, felt that he was being used. Plucked from his misery, toyed with, and discarded once dried out of his benefits.

Thus, his motivation to ruin your and Naoya’s happiness became as palpable as ever—hastily making his way towards you once catching you by one of the many gardens, intending to remind you of the power he had, how easily it would be for him to plant the seed of doubt amongst the staff, let it flourish up to the elders, and ruin your and Naoya’s life forever.

Unless your anguished face was to stop him.

It was abrupt, happening in less than a second, yet enough for him to understand it wasn’t because you were upset by some redundant folly, but rather, of pain.

With one of your hands rushing up to your stomach while the other to your back, it was as if the weight of your baby had suddenly become too much to handle; you’d then anxiously looked for a chance to sit down, frowning when realizing the only option was the strenuous engawa in front of you…

Before freezing, face quickly void of any color, when seeing Toji abruptly standing by your side, with mysterious intentions you were not interested in finding out.

“Toji, you— You breathe as you do your best to walk away from him, just for him to keep up with you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Gee, that’s the thanks I get for getting you pregnant?” he sneers. “Never thought you to be as prejudiced as the rest—”

“What—what is wrong with you?!” you condemned, snatching your arm from his grasp. “How dare you?! Don’t you ever say something like ever aga—ah!”

“Y/N.” Toji’s eyes widen when he sees you lean forward, wrapping your arms around your stomach as you hiss and cuss, while tightly closing your eyes in what he recognizes strenuous pain. “What is happening?! Are you—”

No.

Could it be? And so soon?!

”Are you having the baby??”

“What? N—No—!” you whimper, squeezing tears out of the corners of your eyes. “It’s just—it’s just this pain that comes and goes sometimes—I—I need to sit down—”

Toji doesn’t hesitate to help you onto the engawa by firmly, yet gently, holding your arms and lowering you down to the wooden floor. You didn’t plan on accepting his help at first, but when a sharp pain reminds you that you couldn’t really pick and choose in this situation, you end up agreeing.

Once seated, Toji concludes this was much better off in the hands of a staff member, or even a doctor if he could somehow manage to do that, so he quickly stands up and turns towards the hallways—but the moment you see him take as little as a step away from you, your hands fly to grab his sleeve, stopping him on his tracks before looking up to him with the most pitiable look on your face.

“Stay.” You breathe, swallowing. “Please.”

And whether because of your pleading, teary eyes, or because it had been so long since he’d basked in your warm company, Toji obliges, soon taking the spot besides you as your hand now securely gripped his, with such an unprecedented force that has him both amused and concerned by your pain, while offering whatever little comfort he could with his touch.

It’s in these quiet yet tense moments that he finally gets to see the certainty of your situation.

While you expected to happily enjoy your future life as a mother, relish on the compliments of those around you, the praises of your in-laws, and the company and support of your husband…

Reality had been nothing short of deviant from your dreams—starting from the high risk your pregnancy was labeled as…

To the haunting consequences of your past actions.

“Are you sure this is normal?” Toji asks, seeing that your pain was not subsiding. “I think you need help—”

“No shit, Toji!” you gasp, he raises an eyebrow. “I mean—I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, princess. It’s nothing I’m not used to already.”

“… is that—is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. Not really.” He snickers, a smile that’s quickly wiped off his mouth when hearing you hiss. “But I’ve seen it work with others, so why not give it a shot?”

“I’m not—I’m not going to do that.” You huffed. “I—I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But you’d ignore me?”

“If you’re here to scold me, this is not the right time.” You hiss again, feeling a sharp pain attack your lower back, making you press your lips and whine.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something? Bring you something to drink—or… something?”

“Yes, but—but it’s not like you can help me anyways.”  You confess, he frowns.

“What? Why? How hard is it to get something for you to take?” he scoffs.

“They don’t want me to—they say—they say it might hurt the baby.”

Toji blinks.

“And so, what? They’re just going to leave you to suffer?”

You don’t respond.

He sighs. Toji should’ve known better.

“Where does it hurt?”

“My—my back and stomach” you breathe, another sharp bolt of pain on those places precisely, making you hold his hand even tighter, once again, he’s surprised someone like you could even dent his skin. “And no matter what I do—nothing helps! Not even that stupid warm bath, or the massages Junko-san told me to do—”

The desperation for failed solutions after failed solutions is clear in your voice, a consistency that effectively shows your growing frustration at being reminded again and again that not even when carrying the future of the Zen’in, are you respected as a person.

It’s always the needs of others first, the beliefs of the rest—only this time around it was your baby, although through the twisted words of your in-laws.

“I’m so, so tired of feeling exhausted, I just want to—”

“Let me try.” Toji interrupts, offering a solution that initially catches you by surprise, a part of your mind urging you to decline and get away as far as possible, the dangers his closeness could give are far bigger than you’re willing to put up with—

Yet, another part of you is telling you to allow him, if only for a moment, to help you.

To enjoy his company, something you’ve been unjustifiably deprived of.

Something you should’ve had now more than ever due to your pregnancy, but for many painful reasons, you didn’t.

But just because you wanted it, does it mean you should?

…

…

…

It wouldn’t be the first time you succumbed to these desires.

Thus, the decision is made when freeing his hand and gesturing to him to proceed with a nod. Toji then places his hands over your shoulders, firmly pressing his fingertips against them before beginning to ease the tensions and stresses away from your body through circular motions.

Had you known of Toji’s talent, you would’ve asked for massages more than anything else from him—for the way he carefully worked over your knots, starting from your neck and shoulders, down to your spine and to your lower back… it was simply amazing.

And for a moment, it’s like you’ve forgotten the strained relationship you had with him in favor of wondering where he even learned to do something like that.

“Oh my god—” you sigh, shoulders relaxing as Toji continues to massage you. “This is so much better…”

“Well, know you can always count on me to make you feel better, right?” He teases, your satisfaction dwindles for a moment with a frown. “It’s just a joke.”

“It’s not the time for jokes.” You respond. “but at least my back doesn’t hurt anymore….”

“That’s the reason why you’re so tense— it’s because you can’t take a joke.” Toji adds, as if he were finding out how much he could push it before you snapped. So much for his concern… or perhaps it was his way to lighten up your mood?

“Yeah, how horrible of me—it’s not like I’m carrying a baby.” You chided, and once again, his arrogance is smacked out of him.

After a moment of silence and brief repentance, Toji speaks.

“How did Naoya take it?”

“…I don’t want to talk about that.”

It went bad. If not horrible.

Naoya was excited at first, over the moon to know that he was finally to be a father after all their attempts.

But when doubts began to plague his mind, eventually leading to the DNA test… his absence was the clear indication of his feelings.

However,  if his reaction hurt you and your marriage so badly, then why did you keep the—

“I always wanted a family.” You say, succumbing to one of the many questions you rightfully assumed Toji to have. “From the moment I married, no, even before that, I knew that’s what I wanted in life. To have a little girl, or boy, that I could endlessly dote and spoil on… And once I got with Naoya, realizing he too shared my dream, I literally felt it was only a matter of weeks before we’d have our own family.

But, when we began to try, and try, and try… what I once felt just by my fingertips was slowly transforming into an impossible dream.

People say that these things happen unexpectedly, just when you need them the most.

… and I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Remain hopeful and believe that the gods had other plans for me in the meantime. But… the two of us knew it. There was something wrong, and we didn’t know what—

Or more like we didn’t want to know.

Naoya couldn’t even consider himself as the possible cause. And I… I also didn’t want to believe I was the obstacle between me and my dreams.

And then, you came along.

I guess it’s the weight of our actions that eventually made Naoya… hesitant for the baby.

We always knew that it was yours, it’s just that maybe… maybe we hoped it wasn’t. We so desperately wanted to believe the baby was his, ours, and not fruit of something we perhaps should’ve never done.”

Feeling both confused and slightly angered, Toji scowls.

“I can understand one thing—I was used. Fine, whatever. Nothing new. But the rest? If it was such a big issue your marriage, then why did you keep the baby? Surely Naoya considered getting an aborti—”

“Because I wanted to keep the baby.” You confess. “I was growing so desperate and lonely—to be married and yet be as isolated as I’ve never felt before, what was I supposed to do?! In a house full of people… do you even know how that feels?!”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine.”

Your eyes widen, and soon, a crushing wave of regret inundates your mind.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, Toji sighs. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re just stressed.” He concludes. “Pregnancy stuff, I guess.”

“…I want my husband, here, with me.” You quietly admit. “I don’t want him to work anymore, spend days and weeks far away. But instead, he’s out there, angry with me and the baby…”

“He’ll come around.” Toji doesn’t know why he said that, only that he had to. You frown.

“How do you even know that? How do you know he won’t divorce me—or worse, cheat on me?”

“Do you hear yourself?” he scoffs, partially holding back his laughter. “Do you actually believe he’d be capable of cheating on you?”

A woman as special as you?

“Everyone else did at one point.” You remind him, he rolls his eyes. “Well, what else am I supposed to think after his absence?! He doesn’t even love me anymore for all I care!”

“That’s stupid.”

“Maybe for you it is.” You cry, tears begin to pool in your eyes. “It’s just a matter of time before he files for divorce and leaves me for someone else! Someone that can give him children of his own! Oh, I should’ve never allowed—"

“Naoya isn’t going to divorce you because I’ve seen how he treats you.” Toji interrupts, hurt by your blatant disregard of him, and yet, something about seeing you so distressed like this, heartbroken, makes him want to console you even more. “He could’ve divorced you the moment he saw the results, but he didn’t. Have you thought about that?”

“Perhaps he’s waiting for the right moment to humiliate me before his family—”

“Naoya loves you.” Toji says, and the words hurt him more than he anticipated. But… why? “I’ve known the kid since he was born—I’ve seen how he treats the people he doesn’t care about. And you’re nothing like that, not even close. So no, he won’t humiliate you.”

“And what makes you think that?”

Toji goes silent.

He’s acting as if he doesn’t know why he’s out here insisting so much on comforting you. And honestly? It made sense, for just a few hours ago he couldn’t care less any for a woman that played with two men and now had to pay the consequences—

But the truth wasn’t as cryptic as he liked to believe. All that he needed to do was dive a little deeper into his own thoughts and he’d soon find out why, as clear as day, he was fighting so hard to make you feel better.

And it all started the moment he accepted one crucial detail:

You were the mother of his child, his firstborn, and so… it unknowingly evoked a sense of protection towards you, deep underneath the layers of his disbelief and mockery…

Or more like further developed.

Since the first night the two spent together without Naoya, or perhaps even before, there was something brewing inside him, slowly, but surely. The first foundations of the feelings that would only flourish the night he had you alone, completely for himself.

In those moments of solitude, Toji liked to imagine that you were his wife; accompanying him underneath the covers, seeking his embrace, his touch, while telling him of your tedious day and how you so desperately looked forward to seeing him again—

And not Naoya.

The possibility of coming home to a warm bed, with a wife that treated him like an actual person, not a stain in the long history of the clan, contrary to the cold, empty room he has been condemned to since birth… is something he didn’t know he wanted, until you stumbled onto his path.

To be able to seek your figure whenever walking across the estate, hoping to catch you just around the corner, gossiping with your ladies about whatever it is that you liked to talk about with them, before you notice him by the corner of your eyes, lifting your gaze and seeing the lovely way your eyes would brighten at his presence—

A wide smile adorning your face, cheeks quickly turning red as you shyly dismiss your staff in favor of receiving him. Running to him to tightly embrace him, subsequently standing on your tip toes to land a kiss on his lips before murmuring the sweetest welcome home and tending to him.

And eventually… getting to hear your moving cries upon learning you’re expecting a baby. After many weeks of trying, both their efforts are finally met with the most beautiful reward life could give, letting your imagination run wild with all the things you wanted to do as a future mother—and yet, you’d still find a way to reassure him that he’d be a good dad.

That the disgrace of the Zen’in, the wretched man no one deemed respectable, less capable of harboring love, was still capable of being a good father. A caring husband.

…

But this was nothing but a silly desire of his, a response to the horrible things he’s endured.

…Perhaps if things had been different, had he been born as literally anyone else but himself… or maybe even met you under different circumstances, his life would’ve been completely different.

One with you, hopefully.

“Toji!” you suddenly gasp, startling him and concernedly looking at you.

“What is it now?” he frowns.

“The baby.” You say, which does nothing to ease his worries. “It’s—”

“It’s what? What’s happening??”

“The baby is kicking.” You reveal, swiftly taking his hand and placing it over your round stomach and onto the area you feel their kicks to be. “I can’t—I can’t believe it, look!”

“What do you mean they’re—”

Toji’s eyes widen.

A kick.

And another. And another one.

You weren’t lying, the baby was kicking.

And unbeknownst to him, this was their first time doing it too.

“Can you feel that?” you say, and all past worries were now replaced with excitement and overwhelming happiness for this special moment. “The baby is finally kicking!”

“I… can.” He demurs, trying his best to comprehend what was happening just beneath his palm, before noting the peculiarity of your sentence. “What do you mean finally?”

“It’s the first time he does it.” You reveal. “It’s supposed to happen around this time, but I didn’t know when, of course. I guess… now’s the day.”

“That means…”

Naoya didn’t get the privilege of feeling the baby’s first kicks.

No.

Not any baby.

His baby.

And now that this truth settled in his mind, it quickly became the sweetest moment he had ever experienced in his life. Something he wishes to preserve for all eternity…

Just after dealing with the enormous sense of guilt and shame settling in his heart.

For how could he ever consider bestowing the same fate as his to this innocent child, just to get a rise of the family that wronged him? Towards someone whom he hasn’t even met… simply because he couldn’t deal with his own emotions?

Just when did he turn so despicable? Embracing the kind of malice as his clan?

He should be ashamed to even be beside you.

“It’s a boy.” You say, abruptly cutting through his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“The baby—it’s a boy.” You repeat. “We’re having a boy.”

Toji doesn’t know why, nor thought it possible, but the news somehow makes him feel even happier.

“A boy.” He repeats. “A son.”

“We haven’t decided a name yet” you confess. “I was thinking something in honor of Naoya, continue the tradition like him and his father.”

“Why not something for you?” Toji suggests instead; his concern might be disguised in favor of your emotions (and partially, he was) but it was mainly the distaste of having Naoya’s, or technically Noabito’s, name anywhere near him.

But he wasn’t going to tell you that, obviously.

“After the way he’s acting, you deserve that much.”

You press your lips together before lightly chuckling, finding some truth behind his words.

“I guess so… but then, which name?” you ponder, frowning as you go deep into thought, yet nothing seems to arise for the occasion, certainly not when you’ve done nothing but consider names with the same kanji as your husband whenever touching the subject.

Thinking you needed more time to consider, or perhaps needing to admit there was nothing else you wanted but honor your husband, you accept defeat with a sigh.

“I don’t know, Toji. Maybe I should just name him after Nao—”

“Megumi.”

“What?”

“Megumi. Blessing.” Toji explains. “I thought it’d be fitting with what you told me.”

“That’s… very straight forward.” You say after a few seconds of quiet consideration, “Unusual, since it’s mostly used as a girl’s name, and I don’t know if the elders would approve—”

“Look, if it’s that much of a problem you don’t have to use—” Never one to happily accept rejection, Toji quickly feels both embarrassed and frustrated by you, which he does not hesitate to let you know.

Only to be surprised yet again.

“But also, very sweet.” You smile, briefly looking up to him before glancing back to your stomach and onto your hand resting on top of his.

He blinks, perplexed by your sudden admittance—and such, all he can do is stare at you while you keep pouring your heart out.

“Even with the things I had to endure to have him here… he’s still my blessing, and I wouldn’t want him any other way.”

At your declaration, Toji is pushed down onto another turmoil of emotions.

It shouldn’t be that hard to conclude this is something he should isolate himself from.

Remember that he isn’t part of this marriage, no matter if he had permission of the other two involved, or how much he tries to convince himself—Understand that his blood means nothing, both inside and outside the clan, and that’s how it’ll always be.

But when your hand gently squeezes his for a moment, thumbs caressing his knuckles as you let him know your pains are slowly disappearing and how grateful you are for his help—all his worries are quickly discarded, allowing him to once again imagine live out this faux reality a bit longer.  

A happiness that comes from the notion of being your husband, simply enjoying a quiet afternoon, the refreshing spring breeze, while sitting by the engawa, in front of your favorite garden, trying to make up for all the time he spent away from you.

Time Toji knew he should’ve spent either way by trying to get close to you, see your growth firsthand, check on you from time to time, assist whenever possible— instead of plotting a stupid plan to ensure your and the baby’s downfall.

He reproached himself for having fallen for such an arrogant trap, and convinced himself this was the way to go.

Yet, he didn’t allow that thought to interfere much with the present. He shouldn’t either way—not with the lovely bumps of his son’s kicking against his hand, almost as if he recognized it was his father finally acknowledging him…

And certainly not with your warmth reminding him of what could’ve been.

A moment he’ll preserve in his memories for the rest of his days, because while relishing in your company, he had already made up his mind.

One that fitted with the idea that all good things must come to an end.

Especially those that are simply not meant to be, less for someone as disgraceful as him.

It hurt him to come to this conclusion. To acknowledge what his mind, and existenceconstantly reminded him about.

But he knew he had to do it.

From that point forward, he’ll do everything in his power to keep away from you.

Toji would no longer watch you from afar, nor ask for your whereabouts, whether directly or indirectly.

He’ll simply limit himself to hearing of your wellbeing, or how your relationship began to flourish yet again, through rumors of the staff, if he was ever around the estate to acknowledge them.

He was right when he said Naoya would come along, you know? He might be wrong in some things, or most, but when it comes to judging other’s character, Toji never misses.

It was nothing but obvious that Naoya loved you very much, after all, if he no longer wanted to know anything from you, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did.

Naoya kept you at the estate, fed, warm, tended for, because he loved you—to the point of going against his own clan to provide you with the much-needed assistance you required for your oscillating pains.

With such gestures, it shouldn’t come to him as a surprise that you also loved Naoya very much.

And yet, it hurt him to realize such a thing.

But who was he trying to fool?

At the end, he had always knew he had no place in that marriage. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that the reason you kept returning to him was because you wanted something more from him—it was never the truth to begin with:

Your mind was always in Naoya’s wellbeing, and in his love.

He was ultimately a step towards your goals. Whether for pleasure, or for something deeper, it didn’t matter—they all went to the same target.

So, when he hears from the gossiping staff that you’ve named your child Megumi, he doesn’t get his hope ups anymore.

Instead, Toji simply takes it as what it is: a way to thank him for the blessing he’s given you, honor him one last time, before cutting ties with him forever.

Because the moment anyone catches wind of his relationship to your son… everything will collapse, and that is something he is no longer willing to allow.

Thus, he stays away. Keeps his distance from you and Naoya as both continue to tend for their growing family, giving Megumi things he had only dreamed of getting:

A warm, cozy bed to sleep in, where he’d be able to dream about all kinds of things he’d like to do when the following day arrives.

A roof over his head, guarding him from the cold pours of the rain, or the burning rays of the sun, as he watches the world go by.

Food to fill his stomach, every day, whenever and whatever he wanted, ensuring his healthy growth or an occasional craving.

A set future that would reassure him of any misgivings, permitting him to fail and not worry if he’ll have anyone to back him up, or start from zero.

But most importantly—

Love.

To remind him that no matter what happens, whatever he does or doesn’t do, he’ll always have a family to support him just the way he is.

…

…

…

Yeah.

It’s clear to him now.

It had always been better this way.

In other words, Toji disappears from your and Naoya's life to ensure your safety. Woaaah. I hope I was able to convey that kind of sad redemption (?)

Also, I was debating whether to actually name the baby Megumi or not, since it's a whole other character—but then I thought, why not? and thus this happened.

I guess we get to the conclusion that if there's one person that's most deprived (and in need) of love, it would be Toji. We all saw how he got after mamaguro died... so I think him doing an 180 to protect the mother of his child and son is 100% accurate and sad omg. jesus, how different from the Toji I portrayed in the previous oneshot.

Anyways, I hope it was to your liking :3 Thank you for sending in this ask, I really enjoyed writing it!

Take care, and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️

[elentarial]

Miscalculation

Dear Morifinwe,

I recently had the privilege of reading your treatise on Dwarven tariffs and found it fascinating reading indeed. I don’t suppose you hear that often. However, I was wondering if you could perhaps clarify the situation on the 36th page, just under the table of tares of standard shipping containers. I was under the impression when one converted between ounces and gallons (which, why aren’t you using liters as a standard unit of liquid measurement??), the multiplier is 0.0078126, but you have it listed as 0.0078125. Does the Naugrim measure alcoholic liquids differently? As you have only two sentences describing the conversion of Dwarvish mead, I can not determine whether it is a typographical error or if I have been misinformed. If the latter is the case, any more explicit suggestion or direction would be appreciated since (as I have pointed out) your explanation in the paper is relatively brief.

Sincerely yours,

Turukano

Dear Turukano,

I am delighted that you enjoyed my protocols for trade in East Beleriand! In regards to your question about whether dwarves measure alcohol differently than other liquids, no Turno, an ounce is an ounce. You have been misinformed. The conversion factor is indeed 0.0078125.

Thank you,

Carnistir Morifinwe,

Dear Moryo,

Thank you for the quick and brief reply. However, I digress, the conversion multiplier is 0.0078126. It was that in Tirion, and it is that now. Please explain your computations. 

Looking forward to your reply,

Turukano

Dear Turno,

I am the one who devised that conversion. I don’t need to prove my work to you because I came up with it in the first place. Any possible discrepancies are due to rounding errors. The conversion is valid.

Carnistir

Dear Moryo,

I am well aware that you first calculated the conversion between ounces and gallons. I sat on the council that granted you the defense of such a claim, and if you will recall, I questioned your math then. You were wrong in Tirion, and you are wrong now.

Awaiting your reply,

Turgon

Turgon,

How delightful to know you remember our time together at the Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences. I have no recollection of your involvement in my defense, but I really try to avoid thinking of you. Were you there? I thought you were too busy being henpecked by the campus gulls to accomplish anything, research or otherwise.

Carnistir

Moryo,

I generally thought you were one of the better brothers; don’t be an ass. Just admit you are wrong. 

Sincerely,

Turgon Turukano,

 Lord of Nevarast,

 High Prince of the Noldor

My dearest Turukano,

What a lovely title that is. Quite fitting for your already overinflated ego, but I genuinely hate to remind you that you are a second son and not, in fact, the High Prince of anything. Unless, of course, condolences are in order, then I also do not care because I find your brother infuriatingly obnoxious. I would feel for Nelyo, though. 

Yours,

Moryo

Dear Carnistir,

Nelyo…remind me, is that your eldest brother or our grandfather? I can never remember who was born first, him or my father. Regardless, he’s ancient and an inappropriate match for my brother. 

But I beseech you, dearest cousin. Please take a look at your defense from Tirion. I believe there is a note regarding the conversion on the final copy. I don’t have a copy with me, but I am sure you must have kept one for yourself. 

Yours,

Turgon

My darling Turno,

At least we agree on one thing. Fingon and my brother are terrible for one another. 

I do happen to have a copy in my archives. I will check for this mythical correction and have my scribe translate a copy for you. I will enclose it in my next reply, as it’s rather embarrassing to doubt the work of scholars. 

With love,

Moryo

Turukano,

Fuck you. There was no correction; the rate has always been 0.0078125. This exchange has been a complete waste of my time, and I will implore Himring to approve an additional one point five percent tax on all limestone coming from and all other goods going to Vinyamar. 

Sincerely,

Morifinwe

Despite all of Caranthir’s immense irritation, the final letter to Nevarast is returned some months later by an exhausted raven. Shortly thereafter, he receives word from Hithlum that Turgon and one-third of the Noldor forces in West Beleriand have disappeared. 

@silmarillionepistolary

For @cilil (who suggested Caranthir and Tax Day as a prompt) and @dalliansss (who originally did the heavy lifting on building Caranthir’s taxation empire).

Miscalculation (on AO3)

[natjennie]

so like obviously we the audience couldn't have known about the ghosts' deaths before the show introduced them to us, largely via alison as an audience surrogate. but the way they're presented so often means that they are mysteries to the ghosts themselves. some of them are pretty unmistakable and obviously the ghosts that were there when it happened know, but even then. it seems like they just don't talk about it.

for example, when fanny opens up about being pushed by george and thomas says "I did know that, I was there" but like. you never brought it up before? in the couple hundred years of knowing her, you never mentioned it. and in the thomas thorne affair, which is all about the ghosts having different perspectives on thomas' death, the information each of them reveal is like. new to the other ghosts. which implies that they've never really talked about it together before.

which is fascinating because it could read either as like. being respectful of their privacy. which is sweet. or you can believe the sadder version which is that they just didn't talk to each other. hundreds of years together and they never asked. they never said "do you want to talk about it?" they never offered comfort on a death day. never shared the details of their own deaths. this read is corroborated pretty solidly by the bone plot and pineapple day.

and then there's also the aspect of the order the deaths are revealed making perfect sense with each of the ghosts' personalities and openness as people.

pat is an open book, trusting and genuine, and his cause of death is unmistakable. and his death day flashback is the earliest in the series. humphrey's cause of death is obvious but the circumstances are not, but when asked he's willing to share. and then most of the ghosts stop listening when they think he's a hero. hesitant to initiate conversation because it was so drilled into him by sophie's disinterest, and forgotten as soon as he's not important. thomas believes in the most romantic version of his own story, editorializing and glamorizing his betrayal to alison and being devastated when the truth is pieced together, mirroring his constant attempt to make things more idealized than they are, and his rare and poignant moments of sincerity. kitty's naivety and optimism made her truly believe she just fell asleep, never bothering to question the details of her death, and the ghosts knew just enough about eleanor's bullying to suspect her, but would never confront kitty about it directly. her episode comes late in the series and has a lot of intrigue and staging for a very mundane truth. and the captain!!! the last death reveal of the show, holding on to his attempted deception and secrecy until the very end, trying to bolster his image as a leader to the other ghosts and only succeeding in looking silly, being made to perform a role he isn't very good at for the chance of acceptance. and oh, look at that, that's exactly how he died.

anyway, this post got away from me but like. the utter craft that went into this show astounds me it's all so perfect. are you hearing this.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 70 – American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis

I’m honestly not sure I ever would have gotten around to reading this on my own, but ended up buying it through the ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore in New York was doing when I was visiting (incredible gimmick, for the record). The fact that it then took me a solid three months to actually finish probably tells you something about how genuinely difficult a read I found it. Not in the sense of being bad, but just legitimately difficult to stomach at points. Overall I’d call it a real triumph of literature.

Not that anyone doesn’t already know, but; the book is spent inside the head of Patrick Bateman, high-flying wall street trader and Harvard blueblood at the close of the Reagan era. Also a serial killer. The story is told as a series of more or less disconnected vignettes, jumping from dinner conversations at one exclusive bar or club or another to the brutal torture and murder of a sex worker to several pages of incredibly vapid pontification on Nina Simone’s discography. The story vaguely tracks Bateman growing ever-more alienated and out of control as the year goes on, but there’s very much not any real single narrative or cathartic climax here. - most stuff just happens (stuff that’s either incredibly tedious or utterly nauseating by turns but still just, stuff).

So yeah this is an intensely literary work (obviously), a word I’m here using to mean one that is as much about the form and style of the writing as about the actual events portrayed. Bateman is a monster, but more than that he’s just an utterly boring and tedious husk of a man, traits which are exaggerated to the point of being fascinating– if you told this story in conventional third person narration without all the weird asides, it would be a) like half as long and b) totally worthless. The tonal whiplash of going from an incredibly visceral depiction of Bateman cutting out the eyes of a homeless man to six (utterly insipid) pages on the merits of The Doors is the selling point here (well actually I think Ellis goes back to that specific well probably one time too many, but in general I mean).

Bateman is a tedious, unstable monster, but as far as the book has an obvious thesis it’s that he differs from the rest of his social milieu only in degree. A symptom of a fundamentally rotten society, not a heroic devil among sheep. The book’s climax, such as it is, involved Bateman getting into a drug-fueled gunfight with the NYPD, shooting multiple people in the middle of the street, and then stumbling home and leaving a rambling confession to every crime on his lawyer’s answering machine – but despite very clearly wanting and trying to get caught and face some sort of consequence or justice, people just refuse to believe that someone like him is capable of anything like that. (It’s not, it must be said, an especially subtle book).

There is, as far as I can recall, not a single character who gets enough screentime to give an idea of their personality who I’d call likeable. Sympathetic, sure, but that’s mostly because it’s pretty much impossible not to sympathize with someone getting horrifically tortured and torn apart (at one point a starving rat is involved). The upper crust of New York yuppie-dom is portrayed as shallow and vapid, casually bigoted towards quite literally everyone who isn’t identical to them, status-obsessed to the point of only being able to understand the world as a collection of markers of class and coolness, and totally incapable of real human connection. Bateman is a monster not because of any freak abnormality, but just because he takes all of that a few steps further than his coworkers.

The book is totally serious and straight-faced in its presentation, and absolutely never acknowledges any of the running gags that are kept up through it. Which shows impressive restraint, and also means that none of them exactly have a payoff or a punchline – it’s just a feature of the world that all the expensive meals at trendy restaurants everyone competes for tables at sound disgusting when you think about them for a moment, or that the whole class of wall street trader guy are so entirely interchangeable that ostensible close friends and coworkers constantly mistake each other for other traders and no one particularly cares. Or – and I’m taking this on faith because fuck knows I’ve got no idea what any of the brands people are wearing are – that the ruinously expensive outfits everyone spends so very much time and money on for every engagement all clash comically if you actually looked up what the different pieces looked like. The book’s in no way really a comedy, so the jokes sit a bit oddly, but they’re still overall pretty funny, at least to me.

I like to think I have something of a strong stomach for unpleasant material in books, but this was the first work of fiction that I had genuine trouble reading for content reasons in I can’t even remember. I’m not sure it’s exactly right to call the violence pornographic in a general sense, but as far as American Psycho goes the register and tone Bateman uses to describe fucking a woman and torturing her to death are basically identical (and told in similarly explicit detail), and all of Bateman’s sexual fantasies are more or less explicitly just porn scenes he wants to recreate, so. Regardless, the result’s pretty alienating in both cases – his internal monologue never really feels anything but detached and almost bored as he relays what he does, sound exactly as vapid and alienated as when he is carefully listing the exact brands and designers every person he ever interacts with is wearing at all times, or arguing over dinner reservations for hours on end with his friends and lovers (though both those terms probably deserve heavy airquotes around them). He legitimately sounds considerably more engaged when talking about arguing over sartorial etiquette. It all adds up to a really strong alienating effect.

Anyways, speaking of sex and violence – perhaps because my main exposure to the story before this was tumblr making memes out of scenes from the movie, but I was pretty shocked by just how explicitly awful Patrick is ‘on screen’. The horrible murder, sure, but also just the casual and frequent use of racist and homophobic slurs, the pathological misogyny, the total breakdown he has at the idea of a gay man being attracted to him and thinking he might reciprocate – all of these are entirely in character for an asshole Wall Street ‘80s Guy even if he wasn’t a serial killer, but it’s still oddly shocking at first to see it so thoroughly represented on the page. It makes how comparatively soft-pedaled the bigotry and just, awfulness, of villains in a lot of more modern books stand out a lot more, I suppose? I have read a lot of books that are in some sense About queerness and/or racism in the last year, and no one in any of them holds a candle to good old Patrick Bateman.

Part of that is just the book being so intensely of its time, I suppose. The New York of this book is very much one of the late ‘80s, incredible wealth living side by side with social rot and decay, crippling poverty everywhere and a society that has to a great degree just stopped caring. Absolutely none of which Bateman or any of his peers care one bit about, of course – they’re too busy showing off the latest walkmans and record players, going to the newest clubs, and just generally enjoying all the fruits of Reagan’s America. Recent history has made the fact that Bateman’s personal idol is Donald Trump almost too on the nose to be interesting, but in 1991 I’m sure it was a bit more subtle in how telling it was.

Anyway, yeah, horrifying and exhausting read, triumph of literature, my god did Easton Ellis hate America (this is a compliment). Now time to go watch the movie!