#i had too much faith. i had too much Hubris.

[argonapricot]

your tags on this post tumblr(.)com/argonapricot/729580866921218048/yo-baylan-just-up-ditched-shin-after-putting

encapsulate perfectly how i feel and how i wished they handled the relationship between baylan and shin. especially given that this is the only performance we’ll get of ray. i’m so so bummed. i guess i had my expectations set too high :(

Thank you for saying so! Yeah, it just breaks my heart and I definitely wouldn't feel so strongly about it if Ray Stevenson were still with us. It would honestly make sense if the showrunners had been trying to hold back on Baylan's plotline so that it could be explored in a movie or in the following season... but it's just such a misfortune.

I'm worried that there won't be enough time in the last remaining episode for Baylan to get the conclusion that he deserves. But I'm still grateful that we have had such incredible scenes that showcased his performance and character in previous episodes.

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[el-jarado]

"Everything's Changed Since Polites"

In light of the extensive re-litigation of the events of Storm Saga after the Thunder Saga, I find myself thinking about "Keep Your Friends Close" a lot recently, and how I think Odysseus was set up for failure from the get-go, and not because of his crew being bad.

Polites's absence is felt like a knife in Storm Saga but the whole gang is feeling it. When "Luck Runs Out" comes up, this is the first time Eurylochus has seriously questioned Odysseus's plan in the musical; probably the first time he's seriously questioned him in over a decade. And what passes between them is pretty telling to me.

Where is this coming from, my friend? I just don't wanna see another life end You're like the brother I could never do without And suddenly, you doubt that I could figure this out?

From what I've seen, Epic takes the approach that Odysseus, Polites, and Eurylochus have been together since they were children. Polites is Odysseus's best friend, but he was Eurylochus's friend too, and he's the first of all of them to die in battle since Odysseus started leading them. They're both reeling from that loss, but how it comes out is bad for both of them. Eurylochus, as we see, is someone who locks down when he's shaken; focus on immediate safety for his shipmates even if it prevents a better course of action (run when the other cyclopses show up, the food is not worth having to take on another dozen Polyphemus; get the crew the fuck away from the sexy witch before she turns the rest of them into pigs; avert starvation NOW deal with (more) angry gods LATER). He does not want Odysseus to get hurt dealing with something as dangerous as a god, and tries to express that. Odysseus withdraws into himself and lashes out at anything that tries to reach him when he's shaken; he's already lashed out at Athena when she takes him to task while he's still grief-striken over Polites, and here he doesn't hear his brother saying "please don't be reckless, I can't lose you too", he hears "you weren't good enough to bring everyone home, and we don't believe in you anymore." He's cold and dismissive to Eurylochus's doubts to cover for his own hurt, and that just makes those doubts worse.

It's exactly the wrong mindset to approach Aeolus in, and this is the part I've really been turning over in my head. Aeolus's game does sound too easy; all he's gotta do is not open the bag, while sailing on a ship staffed by 43 men he's been leading for ten years, many of whom he's probably known his entire life. The winions add the obvious catch in that they spread a rumor among the crew that the bag is a treasure Odysseus is keeping to himself before Odysseus can explain himself, but I think in many ways Aeolus's whole song is putting a finger on the scales. Aeolus, in presenting it to Odysseus, implies that some of his brothers are enemies and should be treated as such, and the winions, spreaders of mischievous whispers, keep telling him "never really know who you can trust." (And imply he should kill and sacrifice when it's convenient, the act that ultimately destroys all trust in the crew down the road.) And I think that's a malicious twist in the game just as much as "It's treasure~! Buh-bye!" :D

Odysseus went up to the island feeling sore and defensive after his last talk with Eurylochus, and when he's told to keep his friends close and his enemies closer, it's interesting to me that he doesn't think "I don't have any enemies on that ship, those men are my brothers" or even "who can I trust to help me with this?"

He thinks "I need to do this entire thing myself." It could be hubris, a quality Odysseus certainly doesn't lack for, but I think this is the shadow of Polites not being there again. Odysseus had to leave some of his men behind for the first time in ten years, and he thinks he's lost their faith because of it. He's guided to expect a betrayal and feels like he needs to do something amazing all on his own to show Eurylochus and the others he's still got it, Polyphemus was a fluke.

Part of my understanding of human nature has been that people respond to our expectations and treatment of them. I sincerely believe if Odysseus had taken Eurylochus and/or a few of his most trusted men into his confidence for managing the bag, the temptation to open it would have been greatly diminished or negated. Odysseus doesn't treat any of his friends as if they're worthy of his trust, because Aeolus got in his head and he's trying to prove something to himself and to them by doing this singlehandedly. However, people respond to how you treat them, and Odysseus not realizing the crew are just as shaken by Polites's loss as he is and treating them with suspicion makes worry fester into doubt.

Polites's loss is felt keenly again; he's not there to tell Odysseus he can relax, that kindness is brave and he should trust in his friends to support him instead of treating them like potential enemies (Ody remarks on being unopposed as if he was expecting otherwise, which is not the relationship he's had with the crew up to now), and he's not there to reassure Eurylochus and the crew Odysseus must have a good reason for his cagey, secretive behavior and they shouldn't listen to the winions continuing to suggest a little peek to make sure of things wouldn't hurt. (I take the continued presence of the winions in the song to imply they're harassing the crew with rumor the entire time Odysseus is keeping to himself and trying not to sleep.) I don't think Eurylochus would have wanted to look in the bag if he was brought in on protecting it, that's not his relationship with Odysseus, but when they're nearly to Ithaca, Odysseus hasn't said a word to anyone in days, nobody really knows what's going on but there's all these rumors flying and the Captain's acting strange...

It would not surprise me if Epic's interpretation is similar to the Odyssey where they're almost back when the bag opens, in which case it might be even more tragic as an Orpheus & Eurydice twist; I don't think it was a case where the bag would've been opened the moment Ody turned his back, I think he stayed awake for nine days out of wholly unjustified paranoia/trying to make a point he's still got it by doing everything himself, and Eurylochus and the crew celebrated too early when their destination was in sight. They thought they were home, there's no harm in having a look now, right? Wrong; Aeolus (probably deliberately) didn't specify when it would be safe to open the bag, and certainly didn't feel the need to warn Odysseus the magic winds inside would blow them miles away from where they opened it. Like Orpheus makes it out of the underworld and then ruins his hard work because he looks back just before Eurydice has, I suspect the crew was not trying to open the bag during the days Odysseus was depriving himself of sleep to watch it; it's at the seeming end of the journey that "they wanna get the bag open so they can have closure." Like most bad ideas, it is likely Eurylochus did what he did when it didn't seem like there was any obvious harm in it; Odysseus said don't open the bag until we're home, but Ithaca's in sight, what could it hurt to celebrate a little early?

To make a long story short, I think Ody and the boys were hosed with the wind bag trial from the start without Polites around, and it's not just because the crew fell for a rumor introduced to make the game harder and Eurylochus eventually acted on it; it's also because a god Ody just met told him not to trust his friends, and he believed the god he just met instead of them because he's still mourning his best friend and misread his other best friend's concern for his safety as a sign his leadership was faltering. God games are rarely if ever fair; the house always wins, and it's a lesson Ody learns slowly and painfully.

I'm also not gonna do another long post about my point that people, Odysseus included, keep forgetting making it back to Ithaca with Poseidon still royally pissed at them would've been very very bad, but making it back to Ithaca with Poseidon still royally pissed at them would've been very very bad!

[puc-puggy]

s4 sucked, but Five wasn't out of character aside from the lila romance.[1] what he is is a broken old man finally showing the cracks. everybody wants to treat 5 like a snarky 14 year old brat, but he is NOT. that man is OLD. he has lived through over 60 hard years. he's a brat because he is an old, incredibly intelligent theoretical physicist stuck in the body of a 14 year old, and the body of the 14 year old encourages everyone to forget he is a nearly 70 year old theoretical physicist.

this Five spent 45 years in the aftermath of viktor's moon apocalypse, 28 days straight between the moon and nuclear war apocalypse, days to weeks in the kugelblitz apocalypse and then days in oblivion. 6 years to rest and then it's time for another apocalypse caused by alien elements that reshape reality. this five personally saved and ended the world at least 5 times, going the farthest out of all of the Fives in number of apocalypses and by attempting to create the Commission. [2] this five says over and over and over throughout s3 that it's not about you/us, it's about the world. five is not just tired, he's tried harder and for longer than anyone else. he tried for so long that he forgot his own name. he has lost delores, he lost his sense of a clear enemy, he lost his understanding of the universe and his place in it, and he is old now.

when he is told by his future self not to save the world and he decided not to go into oblivion, that was a turning point in his entire character directly caused by a world-changing crisis of faith. the reason all of the other fives in the subway station gave up solving the problem is because every last one of them loved their family too much to consider the idea that the world has to come at the cost of the family. but this five had been through a full lifetime of apocalypse. he survived for 45 years in an apocalypse and turned saving the world and his family into his sole purpose. he lost that purpose when his future self told him it was all for nothing. that it can't be saved.

and this is where i think that people forget that the hargreeves are not just about childhood trauma; they are also about wealth and power. reginald and the hargreeves are immensely wealthy and immensely physically powerful. think about what else he said in season 3: "this is what it means to be powerful. sometimes you step on ants. we will never be able to save enough lives to make up for those we take."

what we see in s4 is an old man that has been forced to ask for the first time if such power has as much of a right to exist as the ants do. and to his surprise as much as everyone else's, it turns out that the answer is no. they were made from the hubris and selfishness of an abusive egomaniac who released a dangerous, technologically advanced, and highly reactive alien element upon a captive population in an attempt to resurrect his wife from the dead. five and his siblings are that abusive egomaniac's tools. they carry a power manufactured by an abusive egomaniac, and while it was unfairly forced upon them, it is still by nature a power that comes at the expense of others and they find themselves unable to be separated from it.

because that power is too alluring, too much a temptation. ben literally drugs everyone against their will, and to five, an old man asking himself questions about power, the fact that all members of the family voted against it is not proof that they can create a better future absent of this power. the fact that they were drugged anyway despite their protests is proof that they can't, that they will always fall into this power's destructive gravity well.

and an old man that has just had his entire concept of the world and life's purpose ripped away from him is the guy that accepts the end.

[1] the issue with five and lila's romance in character is not five's youth. it's lila's youth. he's almost 70 fucking years old, and his accidental and unwanted sip from the fountain of youth did not and does not change the fact that this is a nearly 70 year old man. he treated lila as if she was childish and immature because that is literally how he sees her and the rest of the siblings. because he is almost 70 years old. he gets annoyed with her for dragging him into stupid risks because he's 70 fucking years old and actually does know better. he is nearly 40 years her senior. their dynamic is funny because he looks 14. not because he IS 14. LOOKS young, not IS young.

regarding "why were they having him flirt when he was underage" for the same reason he's a boozehound and knocks back any alchohol in a 30 foot radius. the character has been over 60+ years old the entire time. & as people age, they can safely participate in more activities. a 14 year old cannot safely roleplay everything a 60+ year old character would do. before age 18, the actor could safely speak flirty lines to other actors during their roleplay job playing a 60+ year old. when the actor turned 18, the actor could safely kiss other adult actors during their job roleplaying as a 60+ year old. the child actor portraying a significantly older character getting hints of romance but not kissing anyone on a set until they're 20 is a sign that things were handled ethically. not the other way around. actors age and stop being 14 years old and limited to the safety constraints of a 14 year old. an adult kissed another adult during their job roleplaying as other people. it was just a bad plotline.

[2] I don't care about timeline hijinks in context of whether that was really physically the exact same 5 from the same timeline that started the commission. he thought it was the physical same him & reacted to it like it was & the impact does not change and in fact might become more acute upon realizing that it wasn't physically him, that it was a whole other five, that there are potentially hundreds of years of attempts to stop the apocalypses, and that the collective mass of their apocalypse ending efforts across all timelines should have accomplished something and never ever did it do so. that's hopeless

[johaerys-writes]

hey its the anon who was asking about achilles’ characterisation in the iliad! thank you so much for your answer, it was super informative and helpful. i think i very much had the wrong interpretation because i had a classics teacher for a year before my school scrapped the subject and they basically rambled about how achilles was a rapist and awful and went against the gods etc. without really going into the nuance of everything or explaining the context of heroes. i was kind of curious about your mention of hubris though? i thought that was a Big Thing in ancient greece because placing yourself on a pedestal above the gods was a guaranteed way to get yourself smote. sorry for acting like a student bugging their favourite teacher for an answer but you really do explain things so well 😅

Hubris is a big thing in ancient greece, you're right; there are so many myths where someone does something stupid and gets their ass whooped by the gods (e.g. Perseus and Andromeda, among many others). But it isn't exclusive to Ancient Greece. In fact, the idea of hubris may have started there, but it changed throughout the years and took different forms in literary tradition. In ancient greek mythos, hubris is usually violent or dangerous behaviours, such as extreme boasting, that are ultimately punished by the gods. In that sense, hubris is external, that means the punishment comes from outside. As cultures changed and the focus shifted more on the individual, hubris started being used to denote a personality quality of excessive pride and arrogance, which are big no-no's in Christianity. So hubris gradually became more of an internal thing, a cautionary tale to make sure the faithful stay humble and are rewarded in the afterlife. In the context of stories, that often comes with personal development of some kind, such as the protagonist seeing the error of their ways and changing their behaviour, which isn't really an integral part of ancient greek mythos as a whole.

Ancient greek hubris and christian hubris often become confused, and because we are taught that hubris is SO important to greek mythos, people try all the time to fit the Homeric works into these neat little boxes. The thing is that Homer does not fit into that; Homer was strange even when the works were written. The Iliad doesn't follow the traditional formulae of stories and myths that were popular at the time, especially oral poetry: it includes emotional change but isn't a story about personal empowerment; there is complexity and nuance in all of the characters but the characters are not idealised; it is a meditation on complex social and human themes such as the connection between rage and grief; it puts mortality, not morality, at the center of the story.

It shows how vulnerable the characters are through their rage or their grief or their passions in general, but the story isn't at all about characters being punished for their hubris or wrong-doings. For example, Agamemnon technically commits hubris in the very first book of the Iliad, when he refuses to give Chryseis back to her father and Apollo gets pissed off about it. This could be considered dangerous behaviour by ancient greek standards, and the Achaeans are indeed punished for it with the plague that Apollo sends their way. However, at the end of the day Agamemnon himself does not get punished for his transgression in any way. He gets everything he wants: Achilles rejoins the fight eventually, Hector is killed, Troy is sacked, he returns to Argos a victor.

Achilles, too, could be said to have committed hubris through excessive violence, when he killed so many people he clogged up the river and then fought the god Scamander himself; and yet he isn't punished by the gods or by the narrative, he is one of the few characters (perhaps the only?) that gets a redemption arc of sorts, by returning Hector's body to Priam and treating the old man with respect, thus showing us his generosity, his integrity, and the nobility of his character once again. And that's where the Iliad ends for him. Not with his death or with him killing even more Trojans or whatever, but with a poignant and moving scene between two people on opposite sides of a war, who have lost everything and yet still find this point of connection between them.

So Homer, and especially the Iliad, breaks all of those norms when it comes to traditional storytelling, and that's why I think it's a work that still baffles and intrigues so many classicists. That's why in my previous answer I said that it's important to keep an open mind, and to try to avoid blindly applying literary criticism devices such as cause-and-effect analyses or importing modern moral judgement and anachronistic theories in works like Homer.

I hope this helped! I love talking about the Iliad so if you have any more questions I'd gladly answer them <3

P.S. WOW that professor really needs to get their facts straight lmao, I'm sorry your first contact with the Iliad and Achilles was through a lens like that. It always astounds me how little some people actually know about the subjects they're supposed to be experts in, like to talk about Achilles, a character from the ILIAD, and to refer to him as a "rapist", a thing that only appears in later Roman works which were basically ILIAD FANFIC LMAO, and BAD fanfic at that because it was essentially anti-Greek propaganda......... wow wow wow

P.S.2 unless the "rapist" thing refers to him sleeping with Briseis/a slave, which WOW once again extremely myopic take, very culturally and contextually tone deaf, I wish they actually do their research and stop spreading slander, that's slander, like come ON

[eomma-jpeg]

bc i might have been motivated by comments on twitter and my own hubris... here is part 2 of the post trimax vashmeryl baby au

part 1

Snorting into wakefulness, Vash’s hands tightened, immediately feeling for the baby. He was relieved when he felt her familiar weight on his chest, his tense frame relaxing back into the plush couch. Falling asleep was not something he had intended to do, but ever since crossing that threshold the night before he had felt an uncommon reprieve from the title of ‘outlaw’. Perhaps it was because he was under the protection of Meryl Stryfe.

Meryl.

Sitting upright and clutching his daughter to his chest, Vash turned his head around the room, seeking for any sign of his friend, but he was only met with the dim light of the early morning. It laid in little dots on the wall and countertops, the single sun peeking in through the blinds. 

“Meryl?” Vash called, but the sound only summoned his daughter’s whining, her face buried in his chest for a bit too long. Pulling her into a more comfortable position, Vash said, “Sorry, little one, but it seems we have lost our host.”

Venturing through the small apartment, Vash was unable to find any signs of human life. The insurance agent had seemingly disappeared into thin air. He suddenly felt a wave of anxiety.

Why did she leave? Where could she have gone? It was still so early in the morning. Far too early for work or any other proper errands. Did she leave to go get camera equipment? This would be the perfect opportunity to catch him while he was down, unable to run from an interview. Maybe she wanted to exploit the baby for views.

Vash shook off those intrusive thoughts, feeling guilty for allowing himself to think of Meryl in such a way. Despite the fact he knew they had moved on from insurance to video journalism, he had a strong feeling that Meryl (and Milly) weren’t likely to expose him during his lowest points. Although, he wouldn’t consider the small child in his arms one of his lowest points. 

Deciding to have faith in the woman and squash his fears, Vash shifted the baby in his arms and began scavenging for something to eat. He'd just repay Meryl (somehow) for the food, so she shouldn’t mind if he ate the veggies in her fridge that looked like they were about to go bad. He also found a can of generic chili, excited to eat something spiced with his various dry vegetables. 

The babe squirmed, her chubby arms freed from her swaddling and waving about. Vash set his breakfast down to try and stick her arms back in, but she had a discontented look on her face, frowning ever so slightly at him with pouting lips and round knowing eyes. He wondered if he had once looked like her. 

Vash quickly swallowed the strange hot bile that rose anytime he thought about how much he and this little girl must resemble each other, seeing as she would almost certainly only contain his genetic makeup. And that meant she contained the same makeup as Knives. He swallowed again at that thought, focusing more intently on his scrappy meal and less on thinking.

Lucky for Vash, he was exhausted even after his short descent into sleep. He didn’t have much room for thinking or reminiscing (not that there was much to reminisce on). Instead, he let his skilled hands do the work of carrying a child and pulling flowerettes of broccoli from the head. He plopped them into a pot, intent on filling it with water and boiling the green vegetable. He’d apologize to Meryl about the smell later.

Letting the veggies boil, Vash searched for another pan, hearing the creak of the cabinet door and the front door. It took far too long for the signals to reach Vash’s brain, likely getting stuck in that hot goopy emotions he had swallowed earlier.

“Good Morning, Ma’am! I brought some breakfast. Just some poppyseed muffins I-”

Vash turned just in time to see Milly freeze, one hand on the door knob, the other holding a plate of fluffy muffins. Her jaw hung open, but she didn’t wait long before sliding the muffins onto the couch and rushing forward.

“Mr. Vash! It’s been ages since I’ve truly been able to talk to you! I had hoped you would-”

Milly froze once again, this time just shy of wrapping Vash in a tight bear hug. Vash’s face was scrunched up in apprehension as he pulled his limbs in and clutched his baby to his center.

Surprise turned to awe and then to excitement as Milly ran through her spectrum of emotions. Then, far too loud for a man who had only slept three hours in the last week, Milly shrieked, “A baby! Is that a baby?! I love babies!”

Waving a long finger in her face, Milly made little cooing noises while the baby looked back, a bit unimpressed. That was to be expected, seeing as she was only three days old; appeasing others was not yet on her to do list.

Milly’s smile was quite lovely to see this early in the morning, adding to the brightness of the rising suns. Her eyes flicked over to his, “What a lovely little baby. He or…”

“She,” informed Vash, his voice rough.

“Well, she’s adorable. What’s her name?”

Taking in a deep breath, Vash realized he hadn’t said the name aloud yet.

“Tesla.”

That vivid smile of hers continued to keep his spirits up, “That’s so pretty! I’ve never heard a name like that before.” Milly waggled her finger again and Tesla nearly caught it with her own chubby fist that had once again broken free, “She has such pretty eyes, just like… well, just like yours,” she said matter of factly. Then, standing to her full height, Milly looked at him curiously, “Where.... Vash, where did you get a baby?"

Speaking frankly, Vash said, “She’s mine.”

Eyebrows raising, Milly said, “So I was right: she does have your eyes. But when did you get Meryl pregnant?”

Vash felt his heart stop

Milly barreled forward, “And how did she hide it from me? She’s so small and would have such a hard time keeping it a secret, unless it was cryptic. My mom told me that she had a cryptic pregnancy with my little big brother, but they’re so rare. Was it during Octovern? The time frame would make sense but I didn’t think we had any alone time to-”

Vash was reeling from Milly’s ramblings and assumptions, “Milly!” he said, interrupting with a bit too much force that was certainly influenced by his overwhelming embarrassment, “She is not Meryl’s!”

Cocking her head, Milly let out an awkward laugh, “Well then, whose is she?”

Looking down at Tesla, Vash’s tense brow relaxed, “She’s just… mine.”

Milly gave him one last skeptical look before accepting his vague answer, likely accustomed to his aversion techniques, “I’ll get the answer out of you eventually, but for now it honestly looks like you need breakfast and a nap.”

“I just woke up.”

“And yet,” Milly said, which was only the beginning of a sentence, but it clearly described her opinion of his situation, “Why don’t you take a seat and eat a muffin.”

Vash graciously took one, biting down and enjoying the fluffy texture immensely. His last month had consisted of dry rations and the rare drink he could afford at the even more rare saloon, but as of the last few days Vash hadn’t eaten anything.

He took three more muffins.

“I’m glad you like them,” said Milly from the kitchen where she adopted Vash’s mismatched set of ingredients, “I added just a hint of lemon to them. I’ve had too many overpowering lemon muffins in my time.”

Vash just took another bite while she spoke. Tesla wiggled slightly when a crumb fell on her face. He wiped it away.

“It seems you have the makings for a pretty good omelet,” Milly noted as she rolled an onion in her hand, “But I don’t see why you’re boiling broccoli.”

“It was going bad,” Vash said through a mouthful of muffin, “Figured I should use it before Meryl gets upset that it's rotting in her fridge.

Milly slid a cutting board out from one of Meryl’s few drawers. The kitchen was certainly compact– a characteristic of many December apartments if Vash’s experience was to be trusted– but it held a vast and valuable collection, “I thought as much, but it doesn’t pair well with your other items,” she turned to him, “I assume you were just trying to get in as many calories as possible?”

Milly Thompson: always able to see though to the very core.

Pulling off the wrapping on the final muffin (which was extremely hard to do with one hand) Vash answered, “Seems like you already know the answer to that one, Milly.”

She just put on that wide, knowing grin, “Then broccoli and eggs and muffins sounds like a perfectly balanced breakfast to me.”

It might not be in terms of flavors, but it definitely packed a significant amount of nutrients for one plant. And for Meryl, if she ever reappeared. 

As if reading his mind, Milly asked while cracking the remainder of the eggs into a bowl, “Is Meryl here?”

He let out an exhale, a bit strained, “No. I haven’t seen her since I got here last night.”

“She didn’t call me when you got here.”

“I guess I should say when I got here this morning.”

“Ah,” she said in understanding, pouring the recently whipped eggs into a ripping cast iron, “Well, she’ll turn up eventually. Especially since we walk to work together in the next hour.”

Vash hoped he could stay awake long enough to see her return.

[lullaebies]

Genderbent helaegon au where Aegon decides she will do her best to make do with her situation and tries to seduce her brother who is just kinda oblivious but thinks she’s cute and wants to chat

it's been a while since I got this ask but I did really like it and I'm glad I got to it: disclaimer, it ended up with Aerea just being really horny on main, but I think it turned out cute overall! hope you'll enjoy. For people who encounter this in the wild, this is genderbent Helaena (named Rhaegal) and Aegon II (named Aerea). —

Aerea’s mind is a hellscape as of late.

It always is, to some degree. With her mind slipping away to the taboos easily, it is also rather easy to say she is rotten. She minds those who say it not; what would some maidservants know of the tastes of a princess? Nefarious is what they are, not she. She hardly ever did more than what any courageous prince or princess of her blood ever dared to do, and she thinks her thoughts could only be similar to theirs.

But then the thoughts that truly plagued her as of recent come up again. Not all princes have the same thoughts as hers, certainly. Not all princesses, either, as Aemma had a stick up her arse and not quite for joy, and Daella is a child still too innocent to understand her likes and wants to begin with, but those two aside, it is her brother, yes, her dear younger brother who is a problem.

He’s a husband of hers, too, of course; had been for the better of two years. She hasn’t regarded him as such most often, given that he had been three and fucking ten when she has been given to him as if he could protect her to any degree. He hadn’t even lost his cheek fat, by then, and in her mind, she was given to him to be his nursemaid rather than his bride.

Back then, she is sure his mind wouldn’t have conjured anything beyond what is expected of him; he was younger and smaller than her and she was rather sure he was scared of her. But the gods have forsaken her, now. Now he is bigger than her, the height of men who run the councils of the state, walking more assured in his skin and in tow, much less susceptible to be intimidated by her words. He still has a rather flighty mind, she supposes, but it makes him no less handsome, either.

While she had been before sure about some things, his thoughts were never quite clear to her. He could stare at her prolonged at times, but it would be no different than how he would look in his odd collection of beetles, bees, or scorpions. Gods, he keeps scorpions for a pastime. Perhaps his thoughts are more sinister than she gives him credit for, but it is first and foremost all too sinister that she finds herself wanting to know what they consist.

Aerea breathes in. Perhaps she has been neglecting needs of her own to reach this embarrassing state of mind, but he has been growing more pleasing on the eyes and she could and have done with less. He is pliant enough that he listens to her whims more than often, in either case. She wed a little brother, yes, but that taboo has long been crushed even by the Faith itself. These cunts at court couldn’t call her a promiscuous minx if she indulged in him. He’s her husband.

She can make some due in this arrangement now, she thinks. But her thoughts often twist and coil to her pleasure and this time is no different. Hubris of hers or nay, she also has belief she can make him sputter like a spouse rather than a child. She has before, in any case, and frequenting such endeavor would be easy enough to do. Then they’ll both make due of their duty, no? Wouldn’t it be delicious, to feast upon what she was promised in their vows.

Hmph, she might as well try, she thinks.

She finds him in the little section of his garden, among the strawberry patches that he planted himself. He has been working on it for a good while now. Aerea never minded dirt, but she did think it is rather ridiculous he does more work in the gardens than the gardeners do.

With his forearm uncovered and sleeves bunched up above his elbow, she can turn a blind eye to the hobbies that weren’t of his station, though.

Rhaegal always had sensitive hearing; when she comes closer he turns to her instinctively. He’s sensitive in most things, now that she thinks of it. Setting him off is so easy with a squeeze on the thigh; even just a touch at his neck is enough to make the hairs of his nape stand up. Aerea inhales some as he catches her gaze.

This fucking treacherous body. She’d rather swallow broken glass off of the road rather than seem that desperate.

“Aerea?” He rises for her. She smiles at that, inching closer by his side, looking absentmindedly at the strawberry plant that has grown. Seems like some are ripe. He hesitates to bring his hands closer with the soil gathered on them. “Is all okay?”

She pouts at him. He asks these things so sincerely when he’s unsure, softened voice to boot. Still, she doesn’t like it he finds her presence worrying. She wants him comfortable until the comfort is so much his voice turns gravelly underneath her. She takes his dirty hand, pressing a thumb against his own one to play. “Am I not allowed in my husband’s garden?”

Rhaegal raises an eyebrow at her, but it softens quickly enough. “Of course you are allowed,” he answers quickly, redeeming himself. “But did you want something in particular?” I can get it for you,  is left unsaid, but she still hears it. His fingers fidget against hers subconsciously. She could’ve smooshed her whole body against her arm and he wouldn’t have known.

Subtlety is not her favorite road, but she does enjoy feeling him redden under her grip and gaze. Lovely; ripe.

“The strawberries are good now?” she asks him, instead. She already had her sweetened apples this morning, and now her head is all can of worms, aware of his skin in a manner unignorable. But she’ll let the realization dawn on him slowly, and make him redden as his own berries did. “Can I take one?”

He smiles at that brightly. “Yes! They turned out very well for the season, wait, I saw one that turned out particularly nice…” he bends on his knee to find it. Aerea hums and watches as he finds it and plucks it by its stem. His movements are often so careful, but when they are not, it feels good they are for her.

He rises back up with it and hands it over by the stem, careful to not dirty her food. It didn’t matter; she wasn’t hungry for the damn berry as it is. But she takes it, and brings it her mouth; it could do with a wash, but it didn’t matter that much.

“Is it good?” he asks, with crinkling eyes. Aerea smiles while she nibbles on a small bite of it. He watches so patiently.

“Mhm,” she hums back, and brings what left of the strawberry and brings it to his mouth. “Try it, too.”

Rhaegal eyes widen, but he nods promptly, feeding from her hand. She can’t quite help it; she brings her other hand to his cheek. He can kiss her here, between the bushes. Take her even, she just needs to lift up her skirts. She comes a bit closer, then. “Is it good?”

The stem plops out of his mouth, and he hums at her, seemingly enjoying the touch of her hand on his cheek. He leans into it delightfully; maybe he wants her hand in his hair? She comes closer, wanting to bridge the gap. So close…

But then she notices a ladybug trailing down the hand that fed him.

She shrieks back and tries to wave it off. Rhaegal seems all to taken aback until the ladybug buzzes off from her. She grows entirely red and embarrassed; stupid, dull, dot of a bug!

Rhaegal laughs though attempting to restrain himself, and she gives him a frown. She feels a fool; she wanted him as if he is down with a spell for her, and here he is laughing! She folds her arms together, looking down. Rhaegal still chuckles when he closes the distance between them again.

He kisses the top of her forehead, lips stamping on that smile of his, and she is somehow reminded that she is in his realm here, where he is all captivating. “Sorry,” he apologises, not sorry at all. “For that, and for the dirt.”

She huffs. He could’ve made her filthy and she wouldn’t have cared.

“I should bathe,” he finally says, looking down at his hands. “But I’m glad you came over.”

And she knows it true, and something in those words does make her stomach flutter, but still. Gods, how can he be so thickheaded, sometimes. She holds onto his forearm. “I believe that so do I.”

[cult-of-the-rizz]

Archiving further thoughts on the power of the bishops vs narinder (also gets very speculative on the nature of the cotl universe's destiny so the speculation aspect is just what I'm basing the laws of my lamb's universe in):

Haro mentions that the four bishops are flexible and fluctuate their control of their elements, yet narinder is hard line absolute and that it's somehow baffling that he wants to destroy the order of the world by killing the other bishops:

"He was unalike the rest of his kin. While others dealt with flux; chaos, famine, pestilence, war. Things in which their constancy must transpose. And yet he was the inevitable; the obstinate and irresistible. The one who waits. Truly peculiar, 'twould then seem, has appetency to invite the novel and the new, break ancient vow and primordial bond alike. Traditions stagnate and appetites augment, nonetheless. Doubt tears faith asunder."

I think this is wrong and in this essay I will explain

The four aren't flexible, they're incomplete. Narinder is the only god of the five with absolute power, so much so that at his full capabilities he can override the abilities of the four. The bishops were keeping narinder from reaching his full potential as god of life and death because it would render their own rule useless. What's the point of curses and blessings if they don't do anything permanent? None of their sectors of control are absolute. You can be diseased and still live, sickness doesn't guarantee death. Just as peace and bounty don't guarantee life. But narinder, narinder can guarantee those things. Get his blessing and live through a terminal disease or get cursed and drop dead in the most painful way.

Narinder isn't necessary selfish for wanting his divine dominion over life, but I think there's an underlying reason that perhaps only shamura understood that caused his imprisonment. Giving narinder the chance to realize fully his ultimate power over the other four meant that ultimately, the world they govern would come to an end. Pestilence, famine, war and chaos are temporary afflictions, but death is cyclical with life and absolute. Narinder, at his full power, would bring about the end of gods and the five because that's his role.

The other gods have already died and become relics of the past, the end for the rule of cults and gods was bound to come soon.

"Five points to a pentagram, five portents of doom, five siblings stood abreast, five gods and one tomb..."

"Five becomes four becomes three becomes two becomes one becomes nothing."

"Knock, knock, the Lamb comes to raze, end of days, end of days."

"Death cannot flow backward. It was I who had him chained. Forced into subjugation by the four of us."

Shamura knew. This isn't just shamura ravings and fearing narinder's success. They knew from the fucking beginning. The five are portents of doom, the end of times, the destruction of the world as they know it. The five were cast upon the world as heralds of the changing times. Of the end of the era of gods. Narinder was always going to "win". He was born to champion the change and ensure the end of cults and gods. However I don't think that narinder realized this death of gods would include himself. I think in his hubris he didn't think that he would lose his crown after the others died, but that was his destiny. As he too is a god, so he too must die

And shamura's famous five becomes four quote, they knew the loss of even one bishop would be a catalyst to the end. Imprisoning narinder only prolonged the inevitable. And I don't think this was selfish of them either, they loved narinder and no doubt the rest of the bishops. I think, despite their godly knowledge and age, they didn't want to say goodbye to it all just yet. I think kallamar knew the eventual outcome of everything too, being the second oldest. He probably was the only one at the time to truly understand what shamura understood in regards to the end of times for the five of them, which is what made him so scared of narinder. Because narinder is the absolute. He cannot be stopped, he can only lie in wait.

Shamura's error was made out of love. Love for their family and for narinder, not wanting to see him victimized to destiny.

[deputy-morgan-malone]

OC Aesthetics for the Entities (Magnus Archives)

I'm not sure how much new Spooky Month content I'll be doing this year, I'm pretty tapped out at the moment, but I have had this for a while (created by @sagamemes) and it's pretty spooky, so I figured I'd do it for the start of the spooky season \o/

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies, @turbo-virgins, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @direwombat, @adelaidedrubman, @florbelles, @cassietrn, @unholymilf, @strafethesesinners, @paganminiskirt, @henbased, @deputyash, @roofgeese, @fourlittleseedlings, @josephslittledeputy, @jillvalentinesday, @corvosattano and @voidika to do it too - ONLY if you want to <3

aesthetics for the entities.      bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

Deputy Morgan Malone (FC5 OC)

i.  THE BURIED.          weighted blankets.   drowning.   the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil & sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little. cramped hiding spots.   letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.   walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.   dragging the last second before you have to inhale.   lonely subways.   feeling like one with the earth.   a layer of dirt on you.   looking for something below.  cardboard boxes & tiny pillow forts.   hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface. entering your final resting place before it kills you.   a storm drowning you out.  dust & sand speaking to you.

ii.  THE CORRUPTION.          insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life. an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans.   an untreated wound.  containment.   breaching containment.   unbreathable air.   fungi.   one with that you love.   one with what loves you.   a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings & legs.  honeycomb patterns.   an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.   trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever. food that’s gone off.   pandora’s box.   death behind a glass.

iii.  THE DARK. shadows. lights that turn off by themselves.   the feel of cold marble.   a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness & seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white,  clouded eyes. months without going outside during sunlight. pouring dark. unscrewing lightbulbs. black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night.  time before light was created.   a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.   staying unperceivable.   winter months in the north.   an empty church.

iv.  THE DESOLATION. senseless pain.  warmth of faith. wax where skin should be.   a blazing fire.   heat without a source.   the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for,  gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.   touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.   plastic explosives. burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement. kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat. a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  THE FLESH. body horror.   factories.   a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone.   long nights working out.   more than one heart.   appearance that shapes like clay.   a bag of bones.   bone broth in a pot.   knowing to fear pigs.   the butcher’s shop.   plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance & appearance only.  teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.   cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  THE END.          the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.   a skeletal hand.   the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.   existential pain.   ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul & spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the pleas of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know & being unable to prevent it.   a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.   an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.   causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  THE EYE.          googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.   witness reports.   hidden libraries.   eyes of different colors.   feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.   a tragedy you can’t look away from.   endangering yourself for knowledge.   truth.   analog records.   a symbol of an eye.   a watch tower.   compulsion to document.   turning on recording devices without thinking about it.   saving the evidence before the person. extracting information.   truth or dare,  without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you.   coordinated shelves.   cataloguing systems.   voyeurism.   police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

viii.  THE HUNT.          sharp canines.   sore calves after a run.   the scent of blood.   an adventure for the journey’s sake.   the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.   the woods.   the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.   being tracked.   fear of someone knowing your every movement.   hunting down monsters.   hide & seek.   running away only to end up where you started.   staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.   a set of footsteps behind you.   blood dripping from bare hands.   barks & growls.   focused eyes.   a victim going limp under your hands.   a mouth full of fresh blood.   catching the scent of something monstrous.   perfecting your craft.   peering into the dark & running after it.

ix.  THE LONELY.          an apartment too small for a double bed.   completely vacant streets.   waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.   your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  THE SLAUGHTER          a game of tag.   senseless violence.   a true crime hobby.   improvised weapons.   blinding rage.   intent to kill.   a horrific day in a quiet community.   a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.   history books that spare no details.   an injury you want revenge for.   war.   counting kills.   songs of soldiers.   a knifeblock on the counter.   a pool of blood.   shellshock.   unspeakable horrors.   anger pushing you forward.   unimaginable pain.   not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.   a fully human monster.   an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.   kill or be killed.   unedited wartime memoirs.   a weapons collection.   not knowing the names of who you kill.   too many to remember.   loss of hope.   there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  THE SPIRAL          sleep deprivation.   corridors you can get lost in.   maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.   losing possessions.   losing people.   losing your sanity.   corkscew curls.   rows of funhouse mirrors.   optical illusions.   a separate reality.   walking through the wrong door.   delusions.   not knowing what your hands are doing.   blank spaces in documents.   hallucinations.   wrong proportions.   a nameless thing.   a place that has never existed.   doubting your own mind.   blind faith.   losing track of names,  labels,  categories.   distorted sound.   an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.   loss of time.   a garish colour.   doors that open to nowhere.   lies.   an unnatural laugh.   jokes & tricks.   illusions.   a doorway.   a sculptor with a wild imagination.   limbs in impossible angles.   doing what’s fun,  not what’s sensible.   fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  THE STRANGER          wax figures.   a close approximation of a human face.   a borrowed appearance.   a strange smell.   glass eyes.   furs & pelts.   a dance.   a song of a choir.   the uncanny valley.   stitching yourself together.   the colours of a circus.   a puppet with no strings.   mannequins.   glitter & sequin.   a stranger you’ve always known.   someone strange in the place of someone you knew.   stolen identities.   stolen skins.   a machine imitating humanity.   the anonymity of a service worker.   hiding in plain sight.   uncomfortable to look at.   a faked accent.   concealing.   forgetting who you are.   forgetting who others are.   a replacement no one notices.   images that look posed.   the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  THE VAST.          open spaces.   carnival rides going up & down.   fear of heights.   endless infinity around you.   your insignificance in an universe.   stomach turning at a drop.   fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.   the sway of a cable car.   an adventure holiday.   losing track of where the surface is.   miles & miles of nothing around you.   staring at the sky & feeling like you may fall into it.   loss of control.   a fall that doesn’t end in death.   glass floor to the view below.   terminal velocity.   the sound of wind in your ears.   a reach over the railing.   a jump from the top of the building.   falling into nothing.   feeling your feet let go of the ground.   a leap of faith.   motion sickness.

xiv.  THE WEB.          undecipherable code.   a puppeteer holding the strings.   power over the weak—willed.    strings of fate.   manipulation.   an arranged accident.   a hundred minions doing your bidding.   cobwebs.   spiders.   a laid trap.   never voicing discomfort.   outwitting a cheater.   doing things without realising it.   red string across a corkboard.   finding something lost where you were sure you checked.   power over the unrealiability of chance.   watching others dance for you.   an entangled death.   a thousand tiny legs & fangs.   shady forum threads.   something important gone missing.   suspiciously disregarded case.   a missing witness.   connections.   the world wide web.   power of victimhood.   gullibility.   no control over your own decisions.   an invisible leash.   mass psychology.   a horror film in the making.   scapegoat.   never remembering to ask for a name.

+  THE EXTINCTION.          the end of an era.   apocalypse movies.   the alarms of warning systems.   a desolate landscape.   end of the world cults.   nihilism.   the last written history.   a changed world.   no survivours.   old prophecies.   a thousand predicted ends.   a new chapter.   an end with no escape.   catastrophes.   a calendar counting down.   breaking point.   overindulgence.

[avelera]

Having a Neil Gaiman moment over here when I realized you saw my tags. Like, “Oh this author I adore that who I know reads their tags might notice, but oh well!” And then just doing a tag ramble because that’s what one does on tumblr, and then. WELP. The mortifying ordeal of your tags being known. 🤣

Anyways!! I would love anything you’re willing to do for Calliope’s perspective. You’ve done one of my favorite characterizations of her that I’ve seen and it’s arresting in the best way. I want to know more of her in this world, Pre-Madoc, and see what she thinks after everything is said and done and if this human truly IS the match of her ex husband. It’s just so fascinating to think about her perspective of their relationship as an outsider with intimate knowledge of Dream and what it means for where Hob and Dream are at!

Friend-o I religiously read my tags you don't understand like how much I'm obsessed with seeing every little thought people might have about my work! (LOL, meanwhile I too live in terror of one my critiques of Mr Gaiman's work from a literary angle one day making it back to him, eep!)

I will say, without diving into prose for it, that Giving Sanctuary Calliope being Pre-Madoc was very central to planning out her character.

I wanted her to be even more strident and powerful than we see her in canon. There's... hmm... something of a theme that plays into with Giving Sanctuary, that's based on my own lived experience, that sometimes it can take quite a while for powerful, confident people to recognize and admit that something traumatic has happened to them and that it has changed them? And there are scars left behind the first time something really bad happens to a person who had previously thought themselves untouchable? So this is not to say that Calliope was in any way weakened by her time with Madoc, but she might have been changed by it, and at least when we see her in the immediate aftermath, she's more quiet and reserved than she might have been before he captured her, before she's had any time to heal and go back to her old self (insofar as anyone can).

I think to express this is not to diminish the experience of the victim, but to rather acknowledge the violence of the hurt? Calliope was more strident and self-assured, more powerful in the way she took up space before she was captured.

Dream before Orpheus died was happier and it did make him shrink into himself and harden towards the world and become icy and cruel and callous towards the suffering of others when his son died and his wife left him and it felt like the whole world turned against him at once so he lashed back harder and shut Calliope from his kingdom. The whole fic begins because a moment's kindness and empathy from Hob awakens Dream to the realization that Lucienne is afraid of him, that him being party to "cursing" Hob with immortality when Hob hadn't done anything to him and indeed, showed him kindness when they spoke the first time, was monstrously cruel and unjustifiable. Dream as a powerful person took two thousand years to admit that a bad thing happened to him and he can't just use his power to wish it all away and Dream of 1,000 Cats Orpheus back to life! That there's no fixing this and he's been hurt and it changed him, deeply.

And finally, likewise, with Hob. Hob was at the top of the world in 1589! Even when he embarked upon having a family and trying to do it all "right" he did it from a place of hubris, as one who had never really been hurt before. It never occurred to him that his wife or children could die young, or hate him for his immortality, or that some other tragedy could befall them. He waited until he did everything "right" in terms of wealth and status and had a family and thought having waited and planned that long would somehow shield him from the random tragedy of chance, and it didn't. He is scarred by that tragedy, he has shrunk within himself, he is trying to claw his way back and he has faith that he will, someday, but that time is now lost, that suffering has now been felt, he has seen those depths of deprivation and he will never be the same. I headcanon that in canon, without Dream's help, this set Hob on a path to becoming the apathetic, self-centered monster in the 1700s who was so focused on regaining wealth and status after losing them so traumatically that he didn't give a fuck about entering the "shipping business" to do it! GS Hob has already diverged from that path, just by having Dream's kindness and mercy stop his descent into becoming more like Dream over the next century of self-defensive cruelty.

... None of which was your question about Calliope BUT! At the risk of this getting even more insanely long, I will say this:

For Calliope, the most humiliating part of her separation from Dream was Dream becoming a monster. It already took a great deal of courage for her to flout her entire family to marry him in the first place, I can't even imagine having my wedding boycotted by my family? So for him to be so cruel to Orpheus, for Orpheus to then die, and for Dream to just shut himself off from the world and become this icy monster who doesn't give a fuck about anyone and barred his own wife from his realm? That was humiliating for Calliope. It made her feel like maybe she was an idiot, maybe her family was right all along!

The hope she sees in Hob is for him to make Dream a good person again, the person he was when he was in love with her. The person she felt was worthy of her hand in marriage. She recognizes with age and experience that the bitterness began to brew between her and Dream because she couldn't give him the sort of 24/7 clingy affection he craved because how lonely he was being Dream of the Endless, he wanted a personal life so badly and so when she wanted to go create, he grew increasingly bitter about it, because the thing that brought them together (creating) was now driving them apart (Dream just wants to cuddle when she wants to make art together!). She sees in Hob, who has been in love with Dream for 300 years, who is human, who is good for him, who makes him smile, and who *can be* that personal life to Dream, joyfully!, that Calliope saw as her second priority after being a Muse, and she has hope. Not just for Dream, but for herself, that maybe she just wasn't quite the right person for Dream, this famous ex husband of hers. And if Hob works out, Dream will become kind again, and she'll be able to point to him to her family and say, "See, I wasn't the right person, but we were happy for a time, and now he IS with the right person and just look at him. Look at how kind and wonderful and full of joy he is, the Lord of the Dreaming. That is the man I married. That was the person who was worthy of me. And you were wrong to say I was a fool for marrying that person, because he is worthy of love."

[rphelperblog]

Amie Kaufman Quotes Rp Meme : Part One

“You have me. Until the last star in the galaxy dies, you have me.”

“I am frequently underestimated. I think it's because I'm short.”

“She is catalyst. She is chaos. I can see why he loves her.”

“Letting yourself get hurt isn’t brave, love. Brave is protecting others from hurt.”

“There are monsters among us, it’s true. But there are heroes too.”

“Whatever they've done to me,  whatever I am--I love you. Don't forget that.”

“Love, and trust. The things that make us human. They could have been mine, if only I could have leapt. If only we could have leapt.”

“ ‘Right’ is whatever the people who’re standing at the end say it is. ‘Right’ is decided by the people who win.

“Things always look darkest in the middle of the night.”

“You deserve every star in the galaxy laid out at your feet and a thousand diamonds in your hair. You deserve someone who'll run with you as far and as fast as you want to. Holding your hand, not holding you back. You deserve more than I could ever give you.But I'll give you everything I can if you still want me to.”

“Do moons choose the planets they orbit? Do planets choose their stars? Who am I to deny gravity? When you shine brighter than an constellation in the sky?”

“But she's here, she's mine. I'm hers.”

“Perhaps bravery is simply the face humanity wraps around its collective madness.”

“It’s not about what I say, right? It’s what I do that matters here.”

“And now, born from the ashes, she’s a warrior in bloodied black.”

“Every story needs its hero. And its villain. And its monster.”

“Live a life worth dying for.”

“You don’t understand the unbearable beauty of being you.”

“Miracles are statistical improbabilities. And fate is an illusion humanity uses to comfort itself in the dark. There are no absolutes in life, save death.”

“Numbers do not feel. Do not bleed or weep or hope. They do not know bravery or sacrifice. Love and allegiance. At the very apex of callousness, you will find only ones and zeros.”

"There'a billion different versions of you out there, in a trillion different universes. And I still can't get over how lucky I am that, out of all those versions, you're the one that's mine.”

“Patience and Silence had one beautiful daughter. And her name was Vengeance.”

“You don't mention death when it's hovering near someone you love. You don't want to attract the reaper's attention.”

“The more you lose, the more you realize you don't have much left.”

“I should have told you I loved you every day. I should have given you the stars.”

Why not believe? If in faith you risk nothing, but through faithlessness, you risk everything?”

“I am not feeling nothing.”

“May we meet again on distant shores.”

“The universe was here before you, and it will go on after you. The only way it will remember you is if you do something worthy of remembrance.”

“But who names a starship the Icarus? What kind of man possess that much hubris, that he dares it to fall?”

“The universe owes you nothing...It has already given you everything, after all. It was here long before you, and it will go on long after you. The only way it will remember you is if you do something worthy of remembrance.”

“The mere sight of her is water in an endless desert.”

“And there it is, against all hope, like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. The smallest hint of a smile.”

“Part of being alive is having life change us. The people around us, the events we live through, all of them shape us. And that's what I think you're afraid of. Maybe not of dying. But of this you, the you you've become, ceasing to exist.”

“Some people, when they lose it, they scream, they fight. I hope that would be me”

“You are the fire I long to burn inside,"

“If I breathed, I would sigh. I would scream. I would cry.”

“It may comfort you to know that your death, while astonishingly violent, will likely be mercifully swift.”

“There is no love in violence”

“I think I'd like to be unconscious again, please.”

“And blood and tears and screams did not matter anymore, because at least they are together.”

“..Look out at the nothing and feel it looking back. Then you know exactly how much you add up to.”

“She runs. Not away, but toward.”

“Tomorrow is worth a million yesterdays.”

“Sure, the story kicks off with the deaths of thousands of people, but god forbid there be cussing in it, right?”

“We have failed, but I hope they will see how hard we tried.”

“The sound of her name is like music.”

“The die is cast. But today we will shake the table upon which it lands.”

“Most people would say I’m pretty cold, but I think of it more as…private. People are always saying “how are you?” to each other, and I guess I don’t see why I should answer such a personal question for just anyone.”

“I am not good. Nor am I evil. I am no hero. Nor am I villain.“

“I had no idea how safe I was, because I’d never been unsafe.”

“What you do when stuff like this happens is you LIVE, you survive it, that's how you honour the ones you lost.”

“Everyone's right, and everyone's wrong.”

“It is entirely possible to be alone in a crowded room.  Your solitude only compounded by the faces around you.  The presence of others serving only to remind you of how lonely you truly are.”

“I know a thousand different smiles, each with its own nuanced shade of meaning, but I don't know how to reach the few feet away to touch this person next to me. I don't know how to talk to him. Not when it's real.”

“Who wants to be normal when you can be interesting instead?”

“Then she smiles, and it turns out she has dimples, and it's all over.”

“When the light that kisses the back of her eyes were birthed, her ancestors were not yet born. How many human lives have ended in the time it took that light to reach her?How many people have loved only to have lost? How countless, the hopes that have died?But not this one.”

“How do you live again, knowing what waits for you in the end?”

“This tiny moment. In between the time you decide to pull a trigger and the time death arrives. There's just you and it and everything you're about to take away. It's too big. It goes forever.”

“I will see you in the stars.”

“When we allow ourselves to explore, we discover destinations that were never on our map.”

“What do you know of souls and hearts and how they break here? You don't know me at all.”

“Is your request not to punch you still in effect, sir?”

“Just because you're not saying it doesn't mean you're not thinking it.”

'You're the same girl who crashed on this planet with me, who I dragged through forests and over mountains, who climbed through a shipwreck full of bodies to save my life. You're the same girl I loved, and I love you now.”

“You're the most important thing in this universe. You; this vessel; the people of this planet; lovers, warriors, artists, leaders, dreams more numerous than stars. Each mind unique, each thought created for an instant and then broken apart to form new ones. You don't understand the unbearable beauty of being you.”

“You humans fascinate me. I am shattered fragments of what I once once. But even with all the King's horses and all the King's men, I wonder if even I could truly comprehend you.”

“I'm not going to sit here and spitball about hyperspatial reality theory with a psychopathic calculator. This conversation is over.”

“There is something in humanity more suited to the mechanics of murder than any machine yet devised.”

“There are no stars, because there are never any stars here, only a thick darkness that rushes down her throat and into her heart. She dreams of drowning.”

“He would lose every game. And he still insisted on playing. I wondered at the futility of it. If it is the definition of insanity to repeat the same process and expect a different outcome, most of humanity must be insane.”

“But free will is what it means to be human, and no one can determine the path you take through this universe. Choice is our greatest right, our greatest gift-and our greatest responsibility.”

“Abandon her? If only my duty or my conscience would let me. The galaxy would be better off, if you ask me. Who’d even know we were in the same pod? Except that I would know. And that would be enough.”

[purpleyin]

Time for an angsty many years post-Crooked Kingdom Kaz whump concept. More of a not!fic style but I hope it's still enjoyable🖤

all the nightmares I’ve had

Years after Kaz gets his revenge, Pekka Rollin's family is killed in a tragic accident. It has nothing to do with Kaz or the Crows but Pekka is convinced Kaz is responsible. Pekka is deep in his grief, reckless and has no fear for what he could lose any more, Inej's threats to himself forgotten. He surprises Kaz, and his touch aversion works against him, so Pekka does manage to take him down along with the help of some chemicals. Kaz had made progress on that, less guarded and covered up these days, but if there's one person guaranteed to take him right back to the barge mentally it's Pekka touching him. Pekka gets him into the coffin so easily after that, buries him six feet deep, but he doesn't just want to kill him. He sets up a way that Kaz won't run out of air down there. No, it will be dehydration that kills him as he slowly starves down there too. He's groggy from the drugs and injured from the scuffle with Pekka but he knows well enough he has no way out this time because it isn't locks he can pick that trap him, instead an oppressive mass of earth bearing down on him, gravity itself working against his escape. Even those who try to pull off such tricks as entertainment often die trying, so Kaz has no hope he can evade this when the circumstances here are designed to kill. As he comes back to more himself, the dawning reality is so much harder to deal with. Being left for dead is his worst nightmare happening all over again, despite that it isn't the barge, it's still too close. He won't call out via the spout in case Pekka is listening, waiting for him to beg - he won't give Pekka that satisfaction. Pekka won't have been foolish enough to bury Kaz where anyone else would overhear any cries for help anyway. Pekka's hubris is much the same as Kaz's was, abandoning the simple solution of a quick death because he wants him to suffer as long as possible, for it to be fitting. Just how long Kaz can last is partly a matter of willpower, how long he can remain calm and hang on to the will to live. Hope has never been something Kaz put much stock in but he clings to the hope that people will miss him, that they will care to look for him, that he will be found in time, not forgotten down here as he grows groggier again with lack of water. To distract himself, he stews on plans for his own revenge once he gets out of this, until it becomes too hard to think properly and the old fears creep back into his hazy mind. Water starts to seeps in from rain down the air spout, leaving him wet and cold and losing any remaining faith that he will get out of this nightmare. The Crows don't know Kaz is missing until the next day and they spend over a day searching the city until Jesper finally gets a feeling drawing him towards Black Veil island, hoping desperately that the incredibly rare mineral he's sensing there is indeed from Kaz's rather unique wedding ring Inej got him on her travels. They scour the cemetery for the exact source, silent as the grave once they find the freshly dug ground someone had tried to pack down harder, now sodden with the night's rain as well. Inej is the one to spot the strange pipe coming out of the ground. "He's still alive," she proclaims, and Jesper just hopes she's right about what it means. Inej starts scraping back soil in swathes with her knives, while the rest of them go to locate some metal Jesper can fashion into shovels. The time spent digging up that grave feels like the longest time of Jesper's life. When they pull Kaz - pale and wet and shaking but alive - from the coffin, Jesper is witness to the most public display of affection he's ever seen by Kaz and Inej. Kaz clings to Inej like she's his lifeline to the living, though Kaz is careful once again to not touch any skin. Jesper has to look away, giving them their privacy as best he can, until the moment passes and Inej turns to ask Wylan for the water bottle they brought along.

When Kaz seems a bit more focused, Inej asks “Pekka?” with her voice like a knife. “Pekka,” Kaz confirms sharply, but his eyes taking on a dark far away look, staring past them all in a way that worries Jesper. Inej leaves abruptly, with murder in her eyes, so it falls to Jesper and Wylan to cautiously help Kaz to the carriage. They're careful to keep their touches firmly over Jesper's coat that they help the shivering Kaz into, in case their proximity might trigger him like it used to. They go back to the mansion, setting Kaz up in the guest room they all know is really his anyhow. Kaz is quiet, no smart remarks and no refusal of the help they give, accepting any comfort they can provide him that isn't touch. Wylan brings up a pot of hot, very sugary tea and so much food. The tray placed on the side of the bed is laden with far more than he could possibly eat, but every item is a favourite of Kaz's; foods Kaz would deny caring one jot for but anyone observant enough would know to be true. Jesper waits by his side, wishing he could hug Kaz, however briefly, to feel him solid and safe in his arms, but he doesn't dare ask right now. Being there is hopefully enough. With Jesper watching over him, Kaz sleeps, curled up in the layers of soft, warm blankets they gave him that he'd normally scoff at and turn down.

When Kaz wakes, Jesper's heart skips a beat in anticipation as Kaz reaches out his hand as if to touch him, only for that hope to be dashed as Kaz snatches his hand back suddenly, not able to complete the intended action. Kaz scowls, looking down at the floor. But then he says something that surprises Jesper, “Thank you, Jes.” Kaz's gaze shifts to looking down at the bed covers as he says it, a discomfit evident in the tension of his shoulders and the tight grip of one hand on his other in his lap. “You don't need to thank me, you podge.” Jesper replies, exasperated but fondly said nevertheless. “This is what we do, we look out for one another.” Kaz simply nods and Jesper decides now is a good time to fetch more food and drink, to leave Kaz to his thoughts for a bit.

Inej comes back in the evening, her clothes freshly changed and the scent of the cleaner she uses on her knives trailing in her wake. She only says "It's done" to the room when she appears suddenly, no one needs to ask what. Then she climbs onto the bed with Kaz, prompting Jesper to quickly leave them be. The newspapers the next day don't show the gruesome detail of a man taken to pieces in a depiction of any sort for that would be far too improper, but they spare no words to describe the unexpected downfall of a once barrel boss practically forgotten and by now only remarkable in his manner of death. That morning, when they take up a tray of food and the paper, he sees Kaz smirk, for the first time since they rescued him, at the sight of the headline.

[wonderlandflamingo]

For the character ask game:

Seto Kaiba

1, 5, 6, 12, 16

:)

1: Why do you like or dislike this character?

I think his unwavering faith in himself is pretty great. Like sure sometimes he's so overconfident in himself that he blows it big time, but I love him anyway. He contains so much hubris. But, he carries it so well. Like of course he can do that single-handedly, he's Seto Fucking Kaiba. (I wish I had half his confidence)

5: What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Gonna be honest it's this number from the dub. The first season dub had some bops. It's pretty much the only thing dubs at the time were good at. And I know Kaiba isn't in this scene at all, but the vibes are right. If I made a mixtape for him this song would be on it.

6: What's something you have in common with this character?

Unfortunately, we both had to grow up too fast. He got adopted by an evil billionaire. I grew up being surrounded by adults with an overprotective mom who wouldn't let me play with other kids. It's different, but the end results are similar. Kaiba and I both got real good at interacting with adults and we suck at making friends our own age. "Yay"

12: What's s headcanon you have for this character?

That he gets along really great with children, but refuses to admit it. He has a little brother. So, while his childhood made him bad at interacting with people his own age, he's pretty good at interacting with people younger than him. Also, it's canon that he's building amusement parks that orphans can go to for free. (The boy likes kids. Which makes him a better person than me cuz I hate them)

16: What's your least favorite ship for this character?

Probably Joey and Kaiba. I think Kaiba needs a friend that will actually tell him no. He needs someone to call him on his bullshit and Joey is great at that, but I feel like adding romance complicates that in a way I personally don't like. (But, I'm actually not super into enemies to lovers dynamics in general)

21: If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Much like the show I love putting him in situations where he has to preform mental gymnastics to prove the very real magic isn't real. This is unfortunately something I don't like too. If the story is better served by him growing as a character and coming to terms with the magical element than he doesn't sound like himself. Or at least it's very hard to make him sound like himself. Kaiba is sort of notoriously bad at character growth and it can be tricky to introduce that without turning him into a completely different character. (I just need to git gud)

[hawkepockets]

compiling some terpsichore thoughts from discord below the cut 🐏🐏🐏

this is disorganized but i am excited for u all to meet her :-)

terpsichore is shadowheart’s selûnite counterpart… memory wiped & sent out on a holy pilgrimage to moonrise towers where she was supposed to assassinate a powerful agent of shar. told she’d know her target when she saw them. wink!

compared to auntie: terpsichore is like. less selfless but more cunning which unfortunately does matter more when it comes to saving ppl so she may be responsible for less tragedy. i also feel like she’s sort of more of a fan companion than an authoritative protagonist so will work better with the rest of the party. instead of just making them complicit in atrocities & indulging their hubris by way of apology

i see terpsichore as explicitly NOT a cleric not just for party comp bc i want to play w shaddy but bc she was trained as a church spy for selûne not a priest or holy warrior. she’s more like a DA orlesian bard. entertainer, eavesdropper, assassin, vagabond. was brought up by a selûnite enclave and learned to sing and frolic in the moonlight but also pass thru secured areas like a moonbeam and kill and bat her big sweet goat eyes to get away with things.

i’m still workshopping her backstory which is ok bc she doesn’t remember most of it… but i think she witnessed some corruption in her enclave that caused her to break faith with selûne before getting roped back in. & her real target has always been balthazar.

selûne won’t confront shar directly or use force to break the shadow curse & free aylin but she’ll periodically inspire a lone pilgrim to try and fetch her daughter back. lest anyone accuse her of aasimar abandonment 💁‍♀️ the sacrifices pilgrims tend not to be the faithful she’s well pleased with.

if we’re villifying shar i wanna take selûne down with her. two sides of the same coin two aspects of the same power & equally painful to love

i KNOW she & shadowheart jump each other (homicidal) before they ever jump each other (homosexual). only stopped from killing each other by the tadpole connection which shows them each a flash of their own suppressed memory in the other’s mind. gets em off balance & curious enough to take their knives off each other’s throats at least until they get to moonrise where they’ll have their fated showdown & decide whose goddess wins. wink wink

terpsichore (rhymes with hickory for anyone else who had to double check 😉) doesn’t get divinely assigned an emo little warriorcats code name for her mission but shadowheart gives her 1. its mooncalf 🙄 no chance of that ever becoming a term of endearment right. right

she is a ram tho NAWT a fucking cow. please. trans gender

she & karlach bond by butting horns. terpsichore is like oww k that was way too hard and karlach is like u dont want to be matchies with me??? u dont want to have 1 horn to matchies with ur bestest bestie friend?? no matchies with mama k?? sad mommy. and terpsichore is like ok fine. hit me again

im sure breaking a horn hurts as much for satyrs n tiefs as it does for horned animals so she wouldnt try to break it fr. just 4 sillies.

but if one of terpsichore’s horns WERE to get damaged. in sayyy act 2 when she finally finds her mark. well karlach WOULD be excited to be matchies. & would also know from experience how to treat the wound 🥺

ok thats all for now 🐏🐏🐏 bah

[beantothemax]

Temenos Mistral was no stranger to nightmares. 

They were commonplace after Roi’s disappearance, only made worse after the pontiff’s murder. And now, with three other companions at his side, he could not help but conjure up horrendous outcomes that might befall them should they continue to follow him on this path. 

He was no stranger to doubt, either. After Roi had disappeared so long ago, Temenos had drilled it into himself to trust no one. Only his father, the pontiff, was to be trusted. Not even the villagers could be entrusted with more than a few harmless secrets. 

So when they arrived in Canalbrine and the prickles of distrust tingled under his skin, he listened well. 

Though pleasantly surprised by Crick’s appearance as he was, he knew they couldn’t afford to waste anymore time there than necessary. The trail of the apothecary’s death was already running cold, colder still every moment spent at the inn. 

Restlessness sank into every bone of his body, tossing and turning him about in bed, cursing him to never find a comfortable position to simply lay and sleep in. That was all he needed. He wouldn’t even complain if his sleep was dreamless. As long as he slept at all. 

His nightmare was conjured in an hour of that painful, pitiful restlessness, coming to fruition when he finally managed to force sleep upon himself. 

Agnea, spirited away without a trace, presumed dead by all. Another one close to him lost to his own hubris and blasphemy. 

Partitio, gored by the Felvarg in the cathedral, the pontiff beside him. If Temenos had only been a little quicker in getting to him... 

Hikari dying in the Montwise arena, pierced through and bleeding out. Temenos felt sick knowing he couldn’t heal him, not at that distance. Not from so far away. 

Crick laying dead in a sea of white, hand clutching the note from the pontiff’s tome, the last words on his lips being Temenos’s name. Even now, he was prideful to imagine Crick would call for him with his final breath. How foolish. How arrogant. 

How pathetic he was, standing by and watching his friends fall one after the other whilst he did nothing to help. Whilst he idled and lamented his grief to unhearing gods. Whilst night approached, rapid and unending. 

Temenos awoke with a start to hear voices outside the inn room. They were familiar voices, though too muffled to hear fully. 

“—investigate on our own—” 

“—too dangerous!—” 

“—no other choice—” 

What were the voices planning to investigate? And on their own? Did they have another with them? 

It hit him then that the beds beside him were empty of their inhabitants. Agnea was gone, her hairclip still on the night-table. Partitio’s hat was, too. Hikari’s sword was gone, however- meaning he must have been one of the voices Temenos was hearing. 

“—rouse Temenos—” one voice said, and the others quickly objected. How peculiar. He was listening now, straining his ear to hear the conversation. 

“Let him rest. He’s done enough for now. He deserves at least one night’s sleep in a real bed before beginning the investigation,” Agnea’s voice said, city accent still present despite her hushed tone. 

“Aye. He has been a stalwart ally, and we would do well to let him rest. We four can handle it,” Hikari agreed. 

“...I dunno. Won’t he be upset if we let ‘im sleep while we do all the work? He seems pretty hellbent on solvin’ this case himself...” Partitio murmured. 

“We will wake him if we find anything of import. This is a small town, it would not take long. Agnea, you ought to be the one to fetch him. You are the smallest of us all, and the quietest. I have faith in your ability to move quickly and without sound,” Crick’s voice said hushedly. Temenos had to commend his little lamb- he was quite good at rationalizing when the need came. 

His companions murmured their agreements, and Temenos heard no more. He presumed they had departed for Lucian’s abode, wherever it may lie in Canalbrine. 

It was much to his chagrin, however, that sleep took him by the throat, pushing him under the waters of dreams once again. 

Once again, he was facing the shapeless god. He could make out but a few figures beside him as he stood fast despite the danger. Partitio, Agnea, and Hikari were all at his side, weapons drawn and spirits unwavering. 

The shapeless god spoke, words incoherent and painful, and he winced. It was so, so painful. The god’s voice sounded like Roi’s, then the pontiff’s, then... Another voice, one that was warbled beyond all hopes of comprehension. The tone sounded familiar, oh so familiar, but he could not place it. The words rang loud in his ears, defeaning him to all else. 

When he woke for the second time, Agnea was shaking him, saying something about a murder. 

GERREBEGEHEAAAAWWAAAAAAAAGH

[orbcube]

so far we have

(infodumping about my little elden ring characters) (vague spoilers in some of the screenshots)

aubergine the wretch who has no memories of her past . she woke up in a graveyard with nothing but a big club and a dream. she loves fighting and winning and smiling and grinning. and getting into trouble due to her hubris. she is very loyal to and cares deeply for the people she cares about. she will kill people she doesnt care about for any reason ever. quality + faith. my first most beloved character. my only pieces of backstory for her are that she died after getting like lost in the woods and living in a cave doing some Hatchet shit for a while until she got eaten by a bear or starved or something. she got the burn scar as a kid from sticking her face in a brazier just to see what would happen. shes the joker?

the pumpkin head stays on during sex. and also morgotts old nasty sideboob hoodie. and also radahns gloves and pants. and also the bloodhound fangs

sanglier the prisoner who my vague idea is that. shes from a rich family and was like a fantasy prestigious medical school dropout slash Muscle for the secret student unethical necromancy experiments club slash bodysnatcher. she got caught and went to fantasy torture dungeon prison and now shes here. i dont think this backstory makes much sense but whatever. she does death spells and blue beams and such. i dont have many good screenshots of her use your imagination. if elden ring had the fang boar helm she would be wearing it. but the skull is nice as well

billy the puppet. from saw. he dual wields vulgar militia saws. will break out the big pizza cutter for fun. blood stuff. poison gas. you know him

custard who i have already introduced

oleander the dancing grandma god hater running for mayor of the erdtree or whatever who i have already introduced. i think shes a libertarian. doesnt exist anymore because i got bored of the mod and uninstalled. rip grandma. she invented cigarettes and smoked too much and died