#i started the concept and the rest just wrote itself

[deikshen]

Shen Qingqiu who, while Shang Qinghua is recovering from some random poisoning (that demon has already died at the hands of Mobei, don't worry), is forced to spend time with Mobei-jun.

At first it's tense. He arrives, a mandatory tea out of politeness. It's usually frozen. They don't have much to talk about or anything in common except their concern for Shang Qinghua.

Except they do have in common. At some point, perhaps, Shen Qingqiu mentions some rare beast, and Mobei-jun comments that he killed a couple of those. That leads to the first long conversation the two of you can have.

The next time, Mobei-jun brings back the beast's fangs. The two return to their conversation about monsters. Mobei-jun speaks little, concisely, but he talks about how to kill those beasts, the properties of their organs, the functioning of their poisons. Shen Qingqiu shares his bestiaries and provides additional information.

Then, even when Shang Qinghua improves, Shen Qingqiu usually takes advantage of the time when he has to stay in the northern palace with his husband to, well, expand his bestiary. Mobei-jun also seems to be passionate about flora that can kill, or anything huge and dangerous. Shen Qingqiu enjoys their conversations and learns to get more than just a few words out of Mobei-jun's sullen mouth.

Of course, he actually tells Shang Qinghua:

"When your husband isn't being monosyllabic, it's a good conversation" he says simply. "I didn't know he knew so much about flora, monsters and strange beasts. When I find a rare flower and can't remember its name, I'll ask Mobei, not you."

Shang Qinghua laughs a lot at that.

"Ah, I think that's because, well, you know, inspirations and all that..."

Shen Qingqiu looks at Shang Qinghua very curiously.

"Inspirations? You created your perfect husband from scratch. Who did you get your inspiration from, Airplane bro? Spill the tea, let's see the vicious tastes of this shameless author."

Shang Qinghua laughs a little foolishly.

"Well, you see, I had this classmate in college. A very rich guy" Shang Qinghua makes a funny face as he buries in the past. "He was cold and monosyllabic, even hostile to those who were rude, but hey, he could give you an infodumping of all the monsters in The Witcher without even doing research. I heard him do it once and, man, that guy was crazy" and Shang Qinghua continues talking while, as if by omen, Shen Qingqiu begins to feel a strange sensation of vertigo. "He was kind of cute, well, not exactly my fully type, he was very tall but lacked many muscles, but he had the biggest and prettiest resting bitch face I've ever seen on anyone even my king. He always wore all those fancy clothes that cost the same as my apartment rent, those silver accessories, rings, necklaces, bracelets... His hair was also kind of long, now that I think about it, and when he wore it down it was, god, a delight. I liked him a little. He was my college crush." and Shang Qinghua shrugs, laughing. His cheeks are red and Shen Qingqiu feels that his own ears are red, too. "Cucumber bro, it's actually a bit silly. I remember this boy's last name was also Shen."

That... That's the last straw.

"You-!" and Shen Qingqiu finds himself hitting him with the fan before he realizes it. "How-? What the hell!?"

"Ow, ow, OUCH, Cucumber bro!! What's going on?!"

Shen Qingqiu feels his face burning. His hands tremble over the fan. What the fuck!?

"... Bro?!"

"That classmate of yours" Shen Qingqiu hisses, just to confirm "His name was Shen Yuan?"

Shang Qinghua blinks, confused, recalling his thoughts. Suddenly, his entire face lights up with a wide smile.

"Oh, I forgot!! Yes, that was it!!" and his gaze becomes mischievous. "You met him, too?! He was a delicious little thing, honestly, a nice round butt, he... OUCH-"

"He was me" Shen Qingqiu hisses, opening his fan and hiding behind it. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. Of all the people in the world...!

Shang Qinghua gasps, looking like he was given some vital information. His face, contrary to what Shen Qingqiu expected, does not change into horror, but into mockery.

"Oh, bro" and starts laughing out loud "BRO"

"Damn fourth-rate author, what the hell is wrong with you!!!"

"Bro, BRO, I created a part of my husband based on you!! And you're married to my son self-inserted in a power fantasy!! It's like we're indirectly married!!"

"Fuck you!!"

"Ohh, how cute!! Do you want to jump to the honeymoon already?!"

"Get away!!"

Shen Qingqiu doesn't visit Shang Qinghua again for over a month. However, he does spend some time talking about monsters with Mobei-jun while his husband takes care of the demon court (in the time he would usually use to gossip and fool around with Shang Qinghua), it's just his thing.

[starsinthesky5]

his iris || joe burrow x reader

description: a concept fic of what it would feel like to be his iris. to be the one thing he'd give up everything for, because the closest to heaven he's ever been isn't the football field...it's you.

a/n: idk what this is (maybe just pure rambling) but i cannot get this song out of my head and i had to put pen to paper. if this makes 0 sense don’t tell me and move on i wrote this in 24 hours

warnings: a pinch of some suggestive references, fluff, and some angst

word count: 2.5k

> > main masterlist

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @burrowswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @ladyluvduv

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

To be Joe’s iris is to live in the most delicate parts of him—the hushed corners of his heart where no one else is allowed. It’s to exist in that infinite pause between a breath and a kiss, where the rest of the world fades and only you remain. He would give up forever—without hesitation, without condition—if it meant he could touch you one more time. Because he knows. He knows that you feel him, even when he can’t find the words. Even when the silence is heavier than his helmet. Even when the only thing holding him together is the thought of your arms around him again.

He doesn’t want to go back to a life without that. He doesn’t want to go home if you’re not there to open the door. Because home is no longer a place. It’s you. It’s always been you.

He used to believe heaven lived under stadium lights, the place where cheers rumbled like thunder and time slowed with every perfect throw. For years, he thought that was it. The wins, the records, the glory. The confetti falling like snow, the flash of cameras, the weight of a championship ring pressing into his skin—those were supposed to be the moments that defined him. And for a while, he dreamed that they did. But they never filled him the way he thought they would. There was always something missing, something hollow in the quiet after the high. The pressure never let up. The expectations only grew as time passed. He was always chasing, always giving more than he had, until even the victories started to take from him. And heaven? Heaven shouldn’t take.

But then you came along, cool where the world was burning hot, constant where everything else shifted. You didn’t ask for the leader of the franchise. You wanted him. Just him. And when he started to see himself through your eyes, everything changed. You didn’t make him prove himself, make him reach a certain standard. You just stayed. When the game was cruel, even to the point where it was taking a toll on you. And in your presence, in your laugh, your hands, your unwavering love, he found a kind of peace he’d never known. The kind that didn’t demand anything back. The kind that reminded him what it felt like to breathe. That’s when he realized football was never heaven. You were. Because you didn’t take anything from him, you gave everything back.

He tells you with the way he looks at you. Like you’re the closest to heaven he’ll ever be allowed to touch. And you are. Maybe heaven is the curve of your smile when he walks in the room after a brutal game, bruised and breathless but whole again in your arms. Maybe it’s the quiet sound you make when you stretch first thing in the morning, still half-dreaming, while he zips up his practice bag and steals a glance because he can’t quite believe you’re real. Maybe it’s the way your fingertips brush the nape of his neck when he’s watching film, trying to steady his mind before a big game, and your touch reminds him that winning isn’t everything, not when he already has you.

When he’s with you, time folds in on itself. It’s frozen in the sweet taste of your kiss, the sleepy rasp of your laugh, the way you reach for his hand without thinking. All he can taste is that moment. All he can breathe is you, your breath mingling with his, your heartbeat syncing with his own, your presence so wrapped around him that it’s impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. It’s overwhelming. It’s consuming. And he knows, deep down, that it can’t last forever. Nothing ever does. The season always ends, and the lights always go out. But tonight, he’ll hold you tighter. Tonight, he’ll drink in every second like it’s the last drop of something holy. Because missing you—missing you—is the kind of ache he can’t survive again. It lingers in his bones, echoes in his mind, fills every inch of him with longing.

And that’s when it hits him, missing you is something he can’t bear, but missing football? Missing the game? That’s a pain he can learn to live with. He’d give it all up if it meant waking up to you each morning. If it meant your body curled into his, your voice in his ear, your love steady through every high and low.

Because you aren’t a season. You’re the reason.

He doesn’t want the world to see him. Not like this. Not when he’s stripped bare and brimming with too much feeling. Because they wouldn’t understand. They never do. The world wants the polished version. The perfect, untouchable icon. The quarterback. The golden boy. The calm in the pocket. The stone-faced leader who keeps his cool on fourth-and-goal. But you…you know better. You see the boy beneath the armor, the cracks he hides. The softness he’s never shown because he feels as if it's a burden. And he just wants you to know who he really is. The man who trembles when you say his name late at night, when it's just you two, under the stars, wrapped in a kind of comforting silence he only used to dream about. The one who’s terrified, downright haunted by the thought of losing you, even on your best days. The one who would set fire to everything he has if it meant he could keep your love.

Some nights, the grief inside him has no name, no real label. The tears never fall, but they live there anyway, tucked beneath his ribs like ghosts. Sometimes he laughs when he’s hurting, sometimes he lies just to stay standing. Sometimes he’s silent for hours because the words won’t come out right. But you always know. You always see the truth in his eyes, even when his mouth says everything’s fine. When life feels like a movie, too surreal, too distant, he keeps his soul tethered to his body, even when he feels like tuning it all out, with something as simple as your voice. With your touch. With the ache of being loved so deeply, it scares him. And when the pain cuts too close, when it feels like he’s unraveling under everyone's expectations, he lets himself bleed, just to remember he’s still alive. He remembers that he's allowed to feel, because he knows you will gather him up in your arms like he’s something worth saving. Like he’s not broken beyond repair.

He thinks of you during warmups, before the roar of the jungle, before the anthem, before the first snap. You're the stillness in his storm. He tucks a piece of you beneath every layer of padding, every lace of tape—your love stitched into the fabric of his game. Sometimes, under the burn of the stadium lights and the weight of the moment, when the play clock’s winding down and his pulse is louder than the crowd, he shuts his eyes and finds you in his mind—up in the stands, wrapped in his jersey, hand over your heart like he’s your favorite song. And somehow, that image settles him. Quiets the noise. Reminds him why he plays the way he does. But some nights, he doesn’t need the memory, because you’re really there. Slipping in before the anthem, staying long after the final whistle.

There when it counts. There when he needs you most.

One time, you met him after a loss. A miserable, gut-wrenching one. The kind that twisted in his chest long after the final whistle, the kind that left bruises no camera could catch. The media swarmed like vultures, headlines already sharpening their teeth, and he could feel it all closing in. The weight of expectations, the sting of failure, the noise.

But you were there.

You made it past the chaos, past the reporters and the static, and found him in the tunnel, tucked in a shadowed corner where no one else thought to look. He was hunched over, clutching his helmet with both hands like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, jaw tight, eyes stormy with things he couldn’t say out loud. And you didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t offer words of encouragement or silver linings. You just said, quietly, gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “Hey, Joe,” and that’s when it hit him. That’s when everything stilled. Because in that moment, you didn’t see a loss. You didn’t see the missed throws or the scoreboard or the importance of a city’s hope crumbling on his shoulders. You saw him. Not the quarterback. Not the disappointment. Just Joe. Just the man you loved, and that quickly calmed the harrowing storm in his mind. Because being seen like that—without conditions, without judgment—was the most healing thing he’d ever known.

That night, after everything, the loss, the noise, the moment in the tunnel, you took him home. No words, just quiet understanding, the kind that lives in the spaces between heartbeats. In the dark, with the city still reeling outside, he clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth. His mouth found yours with a kind of desperation, like he needed to drink in something real, something warm, something that reminded him he was still human. All he could taste was that moment, the salt of your skin, the breathless ache between kisses, the way your hands steadied him. And all he could breathe was your life, your presence wrapped around him, your love poured into every touch, every whisper against his jaw. He didn’t need saving, just this. Just you. You let him fall apart in the safety of your arms, and then put him back together with nothing but your body and the way you loved him like he hadn’t just lost. Like he was still enough.

He repeats it like a vow in the dark, I don’t want the world to see me. Because they’ll never see this, what you two have built in the quiet. They’ll never understand how you make the shattered pieces of him feel soft again. They’d never understand how you make the broken feel beautiful, because that’s a skill only you could have mastered. How your love isn’t loud, but it’s everywhere. In the way you fold his shirts. In the way you tuck your cold feet under his thighs on the couch. In the way you kiss his shoulder instead of his mouth sometimes, just to let him know that you see him.

He doesn’t need them to. He just needs you.

He wants you to know who he is. Not the former champion, not the star quarterback, not the headline. Just Joe. The man who wears one sock inside out for good luck and spends hours reading a book about superluminal time travel. The one who listens to your voicemail on repeat when you’re away. The one who buries his face in your shoulder after a loss and whispers, don’t leave me. The one who memorizes your coffee order like it’s scripture and leaves sticky notes in your coat pocket just to say he loves you. The one who touches your back in passing just to make sure you’re real. The one who gets nervous before every game, no matter how many he’s played, and collects himself with the thought of your voice in his ear, saying, “You’ve got this,”.

To be Joe’s iris is to be his truth. His sanctuary. His reason. To be the only one who sees the chaos and chooses him anyway. Not despite it, but because of it. To be the one thing he never has to earn. To be the safest place he’s ever known. Absolutely.

To be Joe��s iris is to be the center of everything, the pulse beneath his skin, the calm in his chaos, the one thing his eyes always find in a room full of noise. It’s more than love; it’s gravity. It’s being the focus of every look, every breath, every whispered thought he’s too afraid to say aloud. You are the light he sees through, the clarity in a world that never stops spinning. When he looks at you, it’s not just with affection, it’s with reverence. Like you are the miracle that steadies him, the only truth he’s ever been sure of. And in that gaze, in that soft, unwavering focus, you know. You are cherished. You are chosen. You are his everything.

He doesn’t want the world to know. He just wants you to know who he is.

He just wants you to stay.

And maybe that’s the quiet miracle of it all. That you do stay. Even when he flinches at kindness, because he feels that he doesn't deserve it, hasn't earned it. Even when the weight of the world bends his shoulders and he forgets how to speak without clenching his jaw. You stay when he’s not the man they cheer for, when he’s just a boy with trembling hands and too much silence. You don’t ask him to be strong when he can’t be. You just hold him until the shaking stops. You press your forehead to his and whisper, you’re safe, they won't hurt you here. And he believes you. Because you’ve never given him a reason not to.

You never needed the spotlight to love him. Never needed the jersey or the wins. You loved the quiet in him, the part that gets overwhelmed in crowded rooms, the part that feels everything too deeply but still shows up anyway. The part that swallows his emotions in the heaviest moments, pretending he’s fine because that’s what leaders are supposed to do. And he would give you everything for that kind of love. He has, in his own way, even if the words never quite make it past his lips.

Because your love is the only thing that has ever made sense to him. Even when the plays don’t work. Even when the lights are too bright and the cameras are too close, and the pressure claws at his chest. Even when he loses faith in himself, when the silence of failure echoes louder than the cheers ever did—you never do. You believe in him with a kind of quiet certainty that grounds him. Because you don’t just see the quarterback. You don’t just love the man with the perfect spiral and the postgame interview smile. You love the version of him who overthinks every word he says to you, worried it won’t land right. The one who triple-checks the locks before bed because you once mentioned a bad dream in passing. The one who sits with you on the bathroom floor when you’re crying and says nothing at all—just holds your hand like it’s the most important job he’ll ever have.

And maybe it is.

Because that’s what it means to be his iris. To be the one who sees him, truly sees him, past all the noise and pressure and polish. The one who sees through the armor and into the fragile, tender places he hides even from himself. The one who knows his silences as deeply as his triumphs. Who recognizes the weight he carries on his shoulders, the responsibility he never complains about, but always feels. To love him not because of the world he moves through, but in spite of it. Because of the boy underneath all the expectations, the one who just wants to be good. For you.

That kind of love unbinds him. Softly. Steadily. Without condition.

Because you are the place his soul breathes. The stillness in the chaos. The arms he runs to, not because he’s tired, but because they feel like home. He could win every game, set every record, hold the entire stadium in the palm of his hand, and still—still—it wouldn’t come close to the feeling of coming home to you. To the quiet hum of your voice in the kitchen. To the way you wait for him at the door when it’s late. To the way you don’t ask him to be anything but his full, flawed, beautiful self.

Because the closest he’s ever been to heaven isn’t the football field. It’s you.

You, with your quiet heart and your relentless faith in him. You, who stays. You, who sees him. You, who loves him so wholly, so simply, so thoroughly, that he’d give it all up without hesitation, because he already knows what it feels like to have everything and still be missing the one thing that matters most.

That’s what it means to be his iris.

To be the one thing he’d give up everything for, no matter how much it means to him.

You always mean more.

[xadianglyphs]

Seventh Source: The Dark Magic Symbol

In honor of Book Seven: Dark, I want to revisit and expand on analysis of the dark magic symbol, itself—something I'm always low-key thinking about, but now I'm going to make you think about it, too.

We are lucky enough to have a fascinating window into the design process for all the primal source symbols (both individually and as a set) through the portfolio of Samuel Thompson, the designer. This includes the dark magic symbol:

I've scaled up the secondary, "also-ran" designs so they're all the same size, because I do want to talk about some of them. There are several paths of development visible, and each one reveals something that was seriously considered as a possibility for representing dark magic as a whole.

It's in the Blood

So to start out, we know on some level that, during story development, what became dark magic was originally blood magic. Two years ago, when I first looked at the concept art for the symbols, the filename used for the dark magic symbol image was "blood." That was corrected at some point when the designer uploaded new images with better presentation (as one does when maintaining a portfolio), but it happened.

There's also more than enough association between dark magic and blood developed over the course of the series that it seems pretty clear that the name changed on a surface level but the underlying concept remained.

It's even visible in the designs that not only was a blood droplet considered as the entire symbol, but it was incorporated into variations of multiple design directions.

Dragons in the Dark

There's a bit of a problem when you go from "blood" to "dark," which is "how do you represent darkness in icon form?" The primal sources are ultimately elemental—you can see in their design process that a lot of it was about creating a balanced set where the symbols are both individually distinct and yet related enough to fit together as a group. Earth has the usual "do we do rocks or plants?" decision-making, but otherwise it's just... the sun is the sun, water is water, etc. But what the hell is the iconic form of darkness?

Well, apparently it's dragons, because pretty much all of the rest of the designs are a clear evolution of what began as a dragon symbol. It gets stylized into a set of wings that is then further stylized, and in combination with other influences discussed in the next section, we eventually start getting something like the final symbol.

There's one other direction kind of explored here, which is the ouroboros dragon(s). I actually wrote out a whole thing about the ouroboros as a symbol historically vs. through the lens of modern Christian-influenced western culture to use here, but really none of that is the point. The most likely scenario is that they told the designer, "let's explore some possible directions dragons" and the ouroboros designs are just something you do in that situation. Obviously you don't want to actually choose it for the final direction, because then you'll never escape the specter of Fullmetal Alchemist.

But like... why dragons? I mean, this is not an accident. The designer dragon-ed the fuck out of this shit, and the only reason to do that is "that's what he was specifically told to do." So at some point during development, there was apparently a consensus that dark magic should be represented by something related to dragons.

Now, this could be as simple as "dark magic uses the essence of magical creatures, and a dragon is pretty much the epitome of a magical creature," or something like "dark magic elevates humans to being equal with dragons." After s6, however, I feel like there are enough weird little things connecting the Celestial Order, the archdragons, Aaravos, Laurelion, the Staff of Ziard, and various other stuff that it could be... something else. Something we're not yet able to see in its entirety.

But that's something we'll have to wait to find out.

The Staff of Hermes Ziard Hermes

Now to return to reality: the influence of the caduceus on the dark magic symbol is a done deal. It has literally been said. Even if it hadn't, it's also just... kind of obvious.

Like yeah, that sure is a set of wings with a little knob between them and a twisty stem, just like the the final dark magic symbol and all the designs that most resemble it.

I'm not going to go over the caduceus in depth because I did that once already. You can tell I was naught but a wee, innocent babe by the way I use the words "wiki" and "confirmed" in the same sentence. In that post, I spent a lot of time digging into the associations of the caduceus and Hermes/Mercury as if that was a window that would tell us something about dark magic. It was a fun post but largely irrelevant, now—this time, we're going to come at it from another direction.

Setting aside the more distinguishing features of the caduceus like the wings and snakes, what is it? It's a staff. (Or a rod, depending on your interpretation of the distinction between the two.)

Well, interestingly enough, we happen to have another staff to bring to the table for consideration. One that's important within the setting, inextricably linked with dark magic, and with an iconic design.

Now bear with me, because here's my argument: the dark magic symbol is based on the caduceus, but in relationship with the Staff of Ziard, with either the staff influencing the design of the symbol or vice versa.

To see what I'm talking about, we can take a look at the staff from a few different angles. Personally, when seen closed and from the front, I think it already looks plenty like wings.

But if we put it in profile I can do a little overlay to show what I'm talking about more easily:

It's not strictly the most anatomically accurate setup, but stylized in a way that's interestingly similar to the stylization of the "wings" in several of the symbol designs. This could be related to the the "dragons" stage of the designs, assuming that there is some connection with the dragons, or it could just be visual influence from the caduceus itself.

We should also consider the shape of the staff from the front when it's extended (unfolded?):

The rounded rhomboid/oval shape, the diamond in the center? Come on, work with me—it could conceivably resemble the symbol, right? Though yes, I do know what you're thinking. A professional would call that "yonic" and definitely not giggle about it.

As for the twisty bit—what would be the coiling snakes in the caduceus—there's a certain iconic spell associated with the Staff of Ziard:

Maybe a stretch. But you don't get much twistier than a tornado.

Contexts and Meaning within the Setting

Now that I've chewed on my tinfoil had enough that I'll never get the taste out of my mouth, I also want to just touch brief(-ish)ly on the actual use of the symbol within the context of the series setting. Like the primal source symbols, the dark magic symbol doesn't actually show up very often. The two biggies are Claudia's spellbook and the Key of Aaravos in Callum's dream:

I'm going to ignore Callum's dream because the use of the dark magic symbol there says more about Callum's psychology than it says about actual dark magic, while Claudia's spellbook is a use that its author presumably intended to be meaningful for other dark mages.

Ignoring the garbage symbols in the corners, the central hexagonal symbol is reminiscent of the geometric tree of life diagram, which you may be familiar with if you are into either one of several varieties of religious mysticism... or anime. Let's be real, it's probably anime.

I'm not going to explain it in detail because honestly I don't know a lot about it and it's (intentionally, as with most mysticism) pretty complicated. Extremely summarized baby version which suffices for my purpose here is: the hexagonal tree of life diagram is a hierarchical arrangement of nodes and connections between them, with each node representing a distinct facet through which we are meant to recognize a single greater truth or divinity. On the cover of the spellbook, we have the dark magic symbol surrounded by smaller symbols for each primal source. This is a clearer arrangement that could be conveying the same concept—each of the primal sources is only a facet of a truer, deeper magic, which we are to take as being dark magic.

None of that is particularly important, I just think it's neat. Anyway, what I want to do now is propose that there is, as of season six, one additional appearance of the dark magic symbol within the setting context. This one:

Like... rhomboid shape, little diamond in the center, twisty stem? This isn't something unique to the Hearts of Cinder spell, it's an early or ritualistically stylized version of the dark magic symbol.

To contextualize this further, allow me to draw attention to this image from Tales of Xadia, part of a larger graphic showing a scroll that illustrates significant events in the history of dark magic:

We have a sacrificed creature, from which dark magic flows. On it appears to be carved some symbol composed of straight lines, which because of the size and angle we can't really see clearly. I spitballed a while back that it could be a straight-lines version of the Star primal symbol. We also have use of the actual dark magic symbol, which I'll spare you my analysis of since really it's just more of the same.

It's still a little bit fuzzy how dark magic spells get the magic resources from reagents, but generally a living reagent (used in its entirety) is killed and non-living reagents (harvested from a larger source) have some destructive act performed on them, like crushing. We have a spell that uses a living(?) human heart, which is apparently distinct from a human life in some way, even though the latter is not going to be getting very far without the former. For casting such a spell, unless you're currently holding someone else's still-beating heart in your hand, you probably want to be at least a little specific about exactly which heart in the vicinity is gonna get consumed. I'm putting forward that there's a way to mark a reagent such that it connects properly with the spell in cases where squishing it in your fist or whatever is impractical.

Like with a symbol, right? And what better symbol than the one for all of dark magic, the staff that may or may not be behind everything?

With that, thanks for coming to this long-ass TED Talk that was entirely an excuse to say "the symbol Viren carves over his heart to mark it for sacrifice is an ancient or stylized version of the dark magic symbol, which itself likely on some level derives its shape from the Staff of Ziard, which he is literally holding in his hands." I've wanted to say it since s6 released. I cannot be stopped.

[mywitchyblog]

Storytime : My hatred of shiftok

Hey everyone, I wanted to share a personal story that highlights why I’ve grown to strongly dislike Shiftok (the shifting community on TikTok).

This isn’t about throwing shade at the concept of shifting itself, because I’ve been part of the practice for years and found immense value in it.

However, my recent experience in an online shifting community vastly composed of younger members made me realize just how toxic and judgmental it can become.

I’m not here to stir up drama, but to share my story so that others who may have gone through similar situations can feel less alone. Sometimes, online communities, especially when comprised of younger members, can be less about support and more about mob mentality behacing like mindless sheep. And unfortunately, I found myself at the center of that.

Here’s what happened:

Around 6 months ago,I joined a Discord server dedicated to shifting (made by a shiftoker), but for the first few days, I didn’t really engage much. I’m the kind of person who likes to observe a bit before jumping in. After a while, I noticed they had a voice chat, so I figured I’d join in, thinking I could find some deep conversations and intelligent debate on shifting. I was wrong. Very wrong.

Their debate originally was about race changing, and since this is an extreamly controversial subejct on which the 3 of us in the groupchat agreed with, i though maybe age changing would be the case.

Very fucking foolish of me.Very.

I’ve been aware of shifting for about years, ever since I was 16. During that time, I wrote numerous scripts where I imagined dating my comfort characters, and though I haven’t successfully shifted yet, I’m still determined to experience that so i never gave up trying to shift there. Recently, I started questioning a particular aspect of shifting and decided to ask the community for guidance.

The dilemma? I wanted to know if it would be wrong to shift into a younger version of myself to experience the teenage romance I never had. Growing up, I missed out on those typical teenage expereinces, and I thought that shifting could allow me to relive that part of my life that was denied from me .

Thats is how i discivered shifting when i think about it . I was extreamly sour and bitter at the time seeing people my age going out, having a group of friends a romantic partner while i was sulking in my room still scarred by the years of bullying .i couldnt fucking stand it.

So is started shouting ,cussing, insulting, screaming at the universe that it owed me a debt for all the shit i put me through; that it owed me a debt that it can never pay back. And that i was here to collect that debt.

Next thing i know ? Shifting videos start appearing in my FYP and the rest i supposed if you discovered shifting in 2020 you know how it goes.

I asked the community: Since I’m now over 18, would it be unethical to age myself down and live through those scripted expereinces and relationships? My intentions were pure. It wasn’t about fetishizing youth —I just wanted to experience something I had missed out on. And also i made those DRs long ago so i do not want to give up after trying for years.

I explained that shifting is about exploring realities that differ from your current one, and to aslo expereince things that are impossible for you to do in your current so why not experience a teenage romance that I didn’t have?

I also emphasized that both me and the characters regardless of if i age myself down or i age them up we will have the same maturity so there is no power imbalances of any kind. I beleived that if I script myself as being 16, I would naturally have the mindset and maturity of a 16-year-old without having to script "i also have the maturity of my physical age".

(wich after further research and having shifted myself confirmed it to be true)

Some people were actually helpful, suggesting that I could just age the characters up to match my current age, that there was nothing wrong since your intention isnt "shifting for minors" but shifting for an experience and I thought that was a reasonable statement. However, as more teenagers (13 to 15-year-olds) started jumping into the chat, the conversation took a turn for the worse. Suddenly, they started accusing me of wanting to date minors, labeling me as a creep and even throwing around terms like "pedophile." They insisted I should go to jail, even though I hadn’t done anything inappropriate—just asked for advice.

Mind you, these were the same people who had desired realities where they were 50 something with kids 15 with a highschool sweetheart in another. It felt incredibly hypocritical that they were comfortable shifting to various ages, but when I wanted to explore an earlier phase of my own life in a healty wholesome manner, I was suddenly a villain.

As the accusations escalated, I even suggested aging the characters up, so they’d match my current age. But no matter what I said, they kept insisting I was still in the wrong. They claimed that because I had once found teenagers attractive when I was a teenager, I was somehow a predator now ("because something must have made you attracted to them when they were minors"). It was like they were twisting everything I said, refusing to understand my intentions.

It was infuriating. They accused me of things I wasn’t even thinking about. These were serious claims, and I couldn’t defend myself because they were so quick to misinterpret my words and take everything out of context. They were acting like I was trying to groom people in my desired reality (DR), even though I was merely exploring hypothetical scenarios.

The same people who preached that you could do anything you wanted in your desired reality, without limits,that you had all the time in the wormd to shift so no pressure were suddenly placing restrictions on me—telling me what was ethical and what wasn’t. They told me I was "grooming" the characters in my DR by aging them up, which is just ridiculous.

When I pointed out the inconsistency, suggesting they might technically be "grooming" people in their own current reality (CR) since they shift into different ages, or that their s/o from one of their adult DR is grooming them because in another reality there are a minor, they became defensive started blabbing "its not the same thing" and had no real arguments to back up their accusations.

At this point, it felt like I was being burned at the stake just for asking a question. I realized I wasn’t going to get a rational conversation out of this group, and the mob mentality was too strong. So, I left the server, and honestly, it was the best decision.

If there’s one piece of advice I can give from this experience, it’s this: if you find yourself in an online shifting community made up mostly of teenagers (13-16 years old), run. They can and WILL be quick to jump to conclusions, misinterpret your words, and label you unfairly.

In the end, I found better communities where the members are mature, thoughtful, and open to real discussions. If you’re facing similar issues, I encourage you to be cautious about the spaces you engage with. Make sure you find a community that values open, respectful conversations—where people don’t leap to judgments or throw around serious accusations without understanding your intentions.

Which is why i started making this page and publising these essays in the first place.Because no one provide a clear fucking answers in this types of question just saying "its bad", "because it is" without providing substantial arguments to back up their claims.

So i was "if no one is gonna do it, i will" and i did and it turns out these people are even more pathetic than i thought. Key exemple of that is instead of countering my arguments the only thing they have is accusing me of using Chat GPT.

So things to take from my story are :

-Leave shiftok for good its is not good for information or shifting knowledge. Shifting script templates and inspo ? yes. Information & knowledge ? RUNNNNNNNNNN.

-The most vehement critics within the community are the biggest hypocrites. They will call you a pedo for aging down but on the same vein will age up only to get fucked by they fav dilfs. Those against race changing will still race change just to diff species and races that are fictonal in this reality .

-Do what makes you feel good and do not lisen to these people, they are sour bitter and pathetic individuals its your journey you desired reality not theirs.

So i hope this story of mine will help people understand that you should feel bad about about wanting to shift to those DRs.That it will bring you wisdom and help to all the teenage shifters that are approching 18 and are scared that they are doing someting bad trust me you are not bad you are doing something pure and wholesome do not let them go to your head it will only slow you down in your journey.

Best of Luck in you shifitng Journey,

Alastor Luno.

[frokenkeke]

Making of Today Forever

Well, it finally happened. After much toiling I managed to finish Today Forever, the follow-up to last year's Ashes to Ashley. Like last time, I also want to talk a little bit about where it came from. By all means, check out Making of Ashes to Ashley as well for full context if you haven't already, as a lot of the points brought up there still apply to this new comic.

Today Forever continues the day after Ashes to Ashley. It is a story about what happens after your great coming out, when everything is new but life still moves on in its familiar mundanity. Despite the elation of last night, Ashley has trouble fully letting go of the past. The loss of the Ride shirt becomes a symbol for the jarring and complicated emotions of reconstructing yourself. It is a story about the nature of happiness, it is an awkward romance, it is somehow also about the 90s band Ride.

While writing Today Forever I gave extra thought to the idea of sequels, in particular the second installment of a story. You do something once and it is the whole of itself, you do it twice and it's a mirror reflection of contrasts, you do it any more than this and it's simply "another one". I always intended Ashes to Ashley to be an episodic series with self-contained adventures. The original comic may be complete, starting and ending satisfyingly; it doesn't need to continue, but nevertheless I wanted it to. I don't want there to be just one story, or even two stories. I want "another one" to be in the majority. Yet despite how much you iterate on something, the second entry will always be the domain of contrasts; number two reveals what was unique about number one. In the differences and similarities we establish the boundaries and understand how the story will both change and remain familiar from here on out.

With this in mind, Today Forever is intended to be the polar opposite of Ashes to Ashley. I selectively reuse only the parts that are most crucial. We still follow Ashley, she's on tour with her band, she's rediscovering herself through a trans lens, the tone is cute and lighthearted, everything is drawn on paper with an old worn down Bic mechanical pencil and digitally colored with an ugly sponge brush built into Photoshop. However, this time we go somewhere new, with outdoor scenes in broad daylight, everyone is enjoying their leisure, they're all wearing different clothes, some characters are more prominent while others are less, shoegaze remains a crucial central theme but no one ever picks up an instrument. These points both expand what Ashes to Ashley can be while simultaneously reinforcing its core. The audience understands the story more clearly. Heck, the author probably also understands the story more clearly.

These were the first preliminary character sketches I made for Today Forever, including the cover art concept which remained more or less intact until the end. I went for a "first day of summer" motif to signify everyone being on their day off. I can't remember why, but it's explicitly written in the script that Gabriel and Miki change outfits somewhere after the breakfast scene. This was probably not that necessary, but it is admittedly funny that Miki puts on her Lush T-shirt (featuring the lemon from the Split album cover!) while Ashley is mourning the Ride shirt. Is Miki teasing Ashley?!

It should be noted that the script and story didn't arrive fully formed in my head! Today Forever went through some pretty drastic revisions, and I kept changing around elements until the very end. Above is the beginning of the first draft, you can see how parts were both cut and reshuffled, while a few remain unchanged. In the first version of the story Ashley actually spent the entire day moping in the van. The intent was to focus on her dynamic with Kate, as Kate was the least featured character in the previous story. To reinforce this, I wrote the rest of the cast out of the plot by sending them off to an amusement park. It was a scattered mess of ideas, quite miserable. I felt lost with the whole thing until my girlfriend Alicia took one look at the draft and asked a simple but crucial question; Why doesn't Ashley go to the amusement park? This practically saved the entire comic, giving me a fun central theme to work with. The ideas wrote themselves, the tone got lighter, the initial story became a bookend for the gang running off to the fireworks factory.

Here are the initial panel layouts for the "final" script. Somehow 32 pages became 37.

Today Forever commits the fatal writing cliché of starting with the protagonist waking up in their bed. This was to immediately connect it with the ending of Ashes to Ashley, to the degree where Ashley is wearing the exact same getup, complete with smudged makeup and loose tights. Rules are made to be broken!

The band's van is bigger on the inside for the sheer writing convenience of having a spacious motorhome. This was inspired by the comic Tank Girl where a throw-away panel blurb states that "the tank is bigger on the inside like the TARDIS". No more explanations necessary.

Debbie getting awkwardly up-close and casual with half-naked Ashley is one of my favorite gags. It's goofy while also suggesting a lot about the characters. I like that Ashley feels comfortable enough with her friends to wear nothing but underwear in front of them.

Floppy Park was initially named Playland as one of several Ride references, subtly alluding to the 1990 Play EP. I ended up changing this because it sounded like a playpen for toddlers.

The panel where Ashley is admiring herself in the mirror is another one of my favorites. She has so much self-love! Also, her face looks funny when pressed on a flat circle.

I was worried about having sufficient space for the breakfast scene, but luckily I fit it all on one page without too many compromises. My biggest dilemma was having choose how Ashley would respond to her day off; either with a puzzled "Hmm...? Free day?" or an understated "Wow". Both felt in line with her personality, but there was only room for one. Looking at it now I'm still conflicted on which to choose. The wow line is still funny to me.

Debbie truly is the ultimate romantic foil to Ashley. While Ashley is painfully clueless and uncharacteristically slow for a bunny, Debbie is kind to a fault, accepting the smallest suggestion with full sincerity. Debbie assumes Ashley understands everything about the situation, Ashley doesn't even parse that there is a situation. Ashley's cluelessness is based on myself, I suspect I unwittingly live every moment like Ashley.

Drawing angry Ashley was heaps of fun. I played around with doodling a full-on "aaugh!" Peanuts pastiche, which evolved into other monstrosities like the Ashley blob and the big eyed Ashley I used to represent myself in the Transparency Aquanaut's Holiday video.

Having the cast argue about the number one shoegaze band was among the most crucial pages to me, remaining intact from the very first draft. I'm just really into shoegaze and have no other outlets for this! I get excited whenever someone tells me they actually sat down and listened to one of the mentioned bands. They're all important to me.

I absolutely love the panel of overly melodramatic Ashley sitting in front of the stereo blasting Seagull (she didn't even pick a sad Ride song, she just literally put on the Nowhere album!). Her graceful theatrical display of sorrow contrasts the scene towards the end where she cries for real. Happiness is one of the core themes of Today Forever. Ashley encounters it as a conflict. She declares today the best day and the worst day with equal hyperbole as she flip-flops between emotions. Sadness is a comfort, sometimes sadness is easier, eventually happiness makes her sad, happiness seems forbidden, yet happiness doesn't declare its presence. In the end happiness always finds her again.

Every now and then I needed to do some warm-up sketches, usually after a longer absence from drawing. At some point I drew old pre-transition Ash again out of curiosity.

The scenes at Floppy Park take direct inspiration from my own amusement park memories. In particular, the setting is based on Gröna lund, the local amusement park in Stockholm where I live and grew up. Just like in the comic, their fun house Lustiga huset is accessed through a cumbersome staircase, has a zigzag hallway and ends in a carpet ride slide. Conversely, the hall of mirrors is in a separate building, and there's no Escher Relatively room.

Like with the fun house, the ghost train is inspired by Blå tåget at Gröna lund, a ride where you sit in blue carts while ghastly horrors jump out at you. I went through a bunch of different ideas for the monster that spooks Debbie so much she exists the comic panel, but ultimately a simple jaw creature with dark shading did the job. The burning scarecrows are of course a reference to the Sonic Youth album Bad Moon Rising.

In hindsight, I probably should've cut the claw game scene for brevity, since it's similar enough to the shooting gallery. If I could revise it I would have Ashley fail the game, for contrast and drama. But whatever, I'll let her have this one. Several of the plushies in the claw machine are old comic characters of mine, they live on as commodified kitsch in Ashley's world.

Returning to the rest of the gang in the Ferris wheel for a crucial shipping report and some cocky evil Ashley's on top. Ashley gets a power boost whenever her femininity is verbally reaffirmed, like when Um Jammer Lammy hears "dojo, casino, it's all in the mind".

The rollercoaster is the big climactic payoff to the amusement park setting. The moment Ashley says "ugh... rollercoasters..." we know she'll inevitably end up riding one! The name Grasshopper is taken from the Ride track of the same name, it's a lengthy instrumental piece which features screams that sound like people riding a rollercoaster, the choice was clear from the beginning. Drawing terrified Ashley was a blast, Ashley's soul slipping from her dead body in sheer terror is an obscenely exaggerated visual. I did not use it because it posed too many theological questions.

The shooting gallery scene was conceived by Alicia, she loved the idea of Debbie posing with a gun. It gave Debbie some depth and a slightly rustic lean. Somehow I find Debbie's marksman skills more believable than Ashley's claw game luck.

As Ashley states, the shark plush is a reference to the cover of Ride's Today Forever EP, which is where this comic got its name. However, it is obviously also modeled after IKEA's stuffed toy Blåhaj, whose blue-pink-white color scheme made it a trans icon.

Ashley and Debbie sit down at the end to emphasize the emotional core of the story. Ashley is peculiar, but in a special way. Ashley finally thanks Debbie for what we can presume are years of patient kindness. They have the perfect romantic moment, yet are both too shy to bring it any further. Theirs is not a "will they-won't they" relationship, it's a "please just do it now god damnit" relationship.

The two pages where Ashley cries and the rest of the gang shows up were late additions to the comic. I felt a lack of emotional punch and a too abrupt cut to the next scene where everyone is walking back home. As the sort of "day after" story this is, Ashley is expressing the feelings I felt shortly after I began my transitioning. Just sheer shock at the realization of how sad I had been for my entire life. Like someone flipped a switch to turn on the lights. That the darkness was so overwhelming I hadn't ever noticed it.

In case the young folks were wondering, Kate is working with screenprinting here. A technique in which one covers a mounted net with a special coating that can be manipulated by burning a monotone motif onto it. Essentially you convert a picture into a shadow that preserves the holes in the net. Stroke a batch of paint across the net and you've got a print!

I had immense troubles drawing the ending scene. For whatever reason I had crammed it onto one page in the script, giving it no breathing room and an abrupt ending. Eventually I just spread it out across two pages to spare me continued pain. I'm not quite sure what "makeshift karaoke" entails, but I imagine the reader will come up with their own funny conclusion.

The last two pages to be drawn were the ones where the gang arrive at the park and Kate's phone conversation with Floyd. These were primarily shoehorned in to make every double page spread satisfying and cohesive. They were seeds of ideas that had been cut because they weren't fully necessary, however they ultimately contribute some last minute additions to the story. The park getting a big establishing panel creates breathing room among pages that are otherwise quite cramped, I also get to elaborate Ashley and Rachel's buddy dynamic. In the same vein, Kate yelling at Floyd was important for her redemption, to truly show that she DOES care and will stand up for her convictions.

While I had a clear concept for the cover from day one, I ended up having a lot of troubles with the finer details. Like how the first comic's cover paraphrases Loveless, I wanted Today Forever to paraphrase the early Ride covers for the Ride EP, Play EP and Smile compilation, which feature framed monochrome beds of flowers. Ashley and Debbie were supposed to be superimposed on top of this, but I wasn't fully in the clear on what they would do, how they would pose, what expressions they would wear. I ended up drawing a bunch of different ideas until I ended on the double blushed side-eyes.

On top of a cover, I also wanted a quick recap of the previous comic, as it had almost been a full year since I made it. I ended up with pulpy mugshots of the cast, taking inspiration from the recap pages in the Dragon Ball manga volumes I read as a kid. The mugshot of Ashley accidentally lacks her ear fluff, oops!

I am glad people enjoy Today Forever as much as Ashes to Ashley. I am still partial to the first one. I do have my problems with the new comic. There are parts that didn't quite come together like I had wanted, it's probably a bit too long, I feel the tone may be too juvenile at points. Mostly I felt frustrated going from one month to make the first story to an entire year for the second one. The last comic is strategically set in vaguely defined void rooms while this one keeps having to establish new locations and props. There are more panels of all the characters hanging out together. There was simply more to draw and less time to do it. Somewhere along the way I got lost in being more careful and meticulous about the clean-up and coloring as well. However, it doesn't matter now that it's all out, from here on out it's in your hands either way.

I will have to think over what I learned from Today Forever and keep that in mind while working on the third comic. Hopefully I can balance it all out. Maybe next time I figure out how long Rachel's ears are supposed to be!

/Kiki

[writersblockiskillingme]

Nightmare | Johanna Mason

Pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader (District7!reader)

Summary: The past still haunted you, but it could kill you if you lost her this time.

Warning/s: light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of Johanna's torture, nightmares, panic, tears, Johanna's ax, short fic, this is honestly more like a short blurb (I'm sorry), possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I wrote a fic that contains this concept, too. It's called District 7, so if you want to go check it out. Enjoy!

Request -> Hi :) can you write Johanna x fem!reader where the reader wakes up from a nightmare that Johanna dies or something and Johanna isn’t in bed. Reader is panicked and has a meltdown searching through the house to find her. Johanna ends up coming into the house (Johanna was just chopping wood outside or something because she was having a hard time sleeping because trauma) to find her on the floor in total distress. Just need two traumatized girlies to find love and comfort in each other 🖤

Thank you 🖤

The nightmares were never-ending. They plugged into your every dream depriving you of the much needed comfort and calmness.

Even now as you slept, tightly wrapped up in the sheets, an additional blanket that Johanna threw over you in fear that you would be too cold, practically disappearing from the amount of pillows, the nightmares left claw marks deep in your soul and mind, not letting you rest.

You saw yourself in a crystal clean room, the whiteness leaving the painful reminder of the white roses that now, thankfully, dead Snow always carried everywhere he went. You whipped your head around at the painful scream that ripped itself through your ears making the painc in your chest start to rise. Your breath shortened and quickened. You felt like you couldn't breathe once you got the glimpse of what was happening in front of your eyes.

Johanna's tortured body was laying on the bloody table, all sorts of to you unknown medical tools surrounding your lover. She was tied to the table with at least five belts, stripping her of the ability to escape the horrors that caught up to her.

You ran as fast as you could, trying to reach her as you continued to desperately call out her name over and over again like a record player. But you saw yourself hit something invisible, blocking your way to your loved one. The force field. The realization and the sight of Johanna's torture caused you to continuously bang your hands against the obstacle on your way, separating her and you.

Your screams mixed with Johanna's and you felt so suffocated, you felt like you were dying. Just like Johanna was. And there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn't move, you couldn't help her, you couldn't stop her everlasting torture. You couldn't take the pain away. No matter how much you wished to do so.

You woke yourself up from all of the screaming, your hand immediately reached the sheets that covered the other side of the bed. However, your fingertips found themselves grazing the coldness of the empty space in the bed.

You immediately kicked the sheets off of you, trying to escape their hold and the comfort that they never gave you unless Johanna was there with you. And she wasn't. Johanna wasn't here.

You frantically searched the house, looking at every room in the house, calling her name in pure distress.

You searched every corner and the time seemed to stand still, increasing your hysteria.

Once you finally reached the kitchen, finding it empty, you felt yourself falling. You slid down on the floor, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Your breath short, but quick nevertheless. Just like it was in your dream.

And perhaps Johanna is actually dead.

The everlasting dread filled every inch of your body as you realized that maybe your dream wasn't a dream, maybe it was your reality. The reality you were forced to live in. Maybe Johanna never made it out of the Capitols clutches. Maybe she died on that table. Maybe she never left that white room while she was still alive. Maybe she never left it at all.

Your panicked crying and the beating of your heart that reached your ears were the reason why you didn't hear her enter.

Johanna was in complete shock as she stood frozen by the doorway, watching you have a mental breakdown. She loved you more than anything, she loved you more than life itself. That's the reason why she immediately understood what was going on with you.

"Y/N!" Johanna called out as she quickly fell down on the hard, wooden floor as she immediately brought you into her arms.

"Johanna," You heard yourself gasping as you gripped her arms that tightly wrapped themselves around you. "You're alive. You're here."

"Of course, sweetheart," she answered, cooing you as she started to slowly sway both of you. "Where else would I be?"

"I-I had a nightmare," You began, your voice still being overpowered by your sobs. "I had a nightmare where you...y-you d-di-"

"Shhh," she shushed you, placing a delicate kiss against your forehead lovingly. "I'm here. I'm okay."

"You're okay."

"Yes, brainless," Johanna chuckled lovingly, looking down onto your face, her, now freshly grown, bangs brushing against your cheeks. "We're both okay. I'm never leaving you. You're not that lucky."

"Johanna I swear to God!"

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[autisticlalna]

recently in the sbk community discord: leon, is the moon big?

its been a while since ive done one of these, whoops. im still pretty tired, but something pretty interesting is going on i wanna make sure everybody's caught up on.

it starts a little bit before Leon's episode 17, "Something is VERY WRONG on the Skyblock Kingdoms SMP..." when we got a sudden teaser:

uh oh, gamers.

the discord jumps on checking Leon's namemc and get a better look at his tattered skin:

(^ courtesy of Aces! also this, which is not relevant but makes me laugh):

what with the end of the season on the horizon, the telescope, and Leon's physical state, we jumped straight to Moon Big jokes. then, another teaser:

what's it?

oh, frig, the Stronghold book. remember that thing?

fun fact: in an Avid stream i don't have energy to track down the clip of (7/18/24), he mentioned he was the one that wrote it OOC. i don't remember what else he said about it, but it's still around and is being kept at spawn. neat.

then Leon's premiere goes up and Rex notices something in the description.

out-of-body experience?

finally, the premiere itself.

One chilly, rainy evening. I had just finished admiring my pile of diamond tools. Before calling it a night, I decided to head upstairs and sit by the fire for a while. Rest the bones, warm the feathers, yaknow. When all of a sudden... A gust of wind, a burst of flame! Then, nothing. I blacked out.

[phantom screech] One quick thing before I go--

This wasn't like with the chorus fruit. This was very, very different. When I came to, I had this feeling of dread, of- of fear and- and paranoia, that I just couldn't shake. Constantly in my mind, constantly, I couldn't stop thinking: Something out there is.. watching.

and then his speech at the end.

I know you're out there. Fool me twice, shame on me, I'm not falling for this again! You got me before, but this time I'm standing my ground. I love this world and the people in it, and I swear on every fiber of my being you are not going to take this from me! He's out there, and I know it.

so.. not only is Leon being watched, but it's something he has history with.

[legundo voice] WELL THAT'S OMINOUS.

wait, hey, that's a fun transition. speaking of Legundo...

let's take a quick detour into the series Leon was in before SBK, UHC Generations. the core concept is that you're in ultra hardcore (so no natural regeneration), but when you die you pass the world on to someone else. Leon was the third generation, and after over half a year of owning the world he decided to end the series on his own terms, intentionally fell to his death, and passed it on to Josh CodeNeon. Josh later died himself and passed it onto Legundo, but not before building a little spot around a campfire where he was able to summon the ghosts of previous generations to talk to them.

cut to last month and Legundo's episode 5, "I Need To Fix This...", where he decides he needs to build a gold farm. one of Leon's big contribution to UHCG was redstone farms, so Legundo summoned his spirit for a quick chat as he showed off his idea on how to get the farm to work. there's some fun things from their conversation, though:

Legundo: How’s unexistence? Leon: Aw man, it’s a lot of void. I’ve missed this place Legundo: Some firm ground underneath your feet, nice memory Leon: It’s lovely, I haven’t felt the warmth of a campfire in a while, yeah

[Leon gets attacked by phantoms.] Legundo: Oh no, they don’t like that you're back Leon: Oh no, oh no, my ghost body is being eaten by phantoms Phantoms: [screech]

and, most importantly...

Leon: Ok, ok, well, you know on that note, one quick thing before I go, just uh, wanted to let you know. Legundo: Yea [zooms in on Leon’s face.] Leon: Will is coming.

(transcription by ComposerNicholas, just edited for formatting)

an out-of-body experience, huh?

One quick thing before I go.

Legundo called Leon back to UHC Generations while Leon was on Skyblock Kingdoms. Leon passed out on SBK, helped Legs out on UHCG, gave Legs a warning, and then woke up on SBK with sudden paranoia.

and we're still not done! because at the end of Leon's SBK episode, we get this:

(image brightened for visibility, sorry about the artifacting)

and ComposerNicholas pointed out that Leon's first UHCG episode has this in the intro:

in his UHCG finale, Leon describes the flashes of alternate realities and glitches he's been subjected to as the world nudging him to move on. it's tired of him, it needs new blood and to grow and change with fresh faces and new ideas. so it's time for Leon to go. Legundo himself later mentions "the will of the world"-- the world is as alive as the people that make it.

Legundo's episode ends on him giving himself a timer. either he dies before the timer ends, or he follows in Leon's footsteps and dies on his own terms to pass the world on. after all, he'd pretty much found a way to eliminate all risk of ultra hardcore, and Leon had reminded him what the true point of UHCG was. he can't stay here forever. as the generations say: death is inevitable.

..in ultra hardcore, anyway. not so much in Skyblock Kingdoms, no matter what the thing watching Leon wants him to think.

You got me before, but this time I'm standing my ground. I love this world and the people in it, and I swear on every fiber of my being you are not going to take this from me!

to try and wrap this up, here's some more words from Leon as we go further into insanity:

anyway, this is what i've been able to scrape together so far. as usual, im just able to collect the pieces and maybe tape some of them together. we got a very brief Nukeri in Viking's episode the same day as Leon's, and now we've.. i dunno, got hints about Legundo? but the more focal thing seems to be that the UHCG world may have convinced Leon to pass it on, but that doesn't mean he's free of it. part of him is always going to be there, in the memorials and by the campfire.

oh yeah also quillbee did a video where he rebuilt founder's town from memory and invited leon on to help

[meirimerens]

MEIRI!!!! i am taking a class in art history and i wanted to ask about your favorite paleolithic cave paintings, cause i know you're very passionate about that!

OOOHHAHHGRGHH MY GODDDD

YOU'VE AWAKEN MY EVIL POWER......

okay so this is gonna be real hard for me to choose. like reallll hard. but i think i can narrow it down. i don't know how much #info you need or how much Lore you care for me to add, but you've activated my trap card, so now you're stuck in the cave with me, i have the torch, and if you try to leave you won't find your way back. okay. let us start.

GENERAL LORE:

at least in the Franco-Cantabrian geographical and paleo-cultural area [this thing], which contains some of the most famous painted caves such as Lascaux, Chauvet, Pech-Merle, Altamira, etc, one main currently reigning hypothesis, because it allows to explain the most amount of [gesture] Stuff Going On, is that cave art exist within a magico-spiritual system of belief of the animist persuasion likely with shamanic elements. The places where walls were painted in the caves, were very, very rarely Living quarters. paleolithic tribes prefered to make camps outside, or just at the very entrance of caves: the depths were Hard to navigate, dangerous, possibly inhabited by predator animals. you didn't got to these places to fuck around; you went because you had a drive, you believed in something about them.

Jean Clottes (one of our main prehistorians in France, who wrote Pourquoi l'Art Préhistorique ?, or "Why Prehistoric Art", translated into english as "What is Paleolithic Art" which is fucking stupid, the "why" is the whole question he's trying to answer in the book, is this guy fucking stupid) identifies 4 main concepts that exist within indigenous, nomadic or semi-nomadic, hunter-gatherer, animist & shamanist societies and peoples, that are widely distributed (as such having "universal" elements) and could, likely, have been found within paleolithic societies, and possibly give us clues to their belief system, which are:

the INTERCONNECTEDNESS: of animal species between one another (explaining the numerous accounts of paloelithic art depiction species together, or separated), and of human and animal: including through mythologies in which humans were created from animal(s), or animal(s) later changed into human(s).

the FLUIDITY of the living world: animal species are recognized as kin, for they can become it; animal species are given, or projected-onto attributes that make a tribe, a clan, recognize themselves in it

the acceptation of the COMPLEXITY of the world: paleolithic people likely had deep, complex mythologies and cosmogonies, which we might Never, Ever, know anything about (this drives me insane.) their language, and their rites, might (have) reflect(ed) an understanding of the complixity of nature, or animals, that sedentary, then later capitalist societies might have lost the nuances of.

the PERMEABILITY of the living world(s). this again is seen in beliefs in the permeablity between human & animal, human a animal, animal as human: this is also where Shamanism might come into play. shamanism(s) rest(s) upon the conceptualization of the world as divided-but-permeable between a physical, living world, and an unseen, spirit world: the Shaman is the mediator, the person who can freely go between these two worlds, to communiate, to heal, to direct, to plead, etc. AND, and this is where it gets real interesting for The Caves: potentially, the belief in the permeablity of the cave rock itself: multiple painted sites might contain hints of a belief in the cave being the place where spirits dwell; and painting them is less "calling" or "invoking", even if there might be some of it, but rather "revealing". the cave itself, maybe, could (have) be(en) considered the place where spirits dwell, and come forth/from. more about that later.

WITH ALL OF THAT IN MIND. at least in the franco-cantabrian area, the placement of cave art is, very Very likely, extremely deliberate. it is not just the art that counts, but where it was made. we can ask ourselves, why it was made here, and not elsewhere. i am picking my answer on this axis. some caves might be so beautifully painted, but are The Vibes here? if the expression of this potential magico-spiritual complex and tens-of-thousands-of-years-spanning(!!!!!!!!!! this is nother thing that's fucking insane btw. did you know we are as close to Lascaux as Lascaux is to Chauvet, another very ornate painted cave. MULTIPLE TENS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS) is visible, or #feelable, let's mention it. now onto the good part

CAVE ART THAT DRIVES ME CUCKOO CRAZY:

THE NIAUX (pronounced "Nyo") CAVE

reason: i've been there. twice. sobbed both times. came out changed like genuinely. made me go back to uni. the Niaux Cave is located in the Ariège (a-ryeh-juh) département [think smaller than a state bigger than a county] of southern france, in the Pyrénées (pee-reh-neh) mountains making the border with spain.

the almost entirety of the art is concentrated in the "Salon Noir" of the cave.

now. come close and listen to me. the Salon Noir is some 700 meters from both the modern entrance and the prehistoric one. today, like back then, you have to navigate rough, slippery terrain, crouchspaces, and generally accident-inducing (source: my dad slipped & fell just like our guide warned us about) walking space. for most of the way, the ceiling is 5 to 10 meters above, and the walls relatively close together (but not claustrophobic). the Salon Noir seems to be "indicated" by, on both of its sides, red symbol markings. now listen to me. the Salon Noir's ceiling is twice as high. even with modern lamps, you struggle to see it. now imagine. having walked all the way there, in the Wet, the fire of your torch or your grease hand-lamp to guide you, and suddenly not only can you not see the ceiling anymore, but the rock seems to speak back to you. the echo is intense, in the Salon Noir, way more than anywhere in the lower-ceiling'ed cave. your voice carries on for 5 full seconds, if you sing the rock continues singing after you. did you know? in france and spain, studies have shown that most parietal (=cave wall) art corresponds to particular acoustic features. did they sing? did they play the flute, the drums? did they use lithophones: the stalagtites & stalagmites, hit of small sticks, to make them ring? in the Salon Noir, most of the animals are bisons, as is very common in the franco-cantabrian area. now this is just something fun that our guide told us, possibly nothing more than an interesting coincidence, for its truth would rest on an unproven-hypothesis-within-an-unproven-hypothesis, but did you now that the female bison has the same gestational period as the human? 9 months.

the bison to the right, with the red markings and the "eyebrows", is my dad's favorite: he says its profile looks like him, with his beard and his big nose, which to be fair, truly it does. in a previous-previous-previous-previous life my dad as an upper paleolithic era bison. this is my dad's paleolithic fursona.

my favorite is this horsie. see? she smiles.

so does this one on the left, a protome (= name for the depiction of only the front of an animal, of a human)

PERGOUSET (pronounced per-goo*-zeh) CAVE

(* but the "oo" sound is short)

i'm cheating a little. because this is not painting, it's carving. but i consider sculpture an art, and parietal carving to be as important and interesting as parietal paintings, so. take it or don't!

yeah the whole cave. you'll see why. basically if i think about Pergouset for too long my skin starts melting i foam at the mouth etc. anyways. since the cave is closed to the public, and basically only available to researchers' viewings, it is quite hard to find images of it, so we'll just ball on this one.

Pergouset is located in the département of the Lot, in southwest-central france. this region is Plentiful with caves, including Pech-Merle that is basically next door, and Lascaux 1.5h away. why this one & not any of those two? well. come closer.

okay. the pussies & this guy with his penis out cave. what's her deal. Well, first piece of lore is to know that, in the grand scheme of franco-cantabrian paleolithic cave art, human representations are minimal. animals make up the majority of depictions, however, "archetyped" or "stereotyped" human figures that insist on sex characteristics are Plentiful. and within representations of that, "female" archetypes outnumber "male" ones by a lot. basically you cannot cough on a paleolithic "human" depiction without landing on a vulva frankly. many such cases in life as well. one of the hypotheses, which Michel Lorblanchet brings forth in his book La Naissance de la Vie: Une Lecture de l'Art Parietal (from which the picture above is from) is that it could be part of a belief system in which the cave, the whole cave, itself could be a "female" principle or archetype: the whole of the cave a matrix, a uterus. basically its giving, it's giving birth. one of the biggest data point he has for that hypothesis is the Pergouset cave. in the Pergouset cave, carvings of vulvae rhythm a long narrow passage following an underground river. the 3 vulvae could represent that of pre-birth, that of currently-pregnant (with the line in the middle, like the pigmentation line on pregnant belly + carved over a convex part of the stone), and that of currently-actively-giving birth: "vulva 3" is just two streaks in the rock, surrounding a naturally-occuring hole in the rock: as if that feature of the cave itself had been recognized as It's Giving Birth / hereditary voice I Am Your Mother. as you can see on the picture, vulva 1 is all the way back in the #depths, in the #dark, and vulva 3 the closest to the exit, indeed to the light ( -> it's giving birth). now. and this is the insane thing. foaming at the mouth like unwell arms shaking rn. i've had to go pace 4 times since i started typing. in the depths of the cave, the animals that are carved are less (see the numbers on the picture). but also, they're... more fantastic. stranger, more unusual. lacking the realism that is typically associated with parietal art. they're... as if from a dream, an undetermined land of weirdness, of amorphousness. as they get closer to the light, they get more numerous, they proliferate, life crawls the walls: they become also more and more realistic. as we reach the last carved vulva, as it is giving, what is it: giving BIRTH, animals are numerous, abundant, fully formed, their visible selves in the world outside: it is as if the cave itself, the depths of cave itself, gave birth to these animals, formed them inside of itself, let them out from this unknown, amorphous, strange land beyond the stone, where human cannot reach. humans went in, and meticulously, sometimes using a natural relief in the stone for an eye, a feature, "released" the animals from the stone, "revealed" them from their state of hidden-inside-of-the-depths-ness. the whole cave this Mother from which all the animals drawn on the walls emerged.

tldr

[starrailstories]

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

[seri-tonin]

BSD Chapter 119 Analysis

Bookmarks, dimensions, minkowski spaces... what the fuck does it all mean?? This chapter dumped a whole lot of information on us without really answering any of our questions, so this is my attempt to hopefully break some of it down for you and explain my theories on it.

Everything under the cut cause I wrote a whole ass essay

The Tiger is a Bookmark?

This chapter started off strong by giving us what's probably one of the more confusing concepts in the series (which is saying a lot...). Fyodor finally gave some hints as to the true nature of the tiger, but he did it in the most cryptic way possible.

I have a few theories in mind for what he could've meant by this. My immediate thought ties back to the fact that the tiger is considered to be a "guide" to the book. It's something we've known for awhile, but from the beginning we've assumed that that means it's a guide to finding the book itself. However, comparing the tiger to a bookmark - something that helps you know where you are in a book - makes me think that the tiger might be a guide in the sense that it can navigate between the different worlds that we know exist within the book, such as the Beast universe.

The second theory that I came up with is that maybe the tiger functions as some sort of anchor. A bookmark holds your place in a book, so the tiger "holds" the world and keeps it where it's at. (This is honestly the weakest theory of the three but I figured I'd include it anyways)

And my friend (shout-out to @musical-ghostie) came up with the third theory, that Fyodor's breaking the fourth wall right now. When he refers to the tiger as the bookmark, he could be talking about the fact that he's the protagonist, the one we experience the story through, or (similar to my first theory) the audience's guide to this world. This would also explain why Fyodor was so disgusted by the fact that it's Atsushi who has the tiger ability. Atsushi, who's selfish and pathetic and nothing like how you'd imagine a typical protagonist to be (this is not a diss at all on Atsushi's character by the way, I love the fact that he's written like this). I'm particularly attached to this interpretation, because it would fit so well with my "Asagiri is a character and god and the creator of the book" theory, but I'm not gonna get into that here (maybe it'll get it's own post sometime).

This theory is also backed up by this panel where Fyodor describes the tiger as the "emotional hearth" of the world, which would make sense if he was referring to the fact that Atsushi, as the protagonist, is the main aspect of the story that keeps the audience emotionally invested - because we're the most connected to his emotions specifically.

Ame-no-gozen and Minkowski Space

Shout-out to Bungou Stray Dogs for being the only series that I love enough that I'm willing to research an advanced physics concept just to be able to understand the story a bit better.

In this chapter, Fyodor gives us this explanation on how the divine being functions the way it does:

That's... pretty confusing, isn't it? So, I did a little bit of research into what a Minkowski space is, and here's my understanding: it's essentially a theoretical plane where time functions the same as space. Basically, the divine being is able to go wherever it wants in time, forward and backwards, instead of being stuck only ever going forward in time at the same consistent rate like the rest of us. (Disclaimer: I have never taken a physics class in my life, so my interpretation of what a Minkowski space is could be way off. Feel free to tell me in the notes if you know!!)

That said, I don't think the extent of ame-no-gozen's power is just being able to freely move through space and time, but I think it's also able to manipulate the (metaphorical) shape that space and time take. Fyodor even specifically refers to it as manipulating space in this panel:

He only refers to space in this panel, but I think it's safe to assume that the being has the same power over time, since it's able to interact with time in the same way that it interacts with space.

Parallels to Chapter 4

I'm sure we all recognized the reference to Akutagawa's iconic "Fear death. Fear slaughter" speech he gives when he's first introduced. This of course made me go back and reread chapter four, where he gives the original speech, and I noticed another parallel that I hadn't thought of immediately.

In chapter four, Akutagawa tells Atsushi in no uncertain terms that it is his fault that his colleagues, Junichiro and Naomi, are presumably dead. He explains to him that they were targeted because of the fact that Atsushi possesses the power of the tiger, and therefore he was the one who brought suffering to them.

Now some of what Fyodor said in the newest chapter is starting to sound really familiar... In this chapter, Fyodor tells Atsushi almost the exact same thing. That his friends are presumably dead and it's his fault, because he has the power of the tiger and could've prevented it.

I would be willing to chalk this up to just both being villains targeting Atsushi's insecurities and not really a parallel, if it weren't for the fact that chapter four gets much more explicitly referenced later in this chapter with the whole "fear death, fear slaughter" thing. Chapter four being referenced multiple times makes me believe it's intentional. I have a feeling that either Atsushi or Akutagawa (or both) will soon have a moment that really displays how much they've grown since their first meeting in chapter four, which is why it's being referenced now.

Other Thoughts + Conclusion

I'm sure if you're reading this, you were probably hoping I'd have something to say about Akutagawa's appearance, but honestly I can't say I have anything that hasn't been said by someone else already. Currently I'm leaning towards the theory that he's still under Bram's influence to some extent. Although, I also like the possibility that's been pointed out that maybe he does actually recognize Atsushi, but is just being dramatic and metaphorical and trying to tell him that he's not acting like the Atsushi he's come to know. I don't think this one is super likely, but it would be in-character for Akutagawa for sure.

Uhh but yeah, I think that's all the thoughts I have right now, but I'd love it if anyone wants to discuss some of this with me! Thank you so much for reading all this if you got this far, I hope it makes enough sense...

[panda-writes-kpop]

What does a demon and a function have in common? (You can test both of their limits!) - l. yb.

a/n: happy dami day! i know the timeline of this fic is messy, but just pretend that it's all okay and I will too :) also I wrote this because I was trying to understand my feelings as an aroace person towards love and I'm still really confused... but at least we got a good fic out of it! ❤️

tw: demons, undefined magic, lots of mentions of death, implied aroace! reader, a bit of religious trauma

word count: 2.6k

summary: you're in distress over your math homework and the pretty demon that helps you with it, and you're reluctant to let your heart do the talking since it ended pretty badly for your friend and her demon companion.

related fics: Demon! SuA - Tainted Love

♡ Masterlist ♡

You shouldn't do this.

You glare at the leather-bound book in front of you as you furiously erase another answer from your sheet of scratch paper. The book was a gift from a friend, one that had struggled with a demonic relationship before.

You hadn't heard from them in a year and a half, and from what you heard from mutual friends, they weren't doing too well. Although you weren't positive that the book was bad news, you had never seen your friend so desperate to remove an object from their grasp.

After doing a bit of research, you realized that it was a cursed tome. There were seven different markings on the cover, which meant that seven different demons were tied to the book. Luckily, only one had been released when your friend had opened the book.

Now, you had to be the one to safeguard it. To make sure that no one would ever be hurt by the book again.

But, as you stare at your Calculus homework, you realize that you have no idea what you're fucking doing. And at 10 p.m. the night before an exam, the tutoring center is closed and the professor is probably counting sheep while their students are stressing out.

You're well aware that it's a stupid, very dumb, unintelligent idea to open a cursed book in order to understand Calculus, but what other choice do you have? Do you fail this exam then fail the class, which would put you a year behind?

What would your peers say?

What would your family say?

A shiver down your back, from the looming threat of parental disappointment, causes you to drop your pencil and reach for the book. Your hand gently traces the seven etchings on the cover, and you notice that one isn't filled in with color. 

The demon that took my friend away.

You really shouldn't be doing this.

You think about the laundry list of concepts that you have to master by 10 a.m. tomorrow, and your decision has never been easier.

I'd rather stick my hand in an open flame than do another problem with no help.

When you open the book, you realize that you're blissfully unaware of how to summon a demon. Do you say a bunch of random words in Latin? Do you do a little hand motion? Do you need an offering?

You decide that your best option at summoning a demon that won't smite you immediately is to plead with the book.

Because desperate never goes out of style.

“Listen, I don't know who I'm talking to, if I'm even talking to anyone in the first place. I'm having a problem. …Well, it's not a ‘the fate of the world rests in your hands’ type of problem, but I still could use some help.”

An orange trail of smoke leaves the book in your hands and swirls like a tornado in an empty spot in your living room. Objects start flying around because of the tailwind, and you have to duck before you take a pencil to the eyeball. 

“Who knew Calculus homework could be deadly?” You joke as you try to not think about the magnitude of the situation that you're in. You haven't even met the demon yet, and the smoke that it creates(?) it is trying to kill you.

Not a good sign.

Once your apartment is messy enough for your demon of choice, the book in your hands shuts itself as the orange smoke starts to dissipate. 

You set the book aside as you gawk at the woman- no, demon that stands in your living room. 

She's dressed in all black, ready to go to a funeral.

You just have to hope that it's not yours.

“How can I assist you?” She softly asks in a semi-uninterested voice.

“I need help with Calculus.” You blurt out as she clocks her head at you.

“I beg your pardon?”

~

This demon was exceptionally smart, which was good for your tired, mortal mind. She also didn't kill you on the spot - a good thing, you assume, unless the murder is waiting for you on the other side of the Calculus homework.

She was taken aback by your request, staring at you in utter surprise until she joined your side and helped you with your homework.

Her voice was gentle and smooth, and you would've fallen asleep if you weren't thinking about being killed in your sleep.

“Thanks.” You rub your eyes as you set the pencil down as you check your phone for the time.

You're proud of yourself for putting your phone on dark mode (you've flash-banged yourself in the past, it's a one time mistake) as you realize that it's only one in the morning. With a few hours of sleep and a large container of your favorite caffeinated drink, you'd be fine for your exam.

“Is that all you needed? …A bit of guidance with math?” The woman sitting beside you is in disbelief as you nod your head.

“Is there something wrong with that?” You joke, momentarily forgetting that she's a demon.

“Forgive me, but the people who usually hold the tome are more demanding… and a lot less cute.”

“Okay, back into the book you go.” You toss the book her way before trying to hide her embarrassment. 

She chuckles softly before running her fingers over the spine.

“You have no idea how any of this works, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod your head before starting to put your school stuff away.

“Right, right.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. “Dami.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head at her, but she snaps her fingers and disappears with the book in an instance.

Well, that damn book is out of my sight and I now have a chance to pass my Calc exam. I'll take that as a win-win.

~

You don't remember climbing into bed last night (this morning? The days are blending together at this point).

Before leaving your apartment, you say a small prayer before grabbing your pick-me-up of choice from the fridge. You might have this exam on lock.

As you walk to class, you recite Calculus formulas in your head. Partial derivatives swirl around your mind along with the thought of the mysterious woman.

Dami?

She's not a directional derivative, so you should focus on something else. 

You, at least, had the demon situation under control.

 ~

This semester, you officially renounced your academic weapon status; instead, you were an academic victim. Although you most definitely messed up the first problem (why do all of the problems have the same wording yet completely different solutions?), you had the rest of it down.

Your confidence evaporated when the two classmates behind you started discussing their answers and got completely different answers to you. 

Maybe another semester here wouldn't be so bad?

“You did fine.” 

You jump as your eyes lock with the demon from the night before.

“Sorry, sorry.” You apologize to the two people behind you as you step to the side to speak with Dami. “I like your confidence in me, and I wish I had a fraction of it for myself.”

“There's nothing wrong with having a little pride.” She shrugs as the doors to the lecture hall open.

“Well, at least there's another exam a few weeks after spring break.” Ryujin shrugs before closing the door and walking towards you. “How'd the exam go for you?”

“It was okay.” You softly shrug as you glance between Dami and Ryujin.

“You're too humble for how smart you are.” Ryujin scoffs before turning to Dami. “You new here?”

“I'm just visiting someone.” Dami winks at you, and your eyes avert her gaze afterwards.

Ryujin sighs before adjusting her backpack and clearing her throat.

“They're not interested in guys or girls…. or anyone, for that matter.”

You playfully smack Ryujjn's shoulder before she pretends to be in extreme pain from the hit.

“It's not an absolute thing. I'll know if there's someone I'm interested in.” You nonchalantly say as Ryujin checks her smart watch.

“Oh shit, I've got class in fifteen minutes halfway across campus. See ya!” Ryujin waves to you both before offering a nod to Dami. “Nice to meet you.”

She runs off in another direction as your attention turns to Dami.

“Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I haven't been out of that book for centuries. I just wanted to see how humans lived.” Dami folds her arms before walking to you. “The world is so much different… better, if you ask me.”

“You're not like any demon I've heard of.” You blurt out before biting your tongue. “Sorry, that's probably really mean to say-”

“It's okay, and to be honest, I'd be surprised if I was like any other demon that you met. Not all demons fall from the sky, you know.”

~

It's been three hours, and you're still trying to come to terms with the fact that Dami’s a fallen angel. Who says that to someone after only two interactions with them?

Dami, apparently, because she's been watching you like a hawk as you sit across from her in the campus library.

“You think of me differently, don't you?” 

You don't look up from your computer as you tap your pencil against the desk three times.

Click. Click. Click.

“I don't.” You calmly say before writing an equation in your notebook. “I should be honest with you, though, since you were honest with me. It's only fair.”

You pause for a moment as Dami folds her arms and leans against the chair. She's trying to remain cool, but a small twitch in her left eye tells you that she's more interested than she appears to be.

It's cute.

“I had a friend who summoned a demon from that book… I don't know her name, and I don't want to. She ruined my friend’s life, Dami.” You explain your friend’s story, going through agonizing detail as told through their family and other friends.

You have to pause once to wipe your tears, and Dami offers a comforting hand as the other drops to her side. You, albeit hesitantly, take it. 

She should be cold like ice- undead, unfeeling. But there's some sort of warmth in her touch that can't be explained by the hellfire that she resides in.

Perhaps she's already gotten attached to you. You feel it too, you want to trust her. Can you, though?

She hasn't torn your arm off yet, so you're starting off on the right foot.

Trauma dumping counts as bonding, right?

You bite your lip before shaking your head, feeling the uncertainty of everything crash against you. What are you doing, trusting a demon that hurt someone that you care deeply about?

I can't do this.

“I should go.” You pull your hand out of her grasp as you quickly try to pack your things up. “I'm sorry, I'm probably shit-talking one of your friends that you've known for centuries.”

As you reach for your pencil, Dami grabs your wrist.

“I can't promise that I'm a ‘good’ demon or person,” She softly exhales before looking in your eyes, “but I won't betray you. Not now. Not ever.”

Something pounds, but it's not your head, swimming from the thoughts of your friends and the demon in front of you.

It comes from deep inside you, a feeling that you thought would be forever foreign to you. A magical feeling that “normal” people got to feel. The thing that makes them human, after all.

Your heart pounds.

This isn't you. You need to leave. Now.

Without exchanging another word, you run off into the afternoon light. You know she might follow you, but you hope she'll give you some space. 

I hope she doesn't hate me.

You need to get a grip, and fast, before you rock the boat that's been steadily keeping you afloat for years.

~

Five hours. That's the longest you can last in a little internet cafe before you put your tail between your legs and head home. You know Dami will be there, and you don't want to sleep on a park bench, so home it is.

Will she be mad at me?

Who cares? You're not in love with her, you just like her. 

As a friend. 

As someone you can hang out with. 

Someone to share secrets with.

Friends can kiss, right?

You've known her for less than twenty-four hours. You need to find where your sense of reality has gone and reclaim it before you head into your apartment.

But the key is already in your hand.

Your feet walk up the stairs without your brain telling them to.

You unlock your apartment door to see someone quietly sitting on your couch - the same spot where she helped you with your math homework.

Your stomach and heart fill with dread as you slowly take off your shoes.

She's been kind to you, and you ran off because you were upset about your own feelings.

You felt like a petulant child.

“I'm sorry for running off. I got upset thinking about my friend, and I should have talked through my feelings like a fucking adult. You're not like the other demon, just as I'm not like my friend. Feeling trapped by someone else’s opinions of you is rough,” You toss the keys on the counter before shedding your coat, “trust me, I know.”

Dami looks back to you, and the moonlight casts her in an angelic glow - she was ethereal and you didn't doubt that she was once an angel. You'd be more surprised if she wasn't one of God’s favorites.

Why was she here, instead of in the sky? 

You don't want to pry, but Dami’s the first one to walk towards you.

“I was worried about you,” She softly admits, “a demon, a former angel, a creature much older than you could comprehend, was worried about the safety of a mortal.”

When she is close enough for you to reach out for her, she reaches out her hand.

“I'm not an evil demon or a perfect angel. But I can promise you-”

“I think I like you.” The words spill out of your lips before you can truly think about what you're saying. “I mean, of course I like you, but it's not how I've liked anyone before. I like Ryujin as a friend, she's nice to me and we get lunch sometimes. But you… you're different. And being different scares me. It's not just because you're a demon, it's who you are. It wouldn't matter if you were a demon, angel, or human because I'd still feel the same way.”

You pause to take a breath.

“I'm not normal, and I'm probably not like any human you've met. I don't want a traditional romance with a wedding or kids. I don't want physical intimacy with someone who won't appreciate me. Hell, I don't even know if I want a partner half of the time. The only thing I know,” You take her hand before pulling Dami closer, “is that I want you to be by my side. As a friend or as something more. Whatever we will be, I know we'll figure it out together.”

“I want you by my side as well.” She softly mutters as you place your forehead against hers.

You're both quiet as you envelope yourselves in the serene environment that you've created.

“So, do I meet your devilish friends now, or do I have to take you to dinner first?”

Dami laughs warmly before pulling you close to her.

“Whatever you want.”

You're in deep. She has in her talons sunk deep under your skin, in less than a day. 

She could betray you.

You had to learn how to trust her.

And in time, you will.

[roguishcat]

ooooh what is ‘a welcome distraction’???

Thank you for the ask! 💖I subscribe to the idea that Astarion is very much a cat. 🙂 Neil showing the cat that he adopted and commenting on how long it took to gain the said cat's trust was really helpful in terms of understanding what Astarion is likely to do. I'm not saying that I write Astarion perfectly, but watching that live stream helped me to improve.

With that in mind, I started writing and this wrote itself. It's not done, but it's becoming something.

Astarion stretched out languidly on Tav’s bedroll, watching her as she looked through their magic trinkets to decide which ones they could do without. Ever since Gale came to her, confessing everything, telling her of his folly, Tav has taken extra care to set aside an item or two that the wizard could consume.

Now, if this was done out of sense of self-preservation, that would be completely understandable. It would be quite unfortunate for that orb in his chest to get so volatile it would just explode at random. Such a waste that would be. The world would lose its most beautiful creature! And just as he was starting to enjoy his freedom! And he supposed the wizard had his uses too.

Astarion blinked slowly and sighed. As nice as it was to have no one try to murder them for a change, he was getting bored. And his favourite source of entertainment seemed to have no time on her hands for him.

Now that just wouldn’t do.

He moved closer to Tav and lifted his hand to rest on her head, running his fingers through her hair and then lower down to caress the exposed skin of her neck. Astarion knew that he was distracting her, that was the whole point of the gentle, feather-light touches that made goosebumps rise on her exposed arms. And when that garnered no reaction, Astarion lifted himself up to press his chest against her back, snaking his arms around her middle.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, kissing her shoulder, making a move to lift her shirt enough with insistent hands to expose skin and trace slow patterns just above her hipbones, “don’t you think it’s time for a break?”

“As nice as that sounds, I still have to go through all the scrolls and potions.”

“Nice? I can’t promise anything that uninspired,” he scoffed. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning.

“Something wicked, however,” he drawled, his lips almost touching Tav’s ear “that I could definitely provide.”

“Well, as delicious as that sounds, I’m not moving until I get this done. But perhaps you could help?”

“Tsk, you are no fun,” he pouted, lifting a necklace with the tip of his finger. “What’s this one supposed to do?”

“Let me just check… Misty Step.”

“Keeping it,” he would have squirreled it away earlier, but a part of him felt a sick sort of dread at taking something without waiting for permission first. It was almost like a reflex. Not to take without permission, lest he be punished.

“If you want,” Tav shrugged with a smile. “Put it into your pile, it’s that one.”

Astarion inwardly preened when he noted it was one of the bigger piles. He spied a nice bow and two rings perched on top of a set of armour. He supposed getting nice new things was worth an hour of boredom.

It was still a novel concept. Having things of his own. Being given what he needed or simply wanted with no strings attached. And it wasn’t just him that got such treatment. Tav tried her best to make sure that everyone was taken care of to the best of her ability.

Astarion would probably never admit it unless faced with decapitation, but Tav has really started to grow on him. The pleasant manner in which she carried herself, the ferocious way in which she fought, the unwavering loyalty to those she considered friends.

That was yet another novel concept, having friends.

 “Darling, I can’t help but notice that you didn’t choose anything for yourself.”

“I don’t need anything right now.”

That was a lie. Her armour breathed its last when they went up against the goblins to protect the Grove. She could definitely use a new pair of boots too.

“As sweet as you are for thinking of others before yourself, I would rather you not become a pincushion next time we are ambushed. Here,” he picked a set of armour at random, “take this.”

“And Shadowheart will have to do without, I suppose?”

“She’s a cleric. She can heal herself.”

[poorly-written-fiction]

replay (logan howlett x oc) chapter 3 - teenage dream

A/N: hello everyone! chapter 3 is here! this one is obviously inspired by katy perry's "teenage dream" which i started associating with hugh jackman after that one video he did lipsyncing to the song. concept made me giggle. this was actually the very first thing i wrote about logan and inez together, and from there, inez became a character of her own! i hope you all enjoy.

Summary: Kate invites Inez to some "girl time".

word count: 1600

tags: canon x oc, logan howlett x oc, mutant! oc, slow burn, enemies/rivals to lovers, some swearing, inez is "white girl dancing" and logan has A Reaction™, spelling and grammar errors because i didn't proofread too hard, okay bye i hope you enjoy

===============================================================

In the weeks that followed, Inez hadn’t gone to help Logan like she usually would have for his classes in the mornings. As much as she felt guilty for what she said, there was a small part of her that felt spiteful. Despite her anger, she couldn’t escape her helpful and loyal nature. As much as she wanted to jam her claws and teeth into Logan every time he looked at her, there was a small part of her that only felt satisfied by helping him. Maybe it was her pride, knowing that there was something she was good at that he was terrible at. Maybe it was the fact that she was always a team player. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care as long as it kept him from trying to talk to her.

It was early one Monday morning when she had passed by his classroom. He wasn’t there, of course he wouldn’t be there until then minutes before class started. Inez rolled her eyes, and placed a hand on the door. “If the door is unlocked, I’ll just get everything plugged in and turned on so he won’t try to ask me for help. If I can’t get in, then he’s shit out of luck,” she thought bitterly. She took the door’s handle into her hand, and pushed. The door swished open quietly. Inez felt like an inexperienced criminal who hadn’t done anything wrong yet, but it was too late to turn back now. She worked as fast as she could, not wanting anyone to find out what she was doing. It was now her dirty secret. She left almost as quickly as she came in, and she slipped away before anyone knew she had been there.

At 7:45, Logan walked into his classroom, finding already been set up for him. He paused for a moment, trying to think back to last Friday. Had he completely forgotten to shut everything down? He walked over to his desk, checking through his files, making sure nothing had been disturbed. No signs of life anywhere, He took a deep breath, and as he sighed, the realization hit him. He could smell the very faint scent of Inez. He called out to her, but she wasn’t in the room. He shook his head, thinking passively about how kind she had been to help him. There was a slight pang of guilt that hit him, he wasn’t blind to the fact that he had upset her. He sipped his coffee and brushed it off, deciding that dwelling on it wasn’t going to help anything.

================================================

The rest of the week went by quickly and uneventfully. It was one of those rare times of peace and quiet around X Mansion. The world itself was more peaceful than usual, so everyone was able to collectively sigh with relief. It felt like there was no weight of priorities or hell breaking loose in the world. The students were all in relatively good spirits as well, which made work easy for the professors. On Friday evening, Inez found herself sitting at the kitchen counter, organizing some spare electronic pieces she had kept on hand from a few of the previous projects she had worked on. She didn’t want to hold onto any parts if they didn’t work. 

“Hey Wolfy, how’s the project going?” Kate leaned in the doorway, smiling. Inez had been so deep in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Kate in the area. 

“I mean, it’s just a bunch of scraps. I’m mostly checking to make sure I didn’t keep them for no reason.” Inez collected the loose pieces and put them in a small box she kept handy for spare parts.

Kate walked over and sat next to Inez, “Well, if you’re not busy, I was wondering if you’d like to do something. It’s a Friday night, everyone else is either busy or sleeping, and I thought it’d be fun to have some ‘girl time’?”

“It sounds like you already have a plan in mind?” Inez eyed her friend with faux suspicion. Kitty never had bad ideas, just questionable ideas.

================================================

Several hours - and several alcoholic drinks later - the two girls were laughing, dancing, and “living their best lives” as they say. The mansion was still aside from the alcohol-induced joy the girls were radiating. They decided to make the living room their makeshift nightclub. Alcohol wasn’t allowed on the premises, but Kate had learned a thing or two about hiding some cans of seltzer. They mixed the alcohol with some juice to make it go down easier, and before too long, they were having a wonderful time together. The girls had enough wherewithal not to do anything stupid, except maybe play their music a little louder than what was preferred. Thankfully, the mansion was almost empty, which meant no one was really around to scold them.

Except maybe one person.

Logan’s senses were under attack from the girls’ shenanigans. The sound of the music and the smell of the alcohol were the most prominent. He had come downstairs to grab a beer he had hidden himself, and saw the girls dancing and having a great time. Part of him was warmed to see them so happy, and another part of him was annoyed, because of how loud the music was. He decided not to disturb them, and slipped into the kitchen without catching their attention. The Wolverine wasn’t exactly known for liking girly pop music, but he tried to ignore it as much as he could as he drank his beer in the kitchen. He couldn’t lie, it did make him smile to see Kate having fun with friends, even if he and Inez didn’t get along at the best of times. She was just a little too much like him, but in this moment he saw a side of her that she hadn’t shown very much. She actually seemed like fun in this state. The twinge of guilt hit him again.

Maybe things could be different.

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, the girls were giggling excitedly, “Oh my god, I love this song!” The song playing was “Teenage Dream” by Katy Perry, which in truth wasn’t either of the girls' favorite song, but they knew the words and it was catchy enough that they were having a good time.

“You make me

Feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream

The way you turn me on, I can't sleep

Let's run away and don't ever look back, don't ever look back”

Inez swung her hips to the beat of the song, rolling her shoulders and tossing her hair around. In this moment she was the definition of “dance like no one is watching”. Except Logan had been watching, but she hadn’t noticed him yet, so she had no reason to feel embarrassed. Kate could now see Logan in the kitchen, sipping his beer and smiling at them. She smiled back, but didn’t pay him too much attention, continuing to dance with her friend.

“I'ma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight

Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans

Be your teenage dream tonight”

Inez ran her hands from her chest down to her legs, still swaying and rocking with the beat. Something about that suddenly made Logan inhale sharply, mid-sip, sending him into a coughing fit. Inez whipped around quickly, suddenly feeling very sober, and very mortified. Kate, who had noticed Logan, started laughing. She didn’t know whose reaction was better - Inez's or Logan’s.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you I-” Logan was at a loss for words, still trying to clear his airways from the alcohol.

Inez yelled, “How long have you been watching us?!” Her body was hot - she was already warm from the alcohol and the dancing, but now she felt like her body was on fire. She was embarrassed. She barely let anyone see her with her guard down, especially not Logan. She wanted to be her toughest self around him. She didn’t even let him answer before she left the room, leaving quickly to get out of the situation she was now in. She was already up the stairs, heading to her room before Logan could follow her.

“You might want to give her a second,” Kate suggested, a smile still on her face. “It might actually be better if I go talk to her.”

Upstairs, Inez was in the bathroom splashing water on her face, trying to cool down. She was definitely sober now, and kept reliving and replaying the moment in her head. She genuinely wondered how long Logan had been watching. What was he thinking? She didn’t want to think about it for too long. She walked out of the bathroom and straight to her room, silently hoping there was still enough alcohol in her system that maybe she would still forget the events by morning.

Logan wasn’t any better. He couldn’t stop asking himself why he had reacted like that. She wasn’t anyone special to him, she was just Inez, the stupid little pup who would mouth off to him, or side-eye him every chance she got. But in that moment, she was something. She was always fearless and carried herself with a lot of confidence, but when she was dancing in the living room, she was entirely herself. She was radiant. Logan couldn’t think straight for the rest of the night, and questioned himself at every chance he got. It kept him awake for a long while before he could shake the feeling enough to get some sleep.

[thealias0]

I might have came up with alternate resolutions for both The Giggle and Empire of Death in the shower

I think that those resolutions are both really underwhelming and deserved more. So, let's start what i came up with The Giggle.

Originally, The Toymaker was defeated by him just messing up. No clever play from anyone. 14 and 15 haven't displayed one of their biggest traits, which is their Time Lord super intelligence. They only displayed their ability to play catch, which is just such a waste imo. My proposal: Game of catch goes just like it did in the episode, but eventually 14 and 15 look at each other in understanding. They have cooked a plan. 14 catches the ball and throws it to 15, but he misses and ball falls off the edge of the rooftop. Both act shocked and 15 immediately sprints into the building. Toymaker looks at what just transpired and laughs and screams. "Go ahead, run if you wanna play hide and seek next. You will not escape me anyways." Turns to 14. "Are you proud? Your next incarnation revealed himself to be a coward! I expect many things from you, Doctor, but that sure surprised me. Now, you lost the game, so now's time for me to collect my reward." 14 smirks. "I wouldn't be so sure, as I believe... it is still falling" The moment he said that, the ball hurling from the entrance to the building hits The Toymaker and falls to the ground. In the way stands none other than 15 visibly exhausted from running and expression of relief on his face. Toymaker visibly angry, scared and confused asks: "Wh- What?! How did you... No... don't tell me-" "That's right, Toymaker" 15 expeled. "There are no rules forbidding the usage of time machines" 14 finished the thought. Then the flashback plays out showing the whole thing from 15's perspective. He runs as fast as he can straight to the TARDIS passing himself on the way, travels to the time and place where the ball is supposed to land, catches it, travels back and runs back to the rooftop passing himself on the way back. The rest transpires as it did in the original. I'm not claiming it's the best, great or even good alternate ending, but i think it would be more satisfying than what we got.

The resolution for Empire of Death is one of the most disappointing events I've ever seen in Doctor Who. It made Sutekth into a complete joke. Are you really telling me that the supposed most powerful being in existence. A god so powerful and terrifying that even The Toymaker ran in terror, wasn't able to handle a fucking rope? I don't care if it's a "smart rope" whatever that means. Toymaker was able to turn bullets into confetti, people into bunch of bouncy balls and implied he could turn galaxies into figet spinners or whatever. Sutekth is supposed to be more powerful than that and he couldn't do anything about it? Sutekth deserves much better than this. So this is what i came up with. It isn't nearly as detailed as the toymaker stuff, but i hope you'll enjoy the concept. So, i decided to actually use the spoon to save the universe in hopefully interesting way. I didn't think of any good scenario yet, but here's my idea for the concept itself. What if Doctor defeated Sutekh by using his power against him using the spoon. By that i mean that The Doctor could psychologically manipulate Sutekh into believing that the spoon through some classic Doctor Who technobabble, power of love and fairy tale salt spilling mumbo jumbo became an actual weapon capable of defeating him. Sutekh being a god and having power over reality itself could subconsciously make that story a reality and unknowingly empowering the spoon with his own power, which then Doctor could use to defeat him.

So that's what i came up. I am not a writer, so i apologize if that's an unbearable slop of a read. I'm not claiming that the dialogue i wrote is any good, as im just not experienced in writing. All i did here was not very thought through and only served the purpose of conveying my core ideas about the alternate resolutions for those stories. Hope you enjoyed and have a nice day

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

Okay, I went ahead and watched the first Descendants movie:

I am no longer the right age demographic for these movies, but I'm sure young teenage me would have eaten these right up, and also wrote fanfiction with OC children of my favorite Disney characters. I'd have the daughter of Fflewddur Fflam starting a garage band with the son of Taran and Eilonwy because they won't let her play a harp in the school marching band. (I hate the Disney version of Black Cauldron, but I'd jump at the chance to write their OC kids.)

It's basically High School Musical with Disney characters. It's cute and silly, and campy.

I feel like the movie basically works because it leans into the camp factor and doesn't take itself too seriously. The Evil Queen from Snow White doesn't have a name, she is literally just called "Evil Queen" or EQ, but she does have a daughter named Evie. That's the kind of movie this is. (I'll choose to believe that she does actually have a name, but she's so proud of her role as the Evil Queen that she insists everyone call her that.)

How many villains got exiled to the island and how many kids did they have?! Enough to apparently fill a small town full of extras and back-up dancers.

The concept really does get creepy if you think about it too long. How bad does someone have to be to get sent over there? Wanting to seal away Maleficent, who is genuinely dangerous, is understandable, but apparently there's at least one Cinderella stepsister over there, so being mean to your stepsister is also punishable by banishment. And then they all start having kids over there, and the good guys are like, "Well, that's unfortunate. Anyway."

Love all the poor and downtrodden villain kids with their cool leather anime-character outfits. They all look like they just stepped out of a Kingdom Hearts game.

"What's going on with Jane's hair?" Snow White, you petty bitch, you are talking about a teenage girl. I don't mind the Disney villains becoming wacky, incompetent sitcom versions of themselves, but I can't stand Snow White the reporter coming off as snotty and elitist. She is one of the nicest Disney princesses, she would be like, "Wow, that gown is gorgeous! Whoever 'Evie' is, she is very talented and I hope to see more of her work!"

It's generally a bit weird that the children of some of the kindest Disney princesses (who went through a lot of suffering themselves) are set up as the snobby prep kids, but I know we needed some rich snobs for the cool outcast villain kids to clash with. At least Ben is nice.

Will I watch the rest of the movies? Maybe if I'm really bored or morbidly curious. Like I said, I am way out of the right age demographic for these, and have no patience for the high school nonsense, but I can see how this would be absolute catnip for younger fans. Next-gen high school AU with plenty of room to create your own Disney OC's? Yes.

[allastoredeer]

If it's not too much work, could you share what your outlining process is like? I always feel a little lost when I try outlining my fics and I know the process is different for everyone but I feel like it would help to know what others do. Every time I try to google help I get processes for original novel writing, and it doesn't feel as applicable to writing a short fanfic.

I would love to :3

There are actually a few different ways I outline, and sometimes it depends on the length of the fic and how complex the plot is.

I'll use one of my saved radiostatic prompts as an example (it also gives me an excuse to sit down and actually outline it hehe)

So, sometimes just the prompt itself is a good enough outline for me (this is dependent on how long I think the fic is going to be. If it's short, sometimes the prompt itself works and I don't need to go in-depth. I say "prompt" but that also can mean a specific scene in your head that you want to write, or a concept, or even a piece of fan-art that inspired you).

Here's the paragraph prompt I wrote for this radiostatic one-shot/short fic (spoilers, I guess):

So sometimes, just this is enough for me to start writing the fic (my prompts do tend to get a little big because I like to add a lot of detail - about the scene or concept that grabbed my attention - so that I capture all the vibes and emotions that I want to incorporate.

But sometimes, it helps to go more in-depth so I'm not overwhelmed trying to get to the part of the fic that I want to write (NOTE: It is totally fine if you write out the scene/parts that you want to write the most, even if it's in the middle or the end. You can always fill in the blanks after. Or you can just post the scene you wanted to write without adding more. It's up to you).

I like to figure out what scenes happen that lead up to the parts I want to write, so sometimes, I'll make a bullet-point list of chronological scenes, plot-points, and details. For example:

And etc... you continue on until you've hashed out the sequence of events that take place in the story. This doesn't have to be super detailed (it can be really brief and to the point) and doesn't it have to be super clinical either. Just have fun and write down whatever silly thoughts you have in your head.

You bullet-point list can be as simple as:

Alastor goes downstairs to do exercise.

Vox shows up to do the exercise as well (invited by Charlie)

They get into an argument about modern technology.

Vox leaves.

It's really just about putting down the sequence of events starting from the very beginning to the very end. You can keep it simple like the above example

OR

You can make it even more detailed by doing an in-depth summary of the fic, scene by scene, plot point by plot point, until you get to the end (this is what I usually do because it gets everything planned out and on the page, down to the smallest details). For example:

And then it goes on like this until I've outlined the entire fic. You can be silly with this. Just have fun. Let yourself ramble and get all you're ideas out. Don't try to stick to a rigid plan, let the story flow naturally.

Then, once I've finished my outline, I use it as a guide as I write the rough draft. The thing about outlines is that you don't have to follow exactly what you planned. It's okay to diverge or adds things or cut things out. It really is just a loose guide to help you through the events of the story and get your thoughts on paper.

Additionally: You don't even have to fully finish the outline if you don't want to. Sometimes you get half of it done before you want to start writing, and that's fine. The rest of the story will reveal itself as you go.

If I'm doing a multi-chaptered fic, sometimes I'll break the overall idea of the story into pre-determined chapters and summarize it section by section. Or, I'll just be a maniac and summarize the entire fic in one big, super long, super detailed block of text. Another staticradio fic I'm currently outlining is 16,152 words long and I'm not even close to being done. I expected this fic to get super long and complex, so writing it out in a very chronological and detailed manner helps it feel less daunting. AND now I have every plot point, twist, emotional scene, and bit foreshadowing planned out and already placed where I want it to show up in the fic. It's great. It makes me life easier when I actually buckle down and write the rough draft.

Just as a final note, I want to say that everyone's process is different. This is how I outline, but I know it won't work for everyone. It's all about finding what method works for you.

I'll say that one of the most important to do while outlining is simply having fun with it. Make it your hype list. Make every scene you jot down a scene you're excited to write. Make yourself want to write it so it doesn't feel like a chore to slog through.

Best advice I've ever recieved: If you're bored writing a scene, the audience will be bored reading it.

Have fun and write the story you wanna write 👉👉

Hope this helped!