#it's tragedy hours folks

[destinywillowleaf]

one of a kind living in a world gone plastic

baby you're so classic

@most-tragic-character-tournament

(all my thoughts in the tags)

[qpjianghu]

Mysterious Lotus Casebook (2023)

(insp.)

[nottobehornyonthemain]

The pool scene is awesome. But it’s also extremely painful.

Because on the one hand you have Gideon, who is very repressed, something we’re probably not expecting as an audience, because she is a brash, agressive, openly queer woman. There’s a weird expectation that girls are somehow more in touch with their feelings (this is dumb). But also we live in a heteronormative society, and it’s unusual for us to see out queer folks who haven’t had to actually think critically about their emotions and come to terms with with them. Which, Gideon has not done.

So she’s in this position where she does not think that Harrowhark is capable of feeling affection or love, and that the strongest emotion Harrow is capable of is hate. Gideon knows 100% for a fact that Harrow hates her, so that means she is important to Harrow.

Except that Harrow *is* apparently capable of love and affection. Which means that when she says that she doesn’t think about Gideon that often because there are things she cares about more, she’s not just saying it to get under Gideon’s skin. Which means that Gideon isn’t as important to Harrow as she thought she was. And this upsets her deeply for reasons she can’t fully explain or understand.

On the other hand you have Harrow, she just told her greatest secret, and received forgiveness, understanding, and genuine human comfort in return. So she looks at the world as though it is filled with egg-eating snakes and she is protecting an egg. So she makes Gideon promise to go home and do the thing her family has been tasked with for generations. We, as the audience, have only gotten like five scenes with Harrowhark fully aware of everything post pool-scene, and in two of them she is destroying herself so that Gideon can have even the smallest chance of life.

Because Gideon just had her heart broken into a thousand tiny shards and can’t even express why, meanwhile Harrow thinks they’re married now.

If they had just a few more hours to talk to each other afterwards I fully believe that they would have worked a lot of this shit out. I guess that’s the tragedy. Even in their moment of seeing each other clearly for the first time, they still don’t understand each other.

[redactedrem]

You know what? Fuck you. *Ponifies Batman*

Guys I'm so excited to share my newest project of ponifying the Batfam, it started out small with the hypothetical "I wonder what Batman would be like in a mlp universe." And then the project kept getting bigger and bigger.

If anyones interested in my world building/ headcanons surrounding this project, you can see it under the cut. (I didn't want to make the post too long.)

Incase anybody couldn't read my bad handwriting, I gotchuuu.

-(First pic) Bruce Wayne: Bruce had got his cutiemark the night of his parents death, after the grief had broken his spirit and he realized that he never wanted anypony else to feel the same pain as he does. (He has a fake cutiemark to cover up his obvious destiny)

- The first pic is pretty self explanatory, but I want to make it clear that Bruce's destiny isn't "My parents are dead so now I dress up as a bat and beat up mentally ill folk". Because I've seen people on here give hot takes on cutiemarks that directly link them to a ponies destiny.

This goes for specifically in the mlp fandom but (for the sake of being on topic) I'll use the the example of that one post where someone gave the hot take that Jason would get his cutiemark in the warehouse right before he dies (or after he dies? smthing like that) because "It would be really fucked up to know that you were always destined to die." And listen, I can appreciate some good Jason Todd whump as the next guy but knowing that this would be based in a mlp universe . . . just doesn't sit right with me.

It sounds less magical that way. Its like saying that Rainbow Dash was always meant to be the fastest flyer, so theres no point in trying to compete with her. So uhm, trying to stay on topic here. My personal hot take is that a pony's cutiemark is symbol of something that they do/ a skill or talent that they have that makes them happy. And whats a more magical and fulfilling destiny than doing something that makes you happy for the rest of your life?

Looping back to Bruce, he didn't get his cutiemark the moment his parents died, but I like to think that he got it sometime later on in the night. After hours of being checked on by the police, getting looked at by the paramedics, and after Alfred took him home. Its 1:40ish in the morning and tiny foal-Bruce is just staring at his bedroom wall feeling numb and dissociated to hell. And sometime after processing everything that night- he just decides that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to him and that he will do anything to make sure that nopony will ever feel the same pain that he has felt. And then-- Ta da!! Cutiemark!! Too bad neither he or Alfred got to experience the excitement when they both saw it the next day :')

(Edit: I didn't know where to put this detail, but Bruce's fake cutiemark is based off of the "Make It Wayne" TV logo from this fanfic here )

-(Second pic) The Bat: This is heavily inspired by Flutterbat, I know theres canonically already a race of bat ponies made from Lunas stunt as Nightmare Moon. But I chose to go through with the Flutterbat route because batponies are a race, and have bat-like features 24/7. In comparison Fluttershy maintains her pegasus appearance by day and transforms into Flutterbat at night (ALSO with there being implications that there are "Triggers" for her transformations in the day too!!) Which adds the "Vampire." right in front of her batpony title.

I might do a lil comparison chart between vampire batponies and regular batponies in the future or something. But for now I'm focusing on my batpony Bruce Wayne headcanons so yea. My point is that I felt like making Bruce a "vampire" batpony would give him a more solid secret identity with also the bonus of a really metal origin story.

Now we all know that the canonical origin story of batman is that a few months after the tragedy of his parents death, Bruce had fallen into a cave? a well? a pit? of bats and triggered a fear of bats since then. Later on he decides to become Batman so he can invoke the fear of bats he once had into the criminals of Gotham. Yadda yadda yadda.

Now canonically, we don't know the exact science on how Fluttershy turned into Flutterbat. What we do know is that at the time, pony magic is not researched enough for Twilight to be aware that Fluttershys "Stare" is her own form of pony magic and that it would interfere with Twilights spell.

Do you see where I'm getting at here? Uhmm don't ask me what exactly happened in the cave, I'm doing this for fun and thinking about it too hard makes me spiral. But uhmm something something- Bruce looked at a bat in the eye and decided to embrace his biggest fear to fuel his cause, and his already traumatized and fucked up pony magic had transformed his body- something something. (Edit: I didn't think about this until now but maybe Fluttershys "Stare" and Bruces "Bat Glare" could be a usage of the same form of magic? Just a thought)

I'll probably come up with a more suitable explanation in the future, but like I said. All of this is just for fun.

[redjademilktea]

Okay one of the few times that whole "PhD student in history" thing is going to be relevant to anything I post here but last night's C3 episode has me feeling some sort of wayyyyy.

Specifically the part where they found those incredibly ancient elven ruins within the cave they were exploring. After barely escaping near-death, and Laudna fresh from deliberately channeling the darkness within her, they stumble across these ruins. Deep within a dark cave where they sought refuge from the harsh storms that plague the unforgiving Ruidian surface. Geodes full of sharp and jagged crystal jut out from the walls of cold, ancient rock. A river coming from some unknown source pouring into a rushing waterfall, leading away further into the depths. Matt did a phenomenal job painting the scene.

There, in those ruins - in that tomb, that crypt - they run across a hauntingly serene sight. Bones from the presumable inhabitants are crushed into the walls, unmoving. Frozen. Sharing the same space in a wonderful, striking, tragic, serendipitous juxtaposition is an enchanted garden. There, in the derelict remains of this once-vibrant space, the vestiges of that past life hold strong. A small bastion of life and healing amidst the monument of death and destruction.

It's within this space of dizzying contrast - air thick with the practically tangible weight of past tragedies - that Laudna finds a doll. A simple doll, devoid of features beyond the bare minimum that helps identify it. A toy, a companion? A relic of some child from so long ago. Laudna likes dolls. She decides - after asking permission - to keep it.

Now within her possession is a ghost. Not a literal ghost, mind you, considering those are in fact a very literal thing in the world Laudna lives in, but a ghost all the same. Through that doll, a child from untold centuries before is reaching, grasping at Laudna. This child, whose entire life, history, and experienced are lost to time - trapped in the past - has managed to pierce that temporal barrier and make themselves known to her.

In addition to this framing of a ghost, the doll can represent another type of haunting. That of a reencounter. Through this doll, this mundane object that often is filed away under the folder of insignificance, Laudna is confronted with the complicated web of violence, trauma, and grief that wraps around both her and the space around her. Laudna loves children. She has a childlike innocence that constantly bubbles at the surface. Yet beneath that is 30 years of unfathomable pain and loneliness.

Laudna, much like the ruins, is at times also frozen. Both physically in her unaging visage and mentally in the way she seems to revert in response to intense trauma.

So, within the confines of this long-forgotten space, the woman who just hours before channelled 30 years of darkness, anger, and hurt into a spell that served to strengthen her tormentor, picked up a doll. A doll that in so many ways symbolizes the innocence and joy that Laudna embodies, surrounded by tragedy.

It was such a beautifully haunting scene.

**If folks are interested, I am referencing the wonderful works of Avery Gordon in her book Ghostly Matters (1997) and Crystal Baik in her book Reencounters: On the Korean War and Diasporic Memory Critique (2019)**

[melliotwrites]

YouTube Premiere Announcement!

The people have spoken! The YouTube Premiere of the Ghost Story concert will be this Wednesday, 7/24 at 8 PM EST on the Melliot YouTube channel!

Two love stories between Chinese American and Polish American men haunt the same Montana ranch house — one century apart. As past and present intertwine, the lovers confront long-held fears in their quest to determine if they love one another for the right reasons.

GHOST STORY is a new musical exploring queer interethnic intimacies between working-class immigrants in the early Mountain West, as well as the complicated racial past of modern gay relationships. Through a story about love, culture, and identity, the show asks: In making meaning from the overwhelming tragedies of queer history, how do we balance seeking truth and beauty?

FAQs below the cut:

Where do I watch this?

On the Melliot YouTube channel! We'll announce the link here once YouTube generates one, but you'll probably just be able to find it there if you check it around that time as well.

Will it be subtitled?

Yes!

I can't make the premiere :( Can I watch it afterwards?

Yes! The current plan is to leave the video up on the Melliot YouTube channel after the premiere for you to watch at your leisure. If you're liveblogging/posting about it after the show, we are asking folks to use the tag #ghost story spoilers for the first 48 hours after the premiere so people who can't make the premiere can avoid getting spoiled if they don't want to be!

What's the difference between a concert vs a staged reading vs a production?

This is a concert of songs and some scenes! We only had 1 hour of time to present, and the musical itself runs about 1:45, so we had to summarize some songs and scenes instead of performing them, but you should be able to follow the plot from the performance.

The Princeton video of Adamandi is a full production (with lights, costumes, staging, sound, a band, etc.) Princes was a staged reading (with blocking and costumes, but actors are holding scripts and there is only a piano and drums.) The video of Ghost Story will be a concert/reading (with actors at music stands, a piano, and stage directions read out loud instead of actually performed.) We hope to use this video is part of our materials towards getting a full production of Ghost Story someday!

Can I listen to Ghost Story on Spotify/Apple Music/my streaming service of choice?

Yes! There is a live album picked from the concert recordings that will be dropping at 8 PM EST on Wednesday. Presave it here!

[savagewildnerness]

I’ve never met Sam, but he did photobomb me once!

I wish I wasn’t such a shy, reserved person, as I adored Sam in this play, but it took ALL of my energy to get myself to get a photo with just the incredible Shirley Henderson (even though I’d seen the play probably 10-15 times at this point. I utterly ADORED it & everyone in it.) I am SO scared of being annoying! You do not understand how much it took for me to build myself up to get a photo & autograph from just the ONE human! Gosh, Shirley was insanely great in this play! Like you couldn’t take your eyes off her magnificence! And the emotion in how she sang: I can feel it just as strongly in my heart right now still.

Anyway, I was too scared & incapable of speaking to everyone/too afraid to be annoying to more than one human! So I didn’t get an autograph or photo with Sam or anyone else in the play.

However, I noticed that there is Sam, in the background here!! Teehee! He was SO un-Lestat back then! But the character he played in this play had a tragedy to him. As did all the characters in the play. It was such a yearning play. Sam played a young man who had so much potential (in life & love), yet squandered it till he was doomed to tragedy… and how realistic is that to reality! I feel (& am) that. Everyone tended towards satisfying, resonant, true, beautiful & sorrowful tragedy & there was never any other conclusion. Gosh, I ADORED it! And THE MUSIC! But music with all the resonance folk who are actors first can give it.

Honestly I would give ANYTHING to experience this play, especially incredible Shirley just one more time. It’s in my top 5 plays ever. It’s an awful photo of me, as even on my 15th watch of the play, I had spent the entire 2-3 hours sobbing! It was SO SAD! I cried just as much every single time I watched it.

Also, LOL - you know you’re short when Shirley Henderson crouches for a photo with you!!! Look at us, like wee gnomes, with normal human-sized Sam in the background! 😂😅😂🤣😭💀

[thee-horny-thicky]

The Six Truths: JJK Men

It is accepted that Jujutsu Kaisen has some of the finest men in anime. Every single one is excellently crafted, practically designed to make people simp in mass. They all vary in personalities and looks, and attract different kinds of folk. However, I believe that every JJK man has six things in common.

1. They all have high walls built around them.

These men have been through unimaginable trauma, the result of leading a lifestyle where violence is a requirement, and too much goodness is a hindrance. Any stranger is deemed a threat, and even if you prove you aren’t dangerous, they’ll keep you at arms length. It'd take a lot of work for them to open up to you, and even longer to make things official. But once they finally trust you enough to make you theirs…

2. They’ll die to protect you.

This doesn’t need much explanation. Once they get comfortable around you, they’ll defend you at a moments notice. And when the two of you start dating, you have not only a partner, but a bodyguard that’d do anything to protect you. Anyone who looks at you wrong, says a snide comment, gets too close, etc., they’d be lucky to only escape with a nasty look or a verbal warning. God helps anyone who lays a hand on you, because their subscription to life will be violently revoked.

3. They have praise kinks.

Their trauma has created no small amount of self doubt, endless pondering over what they could’ve done different to prevent the tragedies they’ve endured. Thus, a little praise goes a long way. Tell them how they’re, “So good to you,” and it'd have them melting, even if they try to play coy. Call them a good boy, they’ll love it even if they get flustered. Praise the way they fuck you or eat you out, and they’d nearly cum on the spot. Likewise, they’d praise you every chance they get, saying how good you feel, or well you take them, how you deserve the special treatment they give you.

4. Sex with them would be mind-altering.

Did I really need to explain? One round with them, you could never fuck anyone else. You’d be crawling back for seconds, thirds, and fourths. Pride? You don’t know her, because that prevents you from getting that precious dick.

5. They’re all munches

To them, going down on their partners is one of life’s simples pleasure, a huge ego boost. It an erotic, intimate action, and the ultimate act of devotion. They could stay between your legs for hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with their sinfully talented mouth. They’ll do their best to slurp up every drop of your juices, going on and on about how good it tastes. Even your ass isn’t off limits to their tongues, as their primary focus is giving you pleasure. It’s just a bonus that they adore giving oral.

6. They all want to breed their partners

Okay, possibly controversial take, but I feel like they’d go feral if they had a chance to breed you. Marking you from the inside gives them a pleasure words can’t describe, even if pregnancy isn’t possible. But in that moment, they’re lost in the fantasy of filling you with their seed. A child growing inside you would be the ultimate show of ownership, and they salivate over the thought of milk spewing from your nipples as your belly swells with their baby.

[phoenixwatchesmovies]

Dracula Season Watch Party: The Lost Boys (1987)

After moving to a new town, two brothers discover that the area is a haven for vampires. - Dir. Joel Schumacher

Let's get one thing straight: this movie isn't. Stick a pin in that because we'll get back to that in due time.

In that case, though, WHERE DO I START? This is a fucking great movie and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise. (I didn't say you have to like it. Quality is objective and personal taste is not. Go forth with that nugget of wisdom.)

Starting at the beginning, then, we get one of the best movie themes ever written (as evidenced by the amount of covers that exist), some of my favorite establishing shots ever filmed, and the character entrance that made me say out loud, "OH SHIT 👀"

YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN. As the top comment on the video says, "you know it's awesome when you click just to watch the opening."

The entire movie is like that, TBH. It's almost as quotable as The Princess Bride Thee Greatest Movie Ever Made, and is matched only by The Shining for scenes I'll just watch on their own because I love them that much. Like this one, for instance, that I'm linking because I'm going to bring it up again later:

^^ the music, the camera, the lighting, the transition from the headlights to the lighthouse... It's so good...

Other great music moments include the "People Are Strange" montage of slice-of-life style clips of folks going about their day in Santa Carla intercut with all the posters of missing people hung up around the boardwalk, "I Still Believe" featuring Tim Cappello, Tina Turner's former saxophone player, "Walk This Way" as the boys close in on the surfers on the beach, and ENDLESS uses of "Cry Little Sister."

Brief moment to talk about the Emerson family dynamic. Script, performances, and direction all work together in all the best ways so you never doubt how much they care about each other, or how far they'll go for each other. You can argue for family being one of the core themes of the story, whether it's the one you're born into or the one you're...well, born in a sense, into. Either way, it's about the bonds you make, be it for a lifetime or an eternity.

Grandpa gets his own bullet for being such an icon, and for having the absolute #1 best last line of a movie in history. We waited an hour and a half for the punchline of a joke we didn't even notice we were being told. 🫡

Suppose I'll move onto the Frog brothers. Their antics are where most of the comedy comes from, and if there's one thing I have a problem with in this movie, it's the way the two halves don't quite fit together. Michael and David and Co. work on their own as an edgy, stylish, coming-of-age story. Sam and the Frog brothers are the most obvious giveaway that the original concept was something a bit more similar to The Goonies. And it's probably because I like the vampires a lot more, but the kids just aren't that interesting. They're funny and necessary, but I'm not as invested in what they're doing.

Which brings us back to the Lost Boys themselves. The name is a deliberate reference to Peter Pan, and that's where the tragedy of the whole thing comes in. Screenwriter James Jeremias, after reading Interview With The Vampire and the character Claudia in particular, ran with the idea that the reason Peter and his gang never grow up is because they're vampires (which came first, this movie, or the theory that Peter and Co. are the souls of dead children?). You can see that influence throughout the story, and apparently David and the boys were meant to contrast with Michael in the way they represent adolescence, given they're eternal teenagers.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut I don't get that very much. I'm sure it's there, but in terms of x vs y, the vampires and the Frog brothers have always stood out more to me. Compare the two kids trying so hard to appear grown up (Edgar even puts on a deep voice that fools no one) and the four kids who will literally never grow up.

I also called this a tragedy, at least as far as the boys are concerned. What else could it be, being a horror movie, but you watch scenes like the bike ride and it's fun and exciting and you understand what Schumacher is going for. They're alive and living in the moment, free in the way only kids seem to be. As you learn what they are, you realize that, for them, at least, this freedom is forever. Life will always be one big party going from one thrill to the next. The tag line is literally "never grow old, never die." And only one of those is true by the end of the movie. The gut punch about David's death (aside from the fact that he dies at all, what can I say, I'm obsessed with him) is that he doesn't go out like the others do, with blood and melting flesh and explosions. He just...dies, as that child choir kicks in one last time, and you see him for what he always was--a dead kid.

In conversation with tragedy is the theme of monsterhood as a whole. When Michael is faced with the reality of what his new friends are and what he himself is becoming, David has this to say: "You'll never grow old, Michael, and you'll never die. But you must feed." Spoken after the vampires have slaughtered half a dozen beach bums, we have the cost of immortality underlined for us. We've also seen Michael struggle against his new nature when he nearly attacked his own brother earlier in the movie, and it's not like he chose to go after Sam because he's evil. It's instinct. Hunger. A matter of survival. We see him alternatively warning Sam to stay away from him and pleading for help to stop what's happening to him because he doesn't want to become a monster, a killer like David. And that's what makes David and the rest of the boys the antagonists, because their survival depends on killing and feeding on other people, but that's all they're doing, is surviving according to their nature. That's the tragedy of monsterhood.

Along with the realization that someone had to have done that to these kids. Someone chose to make them what they are, and that's the real evil of the story.

And speaking of Max, I appreciate the fake-out approach to revealing him as the real Big Bad. It's very Scream, where you were pretty sure it was Billy the whole time but there was that one scene that threw a temporary wrench in your theory. But Star's line about Max being a secret David was protecting comes out of nowhere in a way that feels like there was a bit more context for it initially, but it never made the final cut.

Which leads me to my other gripe. The pacing and timeline don't seem to be in obvious cooperation. Again, it feels like more was there at one point, but transitional scenes were left out, so it's hard to tell how much time passes between the Emersons moving to Santa Carla and the final showdown. Things could either happen very quickly in which case the escalation is on a level with Romeo and Juliet, or it's more spaced out and the space isn't apparent. And I'm leaning towards the "spaced out" approach.

Now. Allow me a few more indulgent moments, because we gotta talk about David.

Look at him.

LOOK AGAIN.

Istg, he stepped around the bend of that merry-go-round and I said, out loud, with words, "oh shit." I had a crisis for days afterward due to the gender envy. I STILL don't know if I want him or if I want to be him. (I'm too fond of my hair as it is to even think about whether or not I'm brave enough for a bleached mullet, so at least I don't really have to think too hard about the answer.) All this to say, can you really blame Michael? One look at this guy and I didn't know what kind of egg joke I wanted to make, so I'm not surprised our boy Mike was trying so hard to fit into this group.

(Yes, you're correct, I'm circling back to my opening statement.)

You can read this as straight up, pun slightly intended, guys being dudes and Michael just wanting to be accepted by the local cool kids. Makes sense, really. They are cool. He's the new kid in town, and that folds right into the usual coming of age narrative with finding your place in the world along with discovering your own identity, etc etc. But if that's the case, then why all the long, frequent, intense eye contact?

@verified-villain-fxcker gets it. 🥂

Look, I'm sure if you tried hard enough to find a heterosexual explanation for the homoerotic tension I'm seeing, you could. But you're on this site, browsing the tag for this movie, so do you really want to? I've got a whole thesis statement on how Schumacher being a gay man/identity influencing one's art/motorcycle clubs being part of queer culture rattling around somewhere in my head, but to keep mostly on topic, I'm sticking with this: part of the coming of age story is discovering your identity, which includes your sexuality. Therefore, it's hardly a stretch to say this is a movie about gay awakening as much as anything else and that Michael Emerson is a disaster bisexual. Of course I'm not the first person to see it that way, but Pride Month is almost over. What else was I going to end on?

He's queer, your honor. Happy Pride. 🏳️‍🌈

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hey Frost 💙! Happy 200 Followers 🥳!!

For the event I would love to submit an idea! What about an angsty Wolffe confronting Fox after he shoots Fives 👀?

Congrats!

The Tragedy of Level 1325 [Commander Wolffe Fic]

Warnings and Information: Clones killing their own kin is always an awful occurrence, more often than not a rare and accidental thing. So when Commander Wolffe catches wind of what happened on Level 1325, he meets with the other canine-themed Commander to get answers. And none of them will be easy to get, or, to hear. Set after the Clone Wars season six episode “Orders”. Lots of angst and heavy stuff in this one, folks! Heavy references/allusions to Fives’ death. Heavy references/allusions to canon-typical death, violence and injury. Reference to Pong Krell. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Minimal Mando’a. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.  **This is not a cloneship/clonecest fic. Tag it as such and you will find yourself blocked.**

Word count: 4,287

How fast word travels in the GAR is both a blessing and burden. 

Regardless of the distance, time of day, or paint color, brothers will hear what the others have gotten up to in-between their conquest to defeat the Confederacy of Independent Systems. A rookie’s foolish notion to prank his superiors that ends with him earning himself a month’s worth of latrine duty. The terrible pick-up lines learned from holomags (and their success, or lack thereof) used on other patrons of 79’s. Brave charges lead out of killboxes and ambushes.

Clones turning on their own kin - that bitter pill was hard to stomach. 

Commander Wolffe found himself choking down one such pill upon hearing the events of the night before. 

It didn’t make a difference how many times he consulted the datafile in front of him, the mingling of horror and disbelief settled just as heavily in his heart each time. The primary commander of the Coruscant Guard had been the one behind the blaster used to end a Clone’s life on Level 1325, and it had not been an accident either. This was not another case of some sleemo stealing and wearing a Clone’s full kit; it had been, without question, a brother. 

Clones were less uniform than many nat-borns would like to believe. They may look the same from the texture of their hair, to their face-shape, and the warm-brown skin, but that’s often as far as the similarities go. They found their originality in names, speech-patterns, scarring, the way hair was cut (or bleached or dyed or styled), the addition and location of injected ink. There were the occasional (minor) aberrations, too, of course; like the brothers who ended up ocean-eyed, or blond. 

(They at least knew where the blondeness came from; a dormant echo in the genetics of the man who served as the master mold for the Grand Army.)

Not to mention the paint, and the patterns. The paint job was perhaps the biggest, most important piece of their individualism (at least externally). Those working in tandem with the soldiers relied quite heavily on the personalization to their second skins when first introduced. 

So when the datafile in Wolffe’s hands tells him the armor worn by the dead trooper was not his own, a sense of confusion as well as a wave of mild horror washes over the flint gray commander. The deceased was one of the 501st Legion’s cobalt crusaders, yet the ARC trooper had been killed in an unpainted, second skin that had been stolen from another. 

Why?

So many why-s.

When asking if his brother would agree to meet with him, it had taken some convincing. Fox’s agreement ultimately came with conditions, which were thankfully simple. Find somewhere in CoCo Town - as he was due to patrol that near that sector in a few hours time - and find some caf that didn’t taste like droid oil. 

There, Commander Fox would attempt to provide as many answers to Wolffe’s questions as he could. 

Though he couldn’t promise there’d be answers for all of them.

Entering the eighth eatery, Wolffe tries putting a little more trust in this diner’s advertising than each of the establishments he tried earlier. ‘Best food this side of the Senate District!’ A tagline like that would have to do a lot of heavy lifting for a greasy diner in a dilapidated industrial area. 

Inside, the diner has been furnished with several deep booths with shiny red seats as well as a long countertop that offers a glimpse into the kitchen through a narrow viewport. The decor is a mix of chrome and neon. While it’s perhaps not what Wolffe would call his favorite style, he had to give whoever ran the place credit for a cohesive, and constant, theme. 

This place looks like it hasn’t changed in years. Too often, Wolffe finds once-favorite establishments rehauling their menus, revamping the theme, gutting whatever charm the place had between his deployments. It’s a damn shame. Corsucant changes too quickly top-side; all of it fueled on someone else’s pursestrings, no doubt. 

Noticing his arrival, a WA-7 waitress droid, idly chatting with a pre-dawn client, pardons herself to welcome the prospective customer. Assuming he’ll be subjected to a facial recognition scan, Wolffe holds himself in near-militant attention until the droid speaks. 

“Welcome to Dex’s Diner! What can I get for you, hon?”

The first question he has for the waitress is the state of the diner’s caf. 

“Is your caf instant?”

The droid’s feminine programming and friendly inflection does its best to make up for an inability to smile. (He finds it a little unsettling all the same.)

“It’s brewed in-house, every hour on the hour.” 

Wolffe regards a small chronometer on the wall, displaying what his body-chrono already knows. Just a half-hour before dawn. Perfect. Depending on how far away Fox is, it shouldn’t take long for his vod to find his way here. Coruscant had been under the watchful eye and capable hand of the crimson commander very shortly after the start of the war; if anyone knew their way around this massive labyrinth of a planet, it would be Fox. 

“Good enough.” Wolffe says with a thankful nod. “Saves me the trouble of finding another place.”

“Looking for something to eat?”

“Not exactly. I’m supposed to meet with someone.” he explains, sending the name of the diner to Fox’s comlink while the WA-7’s back is to him, asking him to follow behind. She’s got just the spot for him. 

She shows Wolffe to a booth in the back-left corner, where he can already tell at a glance that the padding under the seat material is worn thin and unevenly. (Well, he’s sat in worse seats.) It’s secluded, just enough, that it should afford him and his brother a little more privacy. He unseals his helmet as quietly as he can to avoid disturbing the other patrons, and sets the sunbonnet down on the table. 

“Your business isn’t our business,” the droid promises to Wolffe’s great confusion as he works to seat himself as gracefully as possible with the kama, “so rest assured that whoever you’re meeting, we won’t tell a soul.” 

“Okay… I appreciate that.” 

Wolffe straightens out his modified phase two helmet on the tabletop, dismissing the waitress’s offer to get him something to start with while he waits. Glass of Jawa Juice, perhaps? It’s a house special. 

A mash of bantha hide and fermented grain so early in the morning doesn’t sound particularly appealing. 

“Nothing right now, thank you.”

The WA-7 nodded. “Suit yourself, hon. Give a holler when you’re ready.”

It wouldn’t be long from now. Fox had sown the seeds for a system the Corries called ‘Zeros and Fives’ when it came to meeting their vode for non-military matters. Seeking out Fox for answers wasn’t technically an emergency, but it should hopefully be treated with a little more urgency seeing as Wolffe couldn’t wait around all morning. With the General’s help, he had to fabricate time-sensitive duties to excuse his presence on Coruscant earlier than expected. 

Some poodoo about retrieving something-or-other under the General’s orders. Records of research from the Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives, Jocasta Nu. 

Records of what kind of research, he wasn’t sure. 

That comes later. Now, he was waiting for Fox.  Wolffe checks his comlink for any response to his choice of locale, finding only a silent ‘Seen’ status. Well, he’ll take it to mean his vod won’t be waving down the suggestion.

With little more than his comlink and the datafile to keep him occupied, the flint gray commander settled in for what could end up being a long wait in the event Fox ran into trouble on patrol. How long he would end up waiting would be inconsequential, so long as he got answers and insight to the root of this tragedy. Something to rationalize the reality of losing brothers to something other than Separatists and their sympathizers. 

He just had to ask himself why he was doing this. Why he cared so much, what he hoped to find. Maybe even who he was doing all this for. 

Was it for Fox, hoping to get ahead of the inevitable boiling point the rumors might reach?

Was it for Captain Rex, finding some shred of information that may bring closure to the death of one of his best men?

Was it for Fives, given the death of an ARC trooper was no insignificant thing? Was he hoping to find reason, or just cause?

Or was it for his own morbid curiosity, given other details of the deceased’s service file?

Commander Wolffe couldn’t be certain until his brother was dragging his over-caffeinated carcass through the doors of the diner, and down to the last booth on the left. He couldn’t be certain Fox would be forthcoming with those answers, either. Or the state the other commander would be in. 

Fifteen minutes before the next hourly pot of caf is made, Fox shuffles into the diner, quiet and wordless. Not in the sense of stoicism; rather fatigue. Ignoring the greetings of the waitstaff, he walks himself down to the booth once he’s found Wolffe in his visor. Like his fellow commander, Fox’s helmet remains over his head until he reaches the table, at which point he unseals, and drops it with a dull thud half an inch over the table. 

“Good to see you, Fox.” Wolffe says.

That was a lie. Perhaps only partially. He wished if he was paying the crimson commander a visit here on Coruscant, it would have been under better circumstances. With better beverages as well. The last time Wolffe had seen his brother, he was promised a splash of spotchka and the opportunity to properly talk about the Abregado disaster when next they met. To mourn the loss of Wolffe’s men and the change to his armor. They started this war named after members of the Canidae and painted in beautiful shades of red. 

Now they were just a couple of canines. 

Fox makes no immediate greeting. With a tired grumble, he drops into the booth, a small betrayal to the tireless façade the Corries had come to be known for. 

“Sorry to make you wait,” he says at last, propping his elbows on the table as he begins rubbing one bleary eye, “Patrol took longer to button up than anticipated.”

“That’s fine.” Wolffe replied, just relieved the other canine commander was here. 

Doing her rounds, the same service droid as before approaches the brothers’ booth and asks if they’d like anything to eat while they conduct their business. (She doesn’t suggest Jawa Juice this time.) Wolffe takes her up on the offer for the freshest cups of caf that would be ready not too long from now. Just as the droid goes to send in the order to the back-of-house, she takes another look at Fox— currently in the process of falling asleep at the table —and thinks better of it. 

“... I’ll tell Dex to make it a carafe.”

When the caf is prepared, instead of sending it out with the service droid, FLO, Dex himself brings it out from the kitchen to the front-of-house. 

And Dex had certainly not been what Wolffe imagined him to look like. 

Standing roughly 1.88 meters tall by the commander’s estimation, the owner of the diner was a heavyset Beskalisk who wore an ill-fitting, heavily stained white shirt and apron that had certainly seen better days. Making use of the four arms in his possession, Dex carried the carafe with the lower set, and a pair of mugs in a third, upper hand. 

Wolffe hides any surfacing unease after meeting the owner’s eye by fixing Fox’s helmet beside his own to clear space on the table. He came here to question his brother about an ARC trooper’s death over a decent cup of caf; he didn’t expect to be reminded of someone who put his brothers of the GAR through a gruesome campaign on the lightless word of Umbara. 

A Force-wielding Besalisk named Pong Krell had tricked the 501st and 212th into turning their blasters on each other some time ago. His style of leadership was firm, his fighting form aggressive. Krell’s war record boasted several successes at the bloody cost of countless Clone casualties; the highest of any Jedi. Having been seduced by the allure of rising power, he betrayed the Order, the Republic, and weaponized the absolute loyalty of the men under his command. 

It would be Fives, Jesse, and Hardcase of the 501st’s bravest blue to defy orders and take stolen ships to cripple enemy forces. They proved successful, though only Fives and Jesse would return. Krell had tried to order their execution as a result of this disobedience. But brothers in blue and orange mutinied against the fallen Jedi, and attempted his arrest. Once they managed to capture him, Krell had been interrogated and his treasonous plot was brought into the light. 

Fives had been faced with the business end of a blaster at the hands of his own brothers twice. 

He only survived it once. 

Wolffe could only hope Fives’ mortal remains were being treated with far more respect than whatever had been afforded to Krell. 

One thing was soon clear at least, the longer the diner’s owner was working to serve them the fresh caf: Dex was nothing like Krell, save for being a Besalisk. 

Dex was far kinder, friendlier. 

He first poured out a generous portion for Wolffe, chuckling warmly as he spoke. “You’ll want to be careful, gentlemen. Quite hot. Should do a fine job of perking you right up, though!” Wolffe was sure to thank Dex before carefully kicking his brother’s boot under the table to stir him. Fox hadn’t fallen asleep, but he certainly was heading in that direction the longer he sat in the booth. 

Tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face in an effort to wake up, Fox took hold of the mug that had been carefully pushed in his direction by the four-armed cook. 

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it! Matter of fact, I’ll leave the rest with you two and let you get about your business.” Dex carefully set the metal carafe on the tabletop and lumbered back into the kitchen, as promised. 

Together, the commanders would take their first sampling of the diner’s caf; Wolffe found it of decent quality, nothing more. There was nothing special that set it apart from other diners, but it was a step above the instant powder in his and his men’s rations. 

Fox on the other hand drank like the caf was no milder than water. Maker. That couldn’t be healthy. Once the mug had been lowered for a suitable amount of time, Wolffe voiced the first of his concerns. 

“When’s the last time you slept, vod?”

With a heavy exhale, Fox set down the mug and leaned against the backrest. “Same time as the rest of Coruscant.” he said, too focused on the patternless web of scratches in the table to see the displeased furrowing of his brother’s brow. 

“Coruscant never sleeps. Are you telling me you’re running on empty?”

“No. I just don’t remember, cub.” 

Wolffe grit his teeth, full lips pursing as his displeasure deepened. This was no time for the kit-and-cub routine they had developed fresh off Kamino, possessing a curiously bright-eyed quality that would be lost before long. This was serious. All of this was serious, and Fox is choosing now to be sarcastic and apathetic with him?

He has to stop and take a measured breath before acting on any kind of anger. Should he be short with Fox, Wolffe’s opportunity to get sensible answers might slip between his fingers. So instead, he nurses his mug of caf before saything or asking anything else. Maybe it’ll help him hold on to his tether a little longer if he combats his own budding fatigue. Crossing several galactic timezones in order to get to the heart of the Republic could make even the most tireless of men weary. 

Settled, Wolffe begins again. “What do you remember about last night?” A glance is cast over their helmets; the thought of scrubbing through helmet footage flickers in his mind. 

“Might need to be more specific,” Fox replies, wantonly tracing the rim of his mug with his forefinger. “What part of last night are you asking about?”

“The part that ended with a dead ARC trooper.”

For a moment, the other commander remained unnaturally still, and equally quiet. Now that the reason behind the visit Wolffe was paying him had been revealed, Fox felt the atmosphere of the diner tangibly shift. So that’s what this visit Wolffe was paying him was about. He was aware from the beginning Wolffe was coming all the way to Triple Zero to question him; not the subject matter of these questions. 

It was time to establish a baseline for the brothers. 

“What have you heard?”

Propping up the datafile, Wolffe presents the timeline as he understands it. 

Alongside the Kaminoan Nala Se and General Shaak Ti, ARC trooper Fives had traveled to Coruscant from the Clone homeworld and met with Chancellor Palpatine at the Grand Republic Medical Facility. Shortly upon their arrival, Fives presented a potential Separatist plot that he believed responsible for the death of a trooper by the name of Tup to General Ti, the Chief Medical Scientist, and Palpatine. Agreeing to hear him out, Fives was granted limited audience with the Chancellor. 

Per protocol, shock troopers and the Red Guard remained in the room when Palpatine requested to speak “alone” with Fives. This meant when the Chancellor was suddenly attacked, the response was almost immediate. 

Under threat of apprehension, Fives would escape the Medical Facility, and remain unaccounted for for some time before making contact with a member of Torrent Company - namely their medic, Kix. Coordinates would be given to a location on Level 1325 with the request General Skywalker and Captain Rex meet him there, as soon as possible, and importantly, alone. His commanding officers would go to Hangar 18 in Sector I-9, where Fives had been spotted by a probe droid, and find themselves caught in a ray shield. 

While effectively at his mercy, Fives would tell his commanding officers he had been set up, framed, before the arrival of the Corries. 

“Did you hear anything Fives might have said when you arrived with the Guard?”

Fox, just about to take a drink, paused. “Not everything.” Once they had made it inside the warehouse, he and his men were more concerned with finding safe cover before moving into action.

A minor tell of annoyance, the twitching of the scarred brow over his brother’s cybernetic eye, did not go unnoticed by the red commander. 

“Obviously. But what did you hear?”

“General Skywalker questioned why his ARC trooper believed the Chancellor was capable of orchestrating this… Separatist plot when an assassination attempt had failed. Said the Chancellor was incapable, though his soldier insisted.” Fox replied, considering the dregs in his mug for the moment before pouring himself another serving.

“At what point did you step in?”

Not long after, his vod tells him. 

“His back was to us. Didn’t see us draw our DeeCees.”

“Why didn’t you stun him?” Wolffe nearly demands. 

Fives had been declared a fugitive, the commander understood that. When he had taken part in the manhunt for Ahsoka Tano following the declaration of her own fugitive status following the bombing of the Jedi Temple and death of a suspect, Letta Turmond, it had been under orders. Tano had been a dear friend to General Plo; the Kel Dor often spoke so kindly of her… she had saved his life in the aftermath of Abregado.

But given the evidence at the time, he believed she was the primary suspect behind the blast that had killed Clones, maintenance workers and six Jedi, and left many more injured. A belief that would be buried once he heard General Skywalker had found and brought the true perpetrator before those who put the Togruta on trial. Firing upon someone he cared about, in his own fashion, while she was dazed and unarmed, would be the last time Wolffe ever saw Tano. 

The guilt still gnaws at him.

Maybe if they had taken Fives alive, the real perpetrator could have been discovered. Like Barriss Offee had been.

“Why,” he repeats himself, determined to break Fox’s continued silence, “Tell me why, Fox.”

“We didn’t exactly have much of a choice, Wolffe. I ordered him to stand down, warned him not to do it; but he drew a nearby weapon. He was acting erratically.”

Fox had to make a split-second decision with highly volatile variables at play; the way he had been trained. The way both of them had been trained. Trained to make the tough calls that came with the lofty status as Marshal Commanders, before Wolffe had been stripped of such a rank. Robbed of the red. 

It would be replaced with gray, to honor and remember the dead. 

The innumerable, tragic dead. 

Try as they might, the Kaminoans could never hope to train the sting of a brother’s tragic death out of the men of the GAR. 

Following a break to use the diner’s refreshers and collect themselves, the commanders return to the table, making use of limited time before Wolffe is supposed to act upon new military-wide orders from General Plo. 

“What orders?” Fox asks, brow pinched in confusion. 

He hadn’t seen any such notification. Just a report from Thire and Thorn that more surveillance footage had been acquired of the events from last night; they now had an answer for how ARC trooper Fives avoided the shock troopers checking IDs in the Clone bar. A damn hat given to him by a corporal from another unit, of all things. 

“I’m supposed to report to the nearest Republic med center to receive some kind of vaccination. For a parasite.” 

Continuing to read the message on his comlink, Wolffe learns soldiers on other planets will need to await the arrival of the inoculation that was being mass-produced to protect every Clone, whether their deployment was peaceful, or on the front lines. 

“They… think some kind of rare parasite native to Ringo Vinda was responsible for what happened to Tup. For the behavior Fives displayed before you-” 

Something about this didn’t feel quite right. 

This answer was too convenient. How was it possible that a parasite was missed by the Chief Medical Scientist during Tup’s thorough examination on Kamino, but discovered by the Chancellor’s personal doctors in a rushed autopsy? (They had been thorough, right?) How did invasive organisms cause these “aggression inhibitors” to decay? How many more men of the 501st Legion were potentially infected, and how did the organism spread? Something about this wasn’t adding up. 

Maybe by asking the shock troopers who had been present during the conversation Fives had with the Chancellor, he could find something they missed; maybe they had heard something-

“ -ffe. Wolffe,” 

Failing to get the flint-gray commander’s attention, Fox has reached across the table and taken hold of his hand just as he finds it beginning to tremble. Minor stress tremors such as these have plagued him since the ill-fated naval battle, though they’ve been dormant for a long time with a combination of strict rest and discipline. And typically, they’re almost unnoticeable. 

But Fox has always had sharp eyes with even sharper ears. 

“When’s the last time you slept?”

A slow burning behind his eyes—the feeling stronger on the right—served as an uncomfortable reminder that he had been unable to find much meaningful rest after hearing what happened in Coruscant’s sub-levels. Another brother’s tragic, untimely death. Resisting the urge to rub his eyes and rid himself of the discomfort, Wolffe instead returns the steady squeeze rather than pulling away. 

Voice soft, he heaves a quiet sigh. 

“Not recently enough, kit.”

Perhaps it was his own fatigue that had him jumping to absurd conclusions. The demise of an elite ARC trooper had reminded him of his own heavy losses, and his composure was beginning to suffer for it. That was unacceptable. He needed to sleep. Both of them needed to sleep. 

But more importantly, Wolffe needed to leave. He had a set time to arrive at the med center by, and it would be imprudent to be late. Gathering the datafile, his comlink, and his helmet, Wolffe took one last gulp of caf before standing to bid his brother farewell. 

Then, he had an idea. 

“Maybe… after I’ve gotten the inoculation, we should both crash in your quarters for an hour if you’ve still got that shitty old couch stuffed in there since the last time I saw you.”

Fox chuckled, a lazy smirk settling over his features. 

“It’s still there and shittier than ever,” the crimson commander promised, “Been too busy to remove it.”

Wolffe resealed his helmet so Fox wouldn’t see the grim smile, one grateful for the meager space to sleep and troubled by the responsibilities his brother has had to shoulder that have kept him so busy, he can’t rearrange a stained sofa. 

It was no wonder Fox was sporting some silver around his temples prematurely. It probably wouldn’t be long before Wolffe’s own raven-dark hair did the same, given his own burdens and losses. This war would make old dogs out of both of them. 

Assuming they lived long enough to see the supposed end of it. After all, only the dead will ever see the true end of war. 

And that was a tragedy for the living.

Thank you for making such a uniquely heart-breaking request for this event Maia; I hope I did these canine commanders justice and made it appropriately angsty enough. I hope you enjoyed! 🩷

Fic taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

[marxistcomedy]

Anyone working in counter-propaganda can testify to a curious experience: we’ll put in hours of careful research collecting an impeccable set of resources that undermines some warmongering narrative, and we’ll eagerly share it with someone who claims to despise racism in all its forms — say, an outspoken opponent of the West’s so-called “War on Terror.” Unexpectedly, we are met with a response that is somewhere between chilly reticence and downright hostility. What’s going on?

From our perspective, we’re offering water to a person who’s self-identified as thirsty, and yet they react as if we were trying to poison them! They turn on a dime to defend the same institutions whose lies they were denouncing just moments before. At this point the sense of pride and accomplishment that comes from seeing through propaganda and putting puzzle pieces together into a satisfying historical account gets brutally transformed into its exact opposite: a sense of crushing defeat. In response to this bitter experience, many researchers — serious people, with plenty of experience reading and writing, and sometimes even of being published! — lash out. They decide that people have been “brainwashed” beyond the point where they can be reached by words or rational appeal. They “realize” that the masters of propaganda have been far more successful than we first imagined: it turns out we’re not David fighting Goliath, we’re more like an ant facing an asteroid.

The same inquisitive nature that first led them to unravel war propaganda narratives begins to feed an even larger psycho-historical narrative, and nihilism takes hold. The tragic cycle begins to appear eternal: innocent, well-meaning, hard-working folks are, time and again, viciously tricked by the scapegoating of a new rogue in the gallery — Indigenous, Black, Spanish, Jewish, Soviet, Vietnamese, Cuban, Serbian, Muslim, Libyan, Syrian, Korean, Venezuelan, Russian, Chinese. Due to the sheer power of propaganda and mass-media, the masses helplessly fall for hatred and volunteer for war, even though it comes at a very high cost to ourselves, our loved ones, and our ideals (religion, environmentalism, etc.). Sadly, the innate human propensity to “hate the Other” seals our fate as a society… or something along those lines.

I am going to argue that this narrative is nonsense. It tries to pass off as universal and eternal something that in reality is particular and ephemeral. In short: Westerners aren’t helpless innocents whose minds are injected with atrocity propaganda, science fiction-style; they’re generally smug bourgeois proletarians who intelligently seek out as much racist propaganda as they can get their hands on. This is because it fundamentally makes them feel better about who they are and how they live. The psychic and material costs are rationally worth the benefits. As for those anti-imperialists who don’t participate in this festival of xenophobia — and here I include myself — we have our own elitist consolation: we accept the tragedy of masses of gullible sheeple falling for cunning propaganda because having overcome it flatters our own intelligence. The more we condemn society’s stupidity, the smarter we feel in comparison.

But am I not just worsening the problem, aggravating our hopelessness, by criticizing the critics in a way that suggests that no one escapes ideological self-flattery? I don’t think so. Paradoxically, it brings us all back to a more even and possibility-rich playing field.

The prevailing populist narrative grants the People (of the West) moral innocence by attributing to them utter stupidity and naivety; I invert the equation and demand a Marxist narrative instead: Westerners are willingly complicit in crimes because they instinctively and correctly understand that they benefit as a class (as a global bourgeois proletariat) from the exploitation enabled by their military and their propaganda (in Gramscian: organs of coercion and consent). We’re not as stupid as we’re made out to be. This means that we can be reasoned with, that there is a way out.

[emphasis mine]

[multifunctionalnitroglycerin]

The Locked Tomb Series Names and Symbolism #4

Hiya folks! Hope you are all doing fine and dandy. This series ofc couldn’t be complete without our beloved Sex-Pal in the count. Now according to wiki there are two figures that inspired the Master Warden, Παλαμήδης, the Greek mythological hero that took part in the Trojan war, and Palamedes the Arthurian knight. I am more well-versed in the Greek myths than I am in Medieval plays, I admit, but I will do my best to do justice by both these inspirations.

            But first things first, some etymology. There are two most prominent versions for the etymology of the name Palamedes or well, Παλαμήδης. In the first one, it’s a derivative of the verb παλαμάομαι meaning devise/contrive and invent. Aka the inventor that devises plans (Or concocts schemes, depending on how you want to see it). In the second one it is believed to derive from the verb παλαίω => παλεύω aka fight and μήδομαι => σκέφτομαι, συμβουλεύω aka think and advise. So, Palamedes would be the one that thinks abt the battle and gives advice for it. Both etymologies I feel fit our inventive strategist, The Master Warden of the Sixth, to a t.

Let us now begin with the Greek hero from the Trojan war. And no my pals, this is not yet another Iliad reference, for our proclaimed hero does not actually appear in the Iliad. His first appearance is in what has been known as the Κύπρια, a well-known epic of the ancient Greek literature that despite being quite famous during the classical period, has been lost to the sands of time. Long story short, this epic is a part of the Trojan circle and follows the conclusion of the Iliad. Palamedes’ story is one of many included in the epic that counts I think 11 books.

            Truth to be told, Mythological Palamedes did star in quite a few epics, tragedies and other works that refer to the Trojan war or the time after it, but for the sake of keeping the post relatively short, and since I do not quite have the time to hunt down every ancient text reference and draw a parallel to the Master Warden, we’ll mostly reference the most relative ones and I’ll leave a list in the end, in case some of you do want to go hunting ancient texts.

            I’ll start with a fun fact. According to a Trojan priest of Hephestus, Dares the Phrygian, Palamedes was described as tall, slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming. Now I cannot speak for everyone, but well, to me that sounds like Palamedes Sextus.

            In general, there are not many direct parallels that I can make between Palamedes the Euboian and Palamedes Sextus, bar for the most obvious one, that they are both ingenious. Palamedes the mythological figure was accredited with inventing part of the Greek Alphabet, lighthouses, navigation, coins, the division of time into months days and hours and a few board games, with κύβοι being one of the most prominent (to my understanding it’s the equivalent to dice). Palamedes Sextus on the other hand, figured out the secret to Lyctorhood, necromantically bound his soul to his skeleton, saw through Cytherea’s ploy, exploded himself, created a bubble in the River in which he persevered until Camila could glue his skull back together and he figured out a way to co-exist with her, in her own body, without killing them both, plus the Grand Lysis and Paul’s creation.

            What mostly sticks with me from the above, among others, is navigation. One Palamedes is the inventor of it, and the other, though by that point is Paul, seems to know a way to the Tomb via the River. The river that even God struggles navigating – at least with other people on the way. So, could it be, that Palamedes -that beat even Cassiopeia in time survived in the River – figures out a way to truly navigate this sea of the dead?

            Two smaller parallels we could draw from mythological Palamedes are 1. Pal seeing through Cytherea’s ploy, the same way that Palamedes the Euboian saw through Odysseus’ ploy when he wanted to avoid fighting in Troy and played mad, plowing the earth with a horse and an ox throwing salt in the holes.   2. The syphoning challenge. This story also includes Palamedes butting heads with Odysseus – not going to lie to you, they were evenly matched in genius – although according to some accounts it’s Palamedes who was the brightest and most ingenious of the Greeks - , but Odysseus never forgave him for uncovering his ploy and may or may not have orchestrated Palamedes’ murder – only in this analogy Pal is Odysseus. In a time of great hunger for the Achaeans, Odysseus was sent to Thrace to find wheat and returned empty-handed. Palamedes mocked him, and Odysseus replied that for all his ingenuity he too would return emptyhanded. Palamedes did embark on the quest and was successful, returning with shiploads of supplies. In the syphoning challenge, Pal is Odysseus, the one who turns up empty handed, refusing to risk Camila’s well-being once he figured out how the test worked. And he is also the one that tries to talk Harrow out of completing the challenge. Harrow much like the mythological Palamedes jumps in the opportunity to prove herself – through the challenge’s objective had little to do with proving one’s self, as we saw – and succeeds, obtaining the key.

            All in all, the biggest parallel’s we can draw here, is that Pal like his mythological namesake is a genius inventor and strategist, a bright necromancer and brighter scholar still. He is the Odysseus in Harrow’s Palamedes and vice versa.

            And now that I drew the parallel with Odysseus I cannot unsee it. He made his body the Trojan horse that exploded in Cytherea’s face. He was stranded in the River – the sea of the undead, of the souls and corpses and all that nice stuff – for however long it took Camilla to piece the skull together, like Odysseus lost in the seas. He found his Ogygia in Camila’s mind where he stays safely stored until his stop in the island of the Phaeacians – Naberius’ body. A brief stop gathering supplies, gathering courage before going home. Back to Camilla, but now as one. There is no him and her anymore. They have had a home in each other, and it’s time he returned to it, burning down the ruins of the past, and getting reborn as something new, together, as one. (Cam and Pal are a phoenix metaphor if I have ever seen one.)

            Onto the Arthurian Palamedes now, our friend was a knight of the round table, and makes his first appearance in an expansion of the Tristan and Iseult legend, as a knight vying for the princess’ hand, much like our beloved Sex-Pal wanted Dulcinea’s affections. There are no Trsitans in this world however, merely Cytherea as an imposter.

            Now what is interesting about the Arthurian Palamedes, is that according to various tales he is the hunter of the Questing Beast – a multi animal snake like monster that he, Percival and Galahad are tasked with exterminating. In most versions the hunt is futile and bears no results. After Palamedes converts to Christianity however, releasing himself from the worldly entanglements, he is finally able to slay the beast after the other two trap it in a lake. My theory here is that the Questing Beast, Beast Glatisant or whatever you want to call it, is a Resurrection Beast, perhaps even Varun the Eater. And the Warden has “converted to Christianity” by ascending, aka completing the Lyctorhood process. He shed his mortal shell, disentangled himself from the coils of mortality and worldly needs, becoming very much the equivalent of the “converted Palamedes”.

 Practically, to sum up, Pal through Lyctorhood and Paul could be the one to slay the Resurrection Beast that is Varun the Eater. With the help of two other individuals – for some reason I feel one of them would be Pyrrha – they trap Varun in a “lake” – could be the Tomb, could be the First, could be yet another metaphorical body of water – and he is the one who end the RB that allegedly killed and consumed Cassiopeia the First.

That’s the post folks, now the list of ancient Lit that I promised:

Ἀπολλωδώρου, Βιβλιοθήκης Ἐπιτομή, 3.7 /  Apollodorus, library epitome 3.7 (But he, not wishing to go to the war, feigned madness. However, Palamedes, son of Nauplius, proved his madness to be fictitious; and when Ulysses pretended to rave, Palamedes followed him, and snatching Telemachus from Penelope's bosom, drew his sword as if he would kill him. And in his fear for the child Ulysses confessed that his madness was pretended, and he went to the war)

Ὑγίνου, Μύθοι, 105/ Hyginus' fabulae 105

Παυσανίου Ελλάδος Περιήγησις,/ Pausanias' guide to Greece

Γοργίας, Υπέρ Παλαμήδους Απολογία / Gorgias Palamedes’ Defense

Ovid, Metamorphoses pp. 13.34-60, 308-312

Virgil, Aeneid pp. 2.81-85

Plato, Apology 41b

Take care of yourselves! See ya on the next one!

[fallloverfic]

Thoughts for people worried about what happens in ENNEAD Season 2, Episode 98 (the newest Korean episode that went up ~5 hours ago as of this writing) and how this will affect Horuseth.

(tldr; I think Horuseth is fine, but spoilers and discussion below the read more)

To sum up part of what happened: we see that Nephthys seemingly loved Seth to some degree before Anubis was born or perhaps even conceived. We don't fully know the details: as Isis indicates at the episode end, there's more to this that we're not seeing (and we'll probably see next episode), because Nephthys was proven honest by Maat's scales when Nephthys testified that she loved Osiris in S01E69.

The implication from S02E97 is that Hathor's mirror made Nephthys love Osiris, and Nephthys' affection/love/memories of love(?) was trapped in the mirror after she looked into it.

We don't quite have confirmation that happened, just Horus putting pieces together, and the implication we're going to either get confirmation/learn more at least in the next episode. Horus has been wrong before and hasn't had the whole picture before, lest we forget in S01E36-7 where he accused Sekhmet of imprisoning Nephthys in the mirror and making, "the fake Nephthys give birth to Anubis. [She] got rid of the real god of peace and provoked the god of war... ...in order to stain the land of Egypt with blood." (If the Nephthys in Heliopolis was never a fake after all, and mirror!Nephthys is just some of her memory/feelings, then yeah, Horus really didn't know the truth of the situation). He might still be right about some part of that, but recent episodes have seemingly indicated that while his intuition was right on points, he didn't investigate enough and came to the wrong factual conclusions about things, because he just trusted his intuition too much. He states as much in S02E97: how he relied overmuch on his intuition, which made him an idiot.

Anyway, on to the "Seth/Nephthys really did love each other and they're gonna get back together so now Horuseth can't be a thing anymore" stuff I see people doomposting about.

Folks do remember Seth loved Nephthys for a really long time, right? Like Seth says as much in S01E48: "I love Nephthys with all my heart". His loving her is not news. It's why the potential idea of her never loving him to begin with/Osiris' involvement hurt so bad.

If you think Nephthys needed to love him back to make his love for her... real(?) and thus, perhaps, his hurt valid or invalid or I don't know, that's just really strange. He loved her. He was hurt by the idea she never loved him, or never loved him fully, or otherwise lied about it, on top of lying to him about the identity of Anubis' biological father. For perhaps hundreds of years. It's still a tragedy, it's just perhaps more tragic because maybe Osiris really was a liar - like he seemed to be anyway, because he loves manipulating the truth/reality to his whims - and maybe Nephthys really was done wrong, too, by having her affections stolen.

Nephthys maybe loving him back doesn't make anything he went through that night less painful than it already was. More painful, perhaps, but it was already a tragedy. He was already on the road to becoming who he is now. It doesn't change the fact that unfortunately, Nephthys seemingly didn't love him at that point, and had lied to him about Anubis.

One of the few things we knew about Seth/Nephthys prior to S02E98 is that Seth would act angry so that Nephthys couldn't talk to him. In S01E41, Seth tells Osiris during the night of usurpation, "I always just acted angry so that I wouldn't have to hear what she had to say. She was probably afraid of things ending up this way..."

He already had regrets about their relationship. This just seemingly confirmed his fears (his fear of "being forgotten by them" from earlier in the episode/the previous episode).

People can move on from relationships. I don't personally see how, after everything both Nephthys and Seth have been through in the hundreds of years since what happened in S02E98, that Seth and Nephthys fully can come back to the relationship in the memory in S02E98. Possible, yes. Probable? Ehhh...

Seth might be glad Osiris is a confirmed liar. (If that's true: again, even Isis notes in the episode there's more to what's going on we haven't seen yet). Seth might be glad to know he really was loved. He might hate himself for doubting Nephthys. Seth might hate Osiris more for any number of things, particularly if Osiris intentionally placed the mirror in Seth's rooms to either make Seth fall in love with him or make Nephthys fall out of love with Seth (with the possible idea of making Seth turn to Osiris out of a sense of abandonment or something idk) or at least put Nephthys at risk of getting harmed.

It's been hundreds of years, though (if not more than that). Seth and Nephthys are now very different people, and Seth has a good and improving relationship with Horus. Nephthys saw Seth abuse Anubis (S01E05). Seth trapped Isis in the labyrinth, and Nephthys helped her out. Seth hurt a lot of people and cursed many people. Maybe whatever romantic love she might have had for him, even if she somehow gets it back, hasn't survived all that she's gone through and seen.

Seth's been through a lot, mentally, too. I kind of think he's moved on and after everything he's done, he might be too ashamed to go back to her. Even if it was out of their control that Nephthys stopped loving him, the other stuff still happened.

You don't need to doompost about Horuseth. Nothing has really changed. I say that in the sense that while the idea of Nephthys potentially having loved Seth until the mirror's interference might hurt him, particularly if he discovers Horus hid it from him, Seth is still who he is, he's still done all the things he's done, as king, as a father, as a husband, as a sibling, and he's still got this thing with Horus going.

Remember, in S02E70, Seth says to Horus, "I'm a god of the old generation who needs to disappear, not to mention an evil god who destroyed the country." He already has a lot of self-esteem issues and doesn't view himself highly. One reason he likes Horus is seemingly that Horus sees who he is beneath all that: believes in him as a guardian god, as a powerful god worthy of respect and affection ("My nephew, who dragged me down, is the only one who acknowledges me" - S02E74).

But also Seth did a lot of terrible things and he knows it. Horus is okay with that - to a degree at least, particularly with Seth trying to make amends - but is Nephthys? Nephthys, who gave him the curse bracelet - which nearly killed him multiple times - to make amends? She says in S01E66 she doesn't want him to be purged, and she clearly wants to support him, but that's not the same as wanting to live as his wife/partner again.

If nothing else, what keeps Horuseth together might be Seth realizing this doesn't change all that much about who they are. He could be mad at Horus. I can see him getting furious about this. He might even attack Horus, maybe even badly injure or kill him (but it's possible Horus could be revived, like how Isis revived Osiris, or something about Horus' uniqueness as a demigod/god). Maybe they'll separate and have an eventual reconciliation. But I don't personally believe they're doomed as a couple because of this. There's too many ways for them to stay together or get back together.

People can have past good, healthy relationships and not stay together. Sometimes we just grow out of relationships and into new ones. It happens. Horus makes Seth feel seen and cared for, and he listens to things that seemingly Seth's siblings - even maybe before whatever happened with Nephthys happened - didn't listen to, like Seth's opinions about eating or his opinions on his "duty" to guard Egypt or Seth's status as a god or his relationship with Isis.

Maybe Seth/Nephthys gets back together briefly but Seth goes back to Horus in the end because they don't work or he loves Horus more and his and Nephthys' time apart just doesn't let them work or Nephthys wants to focus on herself for a while. Maybe Seth attacks Horus because Horus hid info about Nephthys' affections. Maybe Horuseth reconciles because Seth realizes Horus genuinely loves him and hid whatever he learned because he genuinely loves Seth or was otherwise afraid of talking or how to explain it, and Seth realizes it's a messy thing to explain. Maybe Horus didn't say anything because, like he was seemingly aware the first time he went into the mirror, mirror!Nephthys/her affection for Seth, can't come out of the mirror anyway, so what's going to change? This is encouraged by the fact that Isis apparently learned all of this and did nothing about it. Even the god of magic - and miracles - hasn't freed mirror!Nephthys, when she possibly had opportunity (or maybe there's another reason we haven't learned yet for why she didn't; point is we don't know much). Seth might look at that and go, "I really hate this, but I guess it's just how things are now, and I'm going to learn to live with it."

Maybe Seth realizes that, despite everything, he genuinely cares for Horus and this isn't going to defeat them. That Horus had his back time and again. Sometimes things being out of our control don't mean we can just go back to how we were. Life happens. He's still got Nephthys' curse bracelet :/

If you, like I, believe Horuseth is real at this point, have faith that it'll continue to be real despite this. Horus is the main love interest, it's a boys love series, their relationship is pretty strong already, and more to the point, Mojito is a good writer. I think they'll be fine.

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Gather round, folks.

I got a story. :V

It’s close to six years now that a tragedy befell my family. We’re still trying to come to terms with it but afterwards I was depressed. I’m talking depressed to the point where I couldn’t get out of bed, I couldn’t draw or write(which I love doing), I was doing nothing.

I just laid in bed and browsed tumblr. There were a lot of days where I was sleeping more than twelve hours a day. My anxiety was also bad and I couldn’t even step out of the house. The doctors called it agoraphobia and I was surprised when they told me. Thankfully, I had financial assistance so at least I didn’t have to worry about that.

Then one day, on tumblr, I came across Hazbin Hotel. More specifically, this guy.

I saw a wip of animation from the pilot and I had to find out where this guy came from because he looked so cool. That’s when I learned about Hazbin Hotel, but the pilot was still being developed so I had to wait.

At the time I was contemplating doing something terrible so I told myself I would wait for the pilot to come out and watch it.

And I did. 😃😃

I freaking loved it and it wasn’t long until it was picked up. I would wait until it came out, I told myself. Thankfully those terrible thoughts have gone away and I’m much happier compared to six years ago. I even have a job. 😃 I don’t know how to talk to people, but I’m going to try this year.

And now Hazbin Hotel is so close to coming out and I am so excited!!! 🤩🤩

I’m excited to see Alastor and Husk again and meeting new characters. I just can’t wait and I almost can’t believe I’ve waited for so long. 🤩🤩

I’m not saying it saved me, but it really helped me look forward to something since my mom has passed.

Thanks for reading. 😃😃

[mariabtsos]

Unsinkable ||j.jk|| - Chapter 2

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Description: The 1910s are the peak of passenger ships, it was also the peak of classism, Jungkook is a third class immigrant from Korea, and you are a first class “prisoner” not wanting to go back to a life of strict standards. Once you meet Jungkook, life seems worth living, but when tragedy strikes, will you guys make it out to live the life you planned?

Genre: One-shot, Titanic AU, poor/artist!JK x rich!f reader, angst, fluff, very slight smut, forbidden love.

Warnings: classist remarks toward Jungkook.

Word Count: 1.6k+

A day later, you managed to find Jungkook, and you decided to go for a stroll on the first class deck. You must have walked around for at least an hour or so, and your conversation was mostly redundant, the weather, how the waves broke off the bow. Jungkook was getting a bit tired, the conversation was not going anywhere, he felt that you were dancing around it.

“So, Miss Y/N, we’ve done at least 2 laps around the boat, we’ve exhausted all small talk topics,” he said, “what do you actually want to talk about?”

You hesitated to tell him, but only for a second. “I wanted to thank you, not only for saving me, but for your discretion.” He gave you what you thought was the brightest smile, you couldn’t not smile back, he looked so endearing.

“I know you are probably thinking something like ‘poor rich girl, what does she ever have to worry about’” you sat on a nearby lounge chair, him following close behind.

“Actually,” he plopped down on the chair, “I was thinking ‘what happened that she thought jumping was her only option?’” Jungkook looked at you, eyes squinting due to the sun.

The air was suddenly growing thicker, after trying to convince yourself to not look at his lips you decided to snatch the small leather booklet he was carrying, “what’s this anyway?”

You spent the afternoon looking at Jungkook’s drawings, he told you all about his adventures in France, it was lighthearted, and then he explained the story behind each one, who his subjects were. You told him they were wonderful, and he smiled at you with that same dilly smile.

(...)

The hours leading up to the dinner, Jungkook was nervous, he considered himself charming for sure, but he had never mixed with the upper class folk. He was able to distract himself a bit with you, teaching you some “non-lady-like things” and talking about how your life would look if you were to go with him once the ship docked.

That’s when your mom came by with Molly Brown, you introduced him to them, and your mom immediately took you away, giving Jungkook a nasty look, as if he was trash under her shoes, but all Jungkook did was bow his head with a smile, there wasn’t a person yet that had take that away from him, at least not from what you had seen. After you left Jungkook kept staring at the hallway you had walked into, when all the sudden he felt something hit his shoulder.

“Yah, who?!-“ he stopped when her turned around and saw the older woman in front of him.

“Tell me son,” she started, with a bright smile and looking Jungkook up and down, but she didn’t have the same disgust your mother did, “is that what you’re wearing to dinner?” Jungkook simply shrugged, those were his nicest clothes. The older lady shook her head and giggled. “Well we can’t have that, walk with me Jungkook,” she put her arm out and he took it like a gentleman.

“You can call me Kook,” he gave her a small smile. She looked at him briefly.

“You can call me Ms. Molly!” She smiled back.

Jungkook was confused on where she was taking him, until they made it to her cabin, she asked him to come in whilst she went I to her closet, brought out a dazzling suit, and insisted he try it on. Just as she thought, it fit him like glove.

“You and my son are the same size, I knew it!” She said excited, as Jungkook checked himself out in the mirror. Ms. Molly ended up gelling Jungkook’s hair down so he’d look more like “them.”

The fancy staircase with its golden banister was spectacular. There was a tiny clock on the wall that led down to its fancy marble flooring. The Titanic was beautiful all around, but he could tell this was a place where if it weren’t for his fancy tailored suit, he’d be immediately kicked to the curb and probably searched just to ensure he hadn’t stolen anything.

“Jungkook!” The young man turned immediately as he heard your voice, to say he was astonished would be an understatement. Your beauty was incredibly mesmerizing, your dark purple evening gown had a trail and tiny details in black and white that made your skin pop in the most wonderful way, you had elbow length, white satin gloves, your hair was done up with a few strands out by the sides of your face, and your lips were tinted in burgundy, making them look absolutely delicious.

Jungkook immediately bowed, almost as if you were royalty, you giggle and offered your hand as a joke, and were immediately bashful when he kissed it delicately, looking up at you with what could only be described as stars in his eyes, which you were sure had as well.

Ms. Molly had taken Namjoon with her, whilst Jungkook offered his arm, which you took happily. You started putting him up to speed on everything, who the people you were dining with were, how they got here, what they liked and didn’t like being brought up in conversation. When you made it to the table you left his side to go sit next to Namjoon, whilst the younger man pulled out a chair for Ms. Molly, quickly taking a seat next to her.

“We have our guest joining us today,” you announced as you sat down, Namjoon looking back between you and your savior. “Mr. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jeon?! Huh, I must say you clean up well, I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, it almost sounded rude if it weren’t for the smile he flashed after.

The night went on, they asked him a ton of questions, and if he was nervous, he didn’t show it, and he answered back with charm and class.

“So, Mr. Jeon, forgive my candor but how does someone of your…resources travel so often?” Your mother asked, always with the snarky remarks and the judgmental looks, but Jungkook handled it well.

“I work everywhere I go, ma’am,” he stated politely, “I don’t need anything other than the air in my lungs, and my sketchbook, I enjoy not knowing where I’ll be the next day, who I’ll meet, or what’ll be doing,” he scoffed, looking at his glass of champagne, “I mean the comparison between just yesterday and today is mesmerizing.”

Everyone chuckled along “Life’s too short, so I take the cards I’m dealt and I make each day count!” He smiled brightly.

“Well said Kook!” Ms. Molly said proudly. Leading the charge by lifting her own glass for a toast, “make each day count!”

Soon enough everyone followed, you smiled happily, excited at the idea that the man you liked was welcomed into your "part" of society.

As the men left for the smoke room and the women stayed to gossip, everyone looked at Jungkook to see where he would go, he simply took your hand and kissed it, sneakily putting a piece of paper in your hand.

"I'm afraid I've overstayed my welcome, I shall head back to my quarters, I hope you all have lovely evening," he bid everyone adieu and walked off, everyone else started going their separate ways, so you decided to look at the piece of paper Jungkook had slipped into your hand.

The room was bustling with music and laughter, all the passengers were having a dilly old time, you could feel the laughter bubble up as you avoided bumping into dancing couples all around you, whilst looking for the young man that had your heart.

Jungkook had been waiting for you, and to kill some time — and his anxiety — he decided to accept a young girls request to dance, he had her feet on top of his and danced with her until he saw you, you would think because he had just seen you the shock wouldn't be as bad, but the lights and the pretty color of your dress against your skin had his stomach turning into knots.

"How quickly you've forgotten about me," you said dramatically, causing him to giggle in the most wonderful way you had ever heard. "I'm not sure what you mean!" He replied with a dreamy smile, still holding onto the little girl's hand, he took your hand and kissed it, then he got down to the little girl's level and whispered something in her ear, to which she looked at you with a smirk and walked off.

"What did you say to her?" You asked as he took your hand, dragging you to what had been designated as the dance floor.

"That's a secret that will die with me," he winked.

He started to dance to the lively music played by a variety of musicians. You felt lost, as you had all kinds of waltzes and dances committed to memory, and you didn't know this one.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" You spoke loudly so he could hear you over the laughter and music. He kept dancing around, "don't worry, just have fun!."

You felt blissful with him, your world and its issues did not matter, so you took up his offer and had fun, because you didn't know when you'd be able to do this again, because as much as you wished to leave with Jungkook, you knew what Namjoon would do if you did.

Unfortunately, you weren't thinking about that in your bliss, so you didn't notice your fiancé's valet walking down the stairs and seeing you there, having the time of your life, he scoffed and went back upstairs, ready to inform Namjoon of your little escapade. Some may think him a snitch, but Namjoon was not only his boss but his best friend, and he was not going to let him be hurt.

[heartfullofleeches]

There once was a witch.

Yandere Candy Folk + G.N Sweets Witch Reader Teaser

An: A taste of what was meant to be a blurb, but became more. Hope it peaks your interest and I'd love to hear theories on where you might think the plot will go

-

There once was a witch.

The first of her kind.

"A candy witch? What a ridiculous idea!" She was quick to disagree.

"It is my magic. If I can't do for me first, I haven't the heart nor time to do a thing for others."

Her mother had been the town doctor with her healing magic, and her mother's mother nurtured the barren lands they founded their village upon. Her mentors encouraged her spirit - cautioning to keep her roots close to heart. The young witch had not a care for their warnings nor the people around her. Her goals and ambitions were met much closer to home right - in the pit of her stomach. The girl found even great tragedy could become the sweetest delight with the right confectionery. A spoonful of sugar a day kept most of her troubles away. Outside of home, she was mocked and ridiculed for her dreams. How selfish and cruel was she to use her birthrights for her own agenda. Without her, the town would be left unprotected. As the day of her ascension to power drew near, the kind eyes and faces around her turned scornful. The witch wore a brave face, but she did not have the same guise to protect her behind closed doors. She cried through every spoonful.

Had it not been for that one person, she would've given up on everything.

"My birthday is the day after your coronation. If you do become a sweets witch like you say, would you make the cake?"

That person gave her a tooth ache no amount of her mother's magic could cure. Everything she ate hours after their meeting tasted bland and bitter. Nothing in her entire pantry could be sweeter than that smile. They were the child of the town baker who saved a loaf of sweet bread for her every week, and her first and only friend. Against her own word, she acted from the kindest of her heart and did as they pleaded. The cake was an extravagant piece; nearly twice the size of banquet table it stood upon and tiered with every flavor she could think of. The light in their eyes was brighter than the flames all six dozen chocolate candies held. The witch's fingers were in her mouth more than her fork as she had to make sure her teeth had rotted and fallen out. Her family had always given her praise, but that silent display of gratitude and wonder opened her heart. She wanted to see that expression more - on their face and beyond. She would come a witch for the mass, like every witch in her family before her.

The newly appointed candy witch became an apprentice not at her mother's clinic, but the baker's kitchen. The two youths were inseparable with the time they spent as one. They swore to run the shop together when the mantle was passed down. Balancing magic and her culinary skills, the witch uncovered numerous feats in her time. In doing so, she learned she had the influence from any element of craft - so long as they were baked into her treats. She infused healing magic into her scones, created truffles that turned hair the same color as their filling. She built a house for her and her friend to live made out of gingerbread and sugar glass. Everyone was happy.

Too happy.

The town's people demanded more than she had already gave. They wanted sweets that could increase their wealth or assure their hand in marriage. The witch began to double back on her old beliefs. Being wed was a necessity as food and shelter were. She hadn't confessed to her true love yet either - so why should others get what she hadn't the guts to? They grew angry, she locked herself away in her home - unaware that her sweet friend was the new outlet for their fury. They ran the store and stocked it's shelves with her treats all by themselves; returning home with a smile and hidden wrists. The witch knew something was off, but she never bothered to ask as their smile was still as sweet as it was the day they met. She never questioned a thing - until it was too late.

Left all alone in a place that reminds her of what she lost at every turn, and people so uncaring of her grief and pain - the witch went mad. These savages acted as if they cared, reassuring her her love would return while holding out a hand for their reward. Selfish. Greedy. Demanding... Murders. If they hadn't asked for so much, her friend never would have tried to become a witch on their own to help their community. A task proved too taxing on their untrained body. The witch could not help those deep in the hell of their own making. She still longed to make others happy, but her talents were wasted on these dreaded husks known as humans. She would create her own town - with people made of the treats of her youth. They would never take her for granted and they would never die - the only securities she needed. The witch would clear out the entire town and make room for her and her candy companions were they would love the rest of their days in eternal peace. What the witch didn't know...

Was that they'd betray her worst of all.

-

The bell chimes above a confection shop's door. Wiping sweat from their brow with their forearm, a figure curses beneath their breath; hunched over a lit stove.

"Shoot..... Just a minute!"