#moon vagrant

[dm-tuz]

Unbound Monsters - Moon Vagrant

Seemingly following some purpose, the Moon Vagrant wanders the North mostly peacefully. However, should anything interrupt its path in any way, the Moon Varant will react less than peacefully.

[nickalart]

Yet another monster from the commission batch for Tuz!  Here is the Moon Vagrant with a background and a bonus: the design sketches.

The sideways human-ish teeth were my favorite touch.

[satoshi-mochida]

Some indie game recommendations from ones I’ve played or know enough about them to suggest them to others(mostly in no particular order), Part 9

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Sea of Stars

En Garde!

Pony Island

Ben and Ed

Bokura

Layers of Fear series

before the green moon

Corn Kidz 64

Turbo Dismount

BABBDI

Itorah

The Vagrant/Sword of the Vagrant

Subway Midnight

Let's Find Larry

Hylics series

Eve of Souls: Static Pod

Perfect Gold

One Finger Death Punch series

Speedrunners

Happy Wheels

Home Safety Hotline

Neverending Nightmares

Black Snow(Half-Life 2 mod)

We Were Here series

Black Heaven

Touhou Artificial Dream in Arcadia

Kerbal Space Program series

Cavern of Dreams

Pseudoregalia

Alisa

[once-was-muses]

@oculusxcaro | Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

“📂“ (Rorschach or Saint Walker? Or any other muse you're feeling rn!)

Rorschach is very particular about textures. Corduroy is one of his favorites. Cold metal is one of his least favorites.

-

Bro'Dee, much to his dismay, cannot share most snacks with his Earth friends- they're too processed and/or overly sugary for his body to handle. (And while he can technically digest just about anything, he really shouldn't eat anything besides fruits and seafood.)

[who-is-muses]

[ ask moved from prior blog] @.oculusxcaro | Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

“📂“ (Rorschach or Saint Walker? Or any other muse you're feeling rn!)

Rorschach is very particular about textures. Corduroy is one of his favorites. Cold metal is one of his least favorites.

Bro'Dee, much to his dismay, cannot share most snacks with his Earth friends- they're too processed and/or overly sugary for his body to handle. (And while he can technically digest just about anything, he really shouldn't eat anything besides fruits and seafood.)

[midnightsnackblog]

undefined

featuring my old rp group oc that i had for the longest time, Moon!

[frumdyke]

tagged by @anchorghost tyyyy <3

pick a song for every letter of your url and then tag that many people

f: from thw gallows - idkhow

r: re:make - one ok rock

u: under a paper moon - all time low

m: mount hekla - raccon tour

d: don't you dare forget the sun - get scared

y: you still linger - vagrants

k: king for a day - pierce the veil

e: endless sunsets over monroeville - my chemical romance

tagging @combeauferre @yaoivsyuri @ingydar-phan @warmspice @dancefevers @sandinmybed @neonvqmpire @torotits

[chacusha]

Visions of Mana class system

A lot of information about Vision of Mana's class system has been released on the Japanese website (see source).

Val's classes: [No element:] Soul Guard (moribito). [Wind:] Rune Knight. [Moon:] Aegis. [Water:] Duelist. [Fire:] Liege (Lord). [Wood:] Edelfrei (Swordmaster).

Val's classes are very "knight" archetype, mostly based on Duran's classes (Duelist, Liege, and Edelfrei) with a bit of Riesz (Rune Knight) and some that are new although still in line with the knight theme (Aegis).

Careena's classes: [No element:] Oracle (kannagi). [Wind:] Dancer (maihime). [Moon:] Moon-reader(?) (tsukiyomi). [Water:] Dragon Master. [Fire:] Divine Fist (Godhand). [Wood:] Exorcist(?) (onmyouji).

Most of Careena's classes are new ones based around a kind of priestess or shaman sort of vibe (Oracle, Dancer, Tsukiyomi - not sure what the localized name for this will be but I wonder if it will be something like Fortune Teller - and Onmyouji). But some of her classes reference Riesz (Dragon Master) and Kevin (Divine Fist - this outfit is BOMB by the way).

Morley's classes: [No element:] Ranger. [Wind:] Nomad (Wanderer). [Moon:] Nightblade. [Water:] Hermit. [Fire:] Rogue. [Wood:] Samurai.

Morley's classes are entirely based on Hawkeye's classes (Ranger, Nomad, Nightblade, Rogue), with some new additions along that same thief/rogue/vagrant vein (Hermit, Samurai - I wonder if this one will be localized as Ronin or something to fit the theme).

Palamena's classes: [No element:] Queen. [Wind:] Rune Seer (Rune Master). [Moon:] Empress. [Water:] Grand Diviner. [Fire:] Masquer (Masquerade). [Wood:] Beastleader (Beast Tamer).

Palamena seems to have a mix of royalty-themed classes (Queen, Empress), Angela's classes (Rune Seer, Grand Diviner), and some new additions that seem quite quirky (Masquer, Beastleader). I'm a fan of the pirate-themed Masquer costume and the blue Grand Diviner costume (makes me think of Angela's pixel art).

Julei's classes: [No element:] Custodian (Watcher). [Wind:] Hamelin. [Moon:] Warlock. [Water:] Scholar. [Fire:] Gatekeeper. [Wood:] Sage.

Julei is the squishiest mage ever the party healer, so his classes are very much based on Charlotte's (Warlock, Sage; Scholar is not a Charlotte class but is kinda in line with that theme). He also seems to have a sentry theme as well (Custodian, Gatekeeper), and I'm not sure what is going on with the Hamelin class; maybe it will have some musical/musical instrument elements to it given that horn on his hip?

Overall, it looks like we have four of Trials of Mana's six classes that are aligned with one character each (Duran (->Val), Hawkeye (->Morley), Angela (->Palamena), and Charlotte (->Julei)), with the last two (Riesz and Kevin) being distributed wherever they fit.

Anyway, I am so excited. I love me a good class system, especially when it comes with different costumes, especially when the costume designs are as fun and elaborate as these ones are. (This is like Bravely Default all over again, haha.)

[kuni-is-daddy]

Being scared of scara but also passionate about him is so >>>

Hes putting you in ur place putting fear and pleasure into ur body and mind

IM SO GRRR <333

SHOUKI NO KAMI/WANDERER X LESSOR LORD READER.

FLUFF X SMUT(face sittingg, god complexx) word count 1.2k

I love how the sumeru archon is so passionate about their people even after everything that happened. scaramouche has his reasons but the way he was so dismissive of that ideal just gave me BUTTERFLYS. I'm glad you liked it. 10+ notes on that is crazyy :) Now scaramouche wants REDEMPTION. hes so sorry for what happened :(.

Part 1 scara fics lessor lord masterlist

MINORS DO. NOT. INTERACT.❌❌❌

Its been one week since your encounter with shouki no kami. But you couldnt seem to remember anything. You woke up the next day and your body was in great pain from your back down. Along with your missing celestial weapon. The sun set as you sat at your booth you visit everyday to talk with your people in a less 'formal way.' The idea: talk to your god directly about questions you'd have regarding dreams. It took a while for citizens to adjust to talking to a great being as you but in the end everyone enjoyed it.

"Lessor lord y/n? is everything okay?" the woman asked. "H-huh? y-yeah im fine, sorry. Just thinking about things. May your dreams be blessed and my words guide you to everlasting peace." You shook the woman's hand and took a deep sigh while resting your head on the table as she walked away. 'Joururi workshop? I never heard of that place before..and their turning it into a underground research facility for scholars? No wonder their hasnt been many people here today.' As you daydreamed only 1 person remained in line, A short looking 'little boy' with a large hat, anemo vision and lengthy box in his hand. He looked down at you. His beautiful blue crystal eyes and black eyeliner put you in a trance as you looked up upon him. You cleared your throat and offered him a walk through the city, as he intrigued you.

The two of you walked through the city and stopped at your home town, the moon rose deep in the night sky. On the way, He told you He went by "The wanderer" a vagrant from inazuma. He didnt have a legitimate home and would travel across teyvat taking in the joke of a world he's in. 'joke of a world' It was amusing to you how he bluntly disrespected the divine as if he wasn't Infront of an archon. You walked closer to him and interlocked arms halfway to your home. He noticed and stopped walking. "A-are you okay wanderer?" He snapped out of his daze. "Yeah. Good." You smiled again, "Im glad you are, wanderer. I hope sumeru can maybe be your real home soon and I'll make sure everyone treats you welcomely :)" You gave him a bright smile while blushing and had a revelation. "O-oh thats right im sorry. I hope you dont mind coming over for tea.." "Oh hah hah its no problem. Of course, I'd love to come over." His smile sent butterflies into your stomach as you turned to unlock the door. However, he stared at you. Observing. Thinking. Looking at your presence. Innocent and pure. Not knowing who your falling for was the same ex-god who corrupted you and fucked you until you passed out from his big cock.

Your home was well kept with a divine smell of flowers. There we're many pictures of you with citizens during grand openings of shops and schools. A particular picture crossed his eye as he drunk his bitter black tea. A picture of you in inazuma, shaking hands with his creator. The almighty raiden shogun, god of thunder. Formally known as the electro archon. "Oh heh heh. I see you noticed that picture. Your from inazuma right? Your archon is a very nice person even though she comes off pretty intimidating." He stared at you blankly. "Is that right... " Wanderer put his bitter black tea on the counter. "Yeah! your eyes actually remind me of her's..but.. Your beautiful." you said while blushing. "Oh really? Your calling my ma- My archon ugly?" He smirked "S-Sorry! This got way off track...N-no im not.. Your just.. Really..handsome. She's..pretty but I like how you talk like you dont give a fuck. Sometimes...I miss how people would talk straight up like you." You said as you put your tea down.

"Well isnt that ironic for the 'god of wisdom' to say." Wanderer moved closer to you. Cupping your cheeks with his hand. "I morally...Tell it like it is..If someone cant handle it..Maybe thats their problem." Your body felt shaken up from his presence..."Do you truly not remember me? "You seem a little out of it 'god of wisdom' Whats wrong?" he smiled. "Let me help you remember...love." You closed your eyes as he pulled you into a sloppy kiss. 'i..Dont.. Remember him?' as you opened your eyes to see his looking back at you. It hit. Something about the way he said 'god of wisdom' made you shake. "K-Kuni..?" The way you said his name made your lips quiver. But made his cock hard. "Ah.. so you do remember now.. Dont worry. Things changed." "Wh-whats changed? wait did you..did you erase yourself from irminsul?!" you pushed him away with a panicked expression. "Ding ding ding! You got it, irminsul responded to my wish, but it didnt give me the outcome i desired..So.. Im starting over." he sighed. "W-what did you desire Kunikuzushi?"

You.

SMUT.

"M-me..? W-wait. Kuni, this is wrong. Dont say that again- After what you did.." you we're against the door to your room. "Shh shh.. Its okay y/n.. We're starting over remember. It'll feel good kay?" He tried to comfort you while opening the door to your room. You laid down on the bed as he was ontop of you. "You said you liked my eyes huh? How they glow... and that im 'pretty' we're you lying about that baby? or do you really love me." Your body tensed up and you started breathing heavily as he trailed kisses on your neck. "course' not..I didnt lie. Even back then i-..Care about you." It felt like slime to say those words. caring about a man who disregarded you and made you feel like dirt. "You're burning up y/n.. Relax.. okay.." He whispered.

"Want me to treat you like the god you are, love? Is that what you want. I'll make it up to you." His hands began to trail down onto your neck. "Ohh fuck i missed your body.. You like it when i hold your neck baby?" His fingers pressed against your pulse point. "shit..your heart is beating so fucking fast f' me." you scoffed "tsk are you a doctor now..?" Kuni laughed at your remark. His hands now trail down to your thighs. On instinct they press together as his hands are inbetween them. "mmm your sensitive y/n." As he explored your body you kept thinking 'this isnt right. i should tell him to stop. i- "Ah~ K-kuni. what are you doing?!" you couldnt see as his head was between your legs. "Mmm im tasting you y/n..Fuck you taste good. Shoulda' did this last time" He motioned for you to sit on his face and you hesitantly switched positions. He layed against the pillow while taking his shirt off. "Now its your turn y/n" You stared at his lean form. His body looked so well built. "Y/n.. you just gonna stare like a loser? hmm... or do you like what you see babe?" he patted again for you to sit on his face and you did. slowly lowering yourself "Dont worry itll feel g-" You slowly moved back and forth as his tongue found his way into your entrance "K-Kuni~ Your tongue it feels so good~" "mphmm baby.. You like that..?" "Y-Yes kuni." You looked down to see his eyes slowly rolling back "C-cUhm on m~ face~ y/n" '??' You couldnt make out what he was saying as you we're so drunk in the pleasure coming from his tongue. You roughly grabbed his hair and began to ride his face "M-mPH S-SHIT Y/N-" Your back arched and smothered his face with your drolling hole. You chased your own high as kuni gripped hard on your ass, symbolizing that he couldnt breathe. "Y-yes kuni~ use your tongue for me daddy..Please make me feel good- I wanna cum on your face. please" your thighs began to squish his face as he couldnt breathe. "G-gnna cum kuni~ M' close daddy.. Im so close.. His vision slowly began to turn black until you came on his face. Your warm cum painted his face along with his hair looking completely messy. In shock, you got off of Kuni as he coughed, panted and breathed hard. "Oh no- K-Kuni are you okay? Im so sorry i shouldnt ha-" you looked at his body to realize the wet tent in his pants.

"f-Fuck y/n.. Sit on my face again."

A/N: TRIED TO MAKE THIS GENDER NEUTRAL AS POSSIBLE :((

[jb-nonsense]

Okay, so I know everyone loves the joke about pre vampire Astarion judging based on vibes, but I do feel like his more...Foppishly flippant persona is one he put on after being turned and enslaved by Cazador. You see peeks of his previous personality in dialogue, such as this one linked here

I don't think he was a corrupt magistrate in the way people tend to think. Silly, accepting bribes all the time (maybe every now and then, though, don't get me wrong) and just only getting the job due to nepotism.

We've seen Astarion already have prejudices against gnomes, Gur, and other minority groups. It's not far to say that he allowed these to sway his rulings or even have him push for a ruling, such as what he may have done with the ruling that the Gur killed him for. Hell, he might have even refused a bribe from Cazador and that's what put him on Cazador's radar to set him up to kill. (Or something. I do feel like Astarion did a thing that annoyed Cazador and he wanted to "put him in his place.")

I do have this question and this is going to bring some speculative thoughts.

Why is a guy who was probably a high moon elf so prejudice and cut throat? Moon elves aren't known for being prejudice and cruel, in fact they detest cruelty and unfairness. Sun elves were a bit more prejudice and believing in elf superiority, known to act first when dealing with drow and ask questions later, but I hesitate to consider Astarion a sun elf due to the fact we see the other spawn. Their colorations didn't change except their eyes.

The only reason I can think of is if his family wanted to leave behind the free spirited, traveling attitude of their moon elf brethren and wanted to reach for some higher status, and found a way to do that in Baldur's Gate. Astarion does mention a moon elf noble house in Evermeet, so he isn't so disassociated with his people as some might suggest.

"House Nightstar was a moon elf house led in 1367 DR by the twin sisters Halaema Nightstar and Saelihn Nightstar. (x)"

So taking in this guy's possible family ambitions to maybe be up in the high elf pecking order as some of the sun elf houses....

Astarion would have been a serious magistrate, albeit a highly biased one.

He would know the laws like the back of his hand, and yet would bend them to fit what he wanted them to be in his rulings. Yes, this is the law, but wouldn't it be better if we kept the vagrants out? Yes, I know this is the typical standard, but we should be more severe on these people so they know not to step out of line. He would do everything by the book, but some of the rulings would be viewed as severe due to who he was working with.

And would he enjoy the power and influence of the job? Yes. He would have indulged himself outside of the office. But inside the office, he'd be cut throat to gain the next level to build up the family power level.

I welcome other thoughts, because my ADHD just ran out of steam.

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #3: Soul Survivors

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #3 Summary: Marc sees you. And sees you again. Which one was real? Steven enters the chat. "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" makes another appearance.

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake mentioned)

Word count: 3.3k

Content: nsfw, 18+, angst, bit of fluff (more below the cut - read the warnings and be responsible for triggering content)

Warnings/Notables: violence, drinking, nudity, masturbation, cursing, mental health concerns, coping with death, mentions of food, grieving, longing, mild bickering, a few tears, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

Marc rushed blindly toward the window, yanking open the curtain. Moonlight spilled into the bedroom, granting him the slightest ability to see.

"It's not too late," the whisper echoed, right beside his ear...but you were nowhere to be seen.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Brisk, autumn wind swept the heavy cape of Moon Knight aside as he stood overlooking the city below.

Khonshu didn't even need to point out who needed protecting, nor who needed punishing this night.

Marc Spector reached for the ancient crescent daggers mystically stashed in the armor at the center of his chest.

His glowing eyes zeroed in on a vagrant roaming below. But this dingy man wasn't the object of his ire - he was recently the victim of a crime, and was about to be the victim once more.

With a dramatic whoosh, Moon Knight swept down from the night sky, his dramatic white suit announcing his coming in a far more glaring way than Jake's pitch black body armor.

The vagrant gasped in terror, but Marc sailed past the man who was about to be violated and murdered...

...and plunged two crescent daggers into the chest of his would-be attacker. The perpetrator had now become his victim.

"You're safe now," Marc assured the homeless man, who scurried off, crying out in fear.

Fair enough. Marc wasn't exactly a friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man. Jake had the night off, at Marc's insistence, but he realized that delivering Khonshu's justice with daggers just wasn't...satisfying.

The next vile thing who needed punishing would meet the wrath of Marc's fists.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc's stark white suit was littered with spatters of red by the time he made it back to Elm Street. He willed the suit to disappear, walking back toward his house under the cover of night.

Then he drank some whiskey and fell asleep in his favorite chair, mumbling out an apology to Steven as he slipped into oblivion.

He awoke to the sound of the old cherry wood clock in the hall striking three.

The broken clock in the hall.

It stopped working the day you died.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, Marc sat upright, immediately flopping back down as his head swirled. Too much violence and blood followed by too much whiskey.

"Marc..."

Your voice echoed off the walls, but only a whisper. No other sights or sounds were available to him in the darkened house.

"Go away!" Marc slurred, swatting his hand at nothing but air.

He tried to settle back down, and managed to approach the edge of drowsiness when you appeared right in front of him, almost as if you were straddling his lap.

You breathed his name, draping your body over his.

"You're not real," Marc murmured, even as he desperately wished it was you crawling on top of his body. The image of you was nothing more than a mirage but you would not let him be.

You spoke his name again, and when he forced his eyes open, you were stretched out across him, naked.

He couldn't touch you but he could swear the heat of your breath tickled his ear.

"Need you," your voice begged. Your ghostly body writhed on top of his.

He felt the weight of his arousal straining against his jeans. It wouldn't be the first time he imagined you as he gave himself some relief. He quickly undid his jeans and shoved his hand inside, groaning at how hard he felt.

"Be with me," you panted, your naked body on display for him. You sat astride his lap, rolling your hips over his. Your breasts bounced in a delicious rhythm as your nipples grew hard.

"Don't you want me?" You pouted, twisting your body deliciously down on him. He could feel nothing - you weren't even really there. But the show you were putting on was more than enough.

"I only want you," he gasped, gripping himself and thrusting desperately into his fist. “You're so beautiful...don't stop."

It was almost as if you were there with him. He could see you - he could hear your gasps of pleasure. But you were a vapor. He couldn't feel you.

The release he found gave him a brief reprieve. He passed out again.

Then the clock struck four.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc struggled to climb out of the chair and haul himself upstairs. He just wanted his bed and he really, really needed Steven to take the body tomorrow. But his alter was still quiet. No lectures or questions or anything.

Marc used the stair rail for all it was worth, pulling himself upward like he was a hiker on an Everest expedition. No one would ever believe he was the mighty Moon Knight in this moment.

Finally, he darkened the door of his room.

And you were there. But not like downstairs. You wore the hoodie he'd seen before.

Sinking down to his knees, Marc felt hot tears sting his eyes. "You're not real," he whimpered, remembering your naked visage all over him downstairs. "I'm fucking insane."

He fully expected you to dash away from him or simply vaporize. But you inched closer.

"Marc?" You whispered his name with a sense of urgent awe. "C-can you see me?"

His heart surged with terror. He had just managed to convince himself that he was imagining you, but now...

You knelt down on the floor with him, directly in front of him. Your gaze sought out his own, bleary eyes. "Marc?"

"I'm drunk," he murmured, shaking his head adamantly, refusing to meet your ghostly gaze. "I'm drunk and I'm hallucinating and I'm fucking crazy."

"We don't use that word in this house," You said calmly, but firmly. In your voice. Those were your words. The real you.

Lifting his wet eyes, he looked right at you, but couldn't think of anything to say.

You peered so intently at him, he thought your gaze might just bore a hole through him.

"God, I wish you could see me, Marc. Sometimes I swear you can," you voiced, rising to your feet. The hood covering your hair fell back as you did.

As you started to back away, the words you had just spoken finally started to register in his inebriated brain. As you eased toward the window, he panicked, climbing off his feet to stop you.

"No, wait!" He gasped out, the interaction sobering him a little. "Wait...baby...it's me. I-I can see you. I see you. Don't go."

You halted, turning back to face him, your eyes wide with wonder. "Marc?"

"Yeah," he quickly nodded. "I'm here. It's okay."

Your eyes scanned the room quickly. "A-are we home?"

He melted. "Yeah, sweetheart. We're home. This is home. You were with me before, downstairs. And last night.”

“I was?”

Oh god. That wasn’t you downstairs? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “I-I’ve been seeing you. A lot.”

Your face crumpled with sadness - your lip trembling. "But…are you...dead?"

Marc touched his own chest, shaking his head. "No. I'm here. I'm okay."

Your eyebrows knit in concentration as you bounced on your toes. "Sorry, I get confused. Sometimes, I'm here, then sometimes, I'm...in a dark place."

His beautiful eyes shifted sympathetically. “A dark place?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes drifted aimlessly around you, as if you were trying to get your bearings. “When…when are we? When is this?”

“Uh, it’s October,” he rasped, his voice choked with emotion. Was this really happening? It had to be the whiskey. Or something much worse. Something broken in his mind, more than ever before.

“October,” you repeated slowly, as if trying the word out for the first time. You seemed to be shrinking in on yourself - the dark hoodie swallowing you completely as you inched away from your partner. “I…don’t understand. We’re home?”

Marc’s heart slammed against his ribcage. He whispered your name, stretching his hand out for you.

You had died. That was horrifying enough, but this? The thought of you confused or afraid? He couldn’t bear it.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m here. Just don’t go. Try to talk to me,” he pleaded.

But still you withdrew. “It’s not too late,” you sullenly whispered, in the ghostly voice he’d heard before. “Not too late. Tell Marc…tell him…”

And you vanished.

Marc sank back to the ground and cried so hard that Steven woke up on the floor with one hell of a headache.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven Grant bustled along the small town street, eagerly awaiting the smell of library books. After finishing his vegan breakfast burrito and black tea with almond milk from Triple B's (plus four painkillers), he was ready for a change of pace.

Hangover be damned.

Marc had been a bit Eeyore lately, more than usual since you passed. Steven understood his grief - of course he did - but Marc's coping mechanisms differed so greatly from Steven's.

With a sigh, he finished his tea, tossing the cup into the nearest rubbish bin and wishing Marc would leave the whiskey alone. Drinking and punching the hell out of criminals wouldn't bring you back. And it ultimately wouldn't bring any lasting relief.

The library door creaked out a familiar greeting, welcoming Steven to his daily haven. He was the first one in today, so he made sure to tidy up before handling some paperwork at his desk.

Easing down into what was now considered a vintage rolling chair, he put his lunchbox away and located his glasses. Just as he started to put them on, his eye caught the small, framed picture of you he kept on his desk.

"Morning, my love," he whispered, touching your face with his fingertip.

Marc didn't want pictures of you in the house - just the one of you on the porch, which hung in the hallway right outside the bedroom. But this was Steven's job and he wanted to see your face every time he worked a shift.

He couldn't bear the thought of starting to forget you. He'd heard that usually happened - that over time, you would forget the details of your loved one's face. That thought was unacceptable to Steven.

He wanted to be able to move on with life - to find a way to somehow let you go, but he simply needed to remember the face of the only person who ever truly loved him.

"Miss you all the time," he told you, feeling a familiar wetness sting his eyes.

Maybe he shouldn't be so hard on Marc.

The day passed as any normal day would at a small town library: slowly. Steven didn't mind. Gave him time to read, research and organize. Might be his own little corner of heaven, this.

As he strolled back through town, he noticed Marc was accompanying him, appearing, as he was prone to do, in various shop windows.

"I'm sorry about the whiskey," Marc voiced. "Shouldn't have done that, buddy."

Steven nodded, reaching for his wireless earbuds. It allowed him to talk freely with his alters, from time to time, without making onlookers think he was talking to himself.

"You alright, mate?" He asked Marc, hoping for an explanation to go with that apology.

"No," Marc flatly returned. "But we don't have to talk about it. Just enjoy your night. I'll try not to drink so much again."

"You can talk to me," Steven reasoned, repositioning his messenger bag on his shoulder as he shuffled along the sidewalk. "I miss her too."

Steven passed a boarded up shop, so Marc was gone fore a few moments. He was still there, of course, but remained quiet. Finally, he appeared again, in the hardware store window. His domain.

"I saw her," Marc confessed.

"Saw her?" Steven returned. "Like imagined her?"

"No. I saw her. Talked to her too."

"After that much whiskey?" Steven rebuked. "I'm sure you did."

Marc huffed. "I've seen her a few times now. I'm worried about her."

"Worried? What are you on about?" Steven scoffed, disbelievingly. "What more can happen to her now?" He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

“I don’t know…” Marc trailed off. “Something’s not right.”

Steven let out a long sigh. Everyone was entitled to their grief but seriously. “She’s gone, mate. What you’re suggesting’s not even possible.”

“Are you serious? We serve an ancient Egyptian deity who’s a 10-foot-tall fucking bird skeleton,” Marc challenged. “We died and came back to life and had face to face conversations with each other…but you don’t think a ghost could be real?”

“She’s not a ghost!” Steven snapped, glaring at a shop window, drawing the attention of a few townspeople passing by.

A mysterious gust of wind swirled around Steven's body, stirring brown leaves into a mini tornado - a tempest to match the ache in his heart.

"What seems to be the trouble?" A kind, elderly voice chimed from the doorway of her shop.

It was her window Steven had shouted into moments before. Taking a step back, his eyes drifted up to the hand painted sign above the door. "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties."

"Sorry. So Sorry," Steven hurriedly apologized, holding his hands up in supplicating fashion. "Bloody phone call." He pointed to his earbud.

"Understood," the old woman returned, but her gaze lingered.

So did Steven.

"This shop...it's new, yeah?" He inquired, brown eyes narrowing inquisitively, pulling out his earbuds ands stashing them in his bag.

"In a manner of speaking," the kindly old woman returned, her eyes disappearing into the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. "You're British," she commented.

"Guilty," Steven chuckled, holding up his hand like a child would in school.

She nodded inside the shop. "Just put the kettle on. Care for a cuppa?"

Somehow Steven felt himself drawn to the shop - its twinkling lights in the window illuminating antique treasures. You would have loved a place like this.

"I...I really should..." he trailed off, unable to think of a reason to decline her kind invitation. What was waiting for him at home? Arguing with Marc? Passing out asleep so Jake could roam around the city all night? Reading?

Reading was tempting but...

"Got biscuits too," the old lady offered, "'though it's a bit past tea time."

"Thank you," Steven smiled warmly, following her inside. "You're not British...are you? You sound American."

"My mum was, God rest her," she replied, leading Steven past a few rows of adorably arranged antiques to what was the store's back room or break room. It contained a kitchenette and a cozy table for two.

"Sit," she gestured to the closest chair. "Mr. Spector, is it?"

"Ahh, uh...Mr. Grant, actually," Steven answered. A long while ago, the four of you: Marc, Steven, Jake and yourself decided to be upfront and candid when necessary or possible. This town was your home - might as well be yourselves.

"I see," the lady returned. "Mr. Spector's the American, then. Who works at the hardware store?" The old lady busied herself, collecting a tray with proper teacups, saucers, dainty silver spoons, cloth napkins and a tin of biscuits.

"That's right," Steven confirmed. "Bit odd, I s'ppose. But I'm Steven Grant. Library assistant."

She nodded, removing the whistling kettle from the stovetop. "Mr. Grant, I'm Ms. Marjorie. Not odd at all. Souls do what they will, you see."

Before Steven could question that peculiar phrase, Ms. Marjorie set the tray down in front of Steven. "You have a biscuit while I steep the tea."

He nodded, reaching for the treat. "This tea set is lovely. Do you mind my asking if it belonged to your mum?"

"It did," she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. "It's as English as you are, my dear."

Steven chuckled. "Don't know if I'm proper British. We're from Chicago, actually."

Ms. Marjoire set the kettle down on the table and took her seat across from Steven, but not before grabbing a small plate of veggie sandwiches from the fridge.

"Nonsense. You're as British as my mum, or this tea set, or the King." She reached for a biscuit.

"You're very kind," Steven observed, "inviting a stranger in like this."

"Not strangers anymore," she corrected, her eyes full of mirth.

Steven nodded, enjoying his snack for a moment, settling a little further into his chair. He took a moment to enjoy the jazz piano ringing from the record player in the corner.

Ms. Marjorie hummed along, pouring two cups of tea. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Eh, I'm vegan - "

"I have oat milk," she responded, rising to retrieve it before Steven could protest.

"What did you mean before, when you said, 'souls do what they will'?"

Ms. Marjorie smiled knowingly to herself, pouring a little oat milk into each teacup.

"Just what I said," she returned. "Take you, for example. One body, but I suppose there may have been too much goodness to fit into one soul. So you have your own and so does Mr. Spector.

"Then there are soulmates, of course," she went on. "One soul, two bodies."

Steven's gaze dropped at the mention of soulmates. He assumed you were his. Maybe not, according to Ms. Marjoire's theory.

"I sense the idea of soulmates is a tender subject for your soul," she carefully observed, bringing her teacup to her lips for a sip. "You don't have to say anything. I have a sense about these things."

This is how Steven met Ms. Marjorie and told her practically everything about you. How kind, warm and beautiful you were. How you wrote children's stories - how much you would love this little shop. He told her your favorite foods and how you liked to steal Marc's jackets. He told her about Jake too.

Before he left, around an hour later, she patted his forearm, granting him that kindly smile he'd already come to know.

"Souls are eternal, you know. Even hers. You give that a good think and maybe we'll have tea some other time?"

"Yes, that sounds wonderful," Steven whispered sincerely. "Thank you - you've been absolutely lovely. My girlfriend would have loved to meet you and see your shop." He glanced around at the treasures you would have insisted the house needed.

"I'm sorry she's gone, my dear. Stop by any time," she sweetly responded. "And you tell Mr. Spector he's welcome anytime as well. And ah...what was the other gentleman's name?"

"Lockley," he laughed.

Steven thanked her again and started his walk home. Once he was just out of sight, he could have sworn Ms. Marjorie faintly called after him, "It's not too late."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven shuffled home, waving cheerfully to his neightbor Mrs. Nockles, who attempted to invite him in for some cider.

"Just had tea and sandwiches with Ms. Marjorie downtown," Steven called back. "Positively stuffed. Next time!"

He could hear Marc groaning in his mind.

"Don't know a Ms. Marjorie," Ms. Nockles returned. "But happy to see you boys fed. Have a good night, love!"

Steven warmly smiled, finishing his day a little lighter than he began it. Anything was better than a whiskey hangover of Marc's.

As he turned up the pathway to your front door, a rustling of the bedroom curtain upstairs caught his eye, giving him pause.

Was that... He stared for a long moment, but finally decided to go inside.

Steven read for a while downstairs before washing up and getting ready for bed. He paused, as Marc was prone to do, at your picture hanging right outside the bedroom.

"Goodnight, my darling," he whispered. "I met the most charming lady today. You would have positively loved her. And her shop. God, I wish you could see..."

He exhaled a weary sigh, pressing a kiss to the picture. "She had a lot to say about souls and soulmates. Said souls are eternal."

He shook his head at himself. Why was he talking to a picture? Oh well.

"If that's true, I hope you're happy, love. And at peace."

With that, he sauntered back into the bedroom, never noticing where you sat perched on the end of the bed.

next

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[seru-jpg]

The Moon is a companion for the vagrant to talk to

[zottower]

Goodbye brother !

I think it's interesting to draw a parallel between Zidane and Cecil, because both at the end of their adventures have to forgive their brother and nemesis. Some elements are repeated like the fact that the villain brother says goodbye and admits he has been doing things so terrible he can't live among the other people of earth.

Then the main character reflects on the fact that he could have been the criminal if circumstances had placed him in the same position as his brother.

Yes, because Cecil, Zidane, Golbez and Kuja are moon boys, lol. Different stories, but the fact is that their origins make them a threat for Earth.

From there, things are reversed ! The situation is a bit similar, but the characters reactions are totally different. Cecil is reluctant to forgive Golbez and everyone encourages him to help him and forgive him, while Zidane is the only one who thinks he should go save Kuja despite the danger.

Rydia and the other repeat that as a brother, Cecil should forgive the only family he has left. Zidane while his friends tell him that even though they share the same origin, Kuja's atrocities are reason enough to leave him to his sad fate, says that this is not the point :

(translation by the youtuber Vagrant Chocobo) Sure there are differences. Golbez had been brainwashed, asks for forgiveness and claims his will to put an end to Zemus' evil doing while Kuja has been doing evil because it was his mission and then because he doesn't want to die alone : anguished, he goes to the end of his nihilistic madness and it sends Zidane and his friends confront "the darkness of eternity" ; when the team comes back victorious, he simply calls the airship for them to flee destruction, urges Zidane to leave and live his life, without asking him for help. One will rejoin his people, the other dies. But in either case, it seems that it is when the brother's life is at stake that brotherly feelings seem to be awakened. I think Cecil and Zidane are also different because of what they have experienced. I don't remember Zidane being betrayed by his friends, he is a thief and has a vision of good and evil that goes beyond common morality, it's more a question of life and death (main theme of FF9), solidarity in hardship, while Cecil's world is more divided between right and wrong, and having suffered many betrayals, he has every reason to doubt the validity of brotherly feelings, of which he learned the bitter way that their dark side is a harmful rivalry.

Is FF4 more simplistic because of its format ? I don't know, while Zidane's generous impulse is very sympathetic and heartwarming, I think Cecil's reaction is very understandable too, even if we can expect better from a paladin who was himself given a second chance. But I think it's more about a variation on the morality of each story : FF4 trying to emphasize that even though it is difficult to make, peace is preferable to revenge and justice (justice in the sense that someone who does something evil needs to pay), while FF9 instead asserts that good lies in protecting life and making it meaningful.

(FF9 translation by the youtuber Vagrant Chocobo)

[justsimplyspace]

Carnival Reprise

(testing the waters by putting some of my writing out there…)

The Midnight Shows do not rely on the advertising principles of the Barnum and Bailey world, those carnival barker calls of a self-amassing audience, commands of “bring your family!” and “tell all your friends!”. Neither must the Midnight Shows depend on summons of a challenged worldview—that tempting seduction of “you must see it for yourself”—nor appeals to pride as “you won’t believe your eyes”. To glimpse behind the curtains of the Midnight Shows is as removed from your control as winning the lottery; you may beg and plead to hold a ticket in your hands, yet never be able to supplicate one into your possession. Or, perhaps, you may evade it; you may wince away from that splintered door and basement stairs, but never be able to escape your summons. Because it does summon you, and sooner or later—be it by withering to a scorching curiosity, or unraveling due to that traveling show's relentless pursuit—you will find yourself basking in a spotlight’s glow, just as the moon basks in the rays of the sun. And as you reflect, you will know these things you watch unfold before you are wholly unlike pickled beasts in curio jars, or anomalies parading in a weathered tent, or any number of things you can merely shut your eyes  to, or choose not to believe. 

Prompted by no law of nature or government, but by your own humanity, you cannot look away from the freaks of the Midnight Shows; they are a tendril of smoke and perfume, gone the instant your scrambling senses can take them in. Regardless of your intent, whether you’ve waited for this moment since your memory’s surpassing, or whether you were brought to this place with a will apart from your own, you know this will be your only chance to comprehend these horrors that you see. Tomorrow, your ticket will be spent, your chance will be wasted, and even if you break through the door to cross that threshold once again, there will be nothing that remains: no sign of life, cigarette haze, speck of glitter, or even a footprint in the dust of a building floor that appears to have been abandoned for many years past. The Live Forever Carnival, and the Midnight Shows, do not exist; never have they existed, and to you, unless you are as a man struck twice by lightning, they will never exist again. 

As you become certain of all of this—that these feathered sirens, faceless freaks, and vagrant visions you see before you reek of facsimile—you assure yourself, through the growing uneasiness of a sound you cannot hear and cannot perceive through brass and ivory, that these are merely costume jewelry behind museum glass. But the Midnight Shows can sense your assurance—it’s what they’ve waited for—and just as your insecurities have been assuaged, something in the air will change. One more man will make his way onto the stage—having and needing no introduction—and with his advent, all of your assurance is snuffed out; he isn’t a man, and against any flaming torch of reason or pitchfork of expectation you could wave in his face, you know, with more certainty than you know you yourself live and breathe, that whatever he is, he is real. In his presence, before the smoke of your arrogance can waft away, you begin to question everything that was merely costume jewelry to you a moment before, just as you’d agonize over a thousand plastic pearls already counted if, beneath the rest, you found one to be real; priceless.

So, comprehend these things while you can, and if you believe you are able. The curtains are drawn; after this night, they will close, and everything you could not bear, and could not understand, will be shut with them—trapped as dust particles in velvet fibers. Here is your ticket. To you who have sought this as a holy grail, are you certain of what you expect? And, to you who have been pursued to this moment, your concession: We are ever so eager to see you. 

[dgrailwar]

[message sent by familiar]

Dear Moon Cancer,

So I lost my Servant, but somehow I haven't been ejected into the abyss or whatever. I was gonna send a blanket message around, see who wants to take in a vagrant Master, but as it turns out you're the only Servant whose address I actually know.

I also have a houseplant I'm trying to take care of, because it's all I have left to remember my Servant by, but I promise not to make it your responsibility. I also promise not to track mud or hostile programs on my way over.

Anyway, if you object to having me, just squish the familiar. If it's okay for me to come over, let it fly free.

Best Regards, Pretender Squad vagrant Master

"I see… so Pretender's the one that beefed it. Makes sense. I'm a little suspicious, but I don't trust myself to do accurate introspection, so I'm gonna need a little bit of time to think. Gimme a sec."

She closed her eyes, seeming to go into deep, meditative thought. One could only imagine the intense calculations such a grand and wise god was running in her mind.

("Is this really a good idea? Maybe I'm worrying about nothing, but I'm not sure. I'm hesitant, maybe my anxiety is getting in the way of a potential new opportunity...")

("▇▇▇▇▇▇ (corrupted data adjusted to be read as 'Ganesha'), it isn't every day that people ask to join you, rather than ignoring you outright. In other words, this is your long-awaited 'popular era'. You're cool now, ▇▇▇▇▇▇ (corrupted data adjusted to be read as 'Ganesha'). Even your former enemies are desperate to join you. You should take the chances that come your way, and live your life to the fullest. You're so awesome and I'm proud of you. Also, don't forget to drink water.")

"…"

She was silent for a long while. Perhaps this was the deep, tumultuous, yet enlightened thought process of a Divine Spirit.

"...I need to refill my water bottle."

She finally mumbled. Truly, the mind of a god is incomprehensible and filled with impossibly complex mysteries.

"Anyways, yeah sure, welcome to the fold."

[y-rhywbeth2]

Astarion hating on "vagrants" and being racist against the Gur is certainly something. Like, sir, at least one of your parent's houses/clans - most likely both - belong to a nomadic/semi-nomadic culture. (Aside form his very Teu-Tel'Quessir attitude, vampirism does not bleach your skin or change your hair colour, it keeps them the same as they were, forever; he has recent moon elven ancestry at the very minimum)

Come talk elfy to me, Astarion; I want to know what your goddamn problem is.