#not in the least because much of it is artifice

[actiaslunaris]

[alltherelicsofalifelonglived]

alright having mostly played thru rain world (havent finished gourmand bc i'm not emotionally ready to be a slugpup parent, havent finished hunter and saint yet bc i suck at this game) im going to weigh in on the slugcat fur argument. i think they all have fur, however, i think its constantly way too humid on account of the daily torrential downpours for it to ever be fur-like in appearance, and is instead has more of a gel-like feel to it. like if the structure of the fur and whatever skin oils are produced reacted with water/humidity to form an insulating coat. saint, however, doesn't get the daily downpours and humidity is much lower, so it's fur is fluffed, which helps insulate against the cold. basically all of them are wet cats all the time, except saint bc climate change.

[wheneverfeasible]

🧠🪱Wriggly Wednesday🪱🧠

Thanks for the tag @stervrucht!

So I was literally just thinking about Sugar Daddy Steddie with rockstar Eddie, coincidentally enough…

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

Okay so get this. Eddie Munson is some fucking metal legend. Corroded Coffin made it big, right? Right out of high school some scout saw them playing and swooped them up immediately, and before you knew it they were household names. Even people who don’t listen to metal know who they are.

And look, Steve Harrington? Metal is so not his scene. That much is obvious with his striped polos and overly large noise cancelling headphones, but he’s there in the crowd, front row, with a pack of teenagers scampering about. Obviously not his own, but he’s watching them, a glorified babysitter. He looks kind of bitchy, but the occasional fond smile settles over his lips as he takes in the lot who are having the time of their lives.

They all have backstage passes and are there for Dustin’s birthday because Corroded Coffin is his all-time favorite band and he’s always wanted to meet the guy he idol worships. They go backstage, meet the band, and it’s great. Fantastic even. The band is a lot more down to earth than Steve had been expecting, and there’s no naked ladies or drugs in obvious places, so he decides maybe they aren’t too terrible.

Except the frontman keeps hitting on Steve.

At first it was startling, because Steve isn’t some cheap whore (no hate to actual cheap whores, Steve is 100% sex work positive, but he’s there as a babysitter), but Eddie doesn’t spend the whole time hitting on Steve. He actually spends the majority of it talking to Dustin and the others, and he gives way more free shit to the teens than was agreed upon with the backstage passes, and he and the rest of the band sign anything and everything the teens want.

(Eddie also offers to sign Steve’s tits, which gets him a flat glare.)

And that should be it when they leave. Except Eddie slips Steve his number. For when he’s not acting a babysitter.

And that’s the thing. When Steve isn’t in babysitter mode? Fuck. Eddie Munson could get it.

Steve might not be a whore, but he is a bit of a slut. And Eddie had been far more charming that he let it be revealed, not least of which being because of how he handled Dustin and the others, especially sweet El. He’d absolutely beamed when she called his outfit “bitchin’” and there was no artifice there.

Now, Steve wasn’t some groupie, but…he wasn’t opposed to hooking up with a hot rockstar in a band he couldn’t really care about if it got him some good dick.

And good dick he gets. But first, Eddie actually takes him out, taking him out to a really nice and fancy restaurant, despite Steve not dressing for the occasion expecting this to be a hit-it-and-quit-it situation, but Eddie pays off the staff to look the other way. After all, Eddie’s not really dressed all that appropriately either.

Then Eddie takes him for an honest-to-god moonlit carriage ride around the park, complete with flowers and cheesy romantic music. Steve would like to say he was unaffected, but it really did it for him. He was a romantic sap but he was used to being the one always having to be the giver, never the receiver. It was…nice. And sweet, because god, Eddie Munson was secretly a sweetheart when you got him alone.

And then, after the sweet and romantic date, the two of them have the most disrespectful sex of Steve’s life.

He can’t get enough of it.

He knows what this is, however. He knows someone like Eddie Munson probably does this every tour, picking up some random person and wining and dining them and then teaching them things that would make the Kama Sutra blush.

Except, when he sneaks out Eddie’s room in the hotel penthouse in the morning, bruised and rumpled in all the right ways, the rest of the band lounging in the sitting room are as surprised to see him as he is to see them. Because, it turns out, apparently Eddie doesn’t do this. At least not to the extent he showed Steve.

No one was ever asked to stay until morning, at least.

But Steve has to go home, and he thinks that’s it. But then Eddie comes out and asks for a second date when he tries to leave. Offers more backstage passes to the next show for the kids, and Steve is hesitant to say yes, and that’s when Eddie hits him with another surprise.

Eddie says that he doesn’t care that Steve is a babysitter or a nanny or whatever, he isn’t doing this out of pity over Steve’s financial issues, which he accompanies with a slight tug at the worn and slightly frayed edges of Steve’s polo. He says that he just wants to treat Steve right because Steve deserves it. That he wants to buy him pretty things and shower him with whatever he wants. Wants to keep having the sweetest dates with the most disrespectful sex with him.

And Steve…well. Steve is stumped.

Sure, he’s wearing old clothes, but he thought he was just having a dick appointment. And yeah, he was a babysitter, but the teens were actually weirdly his friends despite the age differences, not to mention many were the younger siblings of his other, more age appropriate friends. And yeah, Steve had blushed when Eddie mentioned going to a fancy restaurant and said he didn’t have the money for it, but that’s because he left his wallet behind because, as previously stated, he’d thought this was just a dick appointment.

But you see, Steve Harrington was the CEO of a major international corporation that had been in the Harrington family for generations who, once Steve took the helm from his father, had also recently begun work in far more charitable organizations and activities. His company was, in fact, one of the major donors that supported the arena in which Corroded Coffin had just played in last night. The company’s logo, a small crown with the company’s initials, was printed on all the tickets and on the backstage passes.

How else would Steve have been able to afford over half a dozen of them if he was living on just a babysitter’s salary.

Yet, here was Eddie, offering to be his…sugar daddy?

Steve would have laughed, was tempted to even, but Eddie looked so genuine and earnest and like truly all he wanted was to spend more time with Steve.

And really. Steve was so used to having to be the one to provide luxuries for his dates, to be the one in charge, to always have to give give give. Maybe, just maybe, he could play along with Eddie’s utter misunderstanding and take just a little bit. He’d pay Eddie back when the rockstar got bored of him and moved on, so really, what was the harm?

So yeah, Steve just smiles and says Okay, Daddy, and accepts the goddamn gifts Eddie had apparently already bought for him even before their date, and he lets himself have his fun.

After all, it’s not like it’s gonna turn into anything long lasting, right? Nothing serious, right? And there’s absolutely no way that they could ever fall in love…

…right?

Aaaaand yeah. Other things that I envision could pop up in the story:

Robin is his best friend and works for him with international clients due to being polylingual. She discovers what is going on and calls him a dingus. She also wants all the gossip.

Dustin finds a diamond studded collar in his bedroom that says “Babygirl” and asks if Steve is getting a dog. He was looking for something to wear to impress a date and Steve forgot Eddie’s latest gift was still on his bed.

Steve is in full sugar baby mode when they accidentally run into one of Steve’s business associates and/or they are at one of the venue locations Steve secretly owns and he’s trying desperately to hide anything that might have his name or face on it.

In the end, Steve starts buying Eddie expensive gifts too which freaks Eddie out because he doesn’t want Steve to waste what little money he has on him. Or so he thinks.

Some big angsty misunderstandings and the truth finally being revealed. It ends with them agreeing to spoil each other, but only Steve gets to be called “Babygirl” and Eddie remains “Daddy”. Everyone is sick of how in love they are.

-

Hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

No pressure tags: @scoops-aboy86 @endlessmusings1801 @viviseawrites @steddieassheg0es @stevesbipanic (if you’ve previously been tagged, just ignore me!)

[cloudmancy]

drew a few different outfit variations for my fhsona! (inspired by @emiuli)

regular outfit: quarter zip, jeans, backpack filled with all manner of devices. paw shaped badidas

artificer workshop student supervisor: high-res vest, safety shoes (keep those toes protected!), lanyard with keys to pretty much every room and storage space in aguefort

adventuring outfit: ancestral armour passed down through the family that he's worn ONCE maybe because he does not like adventuring. at aguefort to ARTIFICE and do ENGINEERING... forced to do at least 2 adventure credits to graduate

soccer uniform: bloodrush's way less popular cousin :( he's got 11 dex but they let just anybody onto the team tbh most students forget that aguefort has a team

[utilitycaster]

You've mentioned a few times about Matt making this the Moon Plot Campaign and the cast not realizing it was the Moon Plot Campaign and how the characters aren't necessarily the best for a Moon Plot Campaign and I'm just curious: if you could pick what type of character build the cast played to best fit a Moon Plot how might that look?

Oh man I think I've answered this before but I will always answer it again because my answer is evolving.

The first two things are just general advice:

In retrospect I think Matt should have treated this campaign as sort of a semi-module format. If you will be playing a module (eg: Curse of Strahd, Call of the Netherdeep, etc), your DM should tell you this and essentially say "you can have your own character struggles - in fact you should - but they should be largely internal/things that can be addressed without you going on an extended quest." For example, you can (and should) play a character in Curse of Strahd who is struggling with self-esteem, or religious faith, or cowardice; but you can't have a character who, to address these things, must confront their father, because they're going to be in Barovia and he's not going to be there. I recommend checking out the rivals in Call of the Netherdeep, because their throughlines are great examples - they' develop and engage with the story, but it's very much driven by the plot of the story and not a delving into their backstory. So essentially, have simpler backstories or backstories that inherently tie into the quest, and let the players come up with that by giving them the most spoiler free outline. I think Matt tried to do all that tying up himself, and at times it made things a little too pat; or those characters who had elements that couldn't be woven in as gracefully (Chetney and the Gorgynei; Laudna with Delilah; some of Ashton's stuff) got very brief arcs so we could get back to the main moon plot.

Do not dump intelligence. DO NOT DUMP INTELLIGENCE. Have at least one PC in your party who is not just intelligent but like, educated. Percy, Beau, and Caleb all fit this. Chetney's pretty smart but not terribly educated so he's great at investigation but he's not going to do very well on religion checks. This party should have had a fucking wizard or artificer or cobalt soul monk or knowledge cleric, but also every party should unless you're going full murder hobo. I think it's valid to be into actual play (or d&d itself) for the character moments and the romance but you know what makes that possible? FIGURING OUT WHAT'S FUCKING HAPPENING INSTEAD OF DICKING AROUND CLUELESSLY. My one true house rule for myself as a DM is that one person in the party has to have high intelligence (or like, be a bard or rogue with decent intelligence but expertise/jack of all trades in everything). Play a high int character for the sake of your DM, PLEASE.

On a more specific note:

would have been good to have more Marquesian characters, but also someone from the Empire would have added a significant dimension. I do love Chetney, and I think Travis is the player who pivoted fastest to fit better within this campaign and has a good understanding of what it could have been with a bit more commitment, but yeah I think if Matt had told them a bit more of what was going on he'd have made like, a more serious werewolf member of the Gorgynei who had noticed lycanthropes becoming susceptible to Ruidus and decided to investigate, for example.

I think having more divinely aligned characters would have just made for much more fun interactions. The issue with the god debates wasn't that they were having them, for all I think that anyone who wants to kill the gods is a fucking idiot. It was that none of them knew jack shit about what they were talking about so it turned into an unending Emperor's Nose discussion. Having either someone who was actually trained (a la Braius, who is a welcome addition for this reason, among others) or again just. a person with religion proficiency and a decent INT score would have made it an actual compelling argument of different perspectives, and not a bunch of idiots yelling out nonsense.

It honestly wouldn't have looked much different. In fact, I think you could have kept the bottom table mostly as is with just tiny alterations, and done the following:

Make Chetney a Marquesian member of the Gorgynei with a mission tied to investigating what's going on with Ruidus. He could still be a weird woodworker.

Entirely rework Laudna's premise. You could have kept her creepy and undead, even, but get rid of Delilah and make her a wizard instead. Make her tied to the Grim Verity or an archaeologist who got kicked off the Tishtan site. You could even keep her aligned with Imogen although I'd have made it a more recent meet up of her being on the run and having gone through Gelvaan in trying to avoid the Grey Assassins

I like what happened with FCG ultimately but I think a different subclass would have still helped; make them a knowledge cleric and more intelligent.

Make Imogen and Ashton much more aware of the Apex War and Otohan's history from the get go. Also give Laura a heads up that her character's going to be super central and she will be in the hot seat for much of the campaign.

[irish-dress-history]

Did the ancient Celts really paint themselves blue?

Part 2: Irish tattoos

Clockwise from top left: Deirdre and Naoise from the Ulster Cycle by amylouioc, detail from The Marriage of Strongbow and Aoife by Daniel Maclise, a modern Celtic revival tattoo, Michael Flatley in a promotional image for the Irish step dance show 'Lord of the Dance'

This is my second post exploring the historical evidence for our modern belief that the ancient and medieval Insular Celts painted or tattooed themselves with blue pigment. In the first post, I discussed the fact that body paint seems to have been used by residents of Great Britain between approximately 50 BCE to 100 CE. In this post, I will examine the evidence for tattooing.

Once again, I am looking at sources pertaining to any ethnic group who lived in the British Isles, this time from the Roman Era to the early Middle Ages. The relevant text sources range from approximately 200 CE to 900 CE. I am including all British Isles cultures, because a) determining exactly which Insular culture various writers mean by terms like ‘Briton’, ‘Scot’, and ‘Pict’ is sometimes impossible and b) I don’t want to risk excluding any relevant evidence.

Continental Written Sources:

The earliest written source to mention tattoos in the British Isles is Herodian of Antioch’s History of the Roman Empire written circa 208 CE. In it, Herodian says of the Britons, "They tattoo their bodies with colored designs and drawings of all kinds of animals; for this reason they do not wear clothes, which would conceal the decorations on their bodies" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997). Herodian is probably reporting second-hand information given to him by soldiers who fought under Septimius Severus in Britain (MacQuarrie 1997) and shouldn't be considered a true primary source.

Also in the early 3rd century, Gaius Julius Solinus says in Collectanea Rerum Memorabilium 22.12, "regionem [Brittaniae] partim tenent barbari, quibus per artifices plagarum figuras iam inde a pueris variae animalium effigies incorporantur, inscriptisque visceribus hominis incremento pigmenti notae crescunt: nec quicquam mage patientiae loco nationes ferae ducunt, quam ut per memores cicatrices plurimum fuci artus bibant."

Translation: "The area [of Britain] is partly occupied by barbarians on whose bodies, from their childhood upwards, various forms of living creatures are represented by means of cunningly wrought marks: and when the flesh of the person has been deeply branded, then the marks of the pigment get larger as the man grows, and the barbaric nations regard it as the highest pitch of endurance to allow their limbs to drink in as much of the dye as possible through the scars which record this" (from MacQuarrie 1997).

This passage, like Herodian's, is clearly a description of tattooing, not body staining or painting. That said, I have no idea of tattoos actually work like this. I would think this would result in the adult having a faded, indistinct tattoo, but if anyone knows otherwise, please tell me.

The poet Claudian, writing in the early 5th c., is the first to specifically mention the Picts having tattoos (MacQuarrie 1997). In De Bello Gothico he says, "Venit & extremis legio praetenta Britannis,/ Quæ Scoto dat frena truci, ferroque notatas/ Perlegit exanimes Picto moriente figuras."

Translation: "The legion comes to make a trial of the most remote parts of Britain where it subdues the wild Scot and gazes on the iron-wrought figures on the face of the dying Pict" (from MacQuarrie 1997).

Last, and possibly least, of our Mediterranean sources is Isidore of Seville. In the early 7th c. he writes, "the Pictish race, their name derived from their body, which the efficient needle, with minute punctures, rubs in the juices squeezed from native plants so that it may bring these scars to its own fashion [. . .] The Scotti have their name from their own language by reason of [their] painted body, because they are marked by iron needles with dark coloring in the form of a marking of varying shapes." (translation from MacQuarrie 1997)

Isidore is the earliest writer to explicitly link the name 'Pict' to their 'painted' (Latin: pictus) i.e. tattooed bodies. Isidore probably borrowed information for his description from earlier writers like Claudian (MacQuarrie 1997).

In the 8th century, we have a source that definitely isn't Romans recycling old hearsay. In 786, a pair of papal legates visited the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of Mercia and Northumbria (Story 1995). In their report to Pope Hadrian, the legates condemn pagans who have "superimposed most hideous cicatrices" (i.e gotten tattoos), likening the pagan practice to coloring oneself "with dirty spots". The location of the visit indicates that these are Anglo-Saxon tattoos rather than Celtic, but some scholars have suggested that the Anglo-Saxons might have adopted the practice from the Brittonic Celts (MacQuarrie 1997).

A gloss in the margin of the late 9th c. German manuscript Fulda Aa 2 defines Stingmata [sic] as "put pictures on the bodies as the Irish (Scotti) do." (translation from MacQuarrie 1997).

Fulda Aa 2 folio 43r The gloss is on the left underlined in white.

Irish Written Sources:

Irish texts that mention tattoos date to approximately 700-900 CE, although some of them have glosses that may be slightly later, and some of them cannot be precisely dated.

The first text source is a poem known in English as "The Caldron of Poesy," written in the early 8th c. (Breatnach 1981). The poem is purportedly the work of Amairgen, ollamh of the legendary Milesian kings. In the first stanza of the poem, he introduces himself saying, "I being white-kneed, blue-shanked, grey-bearded Amairgen." (translation from Breatnach 1981)

The text of the poem with interline glosses from Trinity College Dublin MS 1337/1

The word garrglas (blue-shanked) has a Middle Irish (c. 900-1200) gloss added by a later scribe, defining garrglas as: "a tattooed shank, or who has the blue tattooed shank" (Breatnach 1981).

Although Amairgen was a mythical figure, the position ollamh was not. An ollamh was the highest rank of poet in medieval Ireland, considered worthy of the same honor-price as a king (Carey 1997, Breatnach 1981). The fact that a man of such esteemed status introduces himself with the descriptor 'blue-shanked' suggests that tattoos were a respectable thing to have in early medieval Ireland.

The leg tattoos are also mentioned c. 900 CE in Cormac’s Glossary. It defines feirenn as "a thong which is about the calf of a man whence ‘a tattooed thong is tattooed about [the] calf’" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997)

The Irish legal text Uraicecht Becc, dated to the 9th or early 10th c., includes the word creccoire on a list of low-status occupations (Szacillo 2012, MacNeill 1924). A gloss defines it as: crechad glass ar na roscaib, a phrase which Szacillo interprets as meaning "making grey-blue sore (tattooing) on the eyes" (2012). This sounds rather strange, but another early Irish text clarifies it.

The Vita sancti Colmani abbatis de Land Elo written around the 8th-9th centuries (Szacillo 2012) contains the following episode:

On another time, St Colmán, looking upon his brother, who was the son of Beugne, saw that the lids of his eyes had been secretly painted with the hyacinth colour, as it was in the custom; and it was a great offence at St Colmán’s. He said to his brother: ‘May your eyes not see the light in your life (any more). And from that hour he was blind, seeing nothing until (his) death. (translation from Szacillo 2012).

The original Latin phrase describing what so offended St Colmán "palpebre oculorum illius latenter iacinto colore" does not contain the verb paint (pingo). It just says his eyelids were hyacinth (blue) colored. This passage together with the gloss from the Uraicecht Becc implies that there was a custom of tattooing people's eyelids blue in early medieval Ireland. A creccoire* was therefore a professional eyelid tattooer or a tattoo artist.

A possible third reference to tattooing the area around the eye is found in a list of Old Irish kennings. The kenning for the letter 'B' translates as 'Beauty of the eyebrow.' This kenning is glossed with the word crecad/creccad (McManus 1988). Crecad could be translated as cauterizing, branding, or tattooing (eDIL). McManus suggests "adornment (by tattooing) of the eyebrow" as a plausible interpretation of how crecad relates to the beauty of the eyebrow (1988). The precise date of this text is not known (McManus 1988), but Old Irish was used c. 600-900 CE, meaning this text is of a similar date to the other Irish references to tattoos.

Kenning of the letter 'b' with gloss from TCD MS 1337/1

There is a sharp contrast between the association of tattoos with a venerated figure in 'The Caldron of Poesy', and their association with low-status work and divine punishment in the Uraicecht Becc and the Vita. This indicates that there was a shift in the cultural attitude towards tattoos in Ireland during the 7th-9th centuries. The fact that a Christian saint considered getting tattoos a big enough offense to punish his own brother with blindness suggests that tattooing might have been a pagan practice which gradually got pushed out by the Catholic Church. This timeline is consistent with the 786 CE report of the papal legates condemning the pagan practice of tattooing in Great Britain (MacQuarrie 1997).

There are some mentions of tattooing in Lebor Gabála Érenn, but the information largely appears to be borrowed from Isidore of Seville (MacQuarrie 1997). The fact that the writers of LGE just regurgitated Isidore's meager descriptions of Pictish and Scottish (ie Irish) tattooing without adding any details, such as the designs used or which parts of the body were tattooed, makes me think that Insular tattooing practices had passed out of living memory by the time the book was written in the 11th century.

*There is some etymological controversy over this term. Some have suggested that the Old Irish word for eyelid-tattooer should actually be crechaire. more info Even if this hypothesis is correct, and the scribe who wrote the gloss on creccoire mistook it for crechaire, this doesn't contradict my argument. The scribe clearly believed that eyelid-tattooer belonged on a list of low-status occupations.

Discussion:

Like Julius Cesar in the last post, Herodian of Antioch c. 208 CE makes some dubious claims of Celtic barbarism, stating that the Britons were: "Strangers to clothing, the Britons wear ornaments of iron at their waists and throats; considering iron a symbol of wealth, they value this metal as other barbarians value gold" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997). If the Britons wore nothing but iron jewelry, then why did they have brass torcs and 5,000 objects that look like they're meant to attach to fabric, Herodian?

Brass torc from Lochar Moss, Scotland c. 50-200 CE. Romano-British trumpet brooch from Cumbria c. 75-175 CE. image from the Portable Antiquities Scheme.

Trumpet brooches are a Roman Era artifact invented in Britain, that were probably pinned to people's clothing. more info

Although Herodian and Solinus both make dubious claims, there are enough differences between them to indicate that they had 2 separate sources of information, and one was not just parroting the other. This combined with the fact that we have more-reliable sources from later centuries confirming the existence of tattoos in the British Isles makes it probable that there was at least a grain of truth to their claims of tattooing.

There is a common belief that the name Pict originated from the Latin pictus (painted), because the Picts had 'painted' or tattooed bodies. The Romans first used the name Pict to refer to inhabitants of Britain in 297 CE (Ware 2021), but the first mention of Pictish tattoos came in 402 CE (Carr 2005), and the first explicit statement that the name Pict was derived from the Picts' tattooed bodies came from Isidore of Seville c. 600 CE (MacQuarrie 1997). Unless someone can find an earlier source for this alleged etymology than Isidore, I am extremely skeptical of it.

Summary of the written evidence:

Some time between c. 79 CE (Pliny the Elder) and c. 208 CE (Herodian of Antioch) the practice of body art in Great Britain changed from staining or painting the skin to tattooing. Third century Celtic Briton tattoo designs depicted animals. Pictish tattoos are first mentioned in the 5th century.

The earliest mention of Irish tattoos comes from Isidore of Seville in the early 6th c., but since it seems to have been a pre-Christian practice, it likely started earlier. Irish tattoos of the 8-9th centuries were placed on the area around the eye and on the legs. They were a bluish color. The 8th c. Anglo-Saxons also had tattoos.

Tattooing in Ireland probably ended by the early 10th c., possibly because of Christian condemnation. Exactly when tattooing ended in Great Britain is unclear, but in the 12th c., William of Malmesbury describes it as a thing of the past (MacQuarrie 1997). None of these sources give much detail as to what the tattoos looked like.

The Archaeology of Insular Ink:

In spite of the fact that tattooing was a longer-lasting, more wide-spread practice in the British Isles than body painting, there is less archaeological evidence for it. This may be because the common tools used for tattooing, needles or blades for puncturing the skin, pigments to make the ink, and dishes to hold the ink, all had other common uses in the Middle Ages that could make an archaeologist overlook their use in tattooing. The same needle that was used to sew a tunic could also have been used to tattoo a leg (Carr 2005). A group of small, toothed bronze plates from a Romano-British site at Chalton, Hampshire might have been tattoo chisels (Carr 2005) or they might have been used to make stitching holes in leather (Cunliffe 1977).

Although the pigment used to make tattoos may be difficult to identify at archaeological sites, other lines of evidence might give us an idea of what it was. Although the written sources tell us that Irish tattoos were blue, the popular modern belief that woad was the source of the tattoo pigment is, in my opinion, extremely unlikely for a couple of reasons:

1) Blue pigment from woad doesn't seem to work as tattoo ink. The modern tattoo artists who have tried to use it have found that it burns out of the person's skin, leaving a scar with no trace of blue in it (Lambert 2004).

2) None of the historical sources actually mention tattooing with woad. Julius Cesar and Pliny the Elder mention something that might have been woad, but they were talking about body paint, not tattoos. (see previous post) Isidore of Seville claimed that the Picts were tattooing themselves with "juices squeezed from native plants", but even assuming that Isidore is a reliable source, you can't get blue from woad by just squeezing the juice out of it. In order to get blue out of woad, you have to first steep the leaves, then discard the leaves and add a base like ammonia to the vat (Carr 2005). The resulting dye vat is not something any knowledgeable person would describe as plant juice, so either Isidore had no idea what he was talking about, or he is talking about something other than blue pigment from woad.

In my opinion, the most likely pigment for early Irish and British tattoos is charcoal. Early tattoos found on mummies from Europe and Siberia all contain charcoal and no other colored pigment. These tattoos range in date from c. 3300 BCE (Ötzi the Iceman) to c. 300 CE (Oglakhty grave 4) (Samadelli et al 2015, Pankova 2013).

Despite the fact that charcoal is black, it tends to look blueish when used in tattoos (Pankova 2013). Even modern black ink tattoos that use carbon black pigment (which is effectively a purer form of charcoal) tend to look increasingly blue as they age.

A 17-year-old tattoo in carbon black ink photographed with a swatch of black Sharpie on white printer paper.

The fact that charcoal-based tattoo inks continue to be used today, more than 5,000 years after the first charcoal tattoo was given, shows that charcoal is an effective, relatively safe tattoo pigment, unlike woad. Additionally, charcoal can be easily produced with wood fires, meaning it would have been a readily available material for tattoo artists in the early medieval British Isles. We would need more direct evidence, like a tattooed body from the British Isles, to confirm its use though.

As of June 2024, there have been at least 279 bog bodies* found in the British Isles (Ó Floinn 1995, Turner 1995, Cowie, Picken, Wallace 2011, Giles 2020, BBC 2024), a handful of which have made it into modern museum collections. Unfortunately, tattoos have not been found on any of them. (We don't have a full scientific analysis for the 2023 Bellaghy find yet though.)

*This number includes some finds from fens. It does not include the Cladh Hallan composite mummies.

Tattoos in period art?

It has been suggested that the man fight a beast on Book of Kells f. 130r may be naked and covered in tattoos (MacQuarrie 1997). However, Dress in Ireland author Mairead Dunlevy interprets this illustration as a man wearing a jacket and trews (Dunlevy 1989). Looking at some of the other figures in the Book of Kells, I agree with Dunlevy. F. 97v shows the same long, fitted sleeves and round neckline. F. 292r has long, fitted leg coverings, presumably trews, and also long sleeves. The interlace and dot motifs on f. 130r's legs may be embroidery. Embroidered garments were a status symbol in early medieval Ireland (Dunlevy 1989).

Left to right: Book of Kells folios 130r, 97v, 292r

A couple of sculptures in County Fermanagh might sport depictions of Irish tattoos. The first, known as the Bishop stone, is in the Killadeas cemetery. It features a carved head with 2 marks on the left side of the face, a double line beside the mouth and a single line below the eye. These lines may represent tattoos.

The second sculpture is the Janus figure on Boa Island. (So named because it has 2 faces; it's not Roman.) It has marks under the right eye and extending from the corner of the left eye that may be tattoos.

I cannot find a definitive date for the Bishop stone head, but it bears a strong resemblance to the nearby White Island church figures. The White Island figures are stylistically dated to the 9th-10th centuries and may come from a church that was destroyed by Vikings in 837 CE (Halpin and Newman 2006, Lowry-Corry 1959). The Janus figure is believed to be Iron Age or early medieval (Halpin and Newman 2006).

Conclusions:

Despite the fact that tattooing as a custom in the British Isles lasted for more than 500 years and was practiced by at least 3 different cultures, written sources remain our only solid evidence for it. With only a dozen sources, some of which probably copied each other, to cover this time span, there are huge gaps in our knowledge. The 4th century Picts may not have had the same tattoo designs, placements or reasons for getting tattooed as the 8th c. Irish or Anglo-Saxons. These sources only give us fragments of information on who got tattooed, where the tattoos were placed, what they looked like, how the tattoos were done, and why people got tattooed. Further complicating our limited information is the fact that most of the text sources come from foreigners and/or people who were prejudiced against tattooing, which calls their accuracy into question.

'The Cauldron of Posey' is one source that provides some detail while not showing prejudice against tattoos. The author of the poem was probably Christian, but the poem appears to have been written at a time when Pagan practices were still tolerated in Ireland. I have a complete translation of the poem along with a longer discussion of religious elements here.

Leave me a tip?

Bibliography:

BBC (2024). Bellaghy bog body: Human remains are 2,000 years old https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-northern-ireland-68092307

Breatnach, L. (1981). The Cauldron of Poesy. Ériu, 32(1981), 45-93. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30007454

Carey, J. (1997). The Three Things Required of a Poet. Ériu, 48(1997), 41-58. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30007956

Carr, Gillian. (2005). Woad, Tattooing and Identity in Later Iron Age and Early Roman Britain. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 24(3), 273–292. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0092.2005.00236.x

Cowie, T., Pickin, J. and Wallace, T. (2011). Bog bodies from Scotland: old finds, new records. Journal of Wetland Archaeology 10(1): 1–45.

Cunliffe, B. (1977) The Romano-British Village at Chalton, Hants. Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society, 33(1977), 45-67.

Dunlevy, Mairead (1989). Dress in Ireland. B. T. Batsford LTD, London. 

eDIL s.v. crechad https://dil.ie/12794

Giles, Melanie. (2020). Bog Bodies Face to face with the past. Manchester University Press, Manchester. https://library.oapen.org/viewer/web/viewer.html?file=/bitstream/handle/20.500.12657/46717/9781526150196_fullhl.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

Halpin, A., Newman, C. (2006). Ireland: An Oxford Archaeological Guide to Sites from Earliest Times to AD 1600. Oxford University Press, Oxford. https://archive.org/details/irelandoxfordarc0000halp/page/n3/mode/2up

Hoecherl, M. (2016). Controlling Colours: Function and Meaning of Colour in the British Iron Age. Archaeopress Publishing LTD, Oxford. https://www.google.com/books/edition/Controlling_Colours/WRteEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0

Lambert, S. K. (2004). The Problem of the Woad. Dunsgathan.net. https://dunsgathan.net/essays/woad.htm

Lowry-Corry, D. (1959). A Newly Discovered Statue at the Church on White Island, County Fermanagh. Ulster Journal of Archaeology, 22(1959), 59-66. https://www.jstor.org/stable/20567530

MacQuarrie, Charles. (1997). Insular Celtic tattooing: History, myth and metaphor. Etudes Celtiques, 33, 159-189. https://doi.org/10.3406/ecelt.1997.2117

McManus, D. (1988). Irish Letter-Names and Their Kennings. Ériu, 39(1988), 127-168. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30024135

Ó Floinn, R. (1995). Recent research into Irish bog bodies. In R. C. Turner and R. G. Scaife (eds) Bog Bodies: New Discoveries and New Perspectives (p. 137–45). British Museum Press, London. ISBN: 9780714123059

Pankova, S. (2013). One More Culture with Ancient Tattoo Tradition in Southern Siberia: Tattoos on a Mummy from the Oglakhty Burial Ground, 3rd-4th century AD. Zurich Studies in Archaeology, 9(2013), 75-86.

Samadelli, M., Melisc, M., Miccolic, M., Vigld, E.E., Zinka, A.R. (2015). Complete mapping of the tattoos of the 5300-year-old Tyrolean Iceman. Journal of Cultural Heritage, 16(2015), 753–758.

Story, Joanna (1995). Charlemagne and Northumbria : the influence of Francia on Northumbrian politics in the later eighth and early ninth centuries. [Doctoral Thesis]. Durham University. http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/1460/

Szacillo, J. (2012). Irish hagiography and its dating: a study of the O'Donohue group of Irish saints' lives. [Doctoral Thesis]. Queen's University Belfast.

Turner, R.C. (1995). Resent Research into British Bog Bodies. In R. C. Turner and R. G. Scaife (eds) Bog Bodies: New Discoveries and New Perspectives (p. 221–34). British Museum Press, London. ISBN: 9780714123059

Ware, C. (2021). A Literary Commentary on Panegyrici Latini VI(7) An Oration Delivered Before the Emperor Constantine in Trier, ca. AD 310. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. https://www.google.com/books/edition/A_Literary_Commentary_on_Panegyrici_Lati/oEwMEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0

[yenonnoff]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 28. what comes after heartbreak?

note: word count is 3.2k (^O^)

atsumu was face-to-face with the person he used to call his “love.” what would usually be the feeling of butterflies or warm rush of affection through his body was replaced with pure contempt. now, he only saw a witch—a girl that had insidiously beguiled him into falling in love. 

atsumu was already inside the record store when he saw emma. long hair, rosy cheeks, full lips—the epitome of pretty privilege. from afar, she looked as approachable and friendly as a lily; however, get close and she might bite you like a venus flytrap. 

atsumu understood why he was so charmed by her all those years ago. nevertheless, that was then and this was now. a switch was flipped the moment the two broke up, and all the sweet affection was drained from him. 

one moment, atsumu was inside the record store; the next, he was sitting across emma in a nearby cafe. this was against everything atsumu stood for. however, he needed answers and he didn’t want to rush headlong into a sudden confrontation. he didn’t want to destroy his one sanctuary just because of emma.

“why are you here? how did you know i was here?” atsumu demanded firmly. a vexed wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, matching the guarded way he sat with his arms crossed over his chest. his body was completely tense. atsumu miya’s defenses were all up and his system was working overtime on full alert. 

“oh, please. it’s a public place for crying out loud,” she retorted. 

atsumu stared at her in disbelief, his frustration completely inflamed. “first, it was that photo you posted. now, you appear in front of me in the record store. how much more selfish can you get?” 

“what? selfish?! this was the only time i’ve been back to that scruffy place filled with junk. besides, i just asked around for your schedule. today’s your break and i know you always go there to clear your mind.” she drew in an exaggerated breath, her index finger twirling a strand of hair. she continued with a scoff, “especially after everything that happened last week, i had a feeling you’d come back here.” 

one thing about emma was that she always got whatever she wanted. but not here, not with atsumu. 

“never come back here again. i thought i made that clear when we broke up—guess i’ll have to drill it into your brain for you to actually understand. if you don’t leave me alone, i’ll reveal every single detail of what you did during the time we dated to the public.”

emma’s eyes widened. “are you crazy? are you threatening me right now?” 

that was another thing about emma: she only ever cared about herself. 

“our agreement was that i keep your shamefulness a secret. in exchange, you were to never associate with me again; never message or mention me; and never step foot near the places connected to me. this included the record store. you broke the rules first, i have every right to ‘threaten’ you.” 

atsumu’s body was less rigid now, but his eyes were still narrowed in earnest hatred. his disdain for emma ran deeper than anything anyone could ever imagine. 

when a waiter stopped by, atsumu waved an absent hand in dismissal. “i’m not ordering. i won’t be staying long enough for a drink anyway.” awkwardness swirled in the air and atsumu could feel the thundering displeasure coming from across the table. after the waiter walked away, emma grumbled, “could you have at least saved me some face? now i look desperate.” 

“funny. that’s rich coming from you.” 

“listen, i think there’s been a misunderstanding. i didn’t come here intending to break our agreement. i came here because i was worried about you.” 

emma’s third thing: her dedication to her cruel artifices, honing them like a mad lady. that was how she’d fooled him into becoming so disastrously lovesick. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve been swayed by her endearing concernment. 

“why would you be worried about me?” 

“because of the movie theater incident obviously. i recognized the denim hat you always wore, and that hoodie, it’s the one your brother gifted you, right?” 

atsumu’s gaze bore into her. he wanted to laugh at her absurdity but her words had brought up another issue he’d been dealing with: you. he hadn’t been able to talk to you all week. his mind was restless wondering how you’ve been doing. 

he wanted to talk to you in person, be surrounded by your warmth again and experience the fervid comfort you bring him just by being there. even now, in the disturbing presence of his ex-girlfriend, all he could think about was you. he thought about your worrisome craze for coffee, wondering if you’d like the small cafe he was currently in. he thought of all the puerile topics he’d talk to you about if you were sitting in front of him instead of emma. 

“still obsessed with me are we?” atsumu asked. 

to be honest, he was exhausted. he’d only come here to be alone in the record store absorbed by all the captivating music it had to offer. but no, he was wasting his time talking to a brick wall. he wished you were here instead. 

emma huffed, crossing one leg over the other. “honestly, how could you be so reckless? how could you get caught with a no name actress? good thing that guy cleared things up. do you know how damaging it could’ve been to you?” 

the fourth thing about emma was her shameless ideology: reputation and prestige mattered more than anything else. obviously this was all masked during the time they dated. for two years, she concealed her dishonesty and false compassion—even her friendliness and good nature weren’t real. she had played atsumu miya like a fool. and he often wondered if she ever went to sleep laughing quietly to herself while being cuddled in his arms. 

atsumu rubbed the bridge of his nose. of course he didn’t realize how damaging his actions could’ve been, he wasn’t even the one getting bashed on by randoms. it seemed—similarly to them—emma also lacked critical thinking skills. she failed to see that her fans were targeting you instead of him. so while she sat here blabbering ludicrously, you were probably still dealing with crazy fans in your comments. 

there was another thing atsumu couldn’t let go. how could she call you a “no name actress,” when you weren’t the one that paid your way into the industry? her comment was just ridiculous. 

“never talk about y/n like that ever again. i’m serious about my threat, emma. i wasn’t the one that wanted the agreement in the first place. you’re the only one who'll get hurt if i release a statement.” 

he prepared to stand when emma reached over and caught hold of his arm. he pulled away immediately, disgust written all over his face.  

emma let out a defeated sigh. “wait, please. look, i don’t think we ever got the closure we needed, so i came here to say i’ve changed a lot after we broke up. i don’t do that thing anymore…”

atsumu rolled his eyes. it’s been more than a year since they separated. what closure did she need now? 

“and by ‘that thing,’ you mean your habit of bribing people,” he sneered. 

emma’s gaze faltered. his words had made her hesitate. “yes, i’m just grateful to director sage and his film. it allowed all of these opportunities and sponsorships to come in.” 

atsumu’s hands curled into fists by his side, his knuckles turning patently white. at that moment, he wanted to scream at her. she’d learned nothing; this whole time, she barely needed to lift a finger. all those opportunities were handed to her after she paid for a role on director sage’s film. it was still bribery. she still paid her way to success. 

“then what about your current role? why am i hearing people say you paid for that too?” 

“what? where are you hearing that?” she asked, enraged. emma’s fifth thing: she hated being criticized and proven wrong. 

“you forget that everyone in the industry hate you. staff members talk shit behind your back and actors despise your guts. even director sage hated working with you. it’s astonishing really.” 

emma was too dazed to reply. she didn't know if it was true or not, but she hoped it was just an attempt to rankle her. 

atsumu continued after her silence: “tell me, did you or did you not pass the audition?” 

“this again? i told you, i stopped doing that stuff a long time ago!” emma groaned, tapping her index finger against the table frantically. “obviously i passed. that’s why i have the role in the first place.” her finger continued to tap, her feet flicking up and down in a similar rhythm. 

“liar,” atsumu said plainly. “you’re lying right through your teeth. you did it again, didn’t you? used your dad’s money to buy the role you failed to get.” 

“i’m serious!” tap, tap, tap— everything about her was becoming a nuisance. she was a disturbance to the cafe’s homey atmosphere; her honeyed voice, the one he’d once loved so dearly, had turned rough and utterly annoying. 

atsumu shook his head. “oh, c’mon. you claim you’re an actress but you can barely lie to save your life. stop doing that thing with your finger and foot whenever you lie, it might help you save some embarrassment.” 

“are you being for real right now?” 

“extremely. so stop it, emma. stop trying to be so glorious. stop trying to act like jolie.” he scoffed in disbelief, “did you really have to stoop so low?” 

he watched as her face twisted in confusion. “i know you tried copying her personality. did you know she still gets hate for it? when your quote-unquote fans noticed similarities between how you both acted, they went rampant on jolie for ‘copying’ you. you’re poison, emma. you only cause people harm.” 

emma waved a dismissive hand in the air as if his words were a pest. that action alone embittered atsumu beyond belief. he could still remember how jolie felt after receiving hundreds of tirades from people online. she was torn between being true to her selfless nature or containing it. she’d chosen the latter, and it was only recently that she started loosening up again. 

“i’m done. i don’t know why i wasted my time here with you. if you post another picture as a ruse to get people talking, i really am going to expose how you cheated on me.” 

that garnered an immediate reaction. “it wasn’t like that!” 

“right. on our business trip, in our hotel room, on our bed. who were you even fucking? some a-lister you randomly met?” 

“i was drunk!” her exclamation received stares from nearby staff members. emma’s drink had been on standby for a while now, except no one was brave enough to bring it to her. they didn’t want to get caught in the heated conversation, preferring to tend to other customers. 

“you already gave that excuse,” atsumu said, his voice barely above a whisper. he was reliving hell just by sitting there. the memories of the heartbreaking incident were unfolding in his mind—the memories he wanted so badly to suppress. 

it just had to be on valentine’s day of all days. the two of them were invited overseas to partake in a modeling event; they were there for three days and on the last, emma reid got bored and messed up. 

atsumu learned two things that day: first was his girlfriend’s incompetency, and how she resorted to bribery to get acting roles. the next was her disloyalty and how their relationship was a complete lie. it all happened in a single evening. 

the last day of their trip was dedicated to solo activities only. emma had finished her duties early and was free to do whatever she wanted around the city. atsumu, on the other hand, was stuck at a stuffy and formal gathering. people of various reputable statuses were there and atsumu was invited as a guest by a brand he was modeling for. being social and talkative was one of atsumu’s strong suit—but it also led him to discovering a truth he never wanted to know. 

that night, a young man around atsumu’s age approached him with a smile. he was another model that was invited as a guest, and the two got along quickly. then, when the man asked about atsumu’s relationship, atsumu watched as he started to laugh boisterously. apparently he’s worked with her before. the world really was small. 

“oh, but isn’t her family really rich? i heard her dad’s loaded! looks like he dotes on her a lot.” 

“and?” atsumu asked, wondering where the conversation was going. 

“well, i heard she only gets roles and gigs through underhand tactics. y’know, like bribery, using her family’s name and wealth to—“ 

“but you only heard that though. it’s not true, just gossip.” 

he gave atsumu’s arm a playful slap. “hey, man! stop hurting my feelings, i have lots of connections so i know everything that happens in that industry. it’s fucking twisted honestly,” the young man laughed again. “i heard a director talking about it once, so my suspicions are cleared. do you want another dri—“

by then, his words were already drowned out by atsumu’s racing thoughts. his mind was engaged in a futile debate, but he already knew what was true and what wasn’t. atsumu was slowly piecing together all the coincidences during the time they filmed with director sage. he was always so distraught by her for no apparent reason; he was also much harsher on her compared to the others in the main cast. he was more displeased, more spiteful of the film despite it becoming a large success. connect that with everything else and a complete puzzle was formed. 

atsumu was too lovesick to see anything at the time. he was too convinced and blinded by her geniality to notice her hateful schemes. still, this was something the two of them could overcome… they could talk about it, resolve things, and he could help her become better. 

but could he? would his conscience allow it? would he be able to sleep soundly knowing he was with someone who stole opportunities from others? 

the rest of the event was a blur. when everything ended, atsumu rushed back to his hotel room, clinging onto the diminishing hope that everything would work out—that the two of them would still be okay after this. then, he saw someone leaving the shared hotel room: a man atsumu was sure he’d seen on one of the city’s billboards. the attractive man faltered when he saw atsumu in the hallway, and atsumu felt his world falling apart. 

a million assumptions ran through his mind and he reached the door in hurried steps, bypassing his girlfriend’s accomplice completely. the sight of her naked on their shared bed had said enough—said everything. 

clothes on the floor, crumpled sheets, tangled hair. all atsumu could do was whisper her name in crushing anguish. he stood there as she fumbled to shield herself with the blanket, shame overriding her previous smiling expression. she’d been caught. she’d messed up. 

he watched as she clothed herself, a swarm of emotions rushing through his veins. he swallowed his heartbreak and bore his defenses. he needed to prepare himself for the next few agonizing minutes. 

at first, he was calm. perhaps a bit shaken up, but he’d just returned back from an exhausting event. the collar of his dress shirt was digging into his skin, and he feared he didn’t have enough energy to argue. 

emma—beautiful and serene, the one person atsumu confidently loved with his whole being—sat in front of him avoiding eye contact. she didn’t say anything; she didn’t even apologize. the gesture made atsumu question their whole relationship. 

through her silence, atsumu found his strength to speak up. defend himself. he inevitably triggered a tug of war, a painful back and forth between him and her. both were persistent and defensive, becoming increasingly inflamed with anger.

their words sharpened into blades that pierced one another’s hearts at different angles. atsumu continued to sit while emma stood with ire surging through her body. she was on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by his barrage of accusations and questions directed at their relationship. 

did she even love him? did she even care about their future? about him? what was he to her? 

then, atsumu brought up her bribery and her facade instantly cracked. she didn’t give him any honest answers. the only thing that increased with her excuses were his sighs. so this was how they were going to end things. 

caught in the heat of the moment, emma admitted that atsumu was only a publicity stunt to her. she’d only dated him for more recognition and immersion into the acting industry. his good looks and charms were only a bonus. she’d said out of spite, hoping to hurt his feelings, and it’d accomplished just that. 

it was done: their relationship, their future, everything. 

atsumu moved past emma to pack his belongings. he’ll get a new hotel room and flight tickets; he’ll get to see his brother again, maybe even visit rin in his studio, or just invite all three of them (omi if he’s not too busy) to play beach volleyball. yeah, he’ll be fine. everything will go back to normal when he lands in tokyo again. 

then, emma grabbed onto his arm. she begged him to keep everything a secret—to have the faintest sympathy towards her. if emma’s cheating schemes were exposed to the public, even her family’s wealth wouldn’t be enough to calm down the media. her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks had convinced him. while he might’ve been in love with a facade this whole time, he’d still experienced happiness. she’d kept him content and smiling for two years; keeping this a secret was the least he could do. 

however, if he was going to do this, she needed to agree to his conditions as well. peace was all he wanted and he’d set up the agreement with it in mind. 

back in the cafe, emma continued to insist on a false reality: “atsumu, honestly, i didn’t know!” 

he saw her tapping finger and felt something ugly and twisted wrap around his tattered heart. he felt regret for ever comparing you to her. clearly, you were far greater and more special than emma will ever be. he truly wished her the worst. 

“we’re finished here. i don’t ever want to see you again; i know how precious your reputation is to you.” he stood from his seat, his sudden action surprising the nearby weary staff members. “oh, and, stop with your stunts, they’re embarrassing. you should know better than to drag rin into this. he hates your guts as much as i do, maybe even more.” 

“what?” she craned her head upwards to stare at him. “but he always waves back when i see him in the studio. he… smiles sometimes too.” 

“here’s the nice thing about rin: he’s not an actor but he can still lie. did you know he tells us everything behind your back? he always has a good laugh, saying how stupid you are.”

“he—!” 

“go buy some acting classes with your dad’s money for god’s sake. you have so much at least put it to good use.”

atsumu didn’t wait to see her reaction. he left the cafe immediately, calling for a taxi home.

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu was able to hang out with osamu, rin, and omi when he got back to tokyo. however, he fell into long periods of stagnation afterwards, finding it difficult to stop thinking about emma and their previous life together. it ultimately led to his year long hiatus.

the cafe staff members were lowkey eavesdropping, but they were completely clueless about what was happening. they're just teenagers trying to get a paycheck, someone help them. all they knew was that the girl messed up and the blond guy was right (as they should!).

please join the emma hate group along with me, atsumu, jolie, and rin (there are probably more members we hate this girl)

emma actually fumbled. why would you cheat on atsumu in the first place, please!!

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: idk if my writing is inconsistent pls tell me if it is actually no actually yeah. hmmm anyways act 3 guys !!!

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444choso @mylahrins @deimmortales99 @hisfuture @staywhelmed8801 @dl-yum @nessaasstuff @milesmoralesluvs @101tsumu @ryeyeyer @cherrypieyourface @azharyy @mimi3lover @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @dazball @whykirbo

[sfehvn]

hi hello! saw you had requests open and were looking for some prompts to work on?

i hope you dont mind me sending in one :0

possessive or jealous astarion x reader maybe?

reader is divorced, has been for a while, but their ex and them are still good friends. it was a mutual, respectful separation, because the two had different life plans after being together for some time. ex is a great person with a kind heart (and js brilliant artificer or inventor maybe?) and decided to visit reader some time after the game. nothing nefarious, just some nice catching up with one of their closest friends.

just want a lil astarion jealousy here. how reader reacts is up to you. itd be fun if they just roll their eyes but indulge his possessive behavior a tad.

no need to follow everything to a T of course.

other reasons the ex could be visiting (if theyre an artificer or inventor) is because reader commissioned them for a ring or jewelry or something that lets astarion walk under the sun. fun ideas there where astarion sees the ex hand reader a ring, is almost heartbroken, but it turns out reader got the ring for him was gonna propose or something (ring lets vampires walk under the sun). some angst there wahaha

im so sorry this is so long, i had multiple ideas i wanted to offer but didnt wanna flood you.

i understand if you dont wanna work on this (these?). its still just a joy to share these. thanks!

green eyed devil

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it! xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,290 Characters: Astarion x Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

  In the months following the removal of your unwanted little brain passengers you and Astarion had been tirelessly in search of a cure for his vampiric condition. As much as you tried to discourage his masking, there were many mornings you woke to see your lover longingly staring at the covered windows surrounding your bed. Astarion would play it off cooly once the realization he’d been caught dawned on him, but he knew as well as you the agony that hid behind ruby-red eyes. The remorse ate him alive as the color in your own skin began to fade from your previously sunkissed appearance to reflect that of paleness. It stilled in comparison to his, but it was a constant reminder of the fact that, in his judgment, he’d doomed you to a life in the shadows.

  You held him close to your chest and the sound of your beating heart against his ear prompted a moment of weakness. “I feel like I’m destroying you.” His words were a shutter as they left his mouth. You place a small hand on his cold cheek at the sudden confession, commending him to look up at you.

  It was unspoken. You needed no words to tell you how sun-starved you had become and you vaguely recalled the last time you had gone out while it was still beaming. “Hey, I’m alright. We’re making decent progress and have more than a few promising leads. I’m not the slightest worried about it.” Even your reassuring smile and soothing words couldn’t placate the shame he felt.

  “Would you go for a walk at least? You thrive in the sun and instead you’re cooped up in this little room with me until sundown, darling.” You let out a sigh of disapproval and before you can argue the suggestion, he continues. “Do it for me. I can’t bear seeing you like this.” Astarion knew without a shred of doubt that one day you’d grow tired of skulking in the dark with him, given a cure was never found. He’d do everything he could to make sure it never happened. If it did, though, Astarion believed he’d have no reason to continue his miserable existence.

  After a few beats of silence, you finally nod. The look on his face was enough to tell you there was no use arguing the matter away. Evidently, this was important to him, so you sat and readied to do what he could not, what he wanted so desperately: to bathe in the rays of daylight. 

-

  You trudged about the city with no end in mind. Feeling the warmth of sunshine on your skin was a welcome change, and you soaked up the sensation eagerly. There was heavy remorse weighing in your chest at the thought of not being able to share this feeling with your lover all the while. You’re stopped in your tracks at the familiar face before you. “Tav! Well, you’re looking worse for wear.” The man teased. You grinned widely and wrapped your arms around him in a chaste embrace.

“I would say your words hurt, but it is a testament to your honesty, I suppose.” You quipped and stepped back to get a good look at him. It had been a lengthy amount of time since you had last seen him. You recall the last time you had been in each other’s company was when you had attended his wedding to his new wife, a lovely half-elf you had regularly messaged with. From said messages, you knew they had just welcomed a new addition to his family, and you felt great pride in the man he had become. While, yes, you had once shared a bed and a last name, it felt like a lifetime away.

  “You look well, Conrad. It seems fatherhood suits you well.” He did indeed look great, not a day older than when you had last seen him despite the years passed. Black hair that somehow always looked tousled and neat at the same time, bright green eyes with no darkness marring under them, and he’d taken to toning his physique since you’d been with him, ostensibly.

  You were both far too young when you had made the rash decision of running off and eloping together. Just as hastily as you two had agreed to spend the rest of your lives together, things had begun falling apart. Conrad wanted to settle and start creating a family as quickly as possible, while you were keen just the way you were. You were confident you never wanted children to begin with. Though your thoughts on the matter have recently changed, it is a testament that finding the right person has shown you things you weren’t even aware of about yourself before. 

  “Despite the lack of sleep, we can agree on that.” Conrad chortles gleefully, motioning you to follow him to a nearby bench. Once seated, he turns his body to face you. “You are a tough one to find, my friend. Amira told me you have been holed up in Elfsong for a while, and it was still much like digging through a needle in a haystack. The same old adventurer, hm?” He questions fondly, recalling your nature without abandon.

  “You could say that.” You shrugged casually. Your head quirks as if a thought just popped into your mind. “Why are you back in Baldur’s Gate? You should be home tending to Amira.” You think back to her last letter, detailing the struggles she had been having caring for their new babe. Conrad was a journey away.

  “I am here at her request.” He corrects with a wave of his hand. “It seems you and Astarion have troubled her heart with your story. She can’t stand the thought of two people so in love plagued by such great hardship. Ever the romantic she is.” You smile sadly as you remember your lover confined to the inn's room. He holds up a finger, beckoning your brow to crease as he dug into the pockets of his robe. A quiet ‘aha’ emerged as he seemingly located what he sought. He outstretched his hand to you, a simple silver-banded ring held between his fingertips. “It’s not the cure, of course. At the very least, your search won’t have to be restricted during daylight hours.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you bite back tears at the kind gesture. “Conrad, I can’t believe this.” You whisper as he drops the ring into your palm. The magic-infused band feels almost as if it hums against your hand.

“Ring of the sunwalker. I must say, it was one of the most challenging feats I’ve committed to.” Conrad muses, clearly proud of his work. You had been in search of one to gift to Astarion but they were impossible to stumble upon and even more impossible to find an artificer who was skilled enough to conjure one up. You clinch the ring in your fist and pull the man into a tight hug, painfully aware of the tears that assaulted his robe.

  “Thank you, Conrad. I don’t know how to repay you or Amira for this kindness.” Your words were earnest, and you dab under your wet eyes.

  “No repayment necessary, Tav. You’re family to us. It pains us to know you’re in such a tight predicament. However, a visit once you and your other half are ready would be welcomed. Got to lay the law out and let this vampire know who he’ll have on his tail if he ever hurts you.” His teasing cadence elicited a laugh from you, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own.

  You two chat for a while longer before bidding goodbye to one another. “Just make sure that gets put to use, Tav. You look like you haven’t had a drop of sunlight in your life.” You reassure that you will with a broad smile.

  The walk back to the inn is painstakingly long given how eager you were to present Astarion with his new ring. The image of your lover once again bathed in sunlight made your heart swoon. When opening the room’s door you can hardly contain the excited smile on your lips. Astarion was unmoving on the bed, trying to slip into a meditative state when you entered the room.

  “The sun is still up, my darling—plenty of fun to be had out there.” There was feigned annoyance in his words but in reality, he was contented to have you back where he knew you were safe. There was something off, though. Astarion pushes himself onto his elbows and stares at you with narrowed eyes. The look made your breathing hitch, your smile faltering the slightest bit.

  Within a second, he’s in front of you, faces a mere inch apart. “What’s wrong?” You asked carefully, hand instinctively reaching for the ring in your pocket. You twiddle your fingers around it but hesitate to pull it out.

  “You reek.” He deadpans, inspecting your body as if searching for a physical sign you’d been laid up with another man. 

  “Well, that’s kind of rude.” You joked, but the silence that followed told you there was more to it than he’d let on.

  “You reek of another, my dear.” His words dripped with condescension, and you let out a chuckle, ready to explain away his worries.

  “Oh no, that’s just Conrad. He actually-” Before you could say anything more, you were pressed firmly between the solid oak door behind you and Astarion’s firm chest. He looks down on you, and you can’t discern if his red eyes radiate that of rage or lust. Perhaps both.

  “Your ex-husband. I leave you alone for all but a few hours, and you find your way into another man’s arms?” Accusatory words were whispered into your ear, the sensation of his soft lips tickling the sensitive skin. His fingertips firmly planted into your hip as he led you to the bed, pressing you roughly to the soft comforter you two had spent so many days wrapped up in one another atop. His greedy hands expertly flip you over. Your ass stood in attention before him, and he worked the skirt of your dress up until it pooled around your chest.

  Before you could comprehend his jealous fit, your underwear was ripped from your body, and his hard cock was buried deeply inside of you. You let out a moan at the sensation of him filling you. His hand slid up your back until it reached the back of your head, taking a fistful of your long hair into his palm as he plowed into you, hips slamming loudly against your skin throughout the otherwise quiet room—your back arches as you allowed him to take you. Your eyes rolled back, and you grasped the sheets tightly in your own hands.

  Astarion had become increasingly possessive of you since the Mindflayer incident came to a close. Still, you’d never put him in a position to react so passionately to any jealousy he may have felt. When his hand wrapped around you to make contact with your clit, you knew you were putty in this man’s hands. He rubbed slowly and firmly, his other hand still in your hair. You cried out in pleasure, everything in your mind melting away as he fucked you into the bed.

  “Bet Conrad never fucked you with such tenacity, hm, darling?” His words were confident, fastening his pace as he failed to receive an answer, a silent reminder that he expected a response from those pretty little lips.

  “N-never.” You stutter feeling winded from the intense pleasure coursing through your veins.

  “Good girl.” He grunted in response, finding a smoother pace. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer with how your drenched core gripped his cock, and his fingers continued their attention over your sensitive clit. “You’re mine. Understand?”

  You nod numbly as stars flood your vision, crying out with the orgasm that electrified your body. “Say it. Say you’re mine.” His words came from gritted teeth, and you obliged, the words falling from your mouth causing him to reach his completion, his seed filling you full. As he shifts to lay beside you, he looks at you with darkened eyes. “Why were you with him?” There was no hiding the distaste in his voice.

  “Before you so rudely, but pleasurably, interrupted me, I was going to explain that to you.” You hummed teasingly, sitting up beside him. Your dress rested around your knees as you did so and you reached for the ring in your pocket. You offered it out to him and you didn’t have to speak a word for him to know what possibilities the simple-looking ring possessed. 

  He slipped it onto his finger and stood from the bed. He walked to the covered window and pushed the curtains aside. There he stood in all his glory, the sun's rays illuminated against his pale skin. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting out the faintest cry of satisfaction at the warmth he had so longed to feel again. You move to stand behind him, your arms wrapped around his waist. Your forehead rests against his back, and a content smile plays on your mouth. “You thrive in the sun, too.” You pointed out softly.

  “Perhaps I owe that artificer a thank you. His scent on you tells me he touched you one too many times, though. That said, I will not like it. And I will not like him.” You knew Astarion would never accept Conrad as a friend due to his possessiveness, but you knew he was thankful. That was a step in the right direction at the least.

[melloollem]

Giving You Hell|| Jason Todd × No reader gender

Summary: After discovering that you were responsible for his resurrection, you and Jason Todd have an argument that results in the end of the relationship.

Warnings: anguish, mention of death, fight in relationship, No gender specified.

I consider this a good fanfic, I hope you like it.

(DC masterlist)

You knew the danger of keeping secrets in a pandora's box. Soon someone fearless would open it, soon the evil that had been kept there would find the light of day and you could only wait for that day to come fearing the destruction knowing you were too powerless to stop it and the day came.

You knew that Jason was investing with Bruce who revived him, they obviously knew it was Talia Al Ghul's doing, but there was something else, he knew. The date that Jason had been brought back was not an unassuming date, close to his birthday, as something of a thought, at first he associated it with affecting Bruce, bringing his son back close to the date he was born, but the boy soon dismissed that, he had spent years after his resurrection without contact with Batman, setting up his return and that theory lost its meaning.

Jason then decided to question Talia, a quick phone call in which he asked who had ordered his return, at the time he wasn't sure if anyone had, but it seemed like an alternative and a good way to start the conversation, a hunch that might give him his answer, but Talia was vague saying only that she wouldn't tell Jason who it was because of a promise. Jason found it frustrating, but at least now he was sure that his return to life had been ordered by someone.

Now he wondered how he had never suspected, was he so blinded by his revenge that he couldn't see the obvious? You were always there, you were the one who grabbed Jason's body as he tried to get out of the waters of the Lazarus Pit, you were the one he grabbed that day fighting back all the tears and violent memories, but for Jason you were there as a hostage, as the artifice the League would use if he refused to fight Batman and now in hindsight that thought seemed stupid, naive.

"I loved you, Jason," you didn't say it in defense of his accusations, you knew he would never forgive you for it, but that was the truth, you had done it because you loved him. Your voice was firm, you wanted Jason to be sure of your words, but even so your eyes were clouded with unreleased tears, because it was painful to explain why you had done it to Jason.

"You gave me hell," he said with disbelief, but also loathing. That wasn't how Jason saw his resurrection at first, he saw it as a second chance, a chance to try again, to take revenge on those who betrayed him in life, but after finding out it was you, you chose to dig him up and force him to live a life watered in hatred intensified by the Lazarus Pit and you hid it from him, that was a second betrayal far greater than Bruce letting Joker live after his death.

"No, no... no..." each no was said in a whisper, as if it were unbelievable to think the opposite. "I saved you" Your voice became louder, filled with certainty and arrogance. "You know that, you had everything. You called it a new beginning, a new chance." You were accusing Jason, using his words against him, trying to convince him of your reason, but only one line of yours stuck in his mind. Did you believe that he had everything? Half of the boy he was had stayed there, there was no Lazarus Pit capable of living that part of him.

"It was not your choice" Jason cried, he couldn't even remember the last time tears had rolled openly from his eyes after the Lazarus Pit, of course, he had cried as he struggled in those waters, as memories of his death flashed through his mind, but this was the first time he had allowed himself to cry, That those tears didn't come out after much reluctance, he actually let them roll down, too incapable even for that, too incapable to maintain the façade that what he felt was just hatred not a sadness of overwhelming magnetism, but that was it, he knew it was just that and those tears didn't lie. They weren't abundant tears, but even those small tears made it clear what it was all about, Jason's decline.

You didn't accept Jason's answer, shaking your head in denial "And who would, Jason?... you? Because I remember you're dead, I remember you didn't even have the chance to fight for your life in that warehouse..." your tears came out, your mouth trembled as you spoke, but anger was never far away, the feeling of sadness and anger mixed, boiling cruel words. "So I did it, I fought for you, I fought for you to have a second chance…"

"...a tiny chance of being something, of not having died in a warehouse with a title that was taken from you in 3 months" Jason didn't try to answer you, to fight your poison, you wouldn't listen to him. You would never understand being dug up with the sole purpose being revenge against those you loved, you wouldn't understand the weight of the choice you made for Jason, condemning him to a life now drenched in remorse and regret.

"I did it because I loved you, Jason, like no person has ever done before, like Bruce never did. I couldn't live knowing that was the end of you and nothing you could say would change my choice, because I love you, Jason and you know it. No matter how much you hate me after that, you know that I only did it because I loved you," you said after the man's silence, you struggled, even though you weren't sure he would listen. You don't think Jason would understand, knowing that the person he loved the most had been killed in a cruel way, meeting his end prematurely, he would never understand how heavy a burden it was to make that choice, to be condemned to a short span of a life with Jason that would soon end when he found out about your choice.

There were words choking in your throat, words that would have sounded like "I'm sorry, Jason, I'm sorry for all the hell you went through after you came back, I'm sorry for all the pain I couldn't take away from you", but they would have stayed there, you wouldn't have given Jason the chance to think that at some point you regretted what you had done, that you would do things differently if you had the chance, because although you were sorry for all the pain Jason had experienced, you would never have let that be the end of him, you just wished there was a way to take that pain away from him, but there wasn't and if Jason had to live with it in order to live, then so be it.

That discussion had come to an end, you couldn't say anything more, you couldn't ask Jason to let you stay, for him to understand your side, you couldn't ask him for gratitude, you couldn't ask him for anything, you knew that. You had to leave, he didn't want you there, this wasn't one of the nights when you drove Jason's demons away, not when you were one of them, you could only leave, leave him alone and you did. Without another word, you left, there was no hope of him asking you to stay, it was the end.

Jason seemed surrounded by a tornado, blinded by his thoughts, there was nothing else around him. Jason wasn't sure, but he thought he would rather have died in that warehouse forever and ever along with all the happy memories, with his moments of gratitude and admiration for Bruce, with his time honored as Robin, with his sweet love for you, but now it was all tainted, Bruce had been the one who betrayed him, Robin had been the one who caused his death and you were the one who now buried the last remnant of the old Jason, you were the final point the proof that that Jason should have died completely and now he did.

[remidyal]

What is Fig Doing? - Mechanical Discussion edition

So! I know a lot of people who watch D20 are relatively new to DnD, or may not have much experience with the game itself at all, and as a lover of exploring weird and mechanically ineffective multiclasses I thought I might dive in in advance of whatever the hell Emily's about to do to Fig's character sheet following episode 7. Spoiler alert: Weird it may end up being, but this is absolutely NOT going to be anything like an ineffective multiclass.

First, here's Fig's character splash screen as of episode 7:

In addition to the information shown here, we know that she's currently subclassed into a Hexblade patron and into being a Lore bard. The Lore bard part is less important, but Hexblade is an incredibly common subclass for multiclassers into warlocks and might actually be the most common multiclass subclass in the entire game for reasons we'll get into.

There is a very small elephant in the room: Multiclassing into or out of Barbarian would, by the rules as written, require 13 strength; multiclassing into or out of Paladin requires 13 strength and 13 charisma. The charisma Fig has in spades, but she's short on strength, and in fact I would actually argue that Fig's overall stats are the worst of the entire party - she has a whole lot of 0s or +1s, where most everyone else either has multiple +3s or higher or has almost all +2s past their primary. However, the multiclass requirements have been consistently ignored in Dimension 20 as a whole and have been ignored in Fantasy High in particular in the case of Gorgug going into Artificer back when he was at 8 int; I think it's safe to say that if Fig/Emily wants to add Paladin and/or Barbarian that either they'll move around stats to allow for it or just ignore the requirement, because that strength stat is, in fact, completely irrelevent to this build.

So let's get to the meat of this: There is almost no combination of bard, paladin, and warlock that Fig could end up with that is not going to be an incredibly effective build, as long as she has pact of the Hexblade and is at at least two levels of Paladin for access to Smite (the first level of paladin gets her almost nothing). There are some that are going to be better than others, but mostly it's going to reflect different strengths and focuses, and the reason for this is this little section of the Hexblade level 1 abilities:

The influence of your patron also allows you to mystically channel your will through a particular weapon. Whenever you finish a long rest, you can touch one weapon that you are proficient with and that lacks the two-handed property. When you attack with that weapon, you can use your Charisma modifier, instead of Strength or Dexterity, for the attack and damage rolls. This benefit lasts until you finish a long rest. If you later gain the Pact of the Blade feature, this benefit extends to every pact weapon you conjure with that feature, no matter the weapon’s type.

Fig is a one-trick pony, statwise. Being a hexblade allows everything she would want to do in combat across all of these classes to use that trick. She'll have dials she can tweak across the three classes, and they're going to impact just what she can do, but if she's really decided to leave being a Bard behind it wouldn't surprise me to see her ditch Bard levels for Paladin and Warlock ones over the course of the season.

For those dials, one key thing to consider is the spell slots she'll have, which are WEIRD to calculate for any warlock multiclass with another caster. For every other caster class in the game, there is a pool of spell slots that go up as you level any of them that refresh on long rests. Warlocks, however, have a seperate pool from any of those, so her warlock spell slots are seperate and refresh on short rests. If she stays at level 2 in warlock, this pool will be two slots of first level. If she levels in warlock, the level of these spell slots go up but the number of them doesn't (unless she somehow were to end up at level 11, when warlocks finally get a third slot.)

The paladin and bard combo is a little simpler to look at - she's going to have spell slots from the table that a primary caster would have at the level equal to her bard level plus half her paladin level. Just as an example, let's say she by the next combat were to drop two bard levels for two paladin ones and she were to end up 7 bard/2 paladin/2 warlock. She would end up with the two warlock first level spell slots that refresh on short rests, and 7 + .5*2 = level 8 from the primary caster spell slot table. (4 1sts, 3 2nds and 3rds, 2 4ths). A very deep pool for using Divine Smites - a full paladin wouldn't be able to match this until level 16, and that's not even counting the warlock first level spells!

Key level breakpoints that might be worth looking at: At level 5 of Paladin, she would have multiple attacks; at level 6 Paladin gets one of the best abilities in the entire game, an aura where she and allies within 10 feet get her charisma mod as a bonus to ALL saving throws. In Fig's case this is an absolutely incredible +5 - at their level, this is a bigger boost than being proficient is! If she really wants to guard her president, this would allow even Kristen to have a +2 on dex saves! I'm not certain I could overstate how good this ability is in general; with a +5 it's completely insane.

She can also get multiple attacks through either Bard or Warlock, but neither is automatic. For Warlock, she would have to choose to take Pact of the Blade at level 3 (warlocks have, somewhat confusingly, two more-or-less subclasses, and Hexblade and Pact of the Blade are in fact different things) and Brennan has been HEAVILY hinting at wanting her to take Pact of the Chain so that Baby can be a class feature instead. She'd then have to get to level 5 in warlock and take the Thirsting Blade eldritch invocation, which are sort of little bonus powers warlocks get. I think this is the least likely path to multiple attacks but it is there. (Mechanically, while it's all still fine, I also think leveling warlock would be the worst of the three in a three-class build.)

Bard CAN get multiple attacks at level 6 but Fig would need to change subclasses to either Swords (which is what Fabian is) or Valor (which is, frankly, a worse version of what Fabian is, though it's still fine.)

Getting multiple attacks is a really big deal - Paladins can smite multiple times per round, and given being able to lay on mid to low level spell slots for ages Fig would likely want to.

I have no idea what Oath Fig would pick for a paladin if she gets to level 3, but honestly the level 3 subclass features for Paladin are mostly not that big a deal; she'd need to get to level 7 for the subclass aura for it to really matter all that much.

You'll notice I haven't been talking much about Barbarian above. If Fig dips into Barbarian mechanically at all, it's almost certainly just for one level given how spread thin she might be. This is a level she won't get any spell slots for, but she will get two rages per day, which will add 2 to damage rolls if Brennan allows it (technically it wouldn't apply normally because it does specify only to rolls made for attacks using strength) but much more importantly will halve quite a lot of incoming damage - bludgeoning, slashing, and piercing damage, more or less all of the physical attacks in the game.

Barbarian is a massively bad combination with caster classes in general because you can't concentrate on spells or cast them while raging; there's been a lot of in-character noise made about Gorgug's multiclass being unique and a bad fit together for exactly this reason. The exception to this, as Porter demonstrated to Fig in their last scene together, is that Smiting things is burning through spell slots but is NOT casting and you CAN do it while raging.

So, if by the end of the season, we see some wild 6 Paladin/5 Bard/2 Warlock/1 Barbarian build, know that it's going to be an absolute menace. And if Fig and Gorgug keep trending the directions they are, where she's adding heavy hitter abilities and he's shedding Barbarian levels for Artificer ones, don't be surprised if on the last boss she's the one up on their face and he's casting spells next to Adaine or casting the key Revivify.

[idonthaveanyurlideas]

How The Fuck Do Classes At Aguefort Work

AKA Brennan gave me a number of students for this school and I am going to use my expert knowledge of being a teacher in real life to extrapolate things

(disclaimer: i am australian and thus my knowledge is limited to the australian school system of how things are arranged, number of students in each class, etc. this is basically how I would organise aguefort if it were up to me)

SO

aguefort has approximately 500 students split across four year levels, making for about 125 per year level, which you could easily split into 5 'homeroom' classes of about 25 students each. Or 31-32 if you wanted to squish them into 4.

But the thing is, we have all the DND Classes to think about, with each class having its own dedicated teacher and specialist class. There are 12 standard dnd subclasses, plus we know that artificer is also an option, making 13.

It's unlikely that any particular year level has all of its students evenly split between those classes (it would be an average of 9-10 per class if they did, which is quite small for a single class, but not unheard of for (using a real life example) elective subjects like business or design tech)

ADDITIONALLY, we do know that 'regular' classes exist at aguefort, like history and home ec, so I'm assuming other typical subjects like maths, english, science (perhaps broken down into chem/bio/physics, maybe not), maybe PE as well for students that aren't part of one of the martial classes, among other things.

Most likely, the school day is arranged so that each student (assuming this student has a typical workload, AKA nothing absolutely bonkers like what the bad kids are doing in junior year) has at least one Class-Specific class per day, and then some general education ones as well, and then perhaps some more adventuring-focused classes like survival + archery or arcana.

That way each class-specific teacher should be able to fit one lesson with each year level a day, because those classes are probably considered far more important than like. Modern History.

DND-Class classes are likely much smaller and more individualised, and then general ed classes would be with a far bigger group.

I also think Aguefort has a lot of composite classes! Particularly for the less popular Dnd-Classes. Freshman+Sophomores together and then Juniors+Seniors together is probably the most common.

I think sorcery classes are often composites, partly because its one that students Literally have to be born to be able to do, so its not one that other students can multiclass Into, so its numbers probably fluctuate a bunch depending on the cohort.

More technical classes like artificer are probably also composites! Simply because I bet they're less popular than things like Fighters, Rogues, so on.

Bards are also absolutely composites, because they are already split within themselves with multiple teachers depending on the students particular focus (like we did with a separate Music class and Dance class with different bard teachers). So I wouldn't be surprised if some bard classes contain freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors all within the one class and still only have like, ten students total because they're that specialised.

I think combined classes also probably happen on a fairly regular basis. Esp if like, teachers call in sick. The fighters will go join the barbarians for a day, or the clerics will join the paladins.

And then of course they don't actually give a shit if you show up to your classes or not so theres probably some poor admin staff out there who painstakingly arranges every schedule at the start of each semester and then 80% of students ignore half of it anyway

[pocket-goat]

i'm not personally a fan of saints campaign from a gameplay perspective. its the only campaign i've only ever played once up until now despite liking the story and lore implications. but it hit me so hard emotionally that i was genuinely stunned and i couldn't figure out what it made me feel, let alone why i was feeling it so strongly, like i had just lost something so important to me rather than a few pixels i could see again if i just started up another campaign.

i think it's because, up until saints campaign (since i did his last of course), i had spent so much of my time trying to help moon. in every campaign save for artificers, where she's inaccessible, but even then i only found out i couldn't access moons structure when i had already trudged through all of waterfront facility with a neuron for her.

i delivered her pearl as spearmaster, revived her as hunter, reactivated her structure as rivulet, and gathered her neurons in every campaign where i had access to both her and pebbles' structure. not to mention my hours of pearl gathering, not just for completing my collection, but also because in my regular runs i enjoyed bringing her new reading material. i knew i couldn't save her, but i did everything in my little slugcat power to ease her pain.

and then i finally reach her as saint, and while i'm not forced to ascend her, thats pretty clearly the intention. and i stalled for such a long time. it felt easy ascending pebbles, it felt like a mercy to him. he wanted that for so long, right? and he was in such a state now that leaving him there to rot indefinitely felt like condemning him to an absolutely hellish existence. at least his ancients had left him functional and with the ability to contact his fellow iterators and possibly find a solution for himself. i would be leaving him with a faded music pearl and a lantern while he sat in his own rotting corpse.

but moon never WANTED to die. she actively fought to LIVE, and she was finally back to as close as she could get to her former state with the rarefraction cell! and it felt a little bit like i was undoing all of the progress of my hunter run by just killing her now. what was the point of the slag reset keys and all the neurons and the rarefraction cell? but then again, what would i be leaving her to? a world frozen over where she is cut off from everyone she has ever known, unable to reach out, her only accessible neighbour being completely unresponsive (and now dead)?

i felt better about it after she had said it was time for the time of her and her ancients to be left behind. the world had already died. her world had already died. and a new one was being born, one she need not be a part of. she seemed comfortable in the fact she would be a part of this new world only as a forgotten legacy, perhaps a mystery for future civilizations to unravel.

i have many thoughts about looks to the moon.

and i think, in my idealistic continuation of rain worlds story, after saint has ascended the sibling iterators and moved on, that their empty puppets are still treated kindly and with a quiet sort of reverence by any scavenger or slugcat who finds them. i'd like to leave them flowers.

[perpetualprocrastinationisme]

Ragnor as the TWP Gang’s Warlock

Artist: @cassandrajean

A vague expression passed over Malcolm’s face. “I can’t remember precisely. Magnus, stop bothering Emma and Julian,” he said, and there was a tinge of something like annoyance in his voice. Professional jealousy, Emma guessed. “This is my domain. You’ve got your own hopeless humans in New York.” - Lady Midnight

Anyway, back to breakfast and the knock on the door. It was Ragnor, looking a sprightly shade of green, like an English meadow. He sailed right past Julian and began inspecting the drapes. Well, he was probably inspecting something magical, like the curse, but to me it looked like he was inspecting the curtains and the wallpaper. Maybe he’s thinking of decorating his own place. Or maybe he was just giving Julian some time alone with Ty, because Ty was still standing on the stairs, with a duffel bag over his arm, looking adorably awkward. - Secrets of Blackthorn Hall

Bruce, I swear at one point Ragnor told a joke in Coptic and Ty laughed. They’re hardcore over there at the Scholomance. Maybe too hardcore for me. - Secrets of Blackthorn Hall

So, judging from The Dark Artifices and The Mortal Instruments, it seems like every book's gang of characters has a specific warlock that they trust more than any other. I know Magnus is very prominent in both of TMI and TDA but TDA had an extra focus on Malcolm (unfortunately). I know the focus on Malcolm was due to the resurrection of Annabel but I feel like TWP might have a new warlock that they trust: Ragnor Fell. Ragnor doesn't show much affection to anyone but he seems to at least have a bit of a soft spot for Ty. Ragnor let him portal to Blackthorn Manor with him, was sensitive to giving him time with Julian, and has even joked with him in Coptic. I feel like this will lead to Ty leaning on a Ragnor a bit, and subsequently the whole TWP gang, throughout the series. Besides his familiarity with Ragnor there is also the fact that Magnus is married to the Consul and they'll almost definitely be breaking Clave rules on their quests.

However, there is another Warlock that might be extra inclined to help them...

Artist: @lariablog

"Catarina gave me a hot water bottle too," Ty said. He reached into the box and unwrapped the bundle of blanket enough to put the hot water bottle in as well. Then he began to drip water onto the lynx's mouth until the was wet all around its face. - Ghosts of the Shadow Market He was lying in bed in the infirmary, looking very pale. Catarina Loss was by his side, and a boy that Livvy recognized from Ty's classes. Anush. - Ghosts of the Shadow Market

I have been putting together a curriculum with the help of Prof. Loss, aimed in the direction of of investigation and detection. - Ty in Secrets of Blackthorn Hall

"I took Ephraim to America and raised him there. He never knew what he was or who he was. He was a happy boy, a good boy. He was my boy." - Catarina in Ghosts of the Shadow Market

Catarina Loss. Catarina seems to be very supportive of Ty at the Scholomance but she also has plenty of connections to Kit, even though both of them may not realize it yet. With Kit being the Lost Heir, Catarina raised and protected his great-something grandfather and would probably feel a connection with Kit. Like Ty, she also seems to trust Anush. I can picture Anush aiding Ty in TLKOF by finding information for him at the Scholomance while he's on his roadtrip with Ty which Catarina could help with. Catarina seems to be an especially nurturing person, I feel like she might disapprove of some of the things that the gang may do but I feel like at the end of the day she would help them.

I honestly hope it works out that Catarina is their main Warlock. To me, she's one of the coolest characters in the whole series and I wish her story could be explored more in TWP. I guess we'll have to wait to find out!

I would love to hear your thoughts/theories on this :)

Artist: @cassandrajean

Beatiful Ragnor and Catarina art to finish a post that's a bit long! Thanks for reading to here, I hope you have a great day :)

[zukkacore]

Crossposted to ao3

The morning after Frosty Fair Festival, Jace summons Porter to the principal’s office.

“I’ve been VP for five minutes, and I find out that one of the fucking Bad Kids is taking three simultaneous years of artificer class? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You can’t pin that on me, Stardiamond.” Porter’s laugh is easygoing, and he’s only half paying attention as he watches the smoke trail from the cigarette he’s waving around. “I tried to dissuade him. He put himself through that.”

“But you won’t sign his MCAT. Do you want his annoying little truant friend to hate you?”

Porter laughs. “Miss Faeth isn’t a truant, I’ve been taking attendance for her in barbarian classes nearly every day."

He takes a long drag. “Of course you have.”

“Miss Faeth hates me no matter what I do. If she hasn’t caught on to what’s going on by now, I think you can breathe. Besides, I like a challenge. Something you could stand to learn.”

He tries to take another drag, but his hands are shaking, he’s so mad. There’s a clenching in his chest where the shatterstar is placed, then a pain that radiates outward. He winces. “Be it from me to question your teaching methods, but. Do you know what the Bad Kids did to the last vice principal?”

“Hey. I brought you back once. I can do it again.”

“I—” He doesn’t want to talk about that right now. He’s not ready to talk about it. “Tell me, does getting chewed out by a devil because one of his best bloodrush players is swamped sound like a good time to you? Jawbone recommended I look into xanax, that’s how wired I’ve been. And that was before I got ‘promoted’.”

“I’m sure you could get your hands on some if you attended one of his orgies.”

“Go to hell.”

“Likewise.”

They glare back and forth. Jace is used to getting into tiffs with Porter, but this—this is real.

 When he opens his mouth, his voice is quiet. “I don’t see why you can’t just sign the kid’s fucking MCAT.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the whole impassioned speech,” says Porter, “It’s nice to see you actually riled up about something once in your silver-spoon life, maybe finally you’ll start giving a fuck.”

“I’m not riled up,” says Jace, but he’s working to keep his voice steady.

He’s used to the assumptions about his life, and he’d much rather keep up appearances than let a soul know about his estranged parents or the mind that’s trying to kill him. That’s the thing about sorcery—when your power is innate, you can never stop being grateful. If things are fucked, they could always, always be worse. He has to be unassuming. He likes being unassuming, because a gift is not a threat. And if his student’s can see that this scary thing they can’t help doesn’t have to rule their life, then, yeah, he’s ok with being a little bit of a joke.

At least, he was ok with it, before Porter Cliffbreaker broke him and shoved a shatterstar into his gaping chest wound and gave him a choice: rage or oblivion? He made his choice. He can’t back out now. So doesn’t Porter see he’s trying to look out for him? “I just think it would make things so much easier—”

“For who? You? Pardon me for treading on your cushy little gig.”

“Oh, we’re way past that.” Eight months past, to be exact. His mind is drifting back fondly to bleeding out in the Mountain’s of Chaos. He’s grateful that it’s so early in the morning, that no one is around to cast Detect Thoughts.

“Thistlespring could use a little tough love. That’s just the way I teach, now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna have to deal with it. He’s an orc, Stardiamond—barbarism is in his blood. He just needs to apply himself. I mean, you’ve seen the kid play bloodrush, he’s a beast.”

He grimaces. Something about the way Porter is speaking, he can’t place it, but he feels sick to his stomach.

“Right,” says Porter, clearly misjudging the expression on his face. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show a little school spirit.”

Jace laughs sharply.

“Well. He’s a beast you’re gonna find yourself on the wrong side of if you don’t watch yourself. You know how The Bad Kids are—they worm their way into everything, and the goblin that Kipperlily hates, he’s the worst of all. You know, he ate—Forget it. I just. I don’t want you getting—” He stops just short of saying it. As much as Porter has personally fucked him over, he’s in it too deep. Despite everything, Jace cares about him. He’s just so tired of trying to make things work. “If… this plan is so important to you, you have to be a little more tactful and a little less—you.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself, Stardiamond?” Porter flashes an infuriating grin.

“I didn’t say that. I just said… Be careful.”

“I appreciate the feedback and the personal concern, veep, but trust me when I say you’re letting your personal feelings get in the way with this one.”

His face is burning up, and he’s certain he’s a humiliating shade of red. Jace doesn’t even have to say anything. Porter knows what a low blow that is.

“Yeah, well,” mutters Jace. “Multiclassing is not for everyone.”

“Right.”

Jace is a good sorcerer. So good that it’s hard to articulate to his students what to him is second nature. He’s not the kind of teacher who does lesson plans precisely because he was never the kind of student who needed to study. It’s eerie how much Porter in these moments reminds him of his own teacher—the kind of teacher who praises his natural gifts all day and was absolutely resistant to him looking into other classes because he viewed it as a waste, as noncommittal, as proof of his lack of dedication. 

Jace never got his MCAT signed. And he was… not prepared for the sheer volume of work required for even early level wizardry. He wanted it; he wanted to be the kind of dedicated person who could put in the work. Maybe his teacher had been right, maybe he wasn’t very bright, and maybe he hadn’t been cut out to be a wizard, but it did feel a little like he was thrown in the deep end and told to swim just to prove a point. He’s always been a slave to his impulses. And in the end, he ran back to sorcery where they welcomed him back with open arms because it felt good to be good at something.

He can feel the thrum of the shatterstar in his chest, anger coupled with shame. He hates himself for being Jace Stardiamond. He’s always taken the path of least resistance. 

He’s not even sure he could call himself a good sorcerer anymore. He’s never been the kind of wizardly person who innately finds the joy of learning and discovery. He’s never found it all that rewarding. But sorcery does require a kind of self-knowledge, a certainty of oneself that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Whoever he is right now is a stranger, buried under several feet of bitterness and self-loathing.

“What’s it to you? You don’t even give a fuck about your own students, have you gotten a soft heart about little Thistlespring all of a sudden?”

“I don’t give a fuck about Thistlespring! Don’t you get it?”

“Look, if he confronts me on it, I’ll sign the damn MCAT. Happy? I was only resistant at first because—well, I mean, have you heard that ridiculous song he sings? The kid’s not very bright.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ll get it done if it means that much to you. C’mere.”

Porter takes Jace by the hands, pulling him in so that he can wrap his arms around Jace’s waist.

“We’re at school—” says Jace, but his protests are half-hearted. He turns his head, and he can feel Porter’s lips press up against his cheek.

“Listen to me.” Porter takes his face in his hands. “I have everything under control. The Bad Kids are nothing, Jace. Trust me. They’re twig gremlins. Maybe I got a little overinvested. I can’t help it, I need recruits, and the kid’s a natural. But that’s not everything. He’s too… Too timid. Afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Embracing his power.”

“Are… Are we still, um—” Porter’s gaze on him is so intense, Jace forgets what he’s saying. But that drive that he sees in Porter, that deep need to push, to optimize, to always be the best—it’s always been a source of deep frustration for Jace. But he can’t deny those are the same traits that make Porter so easy to admire. Maybe it’s just a wish, but he swears he can see the same admiration mirrored in Porter’s expression.

He can feel himself being reeled back in. His life is currently a living hell, but something in him has always felt compelled to be worthy of Porter’s admiration.   

He wishes he could be the kind of person Porter wants him to be. He worries that there is no ascendant version of him, that this really is all his potential, plain and simple. But he’ll try. For Porter, he wants to be great.

They can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Time for school.

Porter is quick to change gears. He coughs, clearing his throat as Jace is quick to step away. “Tell you what—I’ll get that straightened away, Stardiamond. I’ll sign the papers. Things were a little rocky at first, but you know what? He earned it, after the damn display of frosty fair. He’ll make a great… adventurer.” He’s watching. “You know. When the time comes.”

Jace sighs, but it does nothing to help release the tension in his chest. Yeah. Frosty fair. He has to make the announcement about that soon. He can feel a headache coming on just thinking about it.

Porter kisses him, but Jace is quick to brush him away and toward the door. “You need to go.”

Porter grins, and Jace can feel his heart skipping like he’s some teen adventurer with a schoolyard crush. “Tell me some things aren’t worth a little risk.”

“Well, I have to give a speech,” says Jace, following Porter out of the office. Jawbone waves at them, and Jace nods as he shuts the door behind them.

“Hey. You’re gonna knock it out of the park, alright?” He gives Jace a punch in the shoulder, and it’s so awkward that Jace would be charmed by it in any other circumstance. Like they’re amicable co-workers and not the bad guys. Like they’re not intertwined, Porter’s rage making a comfy little home in his ribcage. “We’re all looking to you, now, Stardiamond. It’s a heavy burden, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust more to handle the responsibility.”

Jace doesn’t bother to check his insight. If Porter says it, he’s ready to believe it.

[dranathedragon]

I’m a D&D nerd, who is currently obsessed with Dead Boy Detectives, so of course the “What class would everyone be?” thought has been tickling me. I’ve seen a few other people post their thoughts on it, and I’ve been reading the amazing “Messrs Payne and Rowland’s Adventuring Agency” by @terresdebrume whenever it updates. Seriously, it’s really good, highly recommend. So I figured I’d throw my hat in the ring and see what anyone else’s thoughts are while I’m at it. Just doing the core four in this post.

So let’s get the easy one out of the way first, Crystal. She’s 100% a sorcerer, her power comes from her bloodline, she was born with it. Because she’s psychic based I’d say she’s specifically an Aberrant Mind sorcerer, without all the deep space tentacle monster baggage. Though she does have disembodied floating eyeballs in her psyche so MAYBE!

Next up is the second easiest, Edwin. He’s a wizard, everyone knows he’s a wizard. What KIND of wizard though? I’m going with Order of Scribes. He loves that little notebook so much, it gained sentience. How awesome would it be, if in this D&D version of the show, Edwin’s notebook didn’t follow him to hell because it was his sentient spell book, and it stayed behind with a purpose? It stayed behind because it KNEW Charles would never leave Edwin there and he would attempt a rescue. It KNEW Charles would go, and it KNEW it had to stay behind to help him. It showed him the things he needed to see, the information and maps that would reunite him with their wizard. I just love that.

Next up is Charles. He was a little tougher. I’ve seen quite a few posts saying that he’s a barbarian, and at this, I must object. At least with the criteria I’m using I suppose. Charles’ power doesn’t come from his rage. The one time we see him using his rage to fight, Edwin’s horrified and worried reaction pretty much confirms this was wildly out of character for him.

Just as an aside, I’m a firm believer of when Edwin said, “That was extreme”, he wasn’t talking about knocking the night nurse off the cliff. He was talking about Charles’ reaction in general, it was an extreme REACTION. He’d never seen Charles act with that much anger, hate, and violence before. He’s not an attacker, he’s a defender. It scared him, but he was scared FOR Charles, not OF him. Our wizard just isn’t great at people’ing. That’s a discussion for a different post though! Back to the topic at hand!

So, if I don’t think he’s a barb, what is he? Well, I’ve got two possible options. One thing that’s said quite a bit in the show, is how charismatic Charles is. And let’s face it, he is. So, using that logic, I’d say he could possibly be a Paladin. Specifically, an Oath of Devotion Paladin. I mean, come on, his power would so come from his extreme devotion to his favorite wizard. That would be a fun one, but there’s my second option which I find slightly more plausible.

It’s shown multiple times in the show, that while Charles claims to be just the brawn, he’s actually very clever and capable of thinking outside the box. Not to mention, he’s all about magic items. Bag of holding, enchanted cricket bat, enchanted jar/paper weight, enchanted lullaby ball, the disguises, the list goes on. So he’s smart and specializes in magic items, that screams Artificer. I’d say he’s a Battle Smith Artificer, some of their specialty spells are based around defending/supporting their allies, and you can’t tell me he wouldn’t find having a little robot pet, sorry STEEL DEFENDER, completely aces. He’d also name it like “Steve” or something and treat it like it was his and Edwin’s child, fight me on that lol. (Jk, don’t fight me I don’t like conflict!) Update: Charles’ lock picking has been mentioned and it just added to this for me as Artificers get expertise in thieves’ tools. How did I forget this?!

So that leaves Niko, who is kind of the wild card. I saw at least one post saying she’d be a bard, but I don’t think that’s accurate. Bards are all about attention (well mostly, I guess whispers would be an exception but she wouldn’t be a whispers anyway) and the whole sprite possession thing seemed to kinda make her uncomfortable with it. Idk, it just doesn’t really fit right to me. On the same thread though, so far in the show, Niko’s only real power is to see the dead. That might be expanded if we get a second season (🤞🏻), but for right now, that’s all she’s got other than being a good friend and excellent reading comprehension skills (which I might revisit this using that last one later). That said, since she got that ability (technically) because of the sprites (more because they almost killed her, but also they’re with her in the igloo so this still might work!) I’d say Niko is a Warlock. Just by the by, I hate that the class is called “Warlock”. That’s a word that came from an old English word meaning “oath breaker or he who breaks their oath”. Warlocks are all about MAKING not BREAKING pacts. Just a weird choice but MOVING ON! Since the sprites seem kind of Fey, I’d say she’d be a Pact of the Archfey. Nothing to do with the pact’s skill set, since we’d have nothing to compare it to, just because they seem fey to me.

So that’s what I’ve got so far. I might think of other characters’ later, like what would Jenny be etc. What do you guys think? I like to hear other people’s opinions on this! It’s fun to bat around!

[opashoo]

You have an Artificer AU where they DON'T get redeemed? Tell me more, I'm all ears.

Well, I don't want to say too much because I want to tell these stories eventually once I start my AU askblog, but this specific part of Artificer's story is going to be covered pretty early on in the overarching plot.

The AU's basic premise is this: Blizzards have overtaken the land and all of the slugcats live in shelter in Undergrowth, run by Saint who maintains a garden. No single slugcat is the central focus except perhaps Saint, but the first storyline is going to revolve around Artificer.

An unconscious Artificer is actually the last slugcat that Saint brings into the shelter for unknown reason, and while everyone is more or less willing to allow it because they respect Saint's decision, it is a unanimously unpopular decisions. Arti's reputation is known and the shelter relies on scavengers caravans for materials that the shelter can't produce on its own, and no one wants to risk the potential fallout of harboring a mass murderer and enemy of the scavengers. The cirumstances of Artificer's backstory are different in my AU and are tied much more heavily to scavenger society, but these facts remain.

Once Artificer's awake, the other slugcats try to make peace in different ways for the sake of coexisting, from tenuously telling her "It's okay" to trying to assuage her guilt to avoiding the subject of her past entirely. Aside from Saint, who remains mysterious and aloof, Hunter is the only slugcat willing to tell her to her face "I know what you've done and I don't trust you. The only reason I haven't thrown you to the blizzard is because I respect Saint." Artificer ironically ends up gravitating towards her because of this, despite how much the two argue and legitimately hate each other at the start.

Eventually everyone learns to get along; I'm not interested in punishing Artificer narratively, but one of my primary goals with my story is to shift the usual framing around Artificer "redemption". One of the big points I want to emphasize is that there is nothing Arti can do can ever 'undo' all the pain and death she's caused. No one but her victims can give her forgiveness. At the same time, punitive justice doesn't actually accomplish anything meaningful in this scenario; it doesn't do anything to prevent further harm if Artificer has already stopped, and it doesn't materially benefit her victims. It just satisfies a sense of justice that isn't rooted in the material world.

Saint's decision to allow her into the shelter protects her from being thrown back out to die in the blizzard by the other slugcats. Isolated in the shelter and marked as an enemy of the scavengers, there's no way for her to meaningfully reconnect with scavenger society (for better or for worse). Despite their very contentious relationship, Hunter is the one to tell her that there's no point in dying or wallowing, but there's no "redemption" either. So what else is there to do but keep on living and try to do better?

Anyway yeah, that's Artificer's place in my AU. Yeah she gets to live with all the other slugcats and go on fun adventure, but my goal is expressly to move the narrative away from both punitive justice as an inherent moral option and the idea that someone needs or even necessarily can achieve "redemption", if redemption even exists beyond an arbitrary binary designation. I prefer something much more neutral and pragmatic: You're alive, so keep on living. At least while you're alive you have to opportunity to do good.