#phase beast challenge

[shattereality]

HOW WOULD THESE ASTARTES REACT TO YOU CALLING THEM 'BRO'

Kallexus Vordath + being called "bro" or "dude" by his woman after absolutely destroying the bed frame last night?? TW: suggestive. let me know which one's your favorite!!

At first? He FREEZES.

You just casually go, “Look at this, bro!” while pointing to some dataslate or other Raven Guard datapad and—

Kallexus stops mid-step. A very long silence.

The kind that makes nearby servitors reboot themselves out of tension.

His internal monologue:

“…Bro? Bro? BRO?! We have shared body heat. I have laid ruin to planets and to her thighs alike. I have carried her through fire and void. And she calls me… bro?”

His face: Completely blank. His soul: OFFENDED.

His dark eyes narrow. Looks at you like you've committed heresy but he's not sure if this is a test or a joke.

In his signature low, growling voice: “You… did not just call me bro.”

He paces. Arms behind his back. Muttering to himself. “We melded. I was inside you—And now… bro?!”

If you call him "dude"? He short-circuits.

"Dude" feels worse for some reason.

That’s what you call a passing tech-priest in the hallway, not a brooding 8-ft tall posthuman monster forged in eternal war.

You catch him staring at the wall after, just… processing.

He will make you pay. Silently. Pettily.

When you try to snuggle him that night, he just turns his head and says: “Bro needs to cool off. Maybe Dude will sleep on the other side tonight.”

Cold. Petty. But his voice is still low and hot like plasma melt.

He absolutely brings it up during your next... intense activity.

You're beneath him, trembling and he leans in real slow to whisper in your ear: “Still think I’m your bro, little one?”

And when you whimper out his name like it’s your only lifeline?

He smirks like a smug daemon prince. “That’s what I thought.”

In summary:

Kallexus absolutely throws a fit. A quiet, vengeful, egotistical fit.

He’s not mad. He’s personally insulted and will correct your address. With terrifying precision.

In bed.

Toghan has gutted Tyranids, tamed feral mounts with a stare, killed traitors mid-drop pod descent—but being called “bro” by the woman whose lips were just on his neck??? That might be the thing that shatters him.

✦ Initial Reaction

You’re casually lounging together. Maybe post-mission, maybe post-something else and you murmur:

“Thanks, bro.”

...Silence.

He blinks. Slowly. Like he’s trying to load a corrupted data file. “...Bro?” His voice is calm. Too calm.

You look up and go, “What?” He leans in, deadly serious: “I thought we were bonded.”

✦ Denial Mode Activated

“You called me bro... Isn't that a Terran sibling term?”

You try to explain it’s casual. Slang. Friendly.

“But I am your mate.” “We shared breath. You touched my chest in reverence. I—!” This is a full emergency.

✦ Emotional Spiral (Internally)

He thinks:

Did she reclassify me in her social structure? Have I been demoted?

Was the tongue not sufficient proof of intimacy?!

Should I bring her another beast skull? Was it not enough?!

✦ The Pout Phase™

He gets quiet. Withdraws slightly.

Still does all the protective, caring things—but when you say “dude,” his eyebrow twitches.

You go: “Toghan, don’t be weird about it—”

He stares at you with the wrath of a jilted lover and the full dignity of a tribal warlord who was just friendzoned by his own girlfriend.

“You call Kaargan ‘bro.’ You kissed me. I am not Kaargan.”

✦ The Tantrum (In Astartes Terms)

He’ll do something dramatic but subtle, like:

Put on every single war trophy he’s earned and then walk past you shirtless like “REMEMBER WHO I AM.”

Or start calling you medicae instead of your name, very pointedly.

Or refer to you as “Comrade” until you break and start apologizing.

✦ Forgiveness Arc

Eventually, you lean in, whisper something like:

“You’re not my bro. You’re my beast of a man.” He exhales—relieved. Grabs you by the hips. “Good. I was about to challenge that word to a duel.”

You: “Toghan, it’s a word, not a person—”

“Then I would slay it all the same.”

If you ever call him “chief,” though?

Yeah. That’s how you end up pinned to the wall by six and a half feet of offended muscle. 😌

You call Eirik—your growly, feral, worships-the-ground-you-walk-on Space Wolf mate—"bro"? After everything he’s done? After he carried you half-naked through three warzones and kissed every inch of you like a sacred relic??

He’s stunned. Absolutely betrayed.

You casually go,

"Thanks, bro—" ...right after he just killed like six daemons for you.

He stops. Mid-stride. Sword still dripping. Blood spattering onto his armor. Turns to you, slowly, glowing eyes narrowing.

“Bro?” “Did you just call me… bro?”

The psyker nearby backs away. Fenrik silently starts recording.

Post-makeout session situation:

You’re laying on top of his chest, both of you flushed and panting. You ruffle his hair and go,

“You’re the best, dude.”

And his brain just glitches. He blinks, sits up, you roll right off him.

“Dude?” “We just had our tongues down each other’s throats and I’m your... dude?”

He’s now pacing the room, shirtless and scandalized.

His reaction in general:

OFFENDED. Like a kicked puppy. But a very muscular, 8-foot-tall puppy.

Will absolutely confront you immediately: “Is this some kind of... code? Are you trying to tell me you don’t like me anymore? Have you run out of nicknames?”

His ears go flat, he looks betrayed and pouty.

“I thought I was your flame. Your wolf. Your mountain of man.”

“You call Fenrik bro. Do you want me to sleep in the barracks?”

The fit he throws:

Refuses to let it go for hours.

Will overcompensate by calling you absurd nicknames: “Yes, my soft petal of starlight, my sweet moonfruit, my sacred howl.”

“But do go ahead and call me ‘dude’ again, I dare you.”

Resolution:

You laugh and kiss him, explain it was just a slip of tongue.

He immediately melts, but not without a final grumble: “Call me ‘bro’ again and I swear, I’ll carry you back to our den and not let you walk straight for a week. Let’s see if ‘dude’ still fits then.”

“Did You Just Call Me Bro?” — Aphareos Reacts (Aka: The Specialist Calls Her Man ‘Dude’ After a Night of Heretical Passion)

The Moment It Happens:

– You two walking through the hangar or armory, maybe talking about ammo types or xenos-killing strategies, when you casually says

“Yeah, I dunno, bro, I think melta’s the better option.” – – – …Did she just—

Aphareos stops walking.

The Processing Delay:

– It’s like someone hit him with a plasma bolt point-blank.

– “Bro?”

– His internal HUD is flashing red. Status: confused, betrayed, heretically baffled.

– This woman… the one who clawed down his back and whispered his name in divine ecstasy not twelve hours ago… just called him bro???

The Slow Turn of Betrayal™:

– He turns to look at you, slow and composed, like a statue reanimating with righteous fury.

– “Did you just refer to me as… bro?”

– Not angry. But deeply, deeply offended.

Your Casual Shrug:

“Yeah, dude. I mean. Chill.” – You're clearly teasing. Testing his limits. Having fun.

He visibly flinches. You just gave him a spiritual concussion.

Immediate Spiral:

– He’s now reevaluating everything.

– “Is this a new form of affection? Is she bored of my presence? Has our bond decayed into… camaraderie??”

– It takes everything in him not to go to the apothecarion and demand an emotional diagnostic.

He Confronts You (Dramatically):

Later that day, when you're alone, he speaks in full Wounded Gothic Romance Mode™:

“Do I… not satisfy you?” “Has my touch become so mundane you now liken me to your comrades?” “Did last night mean nothing to you, that now you see me as a ‘dude’?”

You BURSTS OUT LAUGHING:

– You're crying with laughter, telling him you were joking.

– “You're the only man I'd call Daddy Baalstorm in bed, you absolute tank of a man, chill!!”

– He blinks. Still wounded. Still baffled.

Aphareos’ Petty Revenge:

– Later, during a debrief:

“Specialist. Your stratagem was… impressive. Bro.” – He says it slowly, with venom. You're cackling. Sergeant Belenor is concerned.

Deep Down, He Just Wants Petnames:

– He actually likes when you call him “Captain,” “darling,” “my knight,” or “stormbringer.”

– He won’t say it out loud, but when you get serious and murmur “my Aphareos” in that soft voice of yours—his gene-seed purrs.

Final Verdict:

Calling Aphareos “bro” or “dude” will short-circuit his sense of romantic identity for at least 5-7 minutes.

He will recover—but only after intense emotional cuddling therapy and a firm reapplication of proper petnames (preferably while straddling his lap).

OH MY THRONE—Alektus would be so deeply, viscerally baffled if the Lightbearer called him bro. This is a man forged over millennia for battle, honor and gravitas. And now his radiant little mischief—who had just, say, been licking honey off his abs in their candlelit chambers—leans over with her usual sparkle in her eyes and says:

“Hey bro, pass me a cherry.”

And he just... pauses. Like a corrupted servo-skull. Processing error. Hard reboot.

His soul leaves his body for a moment.

He literally turns his head very slowly to face you.

There’s a flash of betrayal in those golden eyes.

“…Bro?” His voice is low, calm, dangerous. Like thunder behind silk.

His entire sense of identity falters.

Internally: She has laid her lips on every inch of my body. She has moaned my name under starlight. She has danced only for me. And now… I am ‘dude’?!

He’s genuinely confused. This wasn’t in the Codex Custodes.

Throws a dignified fit.

Crosses his arms. Turns his face away, stoic but deeply wounded.

“I did not survive ten thousand years of war to be reduced to a ‘dude,’ Lightbearer.”

You are wheezing.

Tries to make you feel guilty (but he’s dramatic about it).

“Perhaps I have failed to inspire affection. Or worse, I am no longer the man who sets your heart alight.”

You confess it’s a prank from the servants.

His eye twitches. “They shall be… reassigned.”

Bonus: He demands restitution.

“You will call me ‘beloved,’ ‘golden flame,’ or ‘my exalted war-god,’ for the remainder of the week.”

You call him ‘my exalted war-god’ in public just to fluster him more. He very nearly chokes on his tea.

Honestly, Alektus could kill a daemon with a glance but he can’t survive you calling him bro. This is the emotional equivalent of a melta blast to the chestplate.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Ritornello (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 3,565

Previous Part: Rhapsody

Next Part: Rapture

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Okay I know that canonically Charlie is like 200 but we're gonna make her 25.

After everything with Alastor, Y/n tried to continued their life as it had been before he'd stepped into. It was challenging, they faltered and misstepped. They had been good at being on their own once but now that they had a taste of the alternative, it was difficult to fall back into their old ways. Eventually, they managed to fall into a new pattern of being.

They were a bit more careful now, they didn't dash out unannounced from behind corners or secret hiding places. Seeing Alastor was the last thing they wanted to do. Now, they had someone to avoid.

For seventeen years, they continued on like this. They struggled through their battles on their own, against the overlords and against their own personal situation. They searched high and low for a cure but the only things they ever seemed able to come up with were false promises and temporary fixes. Every day, the curse the overlords had placed on them to limit their powers was growing stronger. Every time they used their magic, played their music, it became more and more corrupted and so, they learned to fight with their hands. This was until they got the call from Lucifer, of course.

The pair were old friends of a sort. Y/n had met him by chance within their first few days in Hell when he'd pulled them out of a tight spot. They didn't spend time together ever or really see one another at all but, Y/n had a vague sort of trust for the man, a strong sense of a debt needing to be repaid. Y/n didn't like owing people things, not even back when they were alive. They didn't like depending on people in that way. When he asked them if they could keep an eye on his daughter, they couldn't refuse.

Charlie was a lot. At twelve years old, she was bright and over the top and constantly bursting out into song. At first, Y/n had been rather uncertain about the whole arrangement, even when she'd gone through her emo phase at fifteen.

Y/n tried to steer clear of them for the most part. Picking her up from school, dropping her off. Babysitting when her parents needed a night to themselves, the normal stuff. When the issues started between Lilith and Lucifer, Charlie was suddenly thrust into Y/n's life a lot more. She had no idea the real reason, both her parents wanting to keep the trouble from her due to their own care and protective natures, and Y/n tried their best to keep it that way. It didn't help that by sixteen, Charlie had practically moved in with the demon but they managed.

Charlie had always pushed for a connection, something more than Y/n making her dinner and getting her where she needed to go. Y/n resisted at all costs. They'd been hurt before by trust, by care. The idea of going through it all again was terrifying. That all changed the day Charlie found out about the curse.

Y/n hadn't meant for her to find out. One of their situation's many many downsides was that while the curse ate away at their magic, it also ate away at their physical form. If they weren't careful, if they didn't temper their emotions and make sure they were eating enough raw meat, the beast would take over.

The beast was a horrific thing in their eyes, blood hungry and devastating. It was sub-human, sub-demon even, writhing and scornful. A mass of twisting shells of prey, a mass of claws and sharp teeth.

Of course, Y/n couldn't keep it from Charlie forever and on one fateful evening, Y/n had transformed. They'd been overworked, stressed about the fact that the Vees were gaining more territory and power, that soon they would be practically untouchable. They had forgotten to take care of themselves in the rush of it all, prioritizing Charlie and their plans.

When they had come back to their senses, come back to themself, it had been to the sight of Charlie. With a damp rag held to their forehead by the demoness and a whole lot of bones from victims of their situation on the floor around them, they had opened their eyes. Y/n had expected Charlie to flinch, to run in fear, to tell Lucifer who knew nothing about the curse. Instead, she had smiled brightly and told Y/n she was glad they were okay. From that day forward, they were absolutely inseparable, completely attached at the hip.

With Charlie's help and cheerful influence, Y/n was beginning to learn how to exist. They loved the girl like she was their own and Charlie knew if she ever had an issue of any sort, she could go to Y/n about it. Even when Y/n had relayed the story of how they'd been cursed and why, there had been no issues, no qualms, nothing. Charlie promised her watcher that she would help them break the curse, no matter what it took.

It was watching Charlie come into herself as a young adult, watching her meet and fall in love with Vaggie that made the real difference. The princess of Hell was unapologetically herself and Vaggie took everything she had to offer with open arms. Slowly but surely, the search for a cure took a back seat as did Y/n's goal of taking down the overlords of Hell. Their life was different, but they were happy. They found themself wishing for the past, the one they had shared with Alastor, less and less, channeling their energy into the world around them. They didn't even notice when the reports started to come in that the Radio Demon of the overlords had seemingly vanished.

Things hadn't been without their challenges. Charlie's relationship with her dad was strained to say the least and when her mom had disappeared? She'd been absolutely inconsolable but with one another's help, they figured things out, made it through.

When Charlie pitched the idea of the Happy Hotel, Y/n had been doubtful. They knew a lot about Hell, the way it functioned, the way the demons within were. It came from decades running around back streets and surviving in the underworld of the underworld. It was Charlie's hope that did it, her earnest gaze. Y/n had caved and after months of hard work, the Hotel had finally opened.

Things were going well, too well even. Then there had been the interview with Katie Killjoy, the other shoe dropping. Y/n had watched it from the sidelines with Vaggie. As soon as Charlie had come down off the set, they had enveloped her in their arms and held them close. With Vaggie's help, they managed to get Charlie back to the hotel.

Once she had calmed down a little bit, Charlie stood from where she had been seated in the sitting room beside Y/n, Vaggie, and the hotel's one resident: Angel Dust. She mentioned something about calling her mom before disappearing into the lobby.

Y/n and Vaggie exchanged a look. They both knew the situation Charlie was in with regards to her mother and how she tended to get after one of her failed attempts to contact the woman. Neither thought this was the time or the place to step in however, and remained seated, chatting idly with Angel as they waited for Charlie's return.

When she finally did, it was with a nervous attitude and a strained expression.

"Hey Vaggie?"

"What?" Vaggie asked as she and Y/n twisted to look at Charlie who stood in the door way behind the couch.

"Can you come help me please?"

Vaggie got to her feet and exited the sitting room with her girlfriend. Y/n turned to Angel to continue their conversation but had barley gotten a word to the spider demon out when Vaggie stepped back in the room.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" Y/n replied calmly.

"Charlie actually needs our help with this one, I think."

"Alright then." Y/n got to their feet, shooting a glance back at Angel, "A true hotelier's work is never done." they lightly joked and Angel rolled his eyes.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked Vaggie as they followed her down the hall towards the hotel's main entrance.

"Just..." Vaggie sighed, "you'll see."

Noting the girl's odd behavior and stressed demeanor, Y/n steeled themselves. Not much put Vaggie on edge. She was strong, toughened, as far as Y/n knew, by a brutal upbringing in the streets of Hell. While each use of their powers made the curse grow stronger, they would not hesitate to protect Charlie or her dreams should the need arise. Besides, they'd become quite good at other means of self preservation over the years.

As they rounded the corner into the lobby space, Y/n was greeted by a flash of red as someone pushed past Charlie into the space from the street and a familiar voice.

"Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929. So many orphans."

Y/n let out a low growl, summoning their lute into their hands and Vaggie pointed her spear at the Radio Demon. It was pure instinct. If they knew anyone, they knew Alastor and redemption was not the Radio Demon's cup of tea. As Charlie shut the door, he turned to face them. Y/n walked a few steps forward, planting their feet a little ways away from Alastor and poising their fingers to play.

"Get out of here." They said through gritted teeth.

Alastor's eyes widened with recognition for the smallest moment. As quick as he had lost it, he regained his composure.

"My what a protective force this Hazbin Hotel has." Alastor mused.

"It's called the Happy Hotel actually?" Charlie hesitantly corrected and he laughed.

"Not anymore its not. I did you the favor of fixing your sign."

A little threat couldn't hurt, a little reminder of who he was dealing with. Alastor had no idea Y/n was any less capable than when he'd first met them. One little note couldn't hurt, wouldn't show any of the damage done. Y/n plucked a single string on their instrument and the room around them began to glow. Everyone's hair lifted around their faces, the loose edges of their clothes beginning to flutter.

"Get out of here now. I wont ask you again."

"Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend?" Alastor replied, smirking.

Everything suddenly clicked into place. There was something different about him. Y/n couldn't put their finger on exactly what it was, but they could tell he hadn't been lying. He'd been at the Hotel for at least five minutes by now, maybe more with all Charlie and Vaggie's running back and forth since his arrival. If he had had any truly negative intentions, they would have revealed themselves, especially to Y/n. Alastor was a good liar, but no one was that good, good enough to trick someone who had watched them become the person they are.

"Old friend?" Vaggie repeated, turning to Y/n in confusion.

Their grimace faltered, before falling completely. They released their instrument, letting it hang loosely in their hand by their side.

"Alastor! You're embarrassing me in front of my kid."

"Your kid?" Alastor asked after a moment.

This time the shocked expression that crept its way onto his face stayed there.

"You know him?" Charlie asked at the same moment as Alastor spoke.

Y/n let their instrument dissolve into the air and gestured to Charlie.

"My kid. And yes, Charlie. I know Alastor."

Alastor turned, looking Charlie up and down.

"You got with Lucifer?" Alastor asked in confusion as he looked back at Y/n.

They laughed lightly at the notion, unable to stop themselves. They shook their head.

"No. Oh my gosh, I would never. Seriously just... great guy and all but no thank you. I just take care of his kid for him. Well, used to. We sorta got attached."

Charlie walked up to Y/n as they spoke, pulling them into a side hug.

"Y/n practically raised me. They were kinda the only one who was always there for me."

Y/n looked down at Charlie with a fond smile. They ruffled her hair and Charlie quickly batted their hand away.

It was clear to Alastor that Y/n had changed. They were no longer the trouble making demon he had known, that he had loved. Still, there was that same spark in their eyes, that fervent desire, that want. From just the small interaction playing out before him, he could tell that Y/n had learned how to trust and protect rather than just fight. They had learned to live hand in hand with that creeping need woven so tightly around their bones, rather than despite it.

It made him happy to see, it made him happy for her. At the same time, it caused his heart to ache terribly. They had finally been able to let someone in, and it hadn't been him.

In the years since their separation, Alastor had never stopped thinking about Y/n. Their memory was tender to the touch, shot sparks of joy or anguish down him depending on the day. It was like an old wound that had never quite healed right. Seeing them now was unexpected. The wound reopened. He sheltered himself.

Y/n saw the way Vaggie still had her spear pointed at Alastor, aimed straight at his neck. Gently, they placed a hand on it, pushing it down. Vaggie looked at them, her eyebrows raised.

"If he wanted to hurt anyone here, he would have done so already."

Vaggie stared at Y/n for a moment. Seeing how serious the demon that had become a mentor to her was in this moment, she lowered her blade. Y/n's hand fell back to their side.

"Now," Y/n turned to look at Alastor once again, "why are you here?"

----

It was late. Vaggie had told Y/n that Charlie wanted to speak to them about something in their office and so, Y/n found themselves outside the familiar door. They knocked once on the dark red wood.

"Yeah?"

They opened the door and Charlie smiled.

"What'd you wanna talk to me about, Sunshine?" Y/n asked as they entered the room, taking a seat in the chair across the desk from their young charge.

"Just about Alastor."

They should have known. Not only was the hotel at a potential risk thanks to the decision to allow him to work with them but Charlie had always had a sharp sense of curiosity. Y/n sighed.

"Fire away, kiddo."

"Well, how do you two know one another? Can we trust him? Do you think he means what he says he does? I thought you hated overlords? I.. I..."

Y/n smiled softly, the change in their face easing Charlie's nervous temper.

"We will handle these one at a time, no prying. Deal?"

"Y/n, you realize how suspicious that makes you sound, right?"

"Fine. A little prying. Deal?"

"Deal."

Y/n leaned back in their chair, letting out a sigh of nostalgia. Their hands rested on their stomach as they kicked their feet up onto Charlie's desk.

"I... I met Alastor practically right after he arrived. We both thought the overlord system was dumb and so, we decided to team up."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Charlie. The young demoness had always loved Y/n's stories, begged to hear them. They had never once heard this one before.

"Is that all?"

Y/n shook their head.

"We dated."

"You dated!" Charlie exclaimed in shock, nearly jumping out of her seat, "You dated the Radio Demon. Were you in love?"

Of course she'd go on and ask that next. Not 'how'd that happen?' not 'when was this?' No, Charlie had to go for the hardest question first, like she always did.

"Yes." Y/n hesitantly replied, "I did."

"I... oh my god. This is actually crazy. You dated? You actually dated. Like for real, in love, dated."

"Alright." Y/n clapped their hands, taking their feet off the desk and righting themselves in their chair, "Next question."

"Bu-"

"I said some prying."

"Fine." Charlie sighed, crossing her arms, "But I am gonna get that story out of you eventually."

"I'm sure you will, sunshine." Y/n chuckled lightly, "Now. Can we trust him? I... I'm not sure."

All the excitement vanished from Charlie as she looked seriously over at Y/n.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because, he's up to something but not with us. Or, if it is with us, it's not to hurt us. I... something happened to him, something is different. I am not sure what I just... he's not here to hurt us... I think..."

"You think?" Charlie repeated indignantly, "Can you be a little more sure of that maybe? Why only think?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen him, Charls. Maybe being an overlord is what changed him. I have no way of knowing but my gut tells me he's okay, at least for now."

"You knew him before he became an overlord?"

"You really think I would team up with one of those bitches? Come on. You know I hate them."

"I-"

"Next question." Y/n quickly interrupted, not wanting to think on the past anymore than was necessary, "I think he does mean what he says, as was implied in whether or not I trusted him but the same caveats that applied there apply here too. And I do hate overlords, I just..."

"You just love him." Charlie teased.

Y/n's cheeks grew hot. They looked away.

"I do not. I loved him. There is a difference."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why did you guys break up?"

Y/n turned back to Charlie. They couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Well, he became an overlord. Also I maybe... never told him. About the curse. He could tell something was up and..." Y/n took a breath, "couldn't take it after a while I guess."

"So you guys still loved each other when you broke up."

"What are you scheming over there."

"Nothing! Nothing!" Charlie quickly replied as she not so discreetly scribbled something on a piece of paper, "How long were you together?"

Y/n placed their hands on the arms of the chair, pulling themselves to their feet.

"Alright, trouble maker, I think thats enough lore outta me tonight."

"But Y/n!"

"I'm gonna go to bed. Vaggie already headed upstairs for the night I think. Sweet dreams, princess."

"Good night Y/n." Charlie dejectedly replied as she realized she really wasn't going to be getting anything else out of her mentor that night.

"Good night."

Y/n was about half way through the Hotel back to their room when they felt a hand on their shoulder. Reacting purely out of instinct, they ducked out from under the person's grip, spinning around with their fists raised. Alastor smiled down at Y/n and they sighed.

"What is it?" they asked, straightening up.

He had expected Y/n to be angry, to have that familiar sharp edge behind their voice. Instead, they looked up at him. As if everything was normal, as if it hadn't been thirty years since they'd last seen one another, as if they had just been together yesterday, their eyes met his.

"I... it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." they replied after a moment's thought, "What are you doing up this late?"

"You know me, sleep is not my preferred way to pass time."

"I meant what are you doing in the hall, but sure. Yeah, I know you."

"That darling Charlie asked to see me."

Y/n scoffed, shaking their head with a tired smile.

"Of course she'd... yeah."

They stood in the hall facing one another. Just a few feet apart. The silence was thick.

"You seem happy."

"I am." Y/n nodded, "Charlie is a great kid. I was pissed when Lucifer first asked me to look after her, I'll admit it but, she has grown on me."

"I didn't know you were acquainted with the big man. I thought you despised all authority figures."

Y/n looked critically at Alastor, over his whole being. He felt they were looking into his very soul, the heart of all his intentions and desires. He felt absolutely naked in the worst way under their gaze.

"No, just overlords. Especially ones who make deals for the souls of others. It's a stupid and outdated system. Even the best of them like Rosie abuse their power to get what they want."

It was a well sharpened arrow, the remark. Perfectly aimed. Alastor had, after all, introduced the small group inhabiting the hotel to Husk and Nifty just that afternoon. Y/n turned their back to Alastor.

"She has big dreams and the passion to see them through. I believe in her. Don't... don't fuck this up for her, Alastor."

----

Next Part -> Rapture

@moonmark98 @luzzbuzz @snowlotr @randomuser-89 @fakeguysarehot @xdolls-crownx

[otp-after-dark]

“Once you fall in love with someone, I don’t know if you can ever shake them.” —The Vampire Diaries

Alright guys, I think I’m coming around to where this June internal battle could be heading, and I found some inspiration in Season 3 of The Vampire Diaries and a parallel to one of my favorite classic romance stories — Beauty and the Beast.

Because right now, June feels like she’s caught between two worlds. The life she’s supposed to want (Luke) and the love she can’t shake no matter how hard she tries (Nick). And it’s not just a love triangle. It’s a war between who she is and who she thinks she should be.

I keep hearing these comments: “June should end up alone.” “Nick is complicit and a Nazi.” “She needs to focus on herself.”

Here’s the thing: This is a story about love as resistance. For June, it’s about choosing love as a way to reclaim her body, her desires, her sense of self. For Nick, it’s about choosing love as a way to redeem himself, to hold onto the last piece of humanity he hasn’t sacrificed to Gilead.

But June didn’t just give herself to Nick out of survival — she let herself be wanted in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be before. That’s not something she can walk away from just because it’s easier to call Nick a monster now.

If this story is about survival, then love is the only thing keeping both of them alive. And if she ends up alone, it’s not strength. It’s loss. It’s June cutting out the one person who ever truly saw her — not just as Offred, not just as a victim, but as a woman who still wants, who still needs, who still feels.

I keep coming back to Season 3 of The Vampire Diaries, and Elena’s arc in that season. It feels like a mirror for what June is going through right now.

Because Elena was caught between two worlds too — the life she thinks she should want (Stefan) and the love that makes her feel alive (Damon). And she spends most of Season 3 trying to convince herself that Damon is a mistake, that she can go back to who she was before him — the good girl, the safe girl, the one who does what’s expected of her.

But deep down? She knows she can’t. Because Damon has changed her. Because that love has changed her. Because pretending it was just a phase would be a lie — to herself, to Stefan, to Damon.

“It’s not just that she makes him a better person — and she does. He changes her too. Damon challenges her. Surprises her. He makes her question her life. Her beliefs. Stefan is different. His love is pure. He will always be good for her. Damon is either the best thing for her or the worst.” — Rose

And that line? That’s Luke vs. Nick in a nutshell.

Luke is the man June is supposed to be with. I've echoed pretty clearly in past posts that Luke goes way beyond this to control and possession and why that is so problematic and wrong but for purposes of this dichotomy it works. He’s safe, good, uncomplicated. The kind of love that’s predictable, that doesn’t ask her to question herself. The kind of love that lets her stay June Osborne, the woman she was before Gilead — the woman who was pure, unbroken, still holding onto that life.

But Nick? Nick is the man who makes her feel alive. The man who knows what she’s done and still loves her. The man who challenges her to look in the mirror and see herself — the good, the bad, the blood on her hands, and the woman who survived anyway.

Because that’s the thing: Choosing Nick means choosing herself. Not the woman she was, but the woman she became in Gilead. The woman who was brutal and cunning and fierce and still worthy of being loved.

And that’s why it’s so hard. Because choosing Nick means accepting that her love isn’t pure, that it’s messy and dark and full of contradictions. It means admitting that she can love a man who’s done terrible things — and that she can love herself, even after everything she’s done to survive.

And that’s terrifying. Because Luke is the man who lets her pretend she’s still the good woman she was before. But Nick? Nick is the man who looks at her and says, “I see you. All of you. And I still love you.”

And if she can’t love him back fully, if she can’t forgive him for the things he’s done, then what does that say about her? Because it’s not just about Nick being a monster. It’s about June not wanting to see the monster in herself.

And that’s why Nick asks her in the last episode:

“And you love me. So what does that make you?”

He’s holding up a mirror. Because if she can love Nick — a man who’s killed, who’s lied, who’s buried his own humanity to keep her safe —then she has to accept that she’s no different.

This is why the Beauty and the Beast parallel is so strong here. Because Nick and Damon are both the beast in their stories. They’re men who’ve done terrible things, who are covered in blood, who the world sees as monsters. But they’re also the only men who make these women feel alive in a way no one else ever has.

June is trying to convince herself that Nick is a monster, that she was just Offred when she loved him, that it was just survival and not real. But Nick didn’t just love Offred. He fell in love with June — the woman who fought back, the woman who let herself feel desire, the woman who said yes to Paris even when she knew it could never happen.

I keep hearing people say “June should end up alone” — as if love is a distraction or a weakness or something she hasn’t earned. June’s love for Nick isn’t just about romance. It’s about reclaiming her body, her desires, her right to feel alive again. It’s about saying, “I get to choose who I love and how I love and why I love.”

And for Nick? His love for June is the only thing keeping him tethered to his humanity. Because Nick isn’t trying to be a hero. He’s just trying to be a man she can still love — despite what he’s done, despite what he’s become.

Elena tried to convince herself she could live without Damon. That the love she felt for him was wrong, dangerous, something she could turn off. But love like that doesn’t die. It gets under your skin. It festers. It aches. It reminds you that you’re still alive.

And that’s where June is now. She can try to bury Nick. She can run back to Luke. She can tell herself she’s moved on.

But love like this? It doesn’t go away. It just waits.

Because Nick is her beast. And the more she tries to deny it, the harder it’s going to hit when she finally stops running.

[steddieunderdogfics]

Swift Wings and a Brave Heart by PaperBackRibs

recommended by @viviseawrites on this previous ask!

@paperbackribs

Rating: Teens and Up

29,472 words, 12/12 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Werewolf Steve Harrington, Bat Eddie Munson, Werewolves, Shapeshifting, Eddie Munson Lives, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, POV Eddie Munson, POV Steve Harrington

Summary:

The beast stops, gaze narrowing at the pulse pounding in Eddie’s neck, and he quickly slaps a hand over it, trying to limit the temptation of the tasty-blood slash fresh-meat vibe he must be giving off. Robin scowls at Eddie, stepping forward to bury her hand comfortingly into the plush of its furry neck. “Don’t listen to him, Steve. He’s just being a big baby." - Eddie has never been a normal type of guy, but he's owned it: he's a gay metalhead in the heart of small-town America and nothing's going to phase him. Nothing except being told that his recent demo-bat injuries might turn him into a shapeshifter like Steve Harrington.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Challenge Monday. The challenge this week was Bat!Eddie.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[ryuuza-art]

Soulstober Stories Part 2:

Slowly getting used to Bloodborne's gameplay now, as I move onto the Cathedral and beyond.

4. Vicar Amelia

Again, I'd heard of Amelia, but wasn't sure what to expect, so I absolutely loved her transition from human to beast form! She introduced sweeping floor attacks, making staying on top of her tricky, but I learned to keep my distance and look for the right opening to attack.

Dealing with her healing during the second phase was... trying, at first. At least numbing mist helped somewhat during my second playthrough!

5. Witch of Hemwick

I'd forgotten exactly why the Witches gave me so much trouble (aside from there being two), but as I looked up references, I remembered the endlessly spawning Mad Ones & that they could revive each other if you didn't kill them quickly enough. Such relief when it was over! 😭

6. Darkbeast Paarl

The Darkbeast was fun! Challenging, but not frustrating and I love the blue lightning design. Once I applied some bolt resistance, it became more a test of my reflexes, with its quick, cat-like movements. It certainly made up for the shock of being beaten and dragged to the gaol! 😂

(I did *not* enjoy the Loran variant in the Chalice Dungeons. It's a lot more powerful and aggressive and if you try to lock on, the camera can prove more deadly than the boss! That music is permanently etched into my brain. 😭 )

[tycildawnwhisper]

DWC May 2025 Day 4 - Dangerous/Tremendous

The grey-overcast forest outside Stonebreaker Hold hummed with small sounds, the howl of wolves, the chitter of dreadfangs, the soft brush of teromoth wings slicing through the mist. But what held Tycil’s attention was subtler, the faint shift in the grass when the warp stalker phased, vanishing to wherever it went when it wasn’t here.

Cracked stone roads snaked through the forest like arteries pumping out from Shattrath. It was along these veins that the reptiles would reappear, strike at unsuspecting travelers, and vanish again like phantoms.

Vaelsnipe, her brother, crouched behind a jagged crystal outcropping at the base of a tree, rifle at the ready, his gaze sweeping the sullen horizon. Beside him, Tycil drew a slow, quiet breath. “Smell that?” she whispered, her voice taut with the thrill of the hunt.

“Burned ozone,” he murmured back.

“Means it’s close.”

They had been together since the portal to the Outlands opened, two broken hearts, patched with the quiet balm of each other’s company. Hunting brought them closer still. This was when they were most alive, stalking a kill, back-to-back.

Vaelsnipe’s voice was a blade. “To your left.”

The phase hunter materialized in a shimmer, its four-legged reptilian frame low and tense. Ivory hide gleamed with amethyst stripes, and it let out a rasping hiss like sand on steel before it charged.

Tycil didn’t hesitate. She darted west toward a thick-barked tree, playing the bait. She always played bait now, ever since Arthas had taken everything, parents, husband, children. All that remained was her brother, and the cold plague of loss that clung to her like a second skin. Playing bait was her way of daring death to claim her. But she knew it wouldn’t, not while Vael had her back.

The beast lunged. A burst of speed flared through her, a cheetah’s spirit burning in her veins, and she surged ahead, outpacing the warp stalker.

“Tycil!” Vael’s voice cracked across the trees.

Too late.

Its jaws clamped around her thigh, its innate magic flickers fading through the creature’s form. She screamed, reaching out for her brother, expecting the shot that would save her.

She heard it.

The crack of the rifle.

And then the world split.

The phase hunter vanished, dragging her with it, into the space between.

Silence.

In the Nether, Tycil floated in a black void, consciousness slipping in and out like a weak signal. Pain pulsed up her leg, but it was the cold that truly sank its claws into her, not cold of temperature, but of meaning.

She blinked, trying to orient herself. Space rippled around her like liquid glass.

The phase hunter was gone.

She was alone. (@daily-writing-challenge) (@vaelsnipe )

[littlemisspascal]

Dogteeth

One: After the People and Places are Gone (you will come back to me)

series masterlist

pairing: Monster!Pero x Female Reader/OFC 'Moss'

rating: explicit, 18+

summary: In a realm of darkness where the stars are gods and human souls are carried as lantern lights, death skulks out of the pitch black on soundless paws. The sole survivor of your settlement's massacre, you wander aimlessly, scarred by the fangs of a monster. And it's only now, five cycles later, you meet the beast behind the bite who challenges everything you think you know about soul eaters.

word count: 9k+

Warnings: Monster/human relationship, violence, death, fantasy alternate universe with no moon or sun -- if you're looking for canon accurate Pero this isn't the fic for you, angst, biting (including non-con biting), language, reader's mental health isn't great, reader's parents referenced but do not play large part, Puss in Boots reference cuz why not

author note: Please check series masterlist for more details about Moss. Massive thanks to @wheresarizona + @ezraspiderwick for supporting me through every brain fire 💗 Chapter title from Imagine Dragons - The Unknown

follow @littlemisspascalwrites for updates please & thank you!

In mammalian oral anatomy, the canine teeth, also called cuspids, dogteeth, eye teeth, vampire teeth, or fangs, are the relatively long, pointed teeth. They developed and are used primarily for firmly holding food in order to tear it apart, and occasionally as weapons. 

Glossary:

Cycle - a year (four seasons)

Phase - a day. 7 total, each a different color marked by the daily shifting of chamaeleons' skin. An 8th color, black, signifies the end of a phase.

Constellations Referenced:

Fox - Vulpecula

Wolf - Lupus

Hunting Dogs - Canes Venatici

Serpent-Bearer - Ophiuchus

Chamaeleon - Chamaeleon

Dragon - Draco

Peacock - Pavo

Lion - Leo

Water Snake - Hydra

Great Dog - Canis Major

Hercules - Hercules

Vulpes Shrines are said to appear only when weary travelers need them most, golden lantern light of long dead priests slicing through the pitch black, effortless and holy. Safe havens from the ravenous shadows built of stone and blessed by starlight. Yet you don’t feel safe, not even after three phases beneath the watchful gazes of the stone fox statues, fingers clenched around the scabbard of your sword, paranoid with the mad idea if you were to let go it would vanish from sight.

Beyond the steps of the shrine, past the semicircular halo of lantern light beckoning with its siren song of peace, the chirps of crickets blend with the groaning of tree branches shifting and swaying in the wind. You throw loose pebbles out there sometimes, listening to each individual impact upon the fallen leaves, their crackling uncoiling something taut in your chest.

The stars hide behind clouds, hoarding their precious light all to themselves. You wonder if humans learned selfishness from them, or if it was the other way around. Regardless, you stopped looking up for guidance a long time ago and the stars abandoned you long before that. Now any problem you face can usually be solved with a swing of your sword.

Pulling free your weapon from its scabbard, you lean back against the shrine’s stone wall, chilled against your shoulders where your sleeveless top doesn’t cover, and trace your fingertips over the constellations engraved on the iron blade. The familiar shapes of the Fox, Wolf, and Hunting Dogs—predators of great strength and cunningness—were said to bless the sword’s master with their protection. The stars have lost your faith in them, but maybe there’s some truth in the lines of the old legend. You have found shelter in a Vulpes Shrine, after all, and some things are just too precise to be a mere coincidence.

Three phases is the longest you’ve stayed in one place in at least three cycles. You’ll leave soon, restless spirit already acting up something fierce with the urge to move. That’s been the routine as long as you’ve been on your own. Wake up, eat if you’ve got something on hand or scavenge if you don’t, then pick a direction and start walking, your lantern light illuminating the unknown path ahead. You bathe in rivers sometimes, dig up root pearls for trade if they glow bright enough to catch your attention, but usually your phases aren’t much different from one to the next.

It’s the middle of the summer season, the warmest time of the cycle. As a child you used to glare up at the Dragon settling into his corner of the sky once the spring constellations dipped behind the horizon, knowing soon after the air would turn sticky as the temperature rapidly rose.

Summer is also a reminder of the community you lived in five cycles ago, joining their ranks in the middle of a heatwave. Four dozen people squeezed together in a tiny settlement called the Marrow, sharing supplies and companionship. You found it nice there, sleeping in the same bed, seeing the same faces, but even the nicest of things eventually wither and fade to black. Buried deep within you is a time capsule of memories full to the brim and achingly empty all at once. When you can’t sleep you think about taking a shovel to yourself, letting unspoken contritions and nostalgia eat you alive, but you made a promise to live. And your lantern light burning bright is proof it’s still kept.

Overlapping with the honey gold fluorescence of the shrine’s twin flames, your own blue lantern light appears to glow green, casting flickering shapes upon the wall reminiscent of overgrown ivy vines. Your eyes had trouble adjusting when you first arrived, so used to nothing but blue and black and the faint iridescent gleam of starlight the past few phases you’d nearly forgotten just how vibrant other bursts of colors could be. 

A couple of traders have shared with you rumors of a city bathed in every color known to man, as radiant as ten thousand lantern lights combined, bustling with life and hope. Nothing more than a fairytale for children, you’d dismissed with a scoff of derision. There’s no such thing as hope. Not in a realm where darkness reigns eternal and a snuffed out lantern light means instant death.

“Bet you guys believed in hope.” You look to the mouths of the fox statues, lantern lights of the shrine’s dead priests firmly held by stone teeth. History says the pair willingly sacrificed their souls for the creation of these sanctuaries centuries ago. What history doesn’t say is if it hurt, if they cried in their final moments, or if it’d been as gentle as falling asleep. “Do you regret your choices yet? How many sticky-fingered fools have tried prying your souls out of those jaws to strengthen their own power?” You aim your sword at the base of the nearest lantern light,  constellations blazing gold. The muscles in your arm twinge, reacting to the energy prickling in the air.

“Don’t have to worry about me though.” You lower your weapon back to your lap, cracking a wry grin. “One soul’s troublesome enough keeping care of, I don’t need the extra headache. Or the craving for bloodlust. Or the whole smoke metamorphosis thing soul eaters have got going on as fun as that looks. Really I’m the best kind of visitor ‘cause once I’m gone it’ll be like I was never here at all.”

You’ve always had a knack for being an easily forgettable person. Even when you’d had people who cared about you, it’d been easy to become a wallflower amongst them, slipping into the background unnoticed and overlooked. And now that you’re on your own, it’s become both a blessing and a curse. Good for getting out of uncomfortable situations, sure, but you’d be lying if you said sometimes you didn’t feel more like a ghost than a human. It’d be nice to be known, you think, at least by one other person. Someone who could point you out of a crowd and confidently say, “That’s Moss.”

It’s been five cycles since you last heard your name. Five cycles since you had a conversation that wasn’t haggling with a trader over the price of herbs or root pearls. Four cycles since you last prayed. Two cycles since you’d stumbled upon another destroyed settlement much like the Marrow complete with heaps of soulless corpses food for the worms.

Sooner or later humans will become an extinct species. You doubt any of them will glimmer amongst the stars. They’ll either die with their lantern lights devoured or become a soul eater themselves. It’s a sad fact of life: desperate people in desperate times are known to perform desperate, unspeakable acts. The hunted becomes the hunter, unrecognizable to their own kin.

Returning your sword to the leather scabbard attached to your belt, you tug your rucksack closer to use as a pillow. It’s lumpy and tattered, stitched up and taped together more times than you can count, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the realm. With sleep comes dreams of old friends haloed in soft lantern lights, smiling and joking around, oblivious to death skulking out of the pitch blackness on soundless paws.

They never stood a chance.

The fervent flame of your lantern light engulfs the surrounding ring of standing stones known as the Perobury Circle in a gleaming veil of blue as the twinkling eyes of the Serpent-Bearer watch on from above. The tallest of the pale gray stones towers over you, marked by a collection of scarlet handprints smudged and splintered by the elements and passage of time. You trace their outlines with your eyes, pausing at one noticeably smaller than the rest, stomach clenching. Hard to believe there are still children out there. Even harder to believe you had been one yourself once upon a time.

Shaking your head to clear it, you inhale a deep breath, the scent of wet grass thick in the air from the earlier shower. The pitter-patter of rain had woken you from your sleep, sounding eerily similar to whispering within the quiet of the shrine. Puddles formed where droplets slithered in through the tiniest of cracks in the ceiling yet you’d miraculously remained dry. 

The Chamaeleon tail hanging from a cord around your neck burns cherry red. It bobs against the middle of your chest while walking, nestled close to your heart, stirring up old memories of your mother who used to loop the chain of her own Chamaeleon tail pendant around her fingers when she prayed to the stars. 

“Red’s a warning, yellow’s a fresh start, blue’s for mourning and pink’s good for the heart,” she used to chant, a silly old superstition about what each cyclical phase of the color-changing lizards meant. It’s a widespread belief the small creatures were created by the eponymous constellation in an effort to help humans establish routine. Regardless of whether or not that's true, wearing a tail pendant is the norm of the realm. “Purple brings a gift, green reveals a friend, orange goes by swift and black announces a phase’s end.”

Trekking out of the woods has stained your boots with mud, slick against the damp terrain. A wash in river water will have them looking good as new again. Your lips twitch in an aborted grimace as you touch the side of your neck where a jagged scar peaks out from beneath your collar, wishing the same could be true for you. Stars know you’ve tried—scrubbing the skin until it burned worse than fire, submerging yourself in the depths until your lungs screamed and your chest felt on the brink of bursting open, dirtying the water with your sins—but nothing worked.

You’re not oblivious to the emotional baggage you carry. Trauma’s sunk its poison deep into your brain, invading every thought like a parasite, frenzied in its hunt for something you can’t name but crave worse than oxygen. And every once in a while you get this…pull, an insistent tug beneath your scarred flesh without a clear direction to follow. Most of the time you can tolerate the sensation, gritting your teeth and carrying on, but every so often it’s damn near unbearable to take another step, forcing you to a standstill until the feeling gradually passes.

Trauma is as sticky and ensnaring as a tar pit, there’s no denying it, but. What if your damaged psyche isn’t fully to blame? What if the pull is a side effect of the fateful encounter that spared you from the brink of death five cycles ago? What if the indent of teeth is more than an ugly bite like its appearance suggests? Or has survivor’s guilt rewritten history in your mind, the truth wiped out for the sake of the raft of sanity you cling to?

Regaining consciousness in the immediate aftermath of the wretched end of the Marrow had felt like an out of body experience. Numbing shock enveloped you, ears stuffed with cotton and each breath a shuddering heave, struggling to process the misfortune you had awoken to. Macabre details stood out amongst the ruins, carved into your brain for cycles to come: the stench of decay burning your nose, a swarm of flies buzzing the most disturbing tune in synchronization, broken and gutted lantern lights discarded like trash. And most chilling of all, the scattered, unmoving bodies of your companions with faces so frighteningly expressionless, like their torn out throats and exposed intestines hadn’t hurt in the slightest. In that moment, they were almost completely unrecognizable to you. It was only much later, once your hands could hold your own lantern light without trembling, your aching neck finally registered, the gravelly voice of your savior and the promise you made to him rushing to the forefront of your thoughts.

You should’ve died, but because of the unknown reasons of a stranger you were spared. And if that wasn’t already disconcerting enough to wonder about, there is the additional, far more unsettling fact you don’t believe he was human—not completely at least, if that’s even possible. Not with those teeth. You swear every waking moment the realm seems to change, becoming a little more bizarre, a little more inhospitable…it’s hard to tell anymore reality from delusion.

Maybe the simplest explanation is you’re just dreadfully terrible at coping with loss.

You exhale a sigh, surprised by how loud it sounds. The abrupt silence that has fallen upon the standing stones occurs to you then, even the soft breeze has ceased tousling the grass. Your spine subconsciously tenses, fingers twitching with the impulse to draw your sword, but timing is everything, and you hesitate to strike too soon. Slowly your head turns, the tiniest of movements, casting a peek over your shoulder at the edge of blue aura provided by your lantern light. Darkness greets you, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone’s concealed themselves in the shadows to sneak up on you. Or something.

Your fingers spasm again, reaching before you can change your mind—

A large undefined shape barrels into you too quickly to react, knocking you off your feet, head colliding with a nauseating smack against the stone of handprints before you fall to the ground. You grunt through clenched teeth, blinking harshly against your swirling vision, blood oozing from the split in your forehead, and yank your sword out in one agitated move, stabbing at your enemy with more frenzy than finesse.

The resultant ghoulish shriek of pain triggers your heart into overdrive, immediately scrambling into a crouched position, all too aware of your lantern light dangling from your rucksack within easy snatching distance. From a certain perspective, the creature can be mistaken for a large dog or wolf, with a mouth full of sharp teeth and four massive paws. But a closer look reveals its unnatural opaqueness, out of focus no matter how hard one squints, with tendrils of ashen smoke exuding from its nebulous body, burning without a flame or kindling, staring down its prey with unblinking, smoldering white eyes.

Soul eaters are known to hunt in packs, another likeness to wolves, yet this one’s alone, amber ichor pooling beneath its injured leg. It looks sick, you think critically, if soul eaters can even get sick, frothing drool dribbling from its panting mouth. The thought barely has a moment to stick before those fangs are snapping at you again.

You bring your sword up to block, the crunching of teeth around the iron blade shoots vibrations down your arms. The muscular bulk of the monster and its momentum forces you down onto your back, claws scratching at your clothes, tearing fabric and grazing skin. Your lips curl into a snarl, jaw clenched, aiming a kick at its underbelly. For something so fumelike in appearance, your boot connects solidly, eliciting another high-pitched whine as it staggers sideways.

You make an attempt to stand, only for your breath to catch at the throbbing pain along your ribs, spots of blood staining your shirt where the claws pierced deep. It’s been awhile since your last serious injury, long enough to forget how awful scratches fucking sting. The Serpent-Bearer’s probably laughing at you right now, plotting for an infection to finish you off if the soul eater fails. Which is looking less and less likely.

Driving your sword into the damp soil, you force your protesting muscles to work, pulling yourself unsteadily onto your feet. Your torso aches with the effort, a hiss escaping through gritted teeth, but still your fingers remain tightly clenched around the handle. You’re not going down without a fight.

And then everything changes in the span of a blink.

The scar on your neck abruptly flares up in agony, white hot pins and needles, sending your hand flying to the spot. Your choked gasp is muffled by the thunderous roar of a second soul eater bursting out of the darkness from behind you, twice as large and marred with amber scars of previous fights, totally ignoring your presence whilst hurtling itself at the other monster without hesitation.

You can only stand there, stunned beyond measure, watching in disbelief as the bigger soul eater mercilessly tears into the smaller one, savage and sadistic with each deliberate snap of its fangs, not letting up until the yelping cries of pain are replaced by the sickening gurgling of blood bubbling and spewing out from a severed throat.

It’s one of the most brutal displays of violence you’ve ever witnessed. And you can’t make heads or tails of it, unable to understand why a soul eater would turn on its own kind so gruesomely.

A ball of light explodes out of the dead soul eater’s dissolving remains, perfectly spherical and blazing yellow. A soul, you realize, eyes widening, from a previous victim. It hovers in the air for a moment, free of its confines, and then in a flash is seized by powerful jaws. Swallowed and absorbed by a new host like it’s a piece of meat. Stars above.

Your breath hitches when those white pinpricks snap onto you. Ichor drips from the victorious soul eater’s stained snout, a lengthy tongue flicking out for a quick taste. You adjust your grip on your sword, unable to ignore those pointed teeth, but the monster makes no move to lunge or attack. Instead it merely sits, like a trained dog, legs blurring into the smokiness of its murky body. Staring noiselessly all the while.

Your scar pulsates intensely again, like something’s trying to claw itself out. Or, maybe…

You stiffen, heartbeat quickening as the soul eater bares its teeth in the semblance of a wicked grin, stretched extra wide at the corners, seemingly aware of your dawning horror.

Maybe your scar remembers how it came to be.

Your childhood cycles were spent constantly moving around, much like the nomadic lifestyle you live now, except you had your parents for company. They did their best to keep you safe, you know that now with the benefit of hindsight, but back then you hated them for refusing to establish roots, preventing you from having a home or any friends. You thought they had made up the myth of soul eaters to scare you into behaving right up until you saw the aftermath of a successful hunt. A couple and their young child in a ditch, devoid of any expressions, chests ripped open and lantern lights destroyed. You stopped hating your parents after that.

It didn’t do much good though. Didn’t prevent you from learning the harshest of truths when a gang of thieves led by a man with a cackling laugh and the stars of the duplicitous Water Snake tattooed like a ribbon wound around his wrist murdered your parents in cold blood, then stole all your supplies except for the filthy little rucksack you carried—people could be monsters too.

Defenseless, grief stricken, and all alone, the Marrow was paradise when you’d found it. A safe landing ground to crash onto—literally, the grass was the softest you’d ever known, spongy and verdant. There was a lake not too far a walk, full of fish and a lure for woodland animals looking for a drink. Scrappy dwellings were built side by side, cobbled together with wood, stone, and turf. The people of the Marrow were like that too, scrappy drifters cobbled together from all edges of the realm.

The community became your new family, teaching you everything your parents hadn’t lived long enough to share. The best uses for poisonous plants and what baits work best for different types of fish, how to haggle without pushing too many buttons and what signs indicate a cave is occupied or abandoned.

You learned how to let loose around a fire pit, stomping your feet and howling the wrong lyrics of ancient songs. You learned to speak new languages, soaking up every word and phrase like the absorbent ground beneath your feet.

To celebrate your birth season, you were given a sword of iron and stars. Your greatest treasure, far too perfect for someone as damaged as you, challenging you to become strong enough, worthy enough to wield it with the respect it deserved.

For a while you’d had a place to call home. For a while you believed you’d never know the pain of loneliness again.

The sky had been cloudy when the attack happened, blocking out the starlight and deepening the umbra surrounding the Marrow. A bad omen, if one believed in those sort of signs, but you hadn’t (and still don’t), neither had anyone else in the community. You doubt believing would have changed anything though. The Marrow was always doomed to fail. Yet another fact you know now with the benefit of hindsight.

There was no time to sound the alarms when the soul eaters invaded. They came all at once in a manic rush, unsolicited bad dreams you couldn’t wake from. The terrified screams came next, then absolute chaos. Every man for himself.

Fire sparked in the midst of panicked scrambling, smoke and ash clogging the air, burning your eyes. You tried to reach your dwelling, where you’d left your sword amongst your meager collection of belongings, a mistake you’d never make again in the cycles to come, but your seared lungs betrayed you, screaming for oxygen that didn’t exist. You collapsed in the dirt, wheezing harshly, vision blurring in and out of focus, the handle of your miraculously still-intact lantern light clutched in a weak grasp. The blue gleamed bright as the Great Dog’s white head, cutting through the maelstrom, impossible to miss, straight away catching the attention of a soul eater and luring it across the dividing distance.

Tears streamed down your dirty face, so pathetically vulnerable, indefensibly watching the monster’s approach, one wispy paw in front of the other, purposeful in its even walk, unbothered by the ongoing drama.

As its jaws parted, you anticipated your death, quick and violent. With a shuddered breath your eyes fell closed for what you believed to be the last time.

But death hadn’t come. Instead there were sounds of a scuffle: growling and grunts, shifting of dirt beneath feet, the gnashing of teeth. You clung to consciousness by a mere thread, eyelids impossibly heavy as if glued to your face, and even though the touch of hands rolling you onto your backside sent a jolt of surprise and pain through your limbs, you couldn’t summon the necessary strength to confront the stranger.

Not even when he sunk his teeth into your flesh. Not even when he commanded, voice as low and ragged as a canyon, “Promise me you’ll live. Promesa.” (Promise.)

With your final hazy seconds of awareness, in the motion of tipping into the calm blackness of oblivion, your dry lips had croaked out a vow—I promise—unknowing the significant role those two words would play for the rest of your life journey.

An adrenaline spike gives you the needed strength to lift and ready your sword. The soul eater’s cheek-splitting wide grin remains, unaffected. Your heart beats faster than a panicked jackrabbit. It unsettles you more than words can express, being unable to determine if this specific monster of all damn creatures is indeed your savior or if you’ve finally lost the plot. But you can’t risk dropping your defenses. After all, everyone knows the only kind of harmless soul eater is a dead soul eater.

You lunge, blade aimed to strike, only for the soul eater to dematerialize, ghosting over you in a flood of thick smoke. Numbness swallows you whole, dunking you beneath a frozen lake and holding you there. It doesn't last long, over in the quiver of a heartbeat, there and gone, warmth returning and senses rebooting.

Maybe that’s why it takes you an embarrassing long moment to realize there are distinctly human hands on your stomach, holding you from behind against a solid body with fingers pressing lightly, yet purposefully on your wounds. A warning of no sudden moves. You bite the inside of your cheek, yet a quiet hiss of pain still manages to escape.

“You made me a promise to live,” the growl rumbles against your ear as fingers curl into the holes of your shirt, touching the bleeding marks beneath. “Recklessly endangering yourself is not how you keep your vow, idiota.” It isn’t the words that have you freezing in astonishment, but the voice, the man’s low, husky tone identical to the one from your memories. It is him. Your savior from the Marrow.

How is that possible? A soul eater assuming a human shape? Are they all capable of such a feat, or is this one unique somehow? Your thoughts spin, the threat of a headache blooming at the back of your skull, each new question generating new fears. But…

He’s actually real. A living, breathing, physical being—not just a voice with teeth—rescuing you from danger for a second time without any explanation as to why.

You don’t even realize your grip has tightened until there’s another deep growl from behind, vibrating through your ribcage.

“I’m not the enemy here, Moss.”

The sound of your name cuts deeper than any weapon or claws or teeth.

That’s…

That’s not possible.

You should feel something akin to happiness having your deepest longing granted, to be recognized after all these cycles of anonymity. But your survival instincts drown out the potential joy, snarling in your head louder than any beast—everyone who ever knew you is worm food.

There is absolutely no reason for this soul eater masked as a human to know your name.

You slam your head backwards against his face, the immediate startled grunt that follows confirms a successful hit. His hold loosens just enough for you to shove your way to freedom, a flare of pain igniting from your torso, angry with the harsh movements.

Your attempt of whirling around is hindered by the burning hitch in your lungs, nearly losing your balance. Stars, you’re as coordinated as a fish on land flopping about desperately. You barely detect the flash of motion in your peripheral vision before you’re slammed into by a wall of muscle and smoke, sword knocked from your grip as you crash onto the wet grass, pinned on your back beneath his weight.

“¡Basta!” (Enough!) he orders, his massive, rough-skinned hands clamped tight around your wrists. He looms over you, straddling your waist, white eyes devoid of irises reflect lantern light, narrowed in a mean, glowing glare. “You’re going to injure yourself worse than I can heal you, then we’ll really be fucked. So. Quit. Moving.”

Heal you? Yeah, right. Soul eaters were only good at tearing people apart, not fixing them.

But looking up at him, with the shine of lantern light throwing light upon his broad frame, enabling you to see his face at last, a wave of surprise washes over you. If not for his solid white eyes, he could truly pass as an ordinary man with dark unkempt curls that haven’t seen a comb in several cycles, a crooked nose and mustache wet with a trickle of amber ichor from your hit, there’s more of it smeared on the tendons of his throat and stubbled chin beneath scowling lips. A fearsome scar razes through his left brow and eye. A mark from a battle too close for comfort. You’re quite familiar with those.

The claw scratches on your torso will definitely scar and add to your collection. That is, if they don’t cause a nasty infection first. They’re throbbing in earnest now with every breath, too furious to be ignored. The soul eater can no doubt smell the seeping blood, but he remains motionless on top of you, staring and waiting for you to yield. Nothing about this makes sense. Why would a soul eater continue to come to your aide time after time? Is this some kind of extensive trick to lull you into a state of trust then rip your organs out when least expected?

“Why did you save me?” you finally ask, warily searching his face for any semblance of a clue.

For a long moment, there’s only the watchful, heavy silence of a predator and its prey facing off. Those white eyes resemble infinite pools, so dangerously luminous in the pitch black, almost hypnotic in their allurement. Could be mistaken for fireflies bobbing in the dark from far away. Up close…not so much.

“I’ve been tracking that slippery cur for five phases,” the soul eater answers without losing any gruffness. Does his voice naturally sound like he’s been gargling with rocks? Or is it a side effect of appearing human, equipped with a throat that only knows the scraping, guttural notes of barks and growls? “I should’ve stopped him before he got so close.”

“You didn’t stop him. You ate his soul.” The retort tumbles out stupidly, like he needed the reminder of what just transpired, and judging by the downward twist of his lips he also finds the comment idiotic.

“La comida es poder. (Food is power.) Only an idiot would pass up a hard-fought meal,” he replies with a flippant shrug. “Starvation isn’t just a human condition. I know you know what it’s like to be hungry—the kind of hunger that gnaws a hole in your stomach, screaming for scraps, taking control of every thought until even your own flesh starts looking delicious. You think my kind are vicious monsters?” He leans in, breath hot on your face, nose to nose. “Considerate bendecida de que nunca has visto a una manada hambrienta.” (Consider yourself blessed if you've never seen a hungry pack.)

The manner in which he speaks to you—like he knows you, has watched you—makes your body bristle all over with unease, invisible quills sharpening defensively.

“Why,” you ask again, sharp and venomous, “did you save me?”

“Do you kill all your foes with a sword or just my kind?” His non sequitur upends your thoughts and the lack of immediate response results in another swirl of smoke, weight lifting off of you as he disappears and reappears a foot away, stooping to retrieve your fallen weapon.

You scramble in an effort to stand, but your efforts are hindered by slick boots and clumsy hands, unable to get off the ground. That sword is your most valuable possession, you can’t lose it, not now, not to someone like—

Your thoughts and movements freeze when the hilt of your sword is suddenly thrusted out towards you. Your eyes slowly track up along the iron until they lock with his impassive expression, unchanging even when you quickly snatch it back.

You’re at a disadvantage down here on the ground injured and looking up at him, but you can still ram the blade through his chest. Can still fight until your very last breath. The soul eater’s eyebrows quirk up, perhaps guessing your train of thought or maybe he hears the acceleration of your thudding pulse. Other than that though, as the seconds tick past one by one, he doesn’t move. Not even a blink.

Your instincts insist he can’t be trusted. But it’s getting harder and harder to listen to them as pain and fatigue set in further, pleading for a break.

“Dijiste que podías curame,” (You said you could heal me) you say quietly, skepticism lingering in the flick of your eyes over his figure, noting his outfit for the first time. Black combat pants with knee pads, and a distressed brown leather jacket over a torn shirt darkened with splotchy stains you don’t want to think about the origins of. He doesn’t have a bag with him. Those pockets can’t hold many supplies either. “…pero ¿cómo?” (but how?)

¿Hablas mi idioma?” (You speak my language?) There’s something deeply unsettling about the way he bares all his teeth in a pleased grin. “Interesante.” (Interesting.)

“Estoy llena de sorpresas,” you retort. (I’m full of surprises.)

He exhales sharply through his nose in what might pass as a laugh. “Don’t stab me.”

What.

Before you can question him, he’s no longer human. The transformation is effortless, a special kind of gracefulness nothing else in the realm could ever successfully mimic, as ominously silent as the stars above. Then slowly, almost ridiculously so, the soul eater takes a step closer, making known each tiny, minuscule movement to prevent spooking you, like you’re the unpredictable one here. You’d laugh if you could remember how in that moment, struck breathless by the sudden emergence of six long, slender, branch-like limbs unfurling from the backside of his body enshrouded in hazy, swirling mist.

You have no idea what you’re witnessing or what’s happening, emotions fluctuating between terror and fascination with each skip of your heartbeat. The bristling you’d previously felt returns tenfold, wide eyes watching the silhouette continue to stretch and elongate, reaching up as if to touch the boundary between land and the cosmos. Yellow light blooms into existence at the ends of the tendrils, bright and searing, and you immediately duck your head with a wince, eyes squeezing shut.

Flashing spots of yellow and red blossom on the insides of your eyelids until the light gradually changes, softens somehow, if it’s even possible for such a thing to be gentle. But when something nudges the cut on your forehead, you can’t bite back your shriek, neck popping at the quick speed you look up.

“Stars above,” you curse hoarsely, a tremble racking your frame, because those are lantern lights hanging from the soul eater’s unraveled protuberances. One dangles far too close to your face for your liking, an odd humming emanating from the ancient looking lamp, spherical in its design.

You knew soul eaters devoured souls—you’d seen it up close and personal, heard the crunching and swallowing, the slurps of tongues. But you never fathomed this outcome. The cruel manipulation of lantern lights, beautiful and tempting in their power, camouflaging the very same predators that ripped them from their true hosts. A radiance so soft no one could detect the sharp glint of fangs until death was unavoidably imminent.

White eyes blink at you. The tendril near your face lowers, hanging over your wounds, and it’d be easy, so quick to cut it with your sword, freeing the lantern light for a precious few seconds before you met your demise for enraging the beast, but…

But the soul eater asked you not to stab him. Aside from his overall irritable countenance, he hasn’t made a move to truly attack, not even with the ample amount of opportunities to do so. Maybe he’s the exception to the norm. One of a kind. Maybe, like the dogs his kind tend to resemble when they haven’t sprouted additional extensions, there’s potential for loyalty, a bond to be struck.

Or maybe you’re wrong on all accounts, your mind is quick to rebuttal, and you’re just a fool clinging to wishful hopes. The constellations have never adorned you with such good luck after all.

You exhale a long, shaky breath, forcing the muscles in your arm to relax bit by bit all the way down to your fingertips. Only then does sheathing your sword no longer feel like one of Hercules’ twelve labors. Instead it just feels like one of the biggest mistakes of your life, ranking up there with the time you misjudged a river’s ferocity and nearly wound up taking a fatal nosedive over a waterfall. 

Still, despite the long list of good and logical reasons why you shouldn’t, you find yourself nodding in tentative agreement to whatever permission the soul eater appears to be waiting for. You’ve really done it now, sticking your head straight into the wide open jaws of a beast, gambling on the strength of his self-control and the honesty of his word. There’s no turning back from here.

White eyes blink again, a subtle shift in the smoke you think might be an answering nod. The five lantern lights remain held aloft beyond reach, fanning out reminiscent of the Lion’s impeccable mane or the Peacock’s shimmering tail feathers, and it’s undoubtedly impious, comparing a creature of death to the divine, but you can’t bring yourself to care much about that when the sixth lantern light sets fire to your body without warning.

And that isn’t meant metaphorically or poetically or theoretically. Actual flames ignite with an audible whoosh and bright flash of orange-white light. Surprisingly the urge to scream doesn’t accompany it, neither does the sensation of excruciating pain one expects with cauterization. There’s no heat, no noxious fumes of smoke, just the erratic dance of fitful embers ghosting delicately over your skin. So gentle you wouldn’t even know what was happening if you weren’t watching it wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

The flames choke out as quickly as they originated. A pause follows, mentally gathering yourself, forcing your fingers not to quiver as they tentatively poke and prod at the holes of your shirt before realization hits like a brick, yanking the hem of your shirt up. Your lips part in a soundless gasp because what the actual fuck. The wounds are gone, including the gash on your forehead you discover. Not even the faintest hint of a blister to prove you were ever attacked at all.

Blinking dumbly for a few seconds, you swallow before slowly directing your gaze back up to the now-human-disguised creature halfway illuminated by blue lantern light, evenly meeting your stare.

“What are you?” You whisper, still touching your stomach, ignoring the nervous fluttering of butterflies within.

He stands with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, an eerie display of faux casualness which only increases your discomfort. “A soul eater,” he says plainly. “Spawned from a single choice. The only choice that matters in this cursed realm: to either bite or get bitten.” His voice is unnervingly bland, each word drips in your ears, drowning your brain in something sticky, sickening. “No lo dudé. (I didn’t hesitate.) After all, what’s the point of having a mouth full of dogteeth, if not to use them to our own advantage?”

The question is rhetorical, but it burrows deep, a thorn piercing the cavity of your ribcage. Tastes like coppery blood in the back of your throat.

You draw yourself up on your feet at last, sword and lantern light jostling, loud in the still air. “Is that why you bit me?” You challenge. “For an advantage?”

Silence answers your questions, a long, drawn out pause that threatens to wrap a noose around your neck. You refuse to let it, cutting yourself free with a derisive scoff and a turn of your head. It’s been a long time since you last had a conversation, you forgot how tiring they can be, parsing every word for double meanings, the silences too. There’s something there though, in the way he knows your name, how he chooses when to answer your questions and when to change the subject, that provokes your curiosity, teasing you to stick your neck out further. But you know better than to lean into rabbit holes this dark and deep. Whatever’s at the bottom is guaranteed to be ugly.

You know better, you do, it’s just—

“What are you called?”

The soul eater tilts his head. “Didn’t we already establish what I am?”

“I meant your name.”

“A loud and complicated mess,” he says dismissively. “You would butcher it.”

“Oh, entonces asi es,” (Oh, is that how it is) you quip, arching an eyebrow. “You somehow know my name without me ever telling you it, but yours, of course, is complicated. What a load of Bull shi—”

An earsplitting bark sends you stumbling backwards, simultaneously mimicking the rattling boom of thunder and the harsh grating of metal-on-metal. You swear it stops your heart cold, body split between fight or flight, paralyzed in indecision, every nerve ending sensitive and alert for impending danger.

“What the fuck,” you wheeze, restarting your internal system, blinking dumbly at the soul eater who has the gall to huff a laugh. Such an incredibly human sound it nearly makes you flinch. Of course giving you a damn-near heart attack would be hilarious to him.

“I told you,” is all he offers as an explanation once his chuckles cease, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Loud and complicated.”

You stare. That horrendous noise…was his name?

“You must’ve had a different name,” you insist, arguing for reasons you don’t quite understand yourself, digging a deeper hole you should really leave behind, “back when you were human.”

That wipes all traces of humor from his expression.

His stance shifts, no longer at ease, a sharpness drawing his shoulders back. “That name is a muzzle tied to the past. A reminder of the weakling I once was,” he says. He makes a fist, smoke swallowing it whole like a snake before dissipating, flesh returning. “I won’t give you my name, Moss. I won’t answer to it.”

You barely refrain from shivering at his stone-cold declaration. Fine, if he wants it that way…

“Lo que digas, Pero.” (Whatever you say, Pero.)

He blinks, uncomprehending. “¿Qué?” (What?)

Your eyebrow reflexively arches again. “Well, I’ve got to call you something, don’t I?” Gesturing at your audience of standing stones, you add, “Seems pretty fitting in my opinion.”

He doesn’t express approval of the designation, but he doesn’t outright protest it either. You sense an unspoken agreement has been reached. And in doing so, you’re struck by the abnormality of this whole encounter. You’ve just named a soul eater of all things, like he was some sort of pet you could tame and take home with you.

“That sword is magnificent,” Pero says, yanking you from your thoughts.

You cast a cursory glance down at the mentioned weapon then meet his gaze again.

“You didn’t have it with you back then in the Marrow. I would’ve remembered seeing it.”

Your spine straightens, bite mark tingling, an unconscious reaction you can’t stifle as your memories leap back to the bloodbath. It’s one of your greatest mistakes, leaving your sword in your room, utterly useless in the fight against the invasion. There’s a tightness in your throat when you reply, “I thought we were safe.”

You don’t elaborate. You don’t need to, Pero’s quiet hum is confirmation he understands what remains unspoken. There are no true safe havens in this realm, even the shrines have their own creeping shadows in the shapes of thieves and vandals. Only naive fools and children whose eyes have not yet opened to the violence swarming in the dark believe sanctuaries exist.

Your eye-opening moment should’ve been the merciless deaths of your parents. You should’ve learned then to never let your guard down, not around anybody, but the lesson hadn’t stuck until the Marrow, until Pero’s teeth scarred it on your body forevermore.

“Soul eaters didn’t always hunt down our meals in packs,” Pero murmurs abruptly, another topic shift turning your head upside down. “We once were scavengers, preying only on the souls of those not long for this realm. The fatally wounded and gravely ill.”

You listen with furrowed brows. That doesn’t match your personal experience. As long as you’ve been alive, soul eaters have not come across as picky about who they choose to slaughter. If such a past like Pero describes is true, you’ve never met anyone old enough to recall it. Pero has the appearance of a man in his forties, but you quickly have the nagging inclination that he's much older than his looks imply.

“In the middle of a spring season when humans were healthy and food was scarce, a woman appeared to us. Called herself Tao Tei. She was like us, no longer human, but she was also something…greater than us. Una diosa. (A goddess.) Her voice creeped into our heads like fog, whispering to us ideas and hunting strategies, urging us to unleash a wildness we didn’t know we caged within ourselves. Because of her encouragement, soul eaters became what you know us as, Moss.”

Monsters. Heartless, bloodthirsty monsters.

You wonder what this Tao Tei woman looks like. A vivid image forms in your head of wild billowing hair, a hunched spine, and features so sharp they’d gauge out your eyeballs if stared at too long. Or maybe it’s the opposite, and she’s a figure of beauty, sweet like a fly trap, unsuspecting until it's too late to flee.

“Over time, Tao Tei’s selfishness grew, expecting more from us.” A scowl crosses Pero’s face, exhaling sharply through his nose. “For every soul we hunted, she demanded one for herself. And if we failed or denied her, that whisper in our heads became a scream. The torture she inflicted…Nunca olvidaré. (I will never forget.) She manipulated our instincts, her own personal toys to bend and break. I thought there was no resisting her. But then I was sent on a hunt to the Marrow,” his voice remains carved in stone, but his expression does something strange, softening around the edges, “and I saw a blue lantern light blazing right through the chaos, and everything just stopped. Like the realm itself froze solid. And for the first time since Tao Tei took control, the only voice in my head belonged to me.”

The memory of when you’d first laid eyes on Pero rushes to the forefront of your mind, remembering the intense focus he had for your lantern light. Never once glancing away as he stalked towards you, triggering an overwhelming sense of dread. A predator’s gait, you’d thought at the time. But could you have been wrong? Could the smoke and despair have manipulated your judgement so much you completely failed to notice any sign of Pero’s own internal crisis?

Self-doubt runs circles around your brain. But another thought soon chases after it.

What if the only thing manipulating your judgement is Pero? Trying his hardest to convince you of a version of events that never occurred in order to soften some of your long-nurtured distrust against him.

Round and round the conflicting sentiments plow on. No conclusion to be reached.

“I’m sure you know blue lantern lights are rare.” There’s a subtle flicker in his gaze giving you the impression he’s looking at the blue flame now, though the lack of irises makes it hard to be certain. “They burn stronger than any other color. Legends say blue lantern lights are assigned by the stars to people with great purposes, but all I know for fact is that when one shatters, the soul becomes incredibly volatile. If its ascent to the stars is interrupted in any way, it will explode, killing everything in its radius, even my kind are not immune. We avoid harming anyone carrying a blue lantern light; it’s an instinct so deeply ingrained even Tao Tei can’t convince us to attack unless we’re sick with starvation. El riesgo es demasiado grande.” (The risk is too great.)

The other soul eater from earlier comes to mind, recalling its odd behavior, and you realize now it must have been acting out of hunger when it came after you. You’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, crossing paths in a moment of starving frenzy. The one had been unpredictable enough to fight, you really should consider yourself blessed it wasn’t a starving pack instead.

And as for your lantern light, well. You can count the total number of times you’ve seen a blue flame on one hand, and nothing sticks out as extraordinary about them in your memory, just simple wanderers like yourself. Legends are supposedly exaggerations sprouting from seeds of truth, but you’re disinclined to believe there’s any particularly great purpose to be found in your future. The stars certainly haven’t given you any signs you’re a favorite of theirs.

Either the legends are false, or you’re a fluke that slipped through the cracks.

“None of that explains why you bit me,” you say at length, refocusing. “Dime la verdad.” (Tell me the truth.)

“Your ability, shielding me from Tao Tei’s mind tricks, I didn’t know how it worked. There were too many ifs—if it was only temporary, if I had to stay close to you or if once I left the Marrow I’d be controlled again,” Pero replies, rubbing absently at the dried ichor crusted in his mustache, and he’s several steps away but somehow he seems intimately close, carving out a secret nook for you and him alone. “Biting you was impulsive, sí (yes), but I had to bind us together. Anywhere you went, I would know to follow.”

He’s staring at the bite mark now, and you’re staring at him, speechless.

“I haven’t heard Tao Tei’s voice ever since,” he admits, a quiet confession you want to crumple up and stomp beneath your boot. “All the extra noise, the scrutiny and manipulation, it’s gone.”

Every waking period since the Marrow’s end you’ve torn your brain apart speculating why you were bitten, what must’ve been going through your savior’s head at the exact moment of his decision. Laid out like this, you see Pero’s fear and his selfishness, thinking only of himself in the heat of the moment, but worst of all you see your deep-seated suspicions are confirmed. The bite isn’t just a bite at all. It’s a binding chain impervious to the effects of time or distance. Pero has tied you both to each other in an inescapable knot of his own making, using you as a shield in his fight against a mind-controlling madwoman, irreversibly plotting your life path in an entirely new direction.

He spared you and doomed you all at once.

Your chest feels so tight it hurts to draw a breath. And Pero, he’s just watching with those eerie fucking eyes of his that your nails itch to tear out of his skull.

“So, what, you’re just going to keep playing knight in shining armor and expect me to be grateful? ¿En serio?” (Seriously?) you ask sharply, sneering. The audacity of this wicked mutt. Permanently intertwining your lives without a lick of consent—you’ve had recurring bad dreams kinder than this fate. “And what’re you gonna do when I finally croak, huh? Become Tao Tei’s puppet again?”

A surge of smoke seeps from his fists, coiling around his arms in a shadowy haze before dispersing. There and gone.

“The only thing I expect from you is to come with me.”

Anger buzzes through you like lightning, white hot and raging. “Come with you?” you echo, all jagged words and hurled spit. “Fuck no, you seflish prick. You can’t just show up after five fucking cycles with your ridiculous sob story and expect anything after what you fucking did to me with those stardamned dogteeth you threw away your humanity for. Soul eaters are the bloodiest butchers of the whole realm. ¡Los odio a todos! (I hate you all!) Why the fuck would I ever willingly go with you anywhere?”

Unbidden tears sting at your eyes, held back by sheer stubborn force as you stare down the soul eater. His shock at your outburst is subtle, just the faintest twitch of his brow and the slight parting of his lips. Rejection probably doesn’t happen to him often. How good it feels then, reacquainting him with the feeling.

An eternity of silence seems to stretch before Pero finds his voice again, an accelerant provoking the fierce heat of your glare. “Te equivocas.” (You’re wrong.)

“I—”

“¡Silencio! (Silence!) Soul eaters aren’t the bloodiest butchers in the realm, not anymore,” Pero cuts you off unrepentantly, and your heartbeat stutters at the new declaration, dread stealing the reins from anger. “Tao Tei craves the power of the one thing soul eaters can’t successfully hunt for her: blue lantern lights. She’s begun creating a new army to serve her—stronger, faster, better than all of my kind combined. They’ll come for you, Moss, it’s only a matter of time. I’m just trying to delay the encounter long enough to rip Tao Tei’s head from her shoulders.”

That’s not possible, you want to protest. You’re making up lies to fuck with my head. No, no, no! I won’t believe it.

Over and over your life has fractured into pieces, leaving you to stitch yourself back up into some semblance of a person. When your parents died, you thought there was no recovering—but life went on, and so did you. When the Marrow was destroyed, you thought the pain would never cease—but life went on, and so did you.

And now here’s Pero, crash landing into your life like a meteor, obliterating everything familiar in his wake, no stable land in sight to regain composure. Life will keep marching ever onwards, for better or for worse that much will always remain a constant truth, but you…you aren’t incorruptible. Some wounds are too big and run too deep to be fixed. What chance do you have to survive against Tao Tei and her army?

Bite or get bitten.

Your gums hurt thinking about it.

“The only way to stop Tao Tei is to kill her,” Pero tells you, the blunt and honest truth. “And if I’m going to succeed in hunting her down, I need you alive and by my side.”

You shake your head, breath rattling on an exhale, thoughts spinning meaninglessly.

“I didn’t ask for your protection. I didn’t ask for any of this,” you begin, throwing out a hand, gesturing at nothing, at everything. “You do see how crazy this shit is, don’t you? You attacked my home, helped kill everyone I loved, and left me with a hole in my neck; now suddenly you show up out of the damn blue telling me my life’s in danger and I’m supposed to follow you? Just like that?” You laugh, dry and humorless. “What’s to stop me from shattering my lantern light right now and leaving you behind?”

Pero watches you with eyes empty and indefinite yet deeply penetrating, cutting right to the bone. The silence stretches long enough your anger intensifies, sizzling in your blood, and you subconsciously clench your hands.

And then he sighs, head hanging slightly, looking tired and worn out, like he feels just as fed up with everything as you do.

“The same thing that’s kept you going all this time, I guess. Your promise to live,” Pero says, perhaps the gentlest you’ve heard him sound, still blunt as a hammer. It subconsciously soothes something lodged deep inside you though, shoulders marginally relaxing their tense points beneath your clothes. “Trust me or don’t, that’s your choice, Moss. And if you think I’m thrilled about our situation, estás equivocada de nuevo.” (You’re wrong again.) His tone then hardens once more, a fierce and solemn oath. “There are three absolute truths you can be certain of though: Tao Tei will not stop coming after you until you’re dead, I can’t kill her without you, and I’ll fight the stars themselves to keep you breathing.”

You’ve camped out in the center of the Perobury Circle, staring up at the vast celestial sphere, head cushioned by your bag. For once you don’t feel judgement from the stars. You don’t feel much at all, actually. Your self-appointed soul eater protector stalks the terrain in your peripheral, flickering between the stone gaps, there and gone, there and gone, every once in a while tilting his nebulous head, listening to sounds beyond your range.

Your Chamaeleon tail’s long faded to black, the end of another phase, but your thoughts are too loud to sleep, mulling over events recent and old, no memory left untouched. Part of you wonders if you never woke up from the shrine, that Pero’s an elaborate creation of your subconscious trying to explain the unexplainable, because Pero…he’s someone like none other.

He’s challenging every preconceived notion you hold about soul eaters, revealing hidden depths you thought them incapable of. It was an impulse to distrust him upon sight alone even before you learned his backstory. A backstory you’re not even sure if you believe. Then again, once upon a time you hadn’t believed in the existence of soul eaters either. 

The ripple effects of Pero’s selfish choice in the Marrow are still revealing themselves like the multiple layers of an onion, impossible to ignore or forget, but a part of you, larger than you’d care to admit, can’t help pondering what you would have done if the roles were reversed, and you’d been the predator controlled against your will and he’d been the prey with the pretty blue lantern light. Could you have let him go so easily if he’d made all the pain end? Or would you have also acted out of an impulsive desperation, a need for freedom from a cruel master, and sunk your teeth in deep? 

The answer, to your chagrin, is not so clear cut.

Bite or get bitten. Four words lodged in your brain you can’t shake loose.

You’ve been bitten—and despite everything thrown your way, you’re still you. That must mean something.

Pero made his own choice, embracing the fangs of a beast, but aren’t your own teeth sharp as they are? Haven’t you bared them at your enemies without thinking, satisfying the primal instincts simmering in your bloodstream?

If Tao Tei’s real and she’s coming for your lantern light, then you must decide what to do about it. Running’s an option, it’s what you’ve done since the Marrow. But this time you’ll be running from an army dedicated to your demise, waiting for the precise moment your guard slips up. There will be no peace of mind. No moments to pause and catch your breath. You won’t be living anymore, merely surviving phase to phase until either death snuffs out your lantern light or Tao Tei harvests it.

Bite or get bitten. 

Fight back or run away.

Your tongue runs over your dogteeth, a decision reached.

[mythauragame]

Development Update - December 2023

Hi folks, a very Happy New Year to you!

In the spirit of new beginnings, Mythaura has entered a new chapter in its development, which we detail in our December development update. We also take time to review what was accomplished in 2023 (our first full calendar year with Mythaura!).

We've also got our color contest winners, the winning Fighter companion, and much, much more. And of course: our demo is now live! We're so excited for you to traverse the Wild Area, a procedurally generated map with monsters for your team of three Beasts to defeat.

Demo Trailer

Message From The Developers

We're thrilled to share this pivotal update about Mythaura’s development journey, which showcases many of the core features we have planned for this game. Today marks a significant transition: we're shifting from the intricate and challenging phase of game engine development to the exciting realm of feature development.

Since beginning this project, our focus has been on scoping and then crafting robust and core components. Features such as wild areas, battle, and multiplayer systems, not to mention the complex breeding system, passive effect management, player inventory system, and the beast image engine. We've also been diligently integrating these elements with complex user interfaces and ensuring they will work on most devices (an ever ongoing battle). It's been a journey of overcoming unknowns and technical challenges, and we're proud of what we've achieved.

Now, we're entering a new chapter. Our attention turns to fleshing out the game's features, with a special focus on developing an immersive questing and dialogue system, towns & shops, skill trees & progression, and tools for content development among other needed feature development. The hardest challenges have by and large been solved at this stage and our focus can now be how to best deliver an amazing gaming experience by bringing them together. This shift doesn't mean the work is done—far from it. But it's a major milestone that brings us closer to realizing our vision for the game.

We want to express our heartfelt gratitude for your unwavering support and enthusiasm, and look forward to a jam packed 2024.

Year In Review

This year has been marked by numerous milestones. Below is a recap of our key accomplishments, excluding the latest updates which have been a major focus of our efforts for the past several months.

1. Introduction of 'Supers': Enhanced breeding complexity by introducing 'Supers' as a new mechanic, making well-structured breeding projects more valuable. We started with the debut of our first Super: Tegu.

2. Special Additions: Welcomed the special Panda to our list of Specials.

3. Expressions for Beasts: Implemented expressions for beasts, a significant and ongoing undertaking that gives life to your beasts as they interact with NPCs.

4. Elements System: Introduced the Elements system, assigning each beast a pair of inherent elements. An element page was added that delves into the lore of each element.

5. Beast Sizes: Standardized beast sizes, assigning each beast a unique size within its species' range.

6. Beast Classes: Initial build of beast classes, providing each beast with a class-based playstyle and initial items.

7: Radiant Companions: Unveiled Radiant companions, rare alternate colorations for companions that are bound to be highly sought-after.

8: Deep Dive into Seasons: Explored the planned feature 'Seasons', designed to reward ongoing gameplay.

9: The Weekend Traveler: Designed the Kobold NPC known as the Weekend Traveler, who deals in ultra-rare goods, along with the Kobold non-player species.

10. New Colors on the Wheel: Established a sustainable method to introduce new colors to our color palette, allowing us to add 16 new colors this year (including the 3 contest winners).

11. Ephemeral Inks: Introduced Ephemeral Inks, a way to alter the colors of a beast.

12. Color Wheel Page: Created a dedicated page listing colors and corresponding inks.

13. PvP Battle Demo: Rolled out a demo showcasing our multiplayer technology in PvP battles.

14. Mutations Feature: Added Mutations as a rare breeding-only feature, beginning with our first Mutation: Piebald.

15. Items By You: Crafted 11 sponsored companions (excluding recolors), 5 sponsored apparel pieces, and 2 sponsored items.

16. New Game Engine: Designed a render pipeline that can create the 2.5D effects used in Wild Areas during exploration. Including, but not limited to, dynamic shadows, volumetric fog, real-time lighting, collision detection, special & particle effects, and gravity simulation, all accelerated by your GPU.

17. Granular Settings: Created a UI to manage game settings, graphics settings, audio settings, etc as well as added gamepad support with keybind remapping to Wild Areas.

18. Procedural Map Generation: Developed technology to procedurally generate bespoke Wild Areas.

19. Ongoing Production: Work on ongoing behind-the-scenes features such as worldbuilding, map design, systems design, and the exploration features we showcased on this update!

UI Update

You may notice the UI has received an update. This redesign focuses on being accessible for players using controllers, which is something we are working towards supporting on all screens and not just the Wild Area demo. The about page has also been updated. All the links to informational pages you would have found in the left-side menu of the previous design can be found on the about page with the exception of the /species page, whose contents has been moved to the about page.

We have also added an install button to the homepage that will display for users who have browsers which support Progressive Web Apps. This will add Mythaura to your taskbar/home screen for easy full-screen access.

Mobile and tablet users may enable gyroscope to interact with the parallax graphics if they would like.

Feature Spotlight: Wild Area

Wild Areas are a key pillar of Mythaura’s gameplay, and will be where you can expect to spend a lot of your time.

At A Glance

Procedurally Generated Levels

Traverse through uniquely generated levels with your trio of beasts. Control your adventure with WASD for movement and Space for jumps and shift for sprint. This can be remapped in the settings.

Each Wild Area boasts a series of floors. Your goal? Reach the top (or bottom)!

Your Safe Havens: Checkpoint Floors

Leave the Wild Area without any penalties

Choose to start from any previously reached checkpoint.

Encounter formidable bosses or minibosses at many of these checkpoints.

Prepare for the Journey: The Adventure Bag

Your Adventure Bag is your lifeline. Pack it with essential items for survival and success.

Provision Wisely: Stock up and get ready to face the unknown.

Limited inventory space for both what you bring with you and what you find along the way.

Keep Your Energy Up

Your team's energy is key. Keep it replenished with food from your Adventure Bag or found on your journey.

Running out of energy or facing defeat? You’ll black out, dropping your Adventure Bag's contents. But don't worry, you can retrieve them by returning to your last stand.

Encounter the Unexpected

From unlocking treasure chests with lockpicks to aiding NPCs, each exploration offers unique surprises.

Day and Night Dynamics: Encounter different enemies and events. A full day/night cycle completes every 12 real hours.

Wild Areas have natural water bodies, perfect for a fishing escapade.

Escalating Challenges

Increase difficulty with each New Game+ cycle and encounter new enemies and challenging secret bosses.

Multiplayer Co-Op

Up to 3 players can group up to take on a Wild Area together.

Take on enemies as a group with co-op battles.

See your friends jump and move in realtime, split up to make the most of your exploration while keeping tabs on your team-mates through the text chat and the minimap.

Fledgeling’s Forest Demo

The demo features a single floor of the Fledgeling's Forest Wild Area, with unlimited energy.

Day/Night Slider: Experience any time of day at your convenience. (Note: Creatures that spawn remain the same in the demo)

Currently Disabled: Fishing, lockpicking, loot & foraging, multiplayer, and other events are not available in this demo.

NG+ Cycle Update

In last month's update we revealed our plans for Mythaura's New Game+ system. Originally, our plan allowed players from NG+2 and beyond to create any Tier 1-Tier 3 Beast.

We have since changed it so that at the beginning of a player's NG+2 cycle they may make a Tier 1-Tier 3 Beast with up to three Specials, but NG+3 and beyond will not feature any custom Beast creation. The player will instead have access to a pool of NG+3-exclusive items that they will receive items from.

Thank you to our Discord members for all their input, it provided us with a much better direction to move forward with!

Winter Quarter (2024) Concepts

It’s the first day of Winter Quarter 2024, which means we’ve got new Quarterly Rewards for Sponsors to vote on on our Ko-fi page!

Which concepts would you like to see made into official site items? Sponsors of Bronze level or higher have a vote in deciding. Please check out the Companion post and the Glamour post on Ko-fi to cast your vote for the winning concepts!

Votes must be posted by January 29, 2024 at 11:59pm PDT in order to be considered.

All Fall 2023 Rewards are now listed in our Ko-fi Shop for individual purchase for all Sponsor levels at $5 USD flat rate per unit. As a reminder, please remember that no more than 3 units of any given item can be purchased. If you purchase more than 3 units of any given item, your entire purchase will be refunded and you will need to place your order again, this time with no more than 3 units of any given item.

Fall 2023 Glamour: Ghastly Grin

Fall 2023 Companion: Saddleback Rattlecat

Fall 2023 Solid Gold Glamour: Ryu

Custom Color Contest Winners

Last month we revealed the names of the winning colors of our first ever Custom Color Contest--now they've made their official debut in the Beast Creator!

Congratulations again to:

Xander's "Moonstone"

Rhahatl's "Wintergrass"

Andydrarch's "Trench"

We were so impressed by all the amazing entries you all submitted. We'll definitely be running more contests like this in the future, so please stay tuned for them in future updates. Thank you all for participating!

Fighter Class Companion Winner

The brutish Domestic Wolverine will be the starting Companion for the Fighter Class! These brave and hardy creatures are perfectly suited to aiding new Fighters. Next month, we will vote on the next class companion: Rogue.

Meet the Team

We've gotten to learn so much about our supporters over the past year and a half, we thought it was time to share a little bit about ourselves as well! On our About page you can find short bios on each of the devs, including their favorite Mythaura species, color from our color wheel, and other fun and (very miscellaneous) facts.

Safari & iOS Problems

At this time, iOS devices like iPad and iPhone are only partially supported. These are the issues that the dev team is aware of and actively working on:

On iOs, Safari forces a refresh if the memory usage spikes, forcing you back to the demo start page. This happens at different times on different devices dependent on its RAM usage.

Sometimes when starting a battle, battlers start shifted down, then snap to the correct position after interacting with a button.

The zoom in on a beast image is pixelated (Safari bug: https://bugs.webkit.org/show_bug.cgi?id=27684).

On Mac Safari, battle animations showing with a black background. iOS is fine. Solution is to disable battle animations in the settings.

You will need to be running at least iOS 15 and Safari version 15 or greater in order to use Mythaura.

Mythaura v0.25.1

Improvements to AI Behavior: Improved target selection and behavior profiles for AI enemies.

Class Infrastructure Addition: Added new class infrastructure.

Stat Effects from Classes: Implemented functionality where classes affect stats.

Glamour CMS Process and Fixes: Updated and fixed issues related to the glamour content management system process.

Ability Usage Tracking: Implemented increments in the 'ability times used' counter, enhancing tracking of abilities' usage.

Policy Code Refactor: Conducted a significant refactor of policy-related code, improving efficiency and maintainability.

Item Actions Refactoring and Rename Feature: Refactored item actions and added a new feature to rename items, allowing users to name their companions.

Book Item Type Addition: Introduced a new item type - books, adding to the game's content.

Encounter and Description Fixes: Fixed issues with encounter metadata and corrected miss descriptions.

Shadow Maps Generation: Added tools that allow the system to generate shadow assets.

PHP 8.3 Compatibility Updates: Made updates to ensure compatibility with PHP 8.3.

Queue Configuration and Fixes: Improved the configuration of job queues and fixed related issues.

Fixes and Updates for Battler State: Addressed issues in practical testing and refined the battler state management.

Refactor of Current Effects: Refactored how current effects are stored and managed. Moved current effects to state and resolved turn resolution issues.

Map Generation and Space Management: Improved the map generator to add empty spaces when out of view.

Behavior Selection and Shadow Rendering Fixes: Fixed issues with behavior selection and shadow rendering in battle states.

Party Leader Management Updates: Implemented changes for setting new party leaders upon defeat.

Stat Resolution Enhancements: Updated the resolution of stats, improving the mechanics of stat calculations.

PvP and Demo Battle Fixes: Made fixes specifically for arena PvP and demo battles.

State Management and Pruning: Improved state management, including pruning data when no longer needed by the system.

Species Data Addition: Added species data to the about page.

Rest & Defend Action Health Gain: Resting no longer increases health but does recover more stamina. Defending no longer recovers stamina.

Remade Companion Page: Used the new scene component to improve usability and performance of companion page.

Adjusted Radiant Overlay: This fixes an issue Firefox users had with viewing radiant companions.

Updated Tooltips: Tooltips have been replaced with a more modern library.

Gyroscope Support: The game can use a devices gyroscope to move parallax scenes around.

Websocket Connection Updates: Ensures websockets get cleanly disconnected at the end of every battle.

Improved Hitboxes and Rendering: Objects no longer appear to "float" regardless of their size and their hitboxes have been refined.

Added Global Sound - App can now maintain music across different pages and the settings control master, sound effects, and music seperately.

Enhanced Settings - Greatly improved the number of modular settings a user can use in both graphics and gamepad.

Wild Area Game Pad Support - Wild areas now support game pag usage. Full game pad support is in progress.

Virtual Joystick - Touch screen devices can control movement with a virtual joystick.

General Cleanups and Tweaks: Conducted cleanups and minor tweaks across various parts of the system.

Thank You!

Our first full calendar year with Mythaura has been one primarily focused on foundation-building. We're so excited to use these systems that we have built to create the content that players will engage with as they travel throughout Mythaura. Again, a heartfelt thanks to those who have supported us through all of this--we really couldn't have done it without you. We hope to deliver an experience that you'll want to revisit again and again.

As always: we'll see you around the Discord!

[azucar-skull]

Epic The Musical songs in a nutshell but I'm bad at explaining things

The Horse And The Infant - Surprise slumber party with the boys

Just A Man - YEET

Full Speed Ahead - That one Minecraft friend heading back to base after exploring for 14 hours

Open Arms - What I sing to myself while playing TLOU and blowing up people (not a joke--)

Warrior Of The Mind - How to slay and how to ✨️💅✨️ slay ✨️💅✨️

Polyphemus - Underage drinking

Survive - Me when I see an ant hill

Remember Them - Imagine doxxing yourself

My Goodbye - Fuck you Ody you are a waste of my time (get it? Cuz clock)

Storm - What I sing when there's even 1% precipitation

Luck Runs Out - Bro what the fuck

Keep Your Friends Close - I was expecting a man and then I saw boobs

Ruthlessness - The reason why I'm gay

Puppeteer - Girlboss

Wouldn't You Like - W E E D

Done For - What Sans sings before you fight him

There Are Other Ways - Every single fucking DnD bard ever

The Underworld - Oh we have trauma

No Longer You - Evil Kermit meme

Monster - Ody enters his emo phase

Suffering - Rolling high on deception but your opponent rolls nat 20 on stealth

Different Beast - Hamilton could never

Scylla - Didn't even try tequila

Mutiny - Tryna gentle parent my way outta this

Thunder Bringer - Misogyny

Legendary - Oh you poor sweet summer child

Little Wolf - Pretty sure this is against Greek hospitality code

We'll Be Fine - Making friendship bracelets for an owl

Love In Paradise - If Rapunzel was evil

God Games - Athena just constantly rolling for persuasion

Not Sorry For Loving You - 2012 breakup song

Dangerous - yuh get it Hermes

Charybdis - Sponge vs the sink drain as the water goes down

Get In The Water - Me to my dogs

Six Hundred Strike - Autotuned screaming

The Challenge - Queen being a queen

Hold Them Down - HUH?!?!?

Odysseus - Again, Hamilton could never

I Can't Help But Wonder - Cured my daddy issues

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again - 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[varanere00]

Royal Beasts my take #4

Scar reached out to carefully run his claws through Grians hair where he slept, his face smushed into Scars chest. They had stayed at the Perimeter til late in the evening, Grian and Doc playing around on the ButterBots for most of that time. Now, back at the castle, Grian had crashed hard after his shower. Crashed right into Scar that is, who had been lounging on the kings bed.

A soft smile played around Scars lips as he studied Grians sleeping face. After recovering from the startling experience that was suddenly finding himself in the middle of a huge hole, Scar had watched most of his summoners antics from the safety of Cubs arms. The amount of power and prowess his summoner had shown even in a playful environment was dazzling. It called to Scar, made him want to serve this powerful entity with his whole being.

He had been taking such good care of them too- Scar thinks this is the most people he's ever had to eat in such a short time frame, not to mention the amount of diamonds and cake he's been fed. Magic too, so much rich, dizzying, enticing, delicious magic. Scar is practically bursting with it, feeling it throb hot and ready within him.

Grian would understand them, he's sure of it.

"Don't." Cub clicks, interrupting Scars thoughts. "I can see you getting attached from here. Don't."

"But he's so much like us!" Scar protests, still running his claws through Grians hair.

"You're tired. Let's talk about this tomorrow, when we both have a clear head." Cub clicked, floating over to the bed and curling up next to Scar.

---

The next morning does not change Scars mind.

"We could have a good thing here!" Scar clicks at Cub during breakfast.

"We should find a way to off him and take back our freedom." Cub replies.

--- "He lets us eat people! Gives them to us to eat even!" Scar protests later, on the way to the library.

"He is using us to further is own agenda." Cub clicks back. "Distract him if he starts looking for me, I'm going to see what I can find on his kind of magic in here." Cub phases through a bookshelf and is out of Scars sight before he can reply.

Scar pouts about this, but does distract Grian when he gets bored in his meeting so he doesn't wonder where Cub went. The scalp scritches he gets from this only partially influenced his decision.

---

"He doesn't even see us as people." Cub brings up later that night, while Grian is busy preening his wings. Both Vex have taken up residence on the edge of the beds swooping and ridiculously high canopy. Scar approves of it, the pillars that hold it up are great for both climbing on and wrapping around seductively.

"We could tell him." Scar immediately shoots back. "Really!" he counters Cubs skeptical look. "He would still take care of us! Have you seen him with his Withers? Noone-"

"And who is to say he wouldn't just break us and keep us as mindless beasts?" Cub asks. "No, telling him is too risky."

"Yoohooo, Cat, Bunny, its bath time! And lets figure out if those wings of yours need preening." Grian calls from below, ending their discussion.

---

Bath time was not the problem. Scar enjoyed splashing about the ginormous tub Grian had in his bathroom, piling bubbles high, blowing them in everyone's faces, splashing water everywhere and generally being a nuisance. No, the issue was what came after.

"Come here Cat." Grian plopped down on the bed, motioning for Scar to join him. "Lets take a look at those wings, see what we're dealing with." He put down a book and opened it to a page depicting diagrams of different kinds of wings.

"Cat?" he looked up to where Scar hovered frozen.

My wings, Scar thought. He wants to touch my wings.

Its not like Grian had never touched either of their wings. Given how Scar had a habit of draping his entire body on him, accidental touched and little brushes were unavoidable. But he had never purposefully handled either of their wings.

"Go on then. You trust him, don't you?" Cub challenges from above. And yet, Scar still hesitates. Hesitates to put the literal manifestation of his soul and flight ability, given shape through magic, into the hands of his summoner.

"Get down here Cat." Grian grouses, obviously impatient. Slowly Scar descends, not being able to disobey a direct order given by his summoner. As slowly as he can justify as still obeying, he floats down until he is face to face with Grian. Who just grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. Before reaching out to grab his wings and spread them wide.

Scar jolts at the contact.

"Stay." comes the firm command from behind him and Scar is trapped.

"Hrmmm..." Grian theatrically hems and haws from behind Scar, holding up his book, trying to match Scars wings to anything in it.

"Why don't you lot have feathers? Feathers make preening so much easier!" Grian is running his hands over the base of Scars wings, his hot touch searing electric lines that blaze in the wake of his hand onto Scars skin. "Not even down fluff, just skin, all skin! I have no idea what to DO with any of this!" He still hasn't stopped petting Scars wing. The magic bubbling out of him, the faint pricks of Grians claws sliding over such sensitive skin has shivers running over Scar, has him tense and ready to snap physically and yet melting to utter mush mentally.

Just the bits of magic permeating through the barrier of Grians skin onto the sensitive membranes of Scars wings have his mind spinning and his instincts crooning in delight.

Scar physically collapses into Grians arms as magic and instinct pull him under the waves of his own mind, open, empty and pliant.

---

Scars next memory is of Cub petting his hair. Soft sunlight bathes them in a golden glow. Even softer sheets surround them. The scent of purple ozone that makes the brain itch when one thought about it too much hung in the air. Cub is quietly clicking a litany of 'come back to me's and 'wake up's, magic gently and lovingly woven into each one.

Scars mind returns to him slowly, like rising from the molasses of a good dream.

"Hmmm." he manages out, then snuggles deeper into Cubs arms. He's so relaxed, he wants to enjoy this soft floating feeling a bit longer.

"You've been out for three days" Cub whispers. "I've been trying to wake you up every chance I got." Cubs voice is hollow, in a way Scar has never heard before. That's not right. Cub should not be sounding so hollow, so sad. He should be happy!

Scar goes to say as much, only to discover that speaking requires too much effort. Instead he sighs and continues to enjoy the soft fluff left in his body and mind.

"I thought I lost you." Cub whispers next to him. Whispers, not clicks. The wobble of a barely suppressed sob is glaringly obvious to Scar.

'I'm here' he clicks to Cub. His pack should not be crying. There is nothing to cry about! He's so nice and relaxed floating on the high of... his ... summoners..... magic.

---

Scar jerks upright with a gasp, heart pounding out of his chest. Cub, next to him, takes in the golden, scarred skin, the chocolate brown hair and emerald green eyes. His Scar is truly back. Cub had shifted out of his vex forward form himself, silvery blue giving way to pale skin and black hair. It's not a wise thing to do, what with Grian still sleeping peacefully next to them. He needed this though, needed to see with his own eyes that Scar had not been wiped away like yesterdays equations on a chalk board.

Scar was here, he was whole, in his arms, Scar was here. He had not been turned into a Scar shaped void, a living corpse of his other half that he would have to see every day until he finally got them free of this mess.

Unshed tears of the past three tense days finally fall from Cubs lashes as he buries his head in Scars neck.

---

Their argument was not over after this.

Scar insisted it was an accident, willing to trust that Grian, if told what he had done, would not repeat the actions.

Cub was out for blood. He spent every minute he was willing to leave Scar alone with Grian combing the library looking for something. He never said what. Scar did not need to know.

---

"We should tell him. That we're, you know, people." Scar clicked, as they floated to breakfast the next morning. "Think about it. I'm sure he wouldn't be mad at us for hiding it, and then we could tell him when-" "No." Cub cut him off. "We kill him, and the get the hell out of dodge." Scar had Cub pinned to the nearest wall, claws circling his throat before he was even aware he had moved. Cub immediately relaxed in his grip. Scar slowly lowered his hand when Cub didn't push the issue once pinned.

"Let's not be so hasty about it. I'm sure we can work out something that all sides can agree on, yes?" Scar put on his most winning salesman smile.

"I'm sure." Cub said, completely deadpan. Scar knew he would continue to plot against their summoner, and was happy to let him do so, so long as he didn't voice those thoughts and get Scars instincts all twisted up.

---

"Hey Scar." Cub had just returned from his nightly trip to the library, leaving only after Grian fell asleep and returning well before he awoke. "I might have something. Nothing... final, but a way to... hold him should we need it."

"We won't." Scar argued. "Can't you see, he only has our best interest at heart! He may be a little confused on what that is, but hes trying!"

"Scar. He nearly wiped your brain clean by accident. We need to be as far away from him as we can." Cub was not listening to Scar. "But Cubbie, that's exactly why we need to talk to him! You know, talking, using our words, to tell the summonerman what we need, what we want-" Cub bodily slamming him down on the bed put an abrupt halt to the charm Scar was weaving with his words. The rage clouding Cubs face actually had increased with each magic laced word.

"Don't."Cub snarled. "Not for him. Not when he nearly cost me you." Fury blazed high in his eyes as he met Scars. Shuffling from the other side of the bed drew their attention. Grian had woken up.

Scar went lax under Cub, conceding his defeat to not having won over Cub, and not wanting to prolong their fight. Grian didn't like it when they fought. He would fret over them, and that made Cub nervous. Cub had been staying as far away as possible from Grian ever since the wing incident.

Scar whined out a high ton as Cub let him go and returned to the far side of the room. He hated fighting with pack. This was far from the first time they had gotten into an argument, not even the first of this magnitude, but he still hated being at odds with pack.

---

"I still trust him!" Scar was hissing his clicks, pinned down by Cub against the office wall.

"We will be better off once he's dead!" Cub shot back, teeth snapping dangerously close to Scars skin.

"Alright, that is IT, I have had it with you two!" Grian stood up from his desk. "If you cant get along, then so be it." He marched off, briskly motioning for his Vex to follow. Both of them did with some trepidation.

Grian marched silently through the halls of the castle until he got to the menagerie. There, he made a bee-line for a certain room. Scar recognized it immediately. It was the room where they had first woken up, where they kept most of their clothes, where he had built a den out of every bolt of silk he could get his hands on.

"If you two won't behave and get along, then I guess this is the only solution." Grians magic spread throughout the room, raising a wall up in the middle of it. Right between Scar and Cub.

"I guess I'm just going to have to separate you." Grians words echoed through Scars head as the magic did a final pass, coating the wall. The door fell shut, muffling his senses and cutting off his Bond with Cub.

He could no longer feel his other half.

Scar fell to his knees and wailed.

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 7

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of The Lambs Wolves Wear is here.

“You promise you won’t get mad?” “Tommy” asked nervously, pacing before him.

“I could never be mad at you,” Philza gently told the thing that had stolen his son from him. The shapeshifting demon dithered, wringing his claws. Then the towering beast crouched before him, piercing yellow eyes skewering the tiny mortal. The muzzle housing sharp fangs and rancid breath butted its nose against his chest. 

“Can you pleeeease make that a blood oath?” A growl hissed in his throat as Philza refused, but it turned into a whimper as Philza gave him a disappointed look. Philza wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gained dominance over a demon, but “Tommy” was utterly terrified of his wrath today. Strange. Usually he scoffed at mortal disapproval. The demon mulled his quandary over, then declared: “If you get mad at me, I shall slaughter you and raze your land. I shall curse your bloodline to a thousand generations so that your ancestors are ashamed and your descendants revile you. 

“What have I said about death threats?” “Tommy” snarled in a lash of embers, and Philza braced himself not to flinch. Fear only encouraged “Tommy” further, and any threat could be turned into a bluff if you challenged it bravely enough. Not that he was all bark and no bite; the beast had wicked fangs, but only if you didn’t evade in time. After months living with the expectation he would be ripped to shreds the moment he slipped up, Philza was far less phased than he used to be. 

“But it’s a special occasion. Can’t you make an exception this one time?” Philza stood his ground, and the demon’s eyes darkened, thunder rolling overhead. Body contorting in gut wrenching ways, the shapeshifter surged forward in a blur of morphing form. “Tommy” twisted himself into the disguise of Philza’s son once more, tears blossoming in his adorable eyes as the demon begged. 

It felt like the wind was sucked out of Philza as the arms of his missing son wrapped around his waist, nuzzling into his side. So rarely had “Tommy” worn the skin of Tommy after the deceit was revealed that Philza had forgotten how potent it was. The plaintive cries mewling out of his not-son-never-my-son’s throat pierced his heart as the demon manipulated the soul of the bereaved parent. With a shaking gasp Philza remembered to breathe. “Tommy, I said no.” 

“But I’m really, really scared, and if I was allowed to rend you limb from limb it would make me feel much safer.” 

“Unfortunately, sometimes we have to be brave and kind even when we’re terrified. It becomes easier the more you try.” When Philza carded his hands through the golden hair of the thing pretending to be his son, it didn’t destroy him like it used to. Quiet was the terror so palpable he once choked on it, the grief so soul wrenching he thought he should break down weeping. He’d spent so long surviving that the revulsion no longer registered. Now, it was simply a necessity. 

The boy in his arms unraveled with a growl, the giant demon towering over him once more. “Tommy’s” fangs snapped close around Philza, ripping into his shirt and dragging him upward like a kitten caught by its scruff. “Tommy” prowled away from the home, roaming over pasture and shying away when a hoard of “Technoblade’s” undead warriors surged out in waves of phantasmal forces to rebuke him for almost trampling the crops. “Tommy’s” growl reverberated Philza’s bones, narrowly avoiding dropping the dangling human and causing him to splatter on the ground far below. 

Eventually, Philza was dropped a nearly safe amount. Groaning, he peeled himself off the grass. Having grown comfortable with the demon, who hardly ate any of them ever, the cows didn’t even look up from grazing. Well, save for a young calf, who blinked with languid eyes and trotted up to Philza, nudging him for treats. “Tommy” dithered, pacing in a fashion that left scorch marks across the ground. He scowled at the calf and shoved it carelessly away from Philza. “--and, and you promise you won’t get rid of me. Right dad?” 

“I could never.” What type of power did “Tommy” imagine he had? The beast butted his horned head against Philza, and he stroked “Tommy’s” muzzle as scarlet slit eyes narrowed upon him. He’s never seen the demon so cagey, but his assurances seem to soothe his bristling spines. 

“Tommy” sighed as he was scratched behind the ears, and came to a resolve. Before he could react, a nova built in his maw, plasma crackling fiercely into blinding radiance. His jaw unhinged into bristling flames, and “Tommy” breathed out pure hellfire in an all consuming column, smiting the calf. Philza sighed. Sure. Why not. “Did you drag me out here just to barbecue a cow?”

“You said you wouldn’t get-!”

And then Philza saw the charred husk of the calf. Or rather, the lack of it. Because sitting in a pile of charred grass was Tommy. He crawled away to fresh vegetation, and continued happily munching grass. 

Philza whipped around to the demon. “You turned my son into a COW?!” 

“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T GET MAD!”

“What if I sold him? Or ate him???”

The demon paused. “...I didn’t think about that…” 

Tommy was incredibly disorientated as Philza helped him to his feet. He didn’t stop chewing the grass in his mouth. “Oh hey Dad, I had the weirdest dream…” the rest of his sentence was muffled by Philza wrapping him in a bone crushing hug. Philza sunk to his knees, clutching his child to his chest. He felt so, so cold, absent of the hellfire that coursed under the skin of the demon who wore his small body like a pretty mask. The real Tommy. His Tommy. He cradled the boy’s face reverently, soaking it in. 

“Huh?” Tommy blinked at him as Philza began to cry. “What’s wrong dad?” 

“Nothing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “Nothing at all.”

And then Tommy was ripped from his arms, “Tommy” snarling at him. “You said you wouldn’t replace me. You SAID–” The demon was cut off as Philza gathered him in a tight embrace. “Tommy” went utterly still, but Philza didn’t let go even as his skin began to burn, thanking the demon for returning his son. At his words, “Tommy” began to tremble. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really, sorry, I should’ve given Tommy back weeks ago. I thought– I thought you’d get rid of me once you had him.” He sounded guilty for his doubt, despite the fact that had been Philza’s plan for months. 

“Of course not. My heart is big enough for the both of you.” He held the both of them close. 

Tommy squirmed, not entirely sure what was happening. “Uh that’s nice Dad. Can I go back to eating grass now?” 

“Tommy” brightened. “Yeah! Now that you know you can stop worrying about him! He was really happy as a cow, I promise.”

“NO!” It snapped out harsher than Philza intended, and his stomach flipped. He couldn’t ruin this now that he had his real son back. In fact, it would only become harder now that he had to protect a vulnerable child incapable of matching the monsters wit for wit. A deep breath. Okay. “It’s not nice to turn people into animals, okay?” Tommy was at once enticed, demanding to know if the demon could turn the baker into an ugly toad. The pair’s mischievous smile matched perfectly, and Philza winced. “And, now that Tommy is back, I don’t want the two of you to get mixed up. It will be a lot easier if you pick a different name and form. We talked about indoor forms, remember? Like the cat? You make a very formidable cat, I think-”

“Nah,” Tommy dismissed. He stuck his tongue out, and “Tommy” matched it with a forked one. “I think I can work with this.” An evil grin spread over both Tommy’s faces.

Next>

[inconsistentlywrittensoul]

I’m way behind on posting about my rewatch - there’s plenty I do want to say about S2, and there’s a whole essay about gender and Phases that I’m probably never going to write - but I’m into Season 3 and I really want to note how much early S3 establishes the issues that are going to drive Buffy’s long breakdown in seasons 6 and 7.

Firstly, Buffy's tendency to pull away from her friends, feeling she has to take care of everything for herself and protect them from her problems and her feelings rather than sharing them. It’s a consistent pattern, and we see it in her running away at the end of Season 2, and continually refusing to talk about what happened with Angel with both the Scoobies and Faith. When she eventually does try to talk to her assigned school counsellor about Angel, she explicitly says she can’t talk to anyone else about what’s happening (only to find him dead, which I’m sure didn’t help).

Of course, this isn’t just a flaw of Buffy’s - her friends have a pretty big role to play, especially Xander. His sanctimonious, judgemental whining about Buffy leaving, as well as anything to do with Angel, does a lot to push Buffy away. (Not to mention the first thing he does when he finds out Angel is back is try to manipulate Faith into murdering him.) It’s also hard not to suspect that Xander’s lie back in Becoming did a lot of damage - because of that, Buffy thinks even Willow hates Angel and wouldn’t understand her continued feelings for him. ‘Kick his ass’ made Buffy feel like literally no-one is on her side.

Regardless of the reason, here we see the beginning of the split that will make Buffy feel increasingly isolated and unable to trust or rely on anyone as the series continues into the depression years, especially Season 6. But we also see the start of a pattern that will become a central flaw in Season 7 - her inability to express empathy or care for anyone who she sees as a reflection of herself.

I’m actually not talking about Faith here - that’s related, but it’s also a whole can of lesbian worms I don’t want to get into right now. But aside from Faith, in the first few episodes of Season 3 there are two girls who mirror Buffy, specifically in her relationship with Angel. In Anne, we have Lily/Anne, who’s wants to spend the rest of her life with her older boyfriend, who has a criminal past and seems a little crappy but also genuinely loves her and is trying to be good to her, and who ends up being sent to hell. Then in Beauty and the Beasts, we see Abby, who started dating a guy who seemed nice at first, but who turned out to be an abusive monster. Both are very obvious parallels to Buffy in her relationship with Angel (in soul-having and soulless forms), and serve as ways for her reflect on that relationship.

But what I want to focus on is the fact that, while Buffy does try to help both girls, she’s also unusually harsh and unempathetic towards them. Her attitude is ‘This is how things are, and you need to set aside your emotions and just deal with it immediately and without emotional support’; it reflects how she treats herself, but it’s also a pattern in how she treats people whose challenges reflect hers. Which will come to a head in how she treats the Potential slayers in season 7, and the way she alienates everyone around her in part through her treatment of them (and therefore also her treatment of herself).

It’s just interesting to see these issues that will dominate the last couple of seasons come across so strongly in this early part of Season 3.

[mattywrites]

Was going through one of those "I won't share anything about myself with the internet anymore" phases. It happens sometimes. The weather here in my little nook of the Victorian coast has been sublime. Sun's out all morning and well into the afternoon. I've been getting my coffee in the morning, whipping my clothes off, and just standing outside. The sunlight heals parts of your soul you didn't know needed healing. Hitting the weights pretty hard and I've gotten back into boxing again, too. Just need to tweak my diet ever so slightly, increase the protein intake (there's only so much tofu a vegan can eat...) and lower the carbs. I've switched to a low carb granola so that should make a minor but hopefully not negligible change to how I'm feeling and the way in which I carry myself throughout the day. There comes a point where you know you could do just a little bit more to look and feel better. Been getting tattooed and spending quite a bit of time with my close friends. There's always this irritability and frustration I've been dealing with lately although it's been a little better since Wednesday/Thursday. I think I'm probably too harsh on myself and I'm trying to stay pure, not be reckless with my sexual appetite, but it's a fucking challenge. You weigh that shit up inside. You have the sex and it's good but it leaves you spiritually hollow, or you don't have it and you feel all pent up and grouchy but you know there's this clarity to your feelings. You reach this point internally where you can smell the blood in the air, and it's in those moments, I know for a fact that we're all just fucking animals with a major God Complex, thinking we're above every other creature on this earth. If we had it our way we'd rip through one another like mindless beasts, fucking and fighting until we were torn to shreds. Just like the rest of them. So much for godliness, right?

[stolenhead]

Re: Getting to know the poet, as requested by @reinventing-wednesday (thank you for the tag, we have crocheting and cooking in common. Well. I haven't crocheted anything in years but I have made some very large hats in the past.)

I'm super boring and don't have favorites of things so this is a challenge for me haha for those ice breaker things in college i would always say "i like music" like, hello, i have a pulse i guess [1]

I'm pretty active. I do a lot of running and weightlifting (and yoga and meditation so I don't destroy my joints/life.) It takes up much h of my free time so I must mention it [2]

I hate running but love food so [3]

I went through a (long) phase during which I refused to watch American television, so I'm like 10 or 15 years behind on the big shows. Jk we watched blood of the dragon or whatever it's called [4]

I know I'm a hater, but that's okay I'm only hurting me. [5]

So, we're watching the walking dead and there's no. way. the governor beats merl. Big eye roll. [6]

The only thing I miss about the south is food truck mangonadas. Can't find anything even close in the midwest unless I make it myself. [7]

I cohabitate with a man and two beasts. The beasts are cats. Or so they claim. [8]

I'm California sober but i never been to California. [9]

I prefer a window seat until i have to pee. [10]

That was really like 30 facts.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tag others, but not knowing never stopped me before. No pressure. @poppiesandpromises @rineedagger @critical-reflex @purplemonkeysexgod69 @zealouswinds

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

God now that I truly think about it... (Shadow of the Erdtree Spoilers under cut. I will be going over every remembrance boss.)

Never have I been more disappointed in a boss than with Promised Consort Radahn. What really makes it sting is the boss lineup this DLC has.

It has truly elevated Elden Ring to one of my favorite games. Stuff that never even clicked before in the base game finally clicked, I love a large portion of Elden Ring's boss design philosophy because it tends to be tough but fair, and the game gives you multiple options to handle all these different challenges. Even some of the worst bosses, with stuff like Godskin Duo, have big workarounds that make them very manageable! (not to say godskin duo is good, just something you can deal with).

Then you look at Promised Consort Radahn, and just... look I need to relay my feelings on all these DLC fights.

Rellana feels a bit too swift for my taste, but still a fun and engaging fight which really is quite interesting!

Divine Beast Dancing Lion really does feel quite simply... Divine when you get the hang of it.

Putrescent Knight was a fight I hated at first, but then... after making it pretty much the first boss I fight when I get to the Shadow Realm... it has become one I am incredibly fond of, and a fight that is, again, fun and engaging!

Scadutree Avatar is an easy favorite of mine. Gives weight to the concept of a "Tree Avatar", is a very engaging fight with many twists and turns, and has a large emphasis on one big weakspot!

Bayle is really amazing. Minus some lingering hitbox jank and the way fire interacts with the arena sometimes, he really did perfect the boss philosophy behind dragon bosses in Elden Ring I'd say. Better than any ancient dragon, better than Placidusax I'd say. Really I am not terribly fond of Placi. Too much big AOE usage and very little movement from the actual boss, only occasionally using lightning claws to keep you in it. Bayle however, is special. The fight actively encourages you to aim for the head, Bayle is aggressive, forcing you to dodge attacks that come at an interesting pace, and adapt to unusual punish windows, and weakpoints, and overall... is just an absolute fucking spectacle that I adore. Would love to learn this boss more in more playthroughs.

Midra is peak, problem is he died quite quickly on my first playthrough, so I can't say too much about him.

Messmer...

Messmer was a turning point.

Messmer is one of my absolute favorite bosses in Elden Ring. In fact, he's one of my favorite souls bosses, period!

So much about him is done right! He harness the Elden Ring boss design philosophy so perfectly! Also just. The way he recontextualizes so many fucking things with him and his mother Marika, and the sort of emotions the fight has... god.

Anyways

Commander Gaius is an alright fight. The changes made to his arena placement are very welcome. Overall a pretty fun fight, all things considered.

Romina is just... god she is just spectacular in so many ways! I love Romina! Mwah! 💋

Metyr is quite the interesting boss... very unusual, very odd, but also, definitely a fun time! Very reminiscent of some unusual fights in Bloodborne, namely Rom. Metyr is still very distinct though, of course.

Then...

God Damn it.

God fucking damn it.

god.

Promised Consort Radahn.

Ok I will be honest

I haven't beaten this fight, but honestly, I don't really want to.

I don't see him as a test of skill, or a fun challenge.

I see him as a test of patience. A test of patience at best even! Like just. So many things about this fight are fucked.

The first phase is great though, I must say! Despite it feeling somewhat frustrating, it has a lot of fun things to it! Though... some of it did feel quite bullshit... which just... oh god. It's like a prelude to what awaits you.

The fucking Second Phase.

Everything falls apart here.

The beams of light mess with your vision, and don't have quite the clear telegraph. I've seen how you dodge them and it's just... hugging against the boss. Like just. It feels like in this way, they enforce a very specific way of playing. Problem is, this way of playing isn't fun!

Then there's also the way other things mess with perception...

Then there is the inconsistent arena structure...

Then there is the nuke that comes out so quickly you can't get away from it 90% of the time...

There's the unsatisfying feel to how suffocating the attack strings begin to feel...

There's the fucking clone attacks that look fucking stupid and feel dumb.

There's the roll catches that will hit you like. All the time.

It doesn't feel right listing it all, but like. I am sure anyone else who has reached his second phase has their own input to give here.

My main input is that it just quite simply... wasn't fun...

In fact, it is bullshit.

Bullshit in that the challenge doesn't feel too consistent, bullshit in that it just feels so suffocating, and how that suffocation works against Elden Ring's design philosophy, and just. It's not fun. It's not fun to either squint your eyes and find a way to roll through that nauseating barrage of light, or take the other best option that I have heard, which is, I kid you not, to just, "Block Everything with a Shield".

...

That's. No. Just. No.

What really gets me is how in my experience, DLC final bosses not only are the most fun, but are also just. So amazing in so many ways. Some of the most emotionally moving the series has to offer, some of the toughest, but some of the most satisfying ever.

When I say this, who I really pertain to is Orphan of Kos, and of course...

Slave Knight Gael. One of my favorite bosses ever. Not just in terms of Souls games. But in terms of EVERY game. Everything about Gael is so amazing... genuinely, no boss has caused my heart to stand still, only to rush back to life quite like Gael. No boss has made me shed deep, sincere tears quite in the way Gael has. I love Gael. Gael means the world to me, and how he so thoroughly thematically captures the end of an entire world, the end of Dark Souls as a series. That there is nothing after him, that he stands alone at the end, due to him just living long enough to outlive everything. It's just... god I could keep going. I adore Gael. Adore him.

While Radahn... yeah I went over it.

Everything about that fight feels scuffed. Extremely scuffed.

Hell, you can actually look at what attributes Radahn and Gael share in terms of gameplay, and Gael does LITERALLY FUCKING EVERYTHING better. Like. Gael is the template here. You don't throw out what Gael did so well in pursuit of this overly-ambitious slog of bright lights and boringly-long attack strings.

Just. God.

What I really have to say here is that Promised Consort Radahn disappoints me so much.

How they have made such an amazing lineup of bosses in this DLC as well, which if I will likely talk about more in the future, and continue to speak about with an air of fondness, fun, and respect! Compared to what was supposed to cap off the DLC it's just...

So horrifically disappointing.

When compared to the Orphan, it's so horribly disappointing.

When compared to Gael, it's so atrociously disappointing.

I make this long post to say just.

I do not like Promised Consort Radahn.

[ms-m-astrologer]

2025 Aquarius Cross-Quarter Day

Monday, February 3, 14:10 UTC

Chart erected for Washington, DC

It’s a Crescent-phase Aquarius cross-quarter, which is appropriate for the Northern Hemisphere - time to gather and mobilize resources for the upcoming season. Both Aquarius (Sun) and Aries (Moon) are independent, individualistic signs. We can focus successfully on getting our acts together, on determining what we want to do and how we want to do it.

I am a little taken aback by the 29° angles at Washington, DC. Changes in approach.

Most of the thingies are concentrated between Pluto and the Moon. A pretty intense 80° of Zodiac, with Uranus/Taurus, Jupiter Rx/Gemini (but about to station direct!), and Mars Rx/Cancer giving some support or challenge to that concentration.

The Lady Asteroids Juno and Vesta in Scorpio, as well as Pallas/Capricorn, also give us some perspective away from such intense self-focus - in fact, they’re involved in the only oppositions in the chart - except the difficulty here could well be the thought, “Why isn’t anyone else as focused on me, as fascinated by me, as I am?” It’s difficult to understand other people when you can barely maintain a grasp on understanding yourself.

Uranus/Taurus is square both the Sun and Ceres in Aquarius. Pulling away from familial/tribal identities, the struggle to stay autonomous, letting that freak flag fly and damn the consequences. Can we stand up for ourselves without getting in people’s faces about it? Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Mars and Chiron are exactly square. We have concerns about wounds and boundaries. Where we’ve been hurt before, we dread hurting again.

=+*+=+*+=+*+=

Aquarius is considered a barren sign, horticulturally speaking. And there’s nothing growing in these parts, at this time. Sometimes it does get very warm, and trees start to bud and crocuses to bloom - and then we get two feet of snow. Whoops.

There is the wacky Aquarian tradition of “Groundhog Day” - just the most preposterous thing. (Although the beast itself is a cutie! Photo via Wikipedia:)

The tradition is, the critter sticks its head out of its burrow, and if it sees its shadow it gets scared and retreats back inside and we have six more weeks of winter - but if it doesn’t see its shadow, it emerges, and spring officially hath sprung. (Does that seem backwards to anybody else?)

Locally we have a stuffed marmot, “Flatirons Freddy,” which gets exhumed and displayed every February 2. Ick. (Photo, City of Boulder:)

There isn’t even any particular food I associate with this time of year - although the upcoming holidays remind me of the sugar cookies my mom used to bake for Valentine’s Day - and we always ate pancakes for dinner every Shrove Tuesday.

The primary thing I notice, year after year, is the beginning of the gradual return of sunlight. Always sneaks up on me, too. I suddenly realize, “Whoa - it’s after 5 pm and it’s still light outside!”