#we see his skeleton on the throne

[legendary-pancakes]

Linktober 2022: Day 20 - Storm

started playing alttp around the time I started working on the prompts and I just finished it very recently

spoilers for the game in the tags

[sukunas-wife]

Sealed 2

1 3

“Year after year after year the hours pass and it never ends, I’ve been here for millennia is Ryomen even trying?” You sat down onto the pile of bones, skeletons supporting you the best they could. The Prison Realm had become your domain, you’d molded every bone and skeleton to do your work. Your elbow resting on the spine of skeleton your cheek pressing against your fist as you stared bored.

Looking down the pile of bones and skeletons holding up your throne that you had formed to match Sukuna’s you saw two Skeletons battling for your amusement. Sighing you slouched back in your throne, watching the two headed four armed skeleton using sharpened bones as spears, fighting a towering 6 armed Skelton. His arms like vices ready to grab and shove whatever into its gaping rib cage to crush it. “This needs more!” The two skeletons looked up at you, before the rumbling of the skeletal centaur could be heard, a centaur of bone, his torso with 4 arms, it held an extended spine as if it were a chain. Lower two arms ready to grab at anything, more specifically rip off the head and spine of its opponents.

“YES! THIS IS what we need!” You smacked the skeleton who stood near you on the back. His bones shaking as you leaned forward, you’d find out soon which of your creations was truly the strongest. “Let’s get this show started-“ it was quick blur of red and black before you were standing head tilted to the side as you stared irked at the man in front of you. “Do YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID.”

“PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I BEG FOR MERCY I SPENT MUCH OF MY LIFE LOOKING FOR THIS TREASURE THATS BEEN hidden away heating the tales of how the sourcerer’s of old time had wrongly imprisoned a Diety of Fertility separating her from her son. I just come to beg and ask you give my wife your blessing to have a child were old in age but she’s always prayed and begged. I’ve run out of hope until i heard you tale, i beg and hoped you’d have mercy- Sit up” was all you said. The man went from groveling to sitting back on his heels. Sighing the conflict inside of you was great. You looked around tucking your arms into the sleeves of your worn Kimono. “Bring me your wife,” you looked up through the canopy of the trees you see the sun at mid day, “you have two sunsets and then I leave.” The man quickly bowed again at your feet thanking you before running off. You kicked the prison realm box “Damnit who won!” You snatched it up, the air was familiar, you started to look around. The reason it was so familiar was because it wasn’t to far from where you had been sealed. The skeletal remains of the sourcerers made you seethe. You found the remains of the man who sealed you grabbing his skull with your free hand making it look at you, “my child my husband,” you crushed it without fail, “you took it all from me and now everyone will pay.” Th tears falling down were hot. Dropping the remains you started your first technique “Reanimate.” A wave of purple radiated from you, hitting every border of the palace. Skeletal remains shaking and coming together to stand, “Get this place back into shape.” They started moving, you made your way inside the palace the inside help had been reanimated also, your ladies in waiting now remains, standing beside you as you enter “Find fabric I need new robes.” They rushed off and you made it to your old room, the massive bed your son had fallen off many times when he would try to sleep with you and his dad. The wardrobe filled with your husband’s old robes. The room was dusty and smelt humid, shoving the window open you tried not to cry, on the window sill was a talisman Sukuna had created for Yuji. Sniffling you turned your head, finding a small blanket and stuffed Tiger doll Yuji carried around that morning. A gift for his 2nd birthday that he loved and it showed on the tigers rugged appearance.

“My Yuji..” your faint whisper sounding so loud in the silence as you ran your fingers of the stuffed doll holding it close to your chest as you made your way around the room planning your moves. Your plans had always been to follow in similar steps to Sukuna. Except that you’d be known for good to balance out the evil perspective they had of your husband. First, fix your palace. Second, create miracles in the closest town or village to make profit and move into a bigger city to improve profits. Find wherever Sukuna had been sealed away, and break him free. Find Yuji and take him back from this cruel world.

❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️

It’s been over 100 more years and you’d grown accustomed to the changing in technology and times, passing the crowds into your shrine you smiled ruffling the heads of kids who smiled up at you, rubbing the plump bellies of pregnant women you passed and “blessing” the sick with instant health with simply laying a hand on them and smiling kindly.

Entering your shrine for the last time your Gentlemen in waiting was packing up what was left. The last thing left was the main room where your wide throne sat, you’d be leaving it being to your followers, the cushions you provided for your followers during your sessions. “Morí.” You called out and he came from the room he was in bowing and holding his hands out in front of him. “Yes Lady Y/n?”

“Morinozuka, we’re leaving tonight to Sendai City. The mark of my binding vow is burning more, but are you sure that’s where we need to go?”

“Yes Lady Y/n.” He spoke not looking up from his bow. You nodded, “then it’s final.”

❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️

“So this is the place?” You turned to Morí and he nodded. “It’s not as lavish but this is the closest we can get… Your excellency.. I strongly recommend you continue to hide your cursed energy until I suggest otherwise.” You nodded getting out of the car “Very well, I will.”

It was morning when you had arrived, standing in front of the door to the house you looked over an elder man was walking out of his house he looked over and you smiled at him and he had a very faint twitch of his lip. Until a man with pink hair came out, follows by a woman with black hair and you felt it. The pulse of cursed energy and instinctively you grabbed Mori by his robes and pulled him towards you, “That woman, she’s no woman that- is the carrier of your child.” You head snapped instantly to him, “The father of my child, that’s the sorcerer who knew Sukuna, and he is going to mother my child?” Your face showing your exact emotions Mori placing a hand over yours, “Lady Y/n, please recollect your thoughts. I can assure you he will NOT be mothering your child, and her husband will not be fathering him either.” Letting go of his robes you nodded. Looking over your shoulder you watched the couple get into a car the elder man scowling when they started to drive away.

Turning to look at you he tucked his arms behind his back walking over, “Good Morning I’m L/n Y/n.” You greeted bowing after you moved closer, he dismissed you with a wave of your hand. “Morning, Wasuke Itadori.” He cocked a brow and looked over at your house, “It’s been up for sale for a long time. Almost 3 years before someone has moved in.” You looked back at your house, “I moved in to get closer to work. I thought it was just a blessing for everything to line up so perfectly.”

He nodded, “Well, blessings only go so far here. My son’s wife is something I’d consider to be a curse.” You nodded, “oddly enough I wouldn’t disagree. I know a snake when I see one and from a brief glance I wouldn’t trust her at all.”

He nodded, “Have a good day moving in, if you need help my son and his wife will be returning soon. I’m sure either of them would be willing to help with any problems.”

“Have a good day Mr.Itadori.” You bowed your head slightly and you both went separate ways.

“Mori,” you sighed entering your house “count these days.”

[steddielations]

ao3 | hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, pre s4

"Hello? Ed, is that you? What's all that noise? What's goin' on?" 

"Wayne, can you come pick me up ... I’m at a party at the Harringtons’ house ... I don't wanna talk about it, man … Can you please just come get me? Please." 

Eddie hangs up the phone and swallows down the lump in his throat. 

He refuses to cry in Steve Harrington's kitchen.

Making his way through all the teenagers crowding this soulless house, he blinks the fog from his eyes. No tears are gonna take him back to half an hour ago, shooting the shit with his dad in the van, happily ignoring years worth of bloody hatchets and skeletons between them. 

While Eddie was desperate for it to be real this time, dear old dad hadn’t changed at all, taking off with Eddie’s van the second he came inside to scope out the party. Sorry to all the manicured girls of Loch Nora that pay pretty pennies for his shitty joints, but his stash is long gone, along with all the cash he made the last few days. 

It’s all in the wind with Al Munson like always.

The muggy air washes over Eddie when he steps outside, rubbing his eyes against the cool sting of wetness brimming in them. He’s not gonna cry in front of Steve Harrington’s pool either, even if he’s alone out here. 

It’s like a different dimension from the crowd inside, but everyone knows the pool is off limits, though no one seems to know why. Everyone just falls in line to the will of the king. Whatever, Eddie doesn’t give a shit he just needs a minute to breathe. He needs a damn cigarette, too, but of course, his smokes were in the van.

“Hey Munson, you sold out already or something?”

Eddie’s hands drop from his face, whipping around to where the voice came from. Caught off guard, embarrassment rises in his cheeks under the gaze of the man himself, Harrington. There’s an almost eerie blue glow casting off the water where he’s sitting poolside in a deck chair, strangely alone out here when he’s got a whole party inside.

Eddie clears his throat, trying to shield his vulnerability from a moment ago, “Nah man, all my shit was stolen.”

“That bites. Do you know who took it?” Harrington sounds oddly… concerned. “I bet it was that dickhead, Hargrove. I kicked him out like 10 minutes ago.”

“What’s it to you?” Eddie shoots back, instinctively distrustful, hackles raised like a cornered animal. He’s already taken a knife to the back tonight.

Harrington holds up a hand as if to ease him, like somehow in all his prim Polo-wearing properness, he’s used to handling wild things. “Just figured maybe I could help you get it back.”

“Why do you care?” Maybe Eddie’s being too defensive, it’s not like Harrington has ever given anyone hell like Hargrove or Hagan, but they’re all one in the same right? Or maybe Harrington really was ousted from the throne like the rumors in the hallways say. Eddie’s got more on his mind right now than the intricacies of Hawkins High pecking order. 

“Uh, because it’s my house and I don’t want some thief around? Jesus you’re prickly, dude.” With an eyeroll, Harrington waves him over to the empty chair next to him. “Here, just sit down and relax for a sec. We’ll see if we can figure it out.”

Eddie hesitates, feeling like it has to be some kind of trap, but there’s no one else around. Harrington’s never done more than stand by while his jock buddies do their damage to whoever or call Eddie a freak under his breath a couple times, but who hasn’t? Eddie encourages it, even. What would Harrington get out of pulling anything now when it’s not for show?

Honestly, Eddie’s just trying to rationalize it because he could really use the beer that’s also up for grabs, offered with an outstretched hand.

So Eddie stalks over to the empty chair, warily sitting down as if it might snap him inside like a snare. His nerves are all frazzled. Between his dad’s little stunt and now the king of the jocks (former king?) is handing Eddie an open beer that he’s taken a sip from himself, give him a break. Eddie mellows out a tad after a couple chugs.

“Do you have any clue who took it?” Harrington asks, way too much concern in the line between his brows than he should be able to fake for Eddie.

“No one here.”

Eddie sort of wishes it was that simple. A stranger would only hurt his pockets, instead of this bone-deep betrayal he should’ve seen coming. He doesn’t even care about the money, or his van, it’s deeper than that. It aches somewhere the booze can’t wash away. He squeezes the cool bottle in his grasp, blaming the contents for what he woefully admits next.

“It was my pops, man. He ran off with my van and everything in it.”

For some reason, it’s embarrassing to say. Either secondhand for his old man pulling something so low-down, or just his own pride for falling for it. He stares at the unnaturally still water in front of him, instead of meeting the gaze beside him.

He can feel Harrington taking in it, questioning it. Maybe he’s wondering how a father could screw over his own son like that, or maybe he’s thinking everyone knows that’s exactly what Al Munson would do, and Eddie— especially Eddie, should’ve known that.

Even Jeff warned him this time too, having been there since the days that Al would bring Eddie a new bike when he won big at the casino, then steal it back the next week to sell when he lost. Seems like Eddie was the only idiot willing to give his dad another chance, even blowing off band practice the last couple days to spend time with him.

“Your van, huh?” Is what Harrington finally says, soft for some reason. “I could give you a ride home. Forest Hills, right?”

That’s… not what Eddie was expecting at all. Just picturing that hotrod that’s all the rage in the school parking lot kicking up gravel in the trailer park rubs him wrong. It’s all off-beat, Eddie feels so far off his center that he’s normally so sure of. All he can do is push back to try and find it again.

“What, you’re gonna ditch your party to slum it on the wrong side of Hawkins with me? Don’t worry about it, I called my uncle.”

Looking over, he sees how Harrington almost looks disappointed by that.

“Yeah okay, but I don’t really care about this party,” he says, not even trying to pass it off in a ‘cool’ way, he just seems put off by it, “Graduation’s coming up, y’know, it was Tommy’s idea. I should’ve said no, I don’t give a shit about it. Or Tommy.”

Again, not what Eddie was expecting. He feels a thud in his stomach at the mention of graduation, yet another failure under his belt. “Well I’m not graduating, so does it count as that kinda party if you’re out here with the super senior freak?” 

“Guess we’re just having a shitty dads party then,” Harrington tries for what Eddie assumes is a reassuring smile, because for whatever reason in this twisted reality, Steve Harrington is trying to comfort him. 

Him, Eddie Munson.

But it ends up striking an already sensitive nerve.

“What do you even know about it?” Eddie scoffs.

Harrington’s smile drops, snapping back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A bitter laugh bubbles up in Eddie’s throat. He hates how it sounds as awful as he feels. Gesturing with the beer in his hand, he states the obvious, “Look around, dude.”

Maybe Harrington’s not as popular at school, but he’s still well off at home. A rich, two parent household that he’s never had to worry about scrounging to keep the lights on. The only business he’ll ever have to do is for his Daddy’s fucking letterhead. Eddie will accept his pity to the extent of a free beer, but he won’t sit there and listen to Harrington pretending to know what it’s like for him.

“Yeah, look around,” Harrington retorts, an even more bitter curl on his lip than Eddie’s. “Got everything except parents, don’t I? Like if they buy me enough shit, I won’t notice they’re hardly here.”

The look in his eyes is a little hurt but fierce, grating enough to cut through Eddie’s defenses. Wayne keeps telling him to stop jumping the gun and going off half-cocked. Yet here Eddie is again, assuming he’s got this guy all figured out.

When in reality, all he knows is that despite being the talk of the town, Harrington’s parents are rarely ever seen around. He lost his girl, doesn’t seem to have any real friends to show, and looks about as lonely at school as he does now— while he’s doing nothing but trying to help Eddie.

“I’m sorry, man,” Eddie relents, “You’re just going against everything I thought I knew about you right now. I’m trying to kick the habit of putting people in boxes with the whole anti-conformity thing. Been told I can be a real judgemental asshole.”

“Yeah I wonder why,” Harrington says lightly, his lips curling back into a smile that sort of makes Eddie want to hide his face. It doesn’t feel wrong somehow, like the rare times that a girl spared him a look, more like it shouldn’t be directed at him. Steve Harrington shouldn’t be smiling at him.

“And call me Steve, alright? If we’re gonna be in the shitty dads club together, we should be on a first name basis.”

That actually gets a laugh out of Eddie. Short and pained as it sounds, it’s real.

“Okay then, Steve,” he has to look away after he says it, feeling his chest cave under the weight of that smile for some reason. Must be the state he’s in. Steve made him forget for a second but he’s sinking again, staring out over the pool, trying and failing to see the bottom.

Read the rest on Ao3

for day one of @eddiemonth prompt “Parents”

[lieutenantfloyd]

Ensemble Cast

pairing: Platonic! Task Force 141 (+ Alejandro & Rodolfo) x GN! Reader

words: 660

Summary: Hours into a stakeout, your boredom leads you to ask the everyone the classic hypothetical question, “If they were to make a movie about us, what actor would you want to play you?”

warnings: Lots of fluff and dialogue, found family trope, mentions of injuries, and an implication of angst.

a/n: MW2 is the ultimate found family story, change my mind.

Running your fingers along the edge of the map, your watch caught your eye. 5:14am, the bold digital numerals taunted. you pushed back from the table and made your way across the small room. You quickly scanned for an open spot to sit before finding one along the wall. Settling in with the group, you fought the urge to sigh. Stakeouts, while typically easy work, were never something you particularly enjoyed. A welcome break from the firefight you had been active in the past few weeks, yes, but nonetheless almost entirely boring.

You had been with them for what felt like forever and had long considered the group more like a band of brothers than a task force. Yet even the closest groups of people are bound to experience a lapse in conversation when stuck in a room together for hours on end. Unsurprisingly, a hush had fallen over most of the group more than a few hours ago. Like Ghost, you were more than comfortable with a bit of silence. But as the ninth hour of the stakeout came to a close, you couldn’t help but ignore your growing itch for conversation.

“If they were to make a movie about us, what actor would you want to play you?”

The question escaped you almost absentmindedly. The result of your brain slipping into semi-auto pilot. The words simultaneously cut Soap’s quiet one-sided ramblings short and introduced a bit of spirit and levity to everyone. You felt the room fall into a moment of quiet consideration, as the men began using the same war strategist intensity that was hard wired into their brains to figure out what Hollywood star they felt was most like themselves. Hypotheticals were a more than welcome break from going over the intel for the umpteenth time, or worse, being forced to listen to the vocalization of whatever popped into Soap’s mind.

With a groan, Captain price shifted his position in the stiff plastic chair he occupied. Trading his relaxed posture for sitting at attention in anticipation of everyone’s answer. A few moments passed before he spoke up. “Easy. Hugh Grant.” He started before taking a dramatic drag from his cigar. “A classic British gentleman after my own heart.”. Even through the darkness, you could see the playful glint in his eye. Price’s answer earned a range of amusement from the group and a full-bodied laugh from soap. “I’d want either James Mcavoy or… that guy from Game of Thrones.” Soap grinned. “Jon Snow!” Gaz snorted. “For me..” He started ”I know he’s not an actor, but I’ve been mistaken for Lewis Hamilton once or twice before, so probably him. What about you, Alejandro?” “I’d play myself. Why hire an actor when you can have the real thing?” Alejandro chimed in. “¿Y usted?” Alejandro said, elbowing Rodolfo. “No estoy seguro… ¿Maybe Mario Lopez?” “¡Vaya! Looks like Rudy’s feeling confident!” Alejandro chuckled, earning a smile and a slightly bashful look from Rudy. “What about you, LT?” Simon simply shrugged. Clearly not impressed by the current conversation. “Well. we could always dress up one of those twelve foot skeleton decorations and have you do the voiceover.” Soap snickered.

A moment passed before everyone, Simon included, burst into laughter.

Seeing everyone fall apart to such a dumb joke left you giggling right along with them, almost unable to contain yourself.

For years you found it strange how much joy you felt in moments like this—sitting in a dark and musty shack, laughing and cracking jokes alongside your rag tag group of soldiers. Yet you couldn't ignore how these moments brought up a near forgotten sensation; a syrupy sweetness in your chest. A feeling synonymous with those of love and what it meant to finally belong somewhere. The feeling of finally finding a family. Because what is a family, if not a cast of characters - often beaten, more than a little broken, and almost always bloody - who still choose to form glimmers of light in a world of dark?

[lokiondisneyplus]

Warning: This story contains spoilers for the Loki season 2 finale, "Glorious Purpose."

Loki ends with its titular god claiming his throne — just not the one he expected.

The Marvel Disney+ show concluded its second season this week, seemingly saying goodbye to Tom Hiddleston's Loki. In an effort to stop the universe from collapsing in on itself, Loki learns to control his "time-slipping," using it to go back further and further in time. With help from Sylvie (Sophia Di Martino), Mobius (Owen Wilson), and O.B. (Ke Huy Quan), he tries again and again to fix the TVA's temporal loom and prevent a meltdown. But every time he goes back, he fails, and he spends literal centuries reliving the same events over and over.

Eventually, Loki admits defeat and chooses to sacrifice himself to save every universe. Walking toward the temporal loom, he grabs the very fabric of space-time and uses it to build a throne of his own, weaving the threads together to create a tree. (It's a nod to the legendary world tree Yggdrasil from Norse mythology.) With that, Loki essentially crowns himself master of the multiverse, watching over every timeline as a lonely god. It's the ultimate selfless act from one of Marvel's most notorious villains — a villain who once sicced an alien invasion on New York to get his dad's attention.

Here, executive producer Kevin Wright breaks down the series' emotional finale — from the throwback line that Hiddleston improvised to whether this is really the end for Loki.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: When did you decide this was how you wanted Loki's story to end?

KEVIN WRIGHT: I think we knew in season 1. Once we were going to do a season 2, we knew that Loki would end up on the throne. That was always the easy thing. The question was: How do you want that to feel for the audience? There's a version that's triumphant and super heroic. There's a version where it's an evil turn. But it was always about the emotional journey we wanted people to go on. It was about building that journey to be as cathartic as possible and to feel like a payoff for six movies and 12 episodes over 12 years with this guy. It was always about building that arc to be as fulfilling as possible.

Most of the episode is dedicated to this sort of time loop, where we see Loki trying over and over again to get things right and fix the loom, almost in a Groundhog Day kind of situation. What was fun about getting to do that endless loop?

Even in season 1, we always wanted to do a Run Lola Run thing, but there was never space for it. So once we started going into loops this season in the writing process, we thought, "Oh, let's finally do it." So much of that is total credit to Paul Zucker, the editor of the episode. That montage wasn't scripted per se. We knew Loki was going to be rerunning things, but it wasn't written exactly the way that it played.

A really fun thing, though, was that our cast — outside of Tom — had no idea what we were doing. They understood that he was rerunning time, but we shot a very different ending to episode 4 that was not the real ending. All the cast thought something very different would happen. We would send them away on lunch breaks, and Tom would take his lunch later, and he would just keep shooting with [directors Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead] with a skeleton crew. There were very few people that fully understood what we were building in that finale. So, for that core team, I think there was a lot of satisfaction when everybody was able to sit down and see how it came together. It just felt like this little secret.

What do you remember most about watching Tom film those final scenes?

Two moments really jump to mind. The first is a little bit of a longer story. There's the scene with He Who Remains, and that was scripted one way. We had this fear, like, "Is this going to feel like we're retreading the same ground as season 1?" Would it be fulfilling? We started shooting one day, and anybody in any creative field will understand this: There are days where the words are right, they way you're doing it is right, but it's just not adding up. Something was missing. We knew we weren't nailing it, and I had to make the call. That is really scary, when your first AD just wants to keep moving, and I said we were going to stop shooting.

Tom went and sat down with our script supervisor and basically did this insane crash course in 30 minutes of every line that had been said on the whole series. Then, he went for a run around the lot at Pinewood [Studios], and when he came back, he was like, "I know what this needs to be now." Then, he and Jonathan worked out what it was going to be, and they sat down with Justin and Aaron and me and Katie Blair, our production writer. They just quickly rewrote this new scene and shot it. It was just the pinnacle of what Tom does. He has such a finger on the pulse of this entire series and how that scene had to go. In a moment, he was able to reconfigure it with all of our collaborators.

The other thing is that final line before he steps out toward the loom, which is the Thor line, which was not scripted. Right before we were going to shoot that, Tom came and pitched it to me, like, "Should we do this?" We were like, "God, why did we not write that?" It was perfect, and it was 100 percent Tom.

I wanted to ask about that line, where Loki turns to Sylvie and Mobius and says he has to do this "for you, for all of us." It's a direct throwback to one of his lines in the original 2011 Thor. So that was a Tom Hiddleston improvisation?

It was 100 percent Tom. We had already done a few takes of the first part of that line, which was, "I know what kind of god I need to be." And on the final take, Tom said, "Hey, can I try this?" As soon as he said it, all of us were like, "This is going to be the take." It almost gave me Truman Show vibes, that final sign-off, looking straight down the camera. But that story gets to the heart of how Tom is always trying to make things better. We just had to build a series that could give him the framework to have those creative pivots. Everyone would just kind of throw their hands up and say, "Geez, this is why this guy is fantastic."

With Loki in charge of the multiverse, this could affect how (and if) we might see Jonathan Majors' Kang the Conqueror in future Marvel projects. For you, where does this finale leave Kang and his future in the MCU?

I'm going to tread probably infuriatingly lightly, but for me — and I know all the filmmakers agree — we think everything is there on screen. I think all the details are there, and there is a lot that people haven't picked up on, or haven't fully understood what is being said. The key to the future is in that conversation with Sylvie, and this doesn't necessarily undo any of those threats. In my mind, it's what Sylvie said: "At least give us a chance. Let us fight that battle for ourselves and define our own destiny."

I also wanted to ask about that final shot of Mobius in Ohio, where he's standing there silently, watching time pass. Why was that the right ending for Mobius?

In the big picture of the show, we wanted this to feel like a real ending. We wanted to give closure on a number of things, and we didn't want to do anything that felt like it was just teeing up a new story. But you could plant new seeds that could become new stories. My feeling with that scene in Ohio is that it's Mobius overcoming a personal obstacle. He just had to go and look. The show is not telling you whether he's going to stay there, or whether he's going to go back to the TVA. I think both are possibilities. But the important thing was the character growth of him going to do the thing he has been avoiding. I think it took what Loki did to cause Mobius to go, "I have this opportunity. This opportunity was given to me by Loki. The least I can do is go."

So that being said, is this the end for Loki? Is this a season finale, or is it a series finale?

I'm thinking of it kind of like a comic run, and this is the end of that comic run. I know [head writer Eric Martin] has said this a lot: These two seasons were two chapters of the same book, and we wanted to close the book. That was a challenge from Owen in between seasons: He was like, "Nobody has the courage to close the book! Let's close the book!"

Again, I speak for myself and not Marvel, but I am certainly pitching ideas of where I could see certain stories going. I think there are a lot of stories you can tell at the TVA, and we are just scratching the surface on that. I would love to see more stories with Loki, and I think Tom would continue to play this character until he is Richard E. Grant's Classic Loki [laughs]. But I don't think that means you need to have this story every year or every two years. It's about doing it when we have a good story to tell. I would love to keep working with these filmmakers.

We built a really awesome team, and if Loki is Breaking Bad, maybe there's a way for this team to keep telling stories with our version of Better Call Saul — whether that's with Sylvie, with the TVA, or with a new Loki. But we only want to do that if we have the right story and it can be just as fulfilling as this one. After all, you can't be the God of Stories if you're not going to tell more stories.

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

[ID: The “Do you love the color of the sky?” post with a very long version of Hooty from The Owl House overlayed on it. The background is a gradient from white, to blue, green, yellow, orange, red, black, stars, gray, purple, pink, and white. At the top of the image is written “Do you love the color of the sky?”. We see Hooty stick out his tongue as he reaches for a fly. Going down his body, he has graffiti on him: two "S" shaped forms, and one that reads "Luz!". Further down, King is tied around Hooty's body. King’s torso is abnormally long, like a longcat version of King. Further down, we see a black textbox with “female presenting nipples” written on it. Initially, “fe” has been crossed out so it reads “male presenting nipples”, but then “male” also gets crossed out and the word is replaced with “bird”. The text now reads “bird presenting nipples”. Further down, Hooty’s body is shaped into a heart, as the two elderly lesbian demons from “O Titan, Where Art Thou” walk together, holding hands and blushing. They are standing on a white cloud and the sky behind them looks like a sunset. Below them, we see Steve who lifts up his hands and cries, the text beneath him reads “live Steve reaction”. As we descend further there is a group of Tumblr crabs. The textboxes above the crabs read “hooty”, “yo what era is this?”, “friend?”, “hooty”, “choo choo!!”, and “void”. As the background colour now changes from orange to black, we see a banner that reads "All Hail Queen Lulu" and we see Lilith from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina drawn in Owl House style. She is sitting on a bloody skeleton throne and there is fire around her to indicate we've now descended into Hell. Further down, a Bad Girl Coven t-shirt is on Hooty’s body. The background now turns into space and we see Eda’s right hand floating around. Further down, Hooty’s body is in a knot and after scrolling further down we see the Snaggleback hanging upside down on a rope that is attached to Hooty's body. The Snaggleback is sighing. Further down the sky turns into a blueish colour again and Braxas floats in the air holding onto a balloon that has flown up too high. He says “Daddy?” as he appears to be lost in the sky. Further down, we see Luz and Eda jumping very high, both wearing winter gear, like in Season 1 episode 12 "adventures in the elements", where they're catapulting themselves home near the end of the episode. Eda's right hand is missing. Further down near the end of the image, we see that Hooty is attached to a backpack on Lilith’s back and she is flying on her staff. Lilith is looking quite unimpressed with the whole ordeal. End ID]

[commander-yinello]

What if as a main quest:

Imagine saving Ulder from the Iron Throne. He is grateful to both Tav and Wyll but you can clearly see the disdain that his exiled son returned. Bc of the Big Bad Brain problem, he suggests Ansur, and when you head out he joins you. He and Wyll have one or two travel banters that show the awkward relationship they have now, with Wyll trying to get back into his dad's good graces and Ulder rebuffing it.

Wyll helps with all the trials as he does now and Ulder admits that he is impressed that Wyll still holds on to his teachings. When they reach Ansur, Ansur tells them he knows betrayal, he has died because of it, but what Wyll did is not that. He gives Wyll a cool blessing (after we murder his skeleton) that Tav can help choose.

Ulder tries to apologize but Wyll is ofc rather upset that his father seems to believe the words of others over his own son. Again Tav can encourage or even discourage Wyll to accepting the apology, or letting Wyll choose. Maybe Wyll can acknowledge after that there will still be old wounds that need closing, but at least the healing has begun. And he has you to thank for it.

[sollsmith]

Fire in the Flesh

Chapter Three

Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: mentions of abuse

Summary:

After five years at war in the Stepstones and the death of his first wife, Daemon Targaryen returns to court embroiling himself, and his niece and heir to the throne Rhaenyra, in chaos and scandal. Daemon’s actions cause Viserys to give him the one thing he has always wanted. A Valyrian bride. Just not the one he had in mind.

“He will say no!” Maelor said, exasperated at this point. 

“He is sending me to live in a foreign country, with foreign people. Surely having Marra with me is a good idea. Plus, I’ll be married to the Prince of Realm, do I not need a handmaiden?” Daella tilted her head. To her, this was the most logical thing in the world. 

“Yes, you will. One of your husbands choosing.” 

“I highly doubt that the prince has time to assign maids to me. We are getting married within a half moon once we dock in Westeros, he couldn’t possibly know what type of handmaiden I need. I think the Prince will be most grateful that I have taken a task off his plate. He can spend more time keeping his brother’s city safe.” Maelor breaks eye contact with her and rolls his jaw when she says this. While it had been true, Prince Daemon had been reinstated as Commander of the City Watch. Daella had just assumed that he had previously stepped down due to the war in the Stepstones. Maelor didn’t have the heart or courage to tell her he had really been fired and exiled for celebrating the death of his newborn nephew. 

“Ella, you will need a Westerosi maid. You have to integrate into their ways, and a native maid is the best way to do so.” 

“And you think the best way to integrate me is to completely abandon me with them?” 

“We are not abandoning you-” 

“Yes, you are. You are leaving King’s Landing the day after the Princesses' wedding. I will not see you again until the tenth moon, at your own wedding!” 

“Father will be there until you leave for Dragonstone.” 

“He’s not exactly good company.” Daella seethed quietly. 

Maelor sighs and shuts his eyes. He knows she is right. Marra will ease his sister's transition, he even considered asking his father during their last meeting when planning the journey to King's Landing, but he had already pushed a little too far when he asked that Daella be given a couple of personal guards. The truth was, Maelor had barely slept since his father told him of the agreements that had been made. He was content with his own match, particularly after he met Lady Laena on his last trip to Driftmark.

It was his sister’s match that kept him up at night. He had heard every rumour about the Rogue Prince there was to know. The list was never ending, ranging from mildly amusing to horror stories that made him feel slightly ill. But there was one in particular that kept him up at night. One, that every time he looked at his sweet sister, he couldn't help but be consumed by guilt and dread. It was tearing him apart, not giving Daella every piece of gossip and every horrid tale he had heard of her betrothed. 

“Let me see what I can do.” 

Daella sat on the quarter deck, the early morning skeleton crew growing larger as the sun continued to rise. They had broken into Blackwater Bay two days ago, and now King’s Landing was fully in view. She had overheard the first mate ordering the crew to start preparations for docking as she climbed the stairs onto the deck just an hour ago. 

The trip had been long. Maelor had insisted they not sail through the Stepstones, so they had travelled by hathay for two weeks to Myr, before setting sail across the narrow sea. She had spent most of the last two weeks in her cabin, the sea had been unforgivable on her stomach and she was on a mission to avoid her father as much as possible. 

While he had agreed to allow Marra to accompany her to Westeros, a conversation that had ended with Daella leaving bruising wrists, bloody knuckles and a stinging cheek, he had also taken to berating her if she even so much glanced at one of the many men that were working on the boat. So she had remained in her small cabin, with Marra as her soul companion. 

Marra was a couple of years younger than Daella. Her father was a red priest, born to a prostitute of the red temple. Her father had acquired her as a handmaid for Daella two years ago when her previous handmaid had decided to leave for Pentos. In those two years, the dark haired girl had become Daella’s fast and only friend. 

While Marra was bought by her father to dress, wash and do Daella’s hair, Daella had taken to do the same for her, the pair spending hours braiding and pinning each other's hair, and Daella forcing Marra to dress up in her old dresses. The girls were rarely seen apart, gossiping and giggling as they walked around the gardens or from one end of the Black Walls to another.  

Daella’s eyes had been set on the large brick red castle on the horizon, so lost in thought that she only realised Marra was climbing up the steps towards her when she finally reached the top.  

“You’re up early! I was looking for you.” Marra beams. She had been worried about her friend. In truth Daella not leaving her chamber was not a new thing. Ever since she had gotten the news of her impending marriage, she had slightly faded as a person. While never a loud girl, she had taken to talking even less, and seemed to be consistently within her own head.

“Mm, good morrow Marra. Sleep well?” Daella smiled softly at her friend, shuffling along the bench to allow her to sit beside her. Marra takes her seat, reaching over to tuck the shawl Daella had tighter around Daella’s body. 

“Like a newborn babe. I must say, the sea does agree with me.” 

“Perhaps when we dock we will find you a nice seafarer who will take you on voyages.” Daella teased, bumping her arm into Marra’s. 

“And leave you? I think not!” Marra stated, taking Daella’s hand as she did so, holding it in hers. Daella smiled, appreciating her comfort. The girls fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, watching as the docks grew closer and closer. 

“He’s been lying to me.” Daella broke the silence.  

“Who? Your father?” 

“Maelor.” Daella sighs. “I’m not sure what exactly. I know it’s in regard to the Prince. He refuses to tell me anything about the man.” 

“Maybe there is nothing to know?” 

“I don’t gain the title ‘The Rogue Prince’ if there is nothing to know about you, Marra,” Daella eyes her, Marra laughs a little. 

“Yes, but perhaps it is not relevant. If he was so terrible, Maelor wouldn’t have agreed. He would have smuggled you out of Volantis before your father could accept.” 

“He did speak of him once, when he returned from Driftmark the first time.” 

“And what did he say?” 

“He called him a savage. A disloyal and violent savage. Before the Prince left the Stepstones, do you know what he did? Do you know why my brother insisted we sail from Myr and not Volantis?” 

“Mm?” 

“There are two thousand Triarchy corsair corpses staked on the shores. By the order of my betrothed.” 

Marra doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Daella’s hand lightly. Daella rests her head on Marra’s shoulder. She cannot take her eyes off the keep, the place she will call home for the next moon or two. While she is aware that men do cruel and terrible things in war, she is finding it hard to convince herself that leaving men staked on the shore was necessary for survival. To her it just seemed like cruelty. What type of husband will the Prince be if he can be cruel for the sake of being cruel.  

“Your life here will be happy. I know it. It may take time, but you will find it. Away from Alios, a life free from behind the Black Walls. This might not be what you envisioned for yourself, but promise me you will try to make it work?” 

“But am I trading one horrible man for another?” 

 “Maybe, but at least here you can run from here. Your mother did. So can you.” 

As the carriage pulls through the gates of the Red Keep, Daella tries her best to look past the small cutout shapes blocking her view. 

“Daella!” Her father scolds. Daella leans back in her seat next to Maelor, looking straight ahead at Alios. 

“Sorry, father.” 

The carriage pulls to a stop and the door is pulled open. Her father is the first to get out, turning to help Daella out of the carriage, offering his hand. So the show begins, thinks Daella, taking her fathers hand and ensuring to keep a pleasant expression on her face. She steps out onto the soft dirt of the courtyard, and does her best not to show her disappointment. 

The keep seems dull and rather miserable, completely different to the light and vibrant palaces in Volantis. She was grateful Marra had suggested wearing a light purple overcoat over her more vibrant dress, fearing she would have drawn too many eyes had she not. But it seems to not matter, as everyone who was busy working or making their way through the courtyard had now stopped to stare at the silver-haired girl, just as the people in Harrenhal had done twelve years ago. 

“Alios Nogarys. Welcome to King’s Landing.” A voice says. Daella turns her head around to see a man starting at the top of the steps in front of the door. A tall, large man dressed in all black. Daella notes the pin on his chest. The Hand of the King. He moved forward, down the steps to shake Alios’ hand. 

“Lyonel Strong, Hand of the King. His Grace does apologise he is not here to greet you himself, we just arrived from Driftmark last night. Final arrangements for the Princess’ wedding.”  Lyonel smiles warmly and apologetically. 

“Thank you, Lord Strong.” Alios shook his hand, before jestering back to his two children that stood behind him. “My son Maelor, and daughter Daella.” 

“My Lord” Daella spoke, smiling and bowing her head softly to the man. Maleor just nodded his head in kind acknowledgement. 

“His Grace will see Lady Daella in the small council room. Come, I will show you the way.” Lyonel turned, beginning to pace us up the steps, Alios close behind. 

“Just Daella?” Maelor asks, eying both Daella and then his father. 

“Viserys wishes to speak with his future good sister alone.” Lyonel confirmed, looking nervously at Alios who was now standing close behind him. Daella begins to step forward, before stopping. 

“What of my father and brother? And our household?” She asks. From the corner of her eye, she can see her father glaring at her. 

“No need to worry my lady, a servant will show them to your rooms as well as their own.” Lyonel responded kindly. 

“Thank you.” Daella nodded, and began to move forward following him into the Red Keep. 

Lord Strong opens the door of the chamber and Daella follows quickly behind him. 

“Your Grace. The Lady Daella Nogarys. They just arrived.” Lyonel announces, before turning to Daella and giving her a soft smile. “I will be outside when you are finished.” 

“Thank you, Lord Strong.” Daella whispers and nods. The pair walk past each other as he ventures out and her further into the room, stepping out of the dark shaded part of the room. 

“There you are!” Viserys beams as she finally comes into view. Daella smiles, remembering the kind and warm man that had made her feel welcome all those years ago. He was sitting at the top of the table. She stops at the end of the table and bows.  

“Your Grace. A pleasure to meet again.” 

“Haven’t you grown? Please sit!” He nods to the chair in front of her. Daella pulls the heavy wooden chair back, settling down in it. 

"I trust the journey was well?" 

"It was. Long, but I am happy to be here now. I may not eat fish for a whole moon." Daella smiles. It was true, if she saw or smelt another fish she may just through herself from one of the towers. 

Viserys laughs, before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. Daella watches with slight panic, looking around, locating a table with wine and cups. She moves from her seat at the table, quickly grabbing a chalice and filling it with red wine. She hurries towards Viserys, going to place the cup in his left hand, before realising he is missing several fingers. 

"Oh." She whispers softly, reaching over to hand him the cup to his right hand. "Here." She helps him raise the cup and take a few sips, before taking the cup off him. 

"Thank you." Viserys asks weakly. “I hope this arrangement hasn’t caused you any distress?”

“No, your grace. I am a woman of a certain age, I knew this day was coming.” Daella lies. This arrangement had been causing her distress. She had spent last week crying herself to sleep. She is not even really sure why. She does not know the Prince, for all she knows he could be the great love of her life. But the unknown terrified her. What if he doesn't love her back? What if he is just like her father? 

“Good. I’m glad to hear you are at peace. Daemon was meant to be here.” The King sighed. Daella feels her heart pick up at the mention of the prince. “Introduce you. But as you can see, he is not here.” Daella can tell he is frustrated. She walks back to the small table that housed the wine, returning the cup. 

“I’m sure the Prince has important meetings to attend. We have the next half moon to get to know one another.” Daella offers to ease both the King and herself. Viserys chuckles. 

“You will be lucky if you see him before your wedding day. I will be honest, Daella, he is not happy about this. I’ve barely seen him since I told him. But I will assure you he will perform his duty, I will ensure that. Daemon is chaotic and restless, he has the blood of the dragon-” 

“As do I.”

Tag List: @ajthefujoshi @hangmanscoming

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For the masterlist to this series and all my other fics click here!

[himebushou]

Titles

Miri’s room is upside-down, inside-out, back-to-front – it’s a riot of sweaters and leggings and tutus; scarves are strewn across the floor (when did she get so many?); socks are spilling out of the toyboxes and Rei cannot work out where everything came from. 

Clutching a purple t-shirt, Miri bounces on the bed. She squeals, “Found you!  Found you!” each time she’s airborne. 

Rei catches Miri mid-flight and holds her under one arm.  He can picture the rant Kazuki will launch into if he returns from running errands to find… this.  He might hide the controllers again or, worse yet, force Rei to do the vacuuming. 

Vacuuming is disgusting. 

He sets her on the floor.  “We have to tidy up before Kazuki gets back.  No buts,” Rei adds when Miri puffs out her cheeks.  “This is our mission.” 

“A mission?  Okay!”  Miri flings the t-shirt aside.  She salutes, grinning.  “Just tell me what to do, Boss!” 

It screams through Rei like a bullet.

Boss?  Is that what he is?  It is what he will be, in the future: the leader of the organisation, devoid of family, surrounded by underlings, no longer merely taking lives but determining whose lives will be taken.  He will be feared and admired.  His authority will be absolute.  He will sit upon a throne of skeletons and will not show mercy to men or children or their dogs. 

She’s tugging his leg.  She’s blurry, at first.  She pats him again and again while saying something over and over.  Slowly, Unasaka Miri comes into focus.  Her eyes are wet.  She pleads, “What did Miri do wrong?” 

Rei kneels.  Miri throws her arms around his neck.  He peels her away and Miri wails.  Yet he needs to see her – needs confirmation that she understands. 

“Miri.  Who am I to you?”

Her mouth screws up.  “Huh?  You’re Miri's Rei Papa!” 

Right.  A papa protects.  When she cried for his help, he saved her.  He and Kazuki talked it out and they knew what they were agreeing to.  They made a promise and will uphold that promise until claimed by their hungry graves. 

He has a daughter.  He is a father.  That makes him different. 

“Exactly,” says Rei, quietly.  “I’m your Rei Papa.  So… only call me that from now on.  Okay, Miri?” 

She nods.  She clings to him with renewed ferocity.  She wipes her bubbling nose on his shoulder. 

Rei wraps both arms around Miri.  He keeps his child against his heart.  They stay like that for a long while – and when Kazuki returns home, he doesn’t mention the mess.

[icouldntthinkofabetternamesook]

hey

saw a post about Nico resurrecting Hazel with some black magic skeleton work and another post about Hazel having her flashbacks due to Gaia still having part of her soul and it got me thinking

I always though of hazels resection as a Eurydice thing, her soul following Nico out of the underworld and a new body forming around her on the way up, possibly in a deeply morbid way, regrowing a skeleton, then the flesh and finally skin (a new reason orphans shouldn't look back lest he see the insides of his love) or more likely just an intangible image suddenly becoming solid. a body fading into existence

but where does that leave the body of hazels first life? the one she died in? sitting at the bottom of he bay?entombed with the other treasures of the giant she raised?

what if Hazel drives in Alaska and finds her skeleton merged into the giants throne, skin and flesh worn away, hunks of topaz for eyes, gold curled in the shape of hair, bones wrapped in stings of jewlels. her mothers bones at her feet, unadorned but intact. Hazel has to step over her mothers skeleton to reintegrate her lost body back into herself, moving bone back into flesh one by one

what if instead her body hasn't decomposed but was perfectly preserved, oil spilling from her mouth, gold and jewels in her hair, skin covered in 70 years of dirt, tatters funeral rags replaced with a toga. after all, Gaia is still asleep. how could she use her own body when it the entirety of the planet her enemies walk on, when her skin is the earths crust, her veins magma and her beating heart a multain core. it's smooch easier to pilot around an unoccupied body to get things in place. we spend the entire series with Gaia piloting around hazels unwilling body, the seven powerless to stop her

what if hazel had to face her death nit just metaphorically but very very literally

[racfoam]

hi rac how r u???, i want to know if we could have a a jealousy scene???

I’m good, thank you!

Okay, about time I reveal another fic idea. Also, how dare you use Stitch against me? Look at his teary eyes, he’s so cute, how could I say no to Stitch?!

This is set in an older wizarding society, the time of kings and whatnot. Think about Merlin TV show era? Yeah, that one! Though magic isn't outlawed and the kingdom itself is magical, too. So, how about Voldemort is the dark wizard who takes over as king of the most powerful kingdom and takes the throne, and wants to marry Harry, who he’s keeping imprisoned in the castle?

Harry used to like balls. She always had her friends to dance with, but now there were no familiar, comforting faces of Hermione, Ron, Fred or George anywhere. Most of the faces were families of the dark magic Houses, all pureblood.

Then again, a ball celebrating the Dark Lord’s birthday wasn’t Harry’s idea of fun. Maybe that was the problem with this ball. It felt like it was held just for Voldemort to enjoy while everyone kisses his robes.

So, despite the beautiful green dress the tailoes weaved with magic, Harry shied away into the corners of the room, hoping to avoid dancing with anyone, including Voldemort.

Harry refused to believe Voldemort was human. No human had red, cat-like eyes, no human had slits for nostrils and no nose, and no human had a snake-like face. No human was hairless like he was. No human moved like him, either.

No, Voldemort couldn't be human. He was some half-thing, something between a skeleton, human and a snake. There was no other explanation.

The mere thought of Voldemort passed a terrible judder down Harry’s spine.

“Harry?”

Startled, Harry leapt.

The handsome face and grey eyes of Cedric Diggory stared back at her.

“Ce-Lord Diggory,” breathed Harry. “What're you doing here?”

“I was invited,” said Cedric. “Would've been rude to ignore summons from the king.”

The ugliest king in the history of kings. thought Harry bitterly, understanding between the lines. Voldemort would probably take offence and go to slaughter Cedric’s family.

“Cho and I married,” said Cedric, breaking the silence.

“That’s nice,” said Harry, trying to sound happy. She offered a polite, strained smile. She hasn't smiled except when going horse-riding around the estate with Hedwig, and it felt like she was pulling her muscles in the wrong directions. “Congratulations.”

At least you get to choose. Voldemort will probably marry me off to a dark magic House when he gets bored of tormenting me.

“Harriet.”

That voice froze the blood in Harry's veins. It came from behind her. Behind her stood a hooded, tall man, with eyes that glowed red in the shadow of the hood.

The air around Voldemort was dark, suffocating, his red eyes set on Cedric, staring down sharply at him.

Cedric bowed immediately. “My Lord. My congratulations on your birth day.”

“Lord Diggory,” greeted Voldemort calmly. “I remember. I remember everyone I invite into my home.”

Not your home, you thief.

Voldemort's fingers settled around Harry’s shoulder, possessive. They were bony, spindly, too long, but their touch was warm, burning like a brand. The hairs on Harry’s arms prickled.

“I hope you enjoy the festivities. I’m afraid I must steal dear Harriet away.”

Cedric nodded. Harry was impressed by how well he concealed his fear.

“It was nice to see you again, Lady Potter,” said Cedric. He bowed, adding to Voldemort, “My Lord.”

Voldemort hummed noncomitally. “Come, Harriet. Gift me with a dance.” With that same hand around her shoulder keeping her imprisoned and locked tight beside him, Voldemort pulled Harry away from the table, and through the crowd.

Harry wished she would just die already.

[adleryoung]

Let's take a look at some of your questions.

Do you really believe what you say or is it all an act? Also some rubbish about classism and the decline of the elves.

Elves do not lie. I'm not entirely sure what you're implying with the rest of your comment, but it is an established historical fact that too much associating with lowfolk is bad for our health. Staying aloof is the way to prosper.

Was he dabbing?

I have no idea what that means.

While Zandar was sleeping, did you ever use that magic bowl trick to see into her mind?

Fuma have mercy! That never even occurred to me. You lowfolk are truly devious … and yet some of you have the nerve to insinuate that I am Unseelie! Clearly a case of one of your many cognitive defects, the one called … what is it … projection? I think that's it.

Did you turn a low folk child into stew and feed them to Zandar? how did you come up with the "your original biological kid is missing, sent to lowfolk family, and yes, you did ask what did I do with the original lowfolk babe, so hey I made stew!" explanation?

Ah yes, I knew it was only a matter of time before this came up.

The short answer is, we are Royalty, and elvish royalty do not raise their own children! Additionally I came to trust Zandar less and less the more I learned about her. I couldn't let HER raise my child! She wanted to call the baby "Wulfrida," for Fuma's sake! That clearly indicates complete unfitness to be a parent. Furthermore: You can mock my intellectual ability all you like, but at least I had the sense to know that I was ill-equipped (not to mention too busy) to tend to the newborn princess myself.

Like, do you think you could have phrased it better, given how you presented yourself? Magical gate, fields strewn with skeletons, dead city, skeletal king on his dusty throne! You've clearly showed yourself as a great conqueror and killer of elves, wielder of terrible powers! To someone like her, wouldn't that paint you as someone who'd have no qualms making glazed ham out of random lowfolk and elf alike? Do you think this whole gig kinda, like, backfired a bit?

All of that should have charmed and impressed her! I admit it was my fault for failing to take into account the fact that Zandar was a complete stranger to elvish culture and knew nothing of our ways.

Also what herbs and vegetables do you use in your stews and what do you use as a thickener if you use any?

It requires a magickal spice called "paprika" which I believe is only available in Faerie. I don't want to give away too many secrets, because this information in the wrong hands could wreak havoc on your world … but I will whisper two words that will make sense to the initiated: SASSAFRAS FILE.

Now then, to properly explain what happened to the princess and her lowfolk swapling, I have to backtrack and set the stage.

Zandar and I had venery together, and I persuaded her to crown me. I was then able to issue a Royal Proclamation which lifted the geas confining me to Albric Tor, and also (reluctantly) honored the bargain I had made with Dr. Owter Cesawonki (aka Ash Marten.)

After a while Zandar became pregnant. I cared for her as best I could, even calling upon Barkingthwaite and Venatrix and my Ixie network to procure some of the more exotic foods Zandar craved as her gestation progressed.

Zandar was unfortunately addicted to the pernicious lowfolk habit of SLEEPING several hours per day. I joined her a few times, but ultimately I felt I was simply enabling her dependency. Perhaps during some of these naps, I should have used Estvan's water-bowl trick to spy on her dreams, but in retrospect it's probably best that I didn't.

More importantly, I could not stand wasting time lazing about when there was a world to explore! I hadn't seen anything beyond my stone circle and the battlefield in AGES, so every time Zandar snoozed, I was out wandering with a few of my Ixies, seeing sights and making connections. That's how I tracked down the O'Dor family that Vernier had married into so long ago. I also located the Persoc Tor Gate surprisingly close by (it's much farther in Faerie) and managed to get back in touch with Burnside and Rebecca.

But my goodness! Look at the time! That's enough for now, and I'll resume the tale when we meet again, next week. May Fuma guide your steps and protect you from owls until then!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can you do a Satan from Cuphead x a reader that's a kind atheist? I mean, not in the sense that they don't believe in God or greater deities (since Satan literally has a casino, can't deny that there is some sort of god in the Isle), but in the sense that they flat out don't care where they end up when they die, only if they make the most of their life now. By being good to anyone that crosses their path, and that just so happens to be Satan himself.

I developed a head canon that Satan is having an existential crisis about his existence. Bc in the show we've seen him do good things, and in the dlc we see both his demonic and angelic sides at once. Maybe the kind reader could help?

“Sooooo...you literally don't care where your soul winds up?"

"Nope."

"..but what if I take it?"

"Then that's fine-”

“What?!! No!! That’s not right at all!!" Stomping his foot, Devil loomed over you with menacing yellow eyes. "You can't just say "I don't care" or "that's fine." Did you forget who I am?”

“You-”

“Exactly. I’m the Devil, you idiot! You should be afraid!"

“But you don’t scare me.” You return the look with the calmest of gazes.

You didn’t say that out of cockiness; you genuinely didn’t think he was all that bad. Then again you had this mindset towards everyone, including the debtors that were still picking up the pieces after their freedom from the contracts. You crossed paths with many of them--offering a kind hand to those who seemingly didn’t deserve it, such as Baroness and King Dice.

And what did you expect in repayment? Nothing.

You didn’t care where you winded up when the time inevitably comes. It never bothered you; rather than think about the future, you wanted to live in the present and do good deeds during your time in this world.

Yes, that included helping the Devil himself--the very fiend that could condemn you to fiery punishment and harvest your soul.

You actually helped his minions rebuild the throne room that got destroyed in his battle with the cups. Whatever their short statures and small, weak wings couldn’t reach, you were there to assist. Not to mention you’d regularly polish his trident if he didn’t have it with him and flash sickening smiles whenever you two crossed paths.

At Henchman’s insistence, Devil finally decided to confront you about this, wondering if you had some ulterior motivation. Surely you wanted something from him in exchange, right?

“Why are you so friendly to me all of the sudden? Are you expecting to get VIP access to my casino--which, by the way, I can no longer enter due to a magic spell binding?! Because you’re out of-”

“Is...me just wanting to be nice a good-enough answer?”

“No!” Growling under his breath, he turned on his heel. “Don’t waste your energy trying to help me anymore. I have legions at my disposal. Unless you give me a real answer I-”

“I had a dream about you.”

Devil blinked, slowly looking back at you with confusion. “A dream? You mean...a nightmare?” He grinned evilly, though it was quick to falter as you smiled and shook your head.

“Noope. I meant a dream. For the past few weeks I’ve had the same exact one.”

Although he usually wouldn’t care, he was curious about this “dream” you had, so he fully turned around and huffed, indicating he was staying to listen.

“I took a nap near a graveyard one day, and I found myself in this weird...dimension. I was fighting you. But there were..two forms of you. Nothing like your spider or goat or giant ones. You were a demon and angel. It was so vivid that I remember what they looked like. I even drew them out.”

Showing him a paper, you presented a drawing of you standing on a platform and a giant skeleton of his likeness in the background. On either side of you were two large entities that shared his face:

One was an angel in a blue toga, with nubby horns and fluffy wings. His eyes were kind and his hands were clasped together in a prayer. The other was covered in red fur with ram horns and batlike wings, looking down at you with a devilish grin.

“The angel wasn’t attacking me, but the demon did.” You continued to explain. “And sometimes the two would switch places when I tried talking to one. They seemed...conflicted with hurting me, as if they didn’t want to. Yet they couldn’t stop or let me go. I only woke up when I got hurt or fell off the platform.”

You just chuckled awkwardly at Devil’s blank reaction. “Guess you can say it was one hell of a dream-”

Suddenly he snatched the drawing from you, examining it more closely. Although the red demon looked quite dashing, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pain seeing the blue angel.

How could this be? What would make you dream of these two halves of himself in such detail?

He didn’t know whether to laugh or feel insulted.

“You know this dream could mean you’ve had one too many sugar cubes..and you’re sleeping next to graves-”

“Nope, I’ve had this same dream over and over, even in the comfort of my own home. I think..it’s trying to tell me that you’re not absolutely evil.”

His fur bristled with tension, as if he was shocked with Cuphead’s invisible sweater, but he bit his tongue. Deep down he knew there was some truth to your statement, yet he buried it, thinking he could get away with just closing up and mocking you as he did every other resident.

“Well..that’s only what you wish I was. But the reality is that I am 100% evil!” He huffed. “Honestly if you think I’m even remotely capable of any good-”

“What about the time you painted the fence for the cups so they didn’t have to?”

“...they tricked me into doing that!!! Although I did find it fairly therapeutic..” Devil hummed for a moment, before blinking as he realized how “soft” he was becoming and scoffed loudly. “L-Look, you want conclusive proof that I’m evil? Well..you can’t spell “devil” without E-V-I-L! Now how about that?” He smirked.

“But you go by other names, too.”

His smile faltered. “.........”

“Satan, Lucifer..those don’t have the word evil in-”

“THAT STUPID DREAM MEANS NOTHING!!” Flames abruptly burst around his form, making you step back. Not in fright, but to avoid being burned. And you noticed your drawing was slowly being disintegrated into ash.

Yet you stayed calm as the fire died down, and he growled at you. Though his yellow gaze went to the drawing, realizing half of it had burnt, leaving only..

The blue angel.

You frowned slightly, thinking you pushed one button too many. His shoulders were slumped, yet you remained cautious in case he had another outburst. “Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry. But that’s why I’m not scared of you. Perhaps I should be but-”

“..no, you..you’re the right one.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re right.” He finally admitted through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t always this evil..in fact..I was just like this angel once.” Looking up at you, you could see pink-colored tears turning his eyes glossy. “I used to be better than this...I..used to be...a decent guy. Now here I stand, with a fallen empire and despised by everyone!!”

You were astonished that the Devil was humbling himself right before you, but you nodded in understanding.

“Could I truly call myself the Devil anymore? I mean..like..I should’ve taken your soul the moment you intruded in my lair!! I never cared about anyone!! The Devil never does! But I held back...so what does that say about me now?! I don’t understand!!” He wailed.

Feeling a hand callously pet his arm, he opened his teary eyes to see your soft smile. Still kind and warm in the face of an all-powerful demon who could ignite himself at any time.

“I think that says..you’re conflicted with yourself. Part of that angel you once were is still inside you, trying to break through. It’s not a bad thing. It just shows you have a heart.”

He sniffled, rubbing at his eyes like a child. “My heart is only cold. But..part of me still wishes I could go back to what I was before. But even with all my power I cannot turn back time or turn into anything even slightly angelic.”

“Well at least you’re accepting it, y’know?” You comforted. “And..you can still do good around Inkwell. Like small things.”

“Such as?”

“Not..popping a random kid’s balloon? That would be a good start.”

“Awh, but it’s funnyyyyy.” He pouted childishly, though upon seeing your gaze turn stern, he sighed. “Fine.” Rolling his eyes, he looked at the drawing he still had, sheepishly handing it back to you. “Here. My first “good deed” for the day. Sorry it’s halfway burnt.”

Taking it back, you folded and pocketed it. “I actually have dozens of drawings like this. Every time I have that dream, I immediately wake up to draw you, trying to remember all the details. At first..they were just stick figures since I couldn’t recall much, but now I’m currently working on a full-fledged painting.”

“Ooooo, a painting of my likeness~?” Devil cooed with a raised eyebrow. “Why, I’m pleased to be somebody’s muse.”

Yep. That pride and ego he was so notorious for was showing again.

“Well....” He checked his imaginary watch as he summoned his trident. “I have things to do but..this has been erm..a nice chat. I will see that painting once it’s finished, no?”

“Of course.” You promised. “Just don’t randomly drop in like you always do to the cups..I want you to be surprised.”

“Fine. I trust that you won’t disappoint me.”

And just like that, he vanished into a puff of smoke, leaving you alone with your half-burnt drawing and more knowledge of what really went on inside his mind.

Today, you found good in him. And that made you smile.

[arcsparkasriel]

Thanks to Gerdew on Twitter for making this commission for me! I dub this The Premise as this is the general premise of my AU Lofitale!

It truly was a bit of a shock when I gained my soul back and properly met my brother for the first time. It wasn't sprung on me quite like this but meeting Ralsei was still quite a shock. I never had any siblings except for Chara and I guess Frisk and Suzy now, but Ralsei is the one that I can say is related to me by blood. It's different.

When Frisk took my hand and escorted me through the Underground from that patch of flowers, I could feel myself come back. All of my memories and emotions came flooding back. That Flower no longer had a hold on me. He would always be there, but hopefully, with my family's help, Flowey will never resurface again.

As Frisk guided me towards the barrier, I could feel every piece of all seven souls fusing together to form my new one. It had a strange effect on my body. Quickly in a moment, as I reached the Judgement Hall, the years caught up with me. Gone was the scared, timid eight-year-old. Standing before Frisk was the lean, lanky teenager you see in the image above.

I was a little scared but, my new best friend Frisk assured me that everything would be ok. Down the dank hallways, up the narrow staircases, and across the brightly lit throne room we moved through. The place I once called home.

The courtyard where Frisk and I began our final battle was still there as if nothing happened. I gazed down upon the golden bed of flowers where I collapsed into dust on that fateful day. Wondering how different everyone's life might have been if I had refused to indulge in Chara's plan. All I could do now was step forward with my new family and brace for whatever the future would bring.

The sunset lit up the final passageway where the Barrier once had been. It was blinding. When my vision adjusted...there they all were. Standing just outside the mountain. Finally breathing the free air of the Surface. Mom, Dad, those Skeletons, Alphys, and Undyne standing there in a line. And next to Mom was...him.

His tiny white form made me choke up tears of joy for the first time in centuries. But my legs wouldn't move. A million voices in my head were screaming that I still didn't deserve this. Satisfaction, Happiness, Love. Everything that good people deserved. Things I felt like I shouldn't have. I was feeling lightheaded from how many emotions were overwhelming me.

Frisk, that wonderful, strange, impossible, determined kid just sighed and took my hand. Leading the way like he always did. It was a surreal feeling, having something or someone shorter than me, dragging me along. As we stepped into the light, however, I was focused on only one thing. All of those eyes suddenly turned to look at us.

It took them a few seconds to process what and who they were looking at, and an eternity longer to accept that it was real.

The reunion was tearful and joyous to say the least. Perhaps I will go into further detail in a future commission. They had no questions and needed none. Sans and I knew we would have to set aside time to talk later, but he was ok with what was happening.

That little boy, my brother, born in the darkness of the Ruins approached me. I knelt down to let him touch my face as we met properly for the first time.

"Howdy...Ralsei. I know this all may be strange for you. But I wanted to meet you. I'm Asriel. Your big brother."

Ralsei was silent for a moment but then beamed brighter than the sunset.

"I was wondering when you were gonna come back! It's wonderful to meet you, big brother!"

After that well, perhaps I'll get into another time. As the story of how Frisk reintroduced Monsterkind and met Clover's own Monster family are two big stories in of themselves.

[is-the-fire-real]

judío por elección (part 1)

(TW: aging, death, brief description of dead body and the effects of death)

We were stopped on the street two years ago by a small gray-haired lady who was thrilled to hear us speaking English. She herself was a Londoner who transplanted to our small Andalusian village with her husband almost twenty years ago. She was thrilled to hear people speaking in her mother tongue and invited my wife and I in for coffee anytime.

We started taking her up on it. The pandemic was still On, but not Lockdown On. We wore masks, sat on their broad terrace over six feet apart, and shouted conversation at each other. She always gave us tons of cookies and coffee from her once-white, now-brown-from-use plastic electric kettle. I get nervous about plastic kettles, but drank it anyway. And here was where we met her husband, E.

E was stooped and frail where his wife, S, was merely beginning to run down a little. When you get to E's age, the skeleton starts to come out in your features. Even then, we had no idea how old E really was until he casually mentioned that he remembered his father coming back from the war.

The War, he said, and I told my wife afterwards this must be WW2, and later, we asked enough questions to validate that guess. So in his 80s.

E forgot a lot of things. He acting like being Jewish was a secret because he'd forgotten how he'd hung up a Passover plate on one wall, and how he'd marked the eastern wall of the house with a plaque of the Tablets of the Law. We decided to make him feel safer by talking about my Jewish stepfamily and my wife's experiences of being mistaken for Jewish. He talked about learning Hebrew before he learned English, a little about growing up Orthodox in England in the fifties. Then he made us swear we'd never tell anyone in the village that he was Jewish.

We swore.

He wasn't an easy person to be around. Part of aging sometimes is feeling the weight of all your seemingly-innocent choices along the way dragging your body down into oblivion. Throughout his life, E smoked and E was a jeweler who did woodworking and home repair and almost never wore a mask. E when I knew him was tied to an oxygen tank and sounded like he breathed underwater. Throughout his life, E was strong and able to exert gentle control over others; when I knew him, his reedy voice rose to sharply criticize anyone around him.

He complained of how things were different now in the village; I saw his fear of the last great big change behind his words.

That was how my wife and I treated these visits: we were seeing an old man at the end of his life far away from his family trying to cope. He told the same set of stories over and over again; we took it as him needing certainty that somebody would know and tell those stories. (One of them: E worked on set design for the show "Merlin", kept the molds, and utilized them in his home design... so some of his walls had little archways with Merlin's star or the throne's symbol impressed upon them.) He went back and forth between taxing S with unreasonable requests and trying to ratchet them back when he saw he went too far.

Early in the summer of 2023, E started repainting and cleaning off his terrace and rooftop. S would cry and beg and plead for him not to, it was too hot, he'd go without oxygen too long (she was right). E ignored her. I drank my coffee and thought about how he must know the end was near and how he wanted to leave the house in a nice condition for S to live in, or sell, afterward.

The last thing he tried to do was repaint part of the ceiling which had collapsed and decorate it with stars, galaxies, and black holes. "It takes a great deal of time to reproduce the universe," he'd say, and my wife would laugh and say "Of course, it took G-d six days but we're not G-d", and then E'd laugh, every time.

Toward the end of an obscenely hot June, S called me in shrieking tears and told me "I think E has died!"

I was in the middle of six chores when I got that phone call, none of which were done that day. My wife and I ran for S's house. E had been mostly bed-bound for the past two weeks. He had gotten out of bed, walked into the foyer, and collapsed. He was almost certainly dead immediately. S had to do CPR on him while weeping and talking to the emergency workers in broken Spanish.

Never seen a dead body before.

After the workers finally arrived, it went more quickly. They picked his body up and wrapped him in a sheet and laid him on the marital bed. My wife, who speaks Spanish natively, spoke to all the different workers. I didn't, so I ended up finding a mop and cleaning up the urine that coated the entire foyer. (The next day I'd bring by a steam cleaner, run it through the whole foyer, and then I steam cleaned her kitchen so we could all pretend I hadn't brought it over to cleanse the last of E from the house.)

(When I learned that you kasher a microwave by steaming water in it, I immediately thought of that day.)

I led S into the room where E's body lay. I pulled out my phone while she cried. I didn't yet understand how an ethnoreligion worked, but I still had a sense that while E wasn't passionately religious, he would want certain things for himself. If he didn't, then S needed something that would help her move into grief. And I knew that it'd help me. So I pulled up an English language version of a mourning prayer and guided S through it.

This calmed her a little, and after touching his outline, she left the room. Alone, not sure if he said it or if I believed it, I recited the Shema on his behalf. (Which I had learned, to my goyim embarrassment, from "The Sandman".)

After E's passing, none of his remaining family were Jewish, and nobody wanted his Judaica. Once S started cleaning all the remnants out of her house, she went hard on purging the Judaica. I don't blame her for this, exactly. She was grieving and she had no concept of how important some of those objects could be. My wife told her to give us any books or items that were about Judaism instead of throwing them away. When she did, S lit up and immediately gave us his mezuzahs. One was empty. One had a tatty old prayer sheet inside it.

My wife and I looked for hours on how to dispose of the prayer (we still haven't, we're working on it). I looked up whether or not it was okay for non-Jews to hang mezuzah. As I shared the results, my wife laughed and said they'd feel weird about it, like they were cosplaying Judaism.

"I'd like to be Jewish," they said, as they had for the past fifteen years on and off, "only I can't."

This time, for the first time, I said: "Why not?"

[evilkitten3]

@blueper-saiyan

#Not sure if I’m allowed to pull out these tags as a separate reblog#but that is an interesting and fucked up theory I like it#and absolutely want to hear the long version#vegeta

you absolutely are as far as i'm concerned but since op's post was getting a bit long i'll respond here

dbz always reblog i have a theory that there's actually a reason for this it stems from my theory that vegeta's mom doesn't exist bc he's a clone of his dad basically it eventually become obvious that frieza was going to take whichever kid was heir to the throne so king vegeta (kv i guess) went ''aight we need a Super Baby (no tuffles allowed) and i'm the coolest guy on the planet. need a baby me'' so he gets a bunch of the buffest nerds imaginable (be real saiyan scientists like the job bc they get to fight physics) and start working kv: i need this kid to last as long as possible we're gonna need to buy some time scientists: got it boss *proceed to make the universe's most ridiculously hard to kill infant* how's this kv: excellent. frieza catch! frieza: oh this is adorable! i'm going to traumatize it =) <-an extremely brief summary of my hc

(^the tags in question)

ok so first there are a couple of things i need to get out of the way ahead of time– namely, i'm not the first person to come up with the vegeta-is-a-clone idea; the first person i saw with that idea was someone who wrote a fic i read a while back that i'm blanking on the name of at the moment, and while their version is massively different from mine, the core concept of clone!veggie is more or less the same

the second thing is that i get way too into world building sometimes and so a lot of pieces of my hcs get mixed up with one another and often don't fit in with established canon (which isn't like abnormal or anything but i want to clarify that i already know some of this doesn't perfectly slot up. in my defense the db timeline doesn't even match up with itself half the time)

the final thing is that while i've seen bits of the anime and the first handful of super episodes, i'm mostly a manga fan, so i view any non-manga parts of dragon ball as free real estate

buckle up, i was not kidding about the length (*immature snickering*)

SO.

first and foremost the relationship between the tuffles and the saiyans: the tuffles are described as being a peaceful yet technologically advanced race, but in my hc, they're a bit more complicated than that. for starters, i don't see how a supposedly peaceful race is going to have high-tech blasters, and while it's possible that they're for defensive purposes, it... really doesn't give off that vibe. also they were super into some fairly questionable science, some of which objectively involved human experimentation (or... humanoid experimentation, i guess)

jumping back to the future for a sec: gohan. gohan is a half-human, half-saiyan male hybrid, and while two separate species somehow producing a hybrid child isn't unheard of, male hybrids are almost always completely infertile. and yet, gohan grows up and has a kid (another explanation is gohan and videl are t4t, which i also love, but it doesn't really fit into this). so how are saiyans and humans not only capable of reproducing together, but capable of having children that can also reproduce? my theory here is that saiyans are genetically modified (early) humans– tuffles arrived on earth sometime prior to homo erectus finishing the jump to homo sapiens, grabbed a handful of various lab rats, and got to work.

this would also explain why saiyan tails look the way they do. to elaborate, here's a spider monkey skeleton:

notice how the tail is made up of more vertebrae that continue along the same curve as the rest of the spine. meanwhile, goku's tail looks like this:

it juts straight out, almost perpendicular to his spinal cord. to me, that does not look like how tails work– it looks grafted on. in the video game kakarot, bulma even makes goku a fake tail for him to fish with that he can just... stick right on there. i know dragon ball science is already broken af (someone please explain to me how dr briefs isn't basically a deity for inventing capsules), but if the tail is a genetic trait that didn't evolve naturally, it makes some sense (in the way anything in dragon ball makes sense, that is)

so– saiyans are a highly adaptable species that seem to be able to eat basically whatever, can both endure and dish out catastrophic amounts of damage, are biologically driven to fight to the point where it's hard to imagine how a society full of them could function at all, get stronger whenever they recover from being seriously injured, can transform into giant apes, and yet have a glaringly obvious weakness that can pretty much completely incapacitate them if you know about it? they seem designed for war, and not in the natural evolution-is-just-funny-like-that-sometimes way.

what we know about the tuffles sort of differs from source to source, but the most negative opinions come from the saiyans– according to vegeta, the tuffles basically treated them as slaves. which... yeah, that adds up, given everything.

anyway, here's where i divorce from canon entirely bc according to gt, king vegeta iii is the one who led the saiyans in the war against the tuffles, which raises... honestly so many questions. so i'm ignoring that; it was vegeta i and he was never officially king, but more on that later. i also need to note that the whole "saiyans lived on planet sadala, fucked it up, and moved to planet plant which later became planet vegeta" to my knowledge is not manga canon but since i like the general idea, i sorta moved it a bit.

in my version, the saiyans and the tuffles both lived on planet sadala, but the war between the two species got a little out of hand and the planet was kaputski (to be fair, if you suddenly got to turn into a giant ape and wreak havoc on the people who were possibly enslaving you, you might go a bit overboard too), so the saiyans stole all the tuffles' ships and gtfo'd (this is why everyone was so sure the tuffles were gone. bc typically blowing up someone's planet is a good way to get rid of all of them. at least in theory– i'm sure frieza can tell you all about how well it works in practice)

back to vegeta i– he wasn't a king, technically, but he was the saiyan who started, led, and according to all saiyan sources (which are biased but w/e) finished the revolt, and chose to die on the planet in an act of heroic sacrifice and/or symbolism and/or his daughter twisted a fact or two bc propaganda is a game we all can play, and the new planet they landed on was named after him. said daughter took the same name, declared the planet and the king to be one and the same, and set about conquering the shit out of it. so vegeta ii was technically the first king but if you asked her she was the second and also disrespecting her father and probably also about to be killed via spear (oh btw king vegeta ii is famed for her giant war spear which was very cool and intimidating and probably didn't see much use outside of ritual combat bc it's honestly more efficient to just blast people but all the statues and art and whatnot have her with it)

i'm going to take a minute to gloat about vegeta ii bc honestly she's one of my alltime favorite ocs that i've made, despite the fact that i don't intend to ever have her show up in anything (yass gurl haunt that narrative!!!) but basically she's a deeply respected figure in saiyan culture, although she died way before any of the saiyans still alive in dbz were born (except nappa), bc she... basically built saiyan culture from scratch. pretty much all the core beliefs the saiyans as a people had were from her very deliberately and surprisingly sneakily forcing them to be developed bc she was fully aware that the saiyans needed more than a love of battle to actually survive as a society independent of the tuffles. she basically had the whole thing set up and ready to last and become a proper empire but unfortunately the one kid that lived long enough to succeed her (by killing her in combat, obviously, and yes the others all tried and died– she's an important figure, not a nice one) ran face first into frieza and we all know how that went down

anyhow, vegeta ii's reign (which lasted a crazy long time bc she lived way longer than she should've and almost certainly used some kind of not-so-great method of living that long, but in her defense she needed to make sure at least one of her kids was cool enough to be in charge, so what's a few war crimes between monarchs) pretty much cemented all the saiyan pride and identity that vegeta iv is so fond of, and not just bc she was his grandma either.

the reason i have to get through all of that to explain my clone!vegeta theory is bc i need to explain why king vegeta iii became king in the first place– under vegeta ii's system, anyone could challenge for the throne at any time, regardless of who they were. her own children were expected - but not required - to do so, and if she died before an heir could kill her in glorious combat, the princes would become stewards and have the duty of finding the next king (who couldn't be one of them. fight and die for that shit like a real saiyan or no throne for you). however, there was actively incentive not to do that bc A) whoever's in charge has to actually be in charge and therefore gets to fight way less, and B) in order to become king you had to be ritually stripped of your identity as a person with the understanding that if you died during your challenge your name would be stricken from all records, none of your family or friends would ever acknowledge that you had ever existed, and you would simply cease to be (the afterlife doesn't follow these rules but most of the saiyans who are there still do, including the ones who by saiyan law no longer exist. say what you will about saiyans; they're a dedicated lot)

so anyway vegeta iii (before becoming vegeta iii – he had a different name bc names are super important in my version of saiyan culture but if i get into that here we will literally be here for the rest of the week - but i'll call him that for the sake of my sanity) is somewhat reluctant to challenge for the throne bc none of his siblings have managed it (not that they exist anymore whoops), but one of his colleagues/presumed ruling partner (not gonna get into saiyan relationships here either sorry) has been pushing him to do so for a while now

i think i've gone through a few names for vegeta's not-mom, but the most recent one is touga (from tougarashi, or capsicum annuum, and yes i was thinking of neon orange glimmer song by the mountain goats when i named her), so i'll call her that. touga is a pretty saiyan-y saiyan– she's violent, temperamental, proud, strong, and so forth, but another thing she is is deeply, deeply loyal to her people. she's also very aware of vegeta iii's weaknesses (such as "will probably care a little too much about kids if he has any" and "may make decisions based off of feelings instead of cold hard practical logic" and "seems likely to develop emotional attachments to family members"; you know, normal kingly failings) and has the lady macbeth-esque stainless steel go-fuck-yourself coldness to make up for her future husband's pathetic little morals or whatever

anyway, touga pushes vegeta iii to go for the throne bc holy shit his mom has been alive for way too long but also she has faith in hi or something and duty and whatever and dude do it if you ever want this saiyan tail, and eventually he caves and goes for it. he fights his mom, wins, gets a shiny new king name and is all set to run his kingdom. and then king cold shows up.

now in between killing his mom and our favorite chilly boys coming to town, vegeta iii and touga have had a kid, prince escallion (who is a girl ftr but i can't get into saiyan thoughts on sex/gender or the language or even escallion herself in this post bc we will never ever leave). escallion is pretty neat, just the strongest baby in history or whatever, but then post-cold arriving and politely yoinking the saiyans into his empire, rumors start spreading that frieza miiiiight be wanting a saiyan under his personal command. no prizes for guessing whose palace he's looking at for pickings. obviously the only prince they've got is not someone they can afford to lose, but they need a sure bet on super-infants and can't afford hoping for a genetic bingo, so vegeta iii assembles the universe's swole-est scientists and has them get started on making the Coolest Baby Ever (by cloning him, the king, bc he's the strongest but also bc frieza is an asshole and likes playing mind games with people so let's be real he's taking one of the king's kids no matter how tough they are)

so vegeta iv gets made (and named inappropriately but that's frieza's fault and a story for another time so ignore it for now) and eventually tarble is born and almost immediately sent off just in case frieza decides to be a bigger dick than usual (spoilers: frieza is going to decide to be an even bigger dick than that), and vegeta gets to spend the first few years of his life with his dad, big sis, and not-mom until he gets shipped off to go be a child soldier/slave/distraction, at which point frieza goes ahead and blows up the planet. there's more to it than just that, but i may actually want to write it out some day, so i'll keep the rest to myself for now.