#wraiths from a hell-realm

[wingedblooms]

Slowly, like lovely wraiths from a hell-realm, the witches appeared. (qos)

I haven’t been able to shake this quote since the witch series. How amazing would it be if we see Elain, a powerful seer and witch, peer into and/or travel to Hel like a wraith with her friends Nuala and Cerridwen? I’m so ready for all of their spooky adventures and missions together.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp prompt #13: Hell to Pay

They say there are only two things certain in life: death and taxes. That’s why even the Joker doesn’t fuck with the IRS.

However, unfortunately for the Joker the other certainty is death and he has yet to pay his dues. Just like how he could only get away with tax evasion for so long, there are only so many times the Joker can dodge death.

Death is coming to collect, with interest.

And the Joker will have hell to pay.

~ A dark green cloud swirls over the city. From it, emerge three oppressive figures:

The one on the far left with flowing hair like white-hot fire. His vambraces made of (what appeared to be) molten glass stopped under his fingers, which then extend into into claws that seemed to drip lava. He had spiked obsidian pauldrons on his shoulders, fastening a luminous, stark-white cape to his shoulders. He wore a coronet of lightning and wielded a flail that appeared to be made of coal chains and a shrunken Red Giant star.

The second on the far right had a helm of dark iron wreathed in a plume of purple flame. His gauntlets and sword flamed with green hellfire. A pure black sheath seemingly made of void and a silver hunting horn were tied to his waist. He wore an armor forged of shadows and proofed with fear. He rode atop a mighty stead. An inky dark stallion with a curved horn and bat-like wings. His form was constantly slightly shifting depending on the angle which you viewed him making him appear larger and more slippery than he was, enhancing his disquieting nature.

The third stood in the middle, smaller but no less terrifying than her companions. Her hair was wild with movement, only just visible because it appeared as if someone had bound the winds to her head. She wore a tiara made of storm clouds and pearls. She carried with her a spear, the shaft crafted of amazonite and the tip of a clear quartz, almost reminiscent of sea salt. At her hip lay a whip made of a restrained gale and a sea glass knife. She wore armor that appeared to be Greco-Roman in origin: a chest plate made of some sort of coral-like material and a battle skirt decorated with metallic bronze feathers.

They slowly descent on the city, bringing down a sense of power and dread. They paused at the top of Wayne Tower, where the city's vigilantes had all gathered in an attempt to create and feasible plan of action to discern what these beings want. The young woman in the middle speaks and the wind carries her voice. She is not loud but it the whole of Gotham hears her words.

"Greetings, Heroes of Gotham. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Spirit, Princess and Head Diplomat of the Infinite Realms. This is Samhain, the Fright Knight, loyal knight to the king,” she gestured to her right before switching to her left “and this is Prince Wraith, current General in Chief of the Realms. We come to you as the King’s Guard and entourage. We have official business in your city and wish to civilly notify you of our presence. The King will be arriving shortly and your cooperation would be great fully received.”

Batman moved forward to shake her hand and address the situation.

“I’m afraid that we prefer not to have unknowns operating within the city. Would you be able to tell us what business you have here? Perhaps we could reach an agreement?” Batman tried to negotiate as politely as he could. He did not want to risk offending the evidently powerful beings.

Princess Spirit’s smile sharpened as she thrummed her finger against her knife. She spoke again with an unnervingly pleasant tone.

“It appears you do not understand. We are not asking for your permission.” Her grip around his hand tightened. “ We are informing you.” She finished releasing his hand.

Batman withdrew his aching hand and regarded her with the beginnings of a protest on his lips. She didn’t allow him to speak.

“ This is out of your jurisdiction Batman. This is a matter of the Realms and the Afterlife. Whatever worldly rules or morals you wish to impose on those who enter this city do not apply to us. We will do our best to work within them, so as to appease you and to attempt to maintain a friendly relationship but in the macrocosm of the multiverse and afterlives you have no official power over us. Additionally, we have direct permission to operate here however we see fit from the City Spirit herself, Lady Gotham.”

Batman’s shadow seemed to fluctuated. His and his team's shadows moved from beneath them, closer to the Princess. Lady Gotham, though not manifesting, was making her presence and approval known. Batman could not deny what he was seeing. His team shifted uncomfortably behind him. He appealed to her once more.

“ I see that we can’t stop you. We don’t want to get in your way either. Could you at least tell us why you are here?”

She smiled as if telling a joke, “All will be revealed in time”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise that sounded like tearing fabric. The green clouds mixed with purples and blues and began to churn faster. The cyclone emitted a flashes of bright light. In unison all three of the King’s Guard lifted up from the roof and took place underneath the eye of the wind storm.

Spirit holds her spear aloft. With one swift, commanding move she slams the butt of her spear down, creating a platform out of solidified air.

Wraith bellows out smoke and ash onto the platform to discolor it. With ferocious and precise movements his claws to carve in a sigil, leaving a soft orange glow against the black and gray.

Samhain sheathes his sword and pulls his horn from his waist. He wills his dark stead to rear up as he blows the horn, letting out one loud prolonged cry.

The three warriors stand at attention and Princess Spirit calls the winds to project her voice once more.

“ Now introducing the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, High King of the In-Between, The Great One, The Benevolent King, The Peace Maker, The Guardian of Souls, The One with the Cloak of Stars and the Crown of Frozen Light, The Perfect Balance, Ancient of Space and Reality, The Infinite King: Phantom!”

With a flash of white light a figure appear in the center of the platform. Simultaneously, the three knights bow in reverence.

The King has arrived.

As the Heroes of Gotham regain clear vision they are met with a striking figure.

There stood a toned young man appearing both boyishly young, yet wisened and weathered. He had side swept hair the creeped to the bottom of his neck. His skin was pale with an icy blue tint. He opened his eyes to reveal they shone an electric green. Upon his head rest a crown made of a crystalline material, reminiscent of an aurora. He wore a navy blue cloak that had a rich purple hood lined with stark white fur. The underside displayed a shifting galaxy pattern. His under suit was the same midnight black as Samhain’s. He donned golden arm bands and a gold chest plate in style quite similar to Spirit’s. His hand were covered in snow white gauntlets that matched Wraith’s vambraces.

They all stood in awe, beholden to the almost divine figure.

The king sent them a gentle smile. It was warm and comforting yet sent a chill down their shoulders.

King Phantom began to fly down toward the center of the city, his entourage fell into step behind him. He hovered several hundred feet over Wayne tower and looked down at the city. He then spoke in a booming voice, his tone kind but commanding.

“ I humbly greet the Lady Gotham, her champions, and her citizens,” the shadows curled toward him appreciatively. “ I am grateful for your cooperation in our effort to rectify a great injustice. As High King of the Infinite Realms it is one of my duties to preside over the afterlife. To bring guidance, peace, and justice to the souls under my jurisdiction. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is a soul among you who has not only dodged death, but caused great strife to a vast number of souls who call for justice.”

On the roof of Wayne Enterprises Jason and Damian both stiffen, but remain firm in their gaze toward the king. The king looks out at the city and sparing them the quickest of glances. He continues onward.

“ The man formerly know as Jack Napier, now called The Joker. He has avoided death on many an occasion but his life should have ended moment he fell into a vat of chemicals. Since then he has sent hundreds more to the afterlife. He has long yet to pay his dues. That is why on the behalf of justice, restoring balance, and of my subjects I officially condemn Jack Napier.”

“Jack Napier, you have been allowed 24 hours turn yourself into our custody in order to be put on trial for your crimes in the Infinite Realms. Should you fail to turn youself in, we shall take that as an admission of guilt and acceptance to be punished for your actions. After the 24 hours are up, Samhain shall use his horn to summon The Hunt and we shall track you down.”

His gaze passed specifically over Red Hood, one of the Oracle’s drones, Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, and Batman before he spoke his next words.

“All those souls who have been wronged by the Joker, both living and deceased, who wish to have a hand in their justice have been invited to join The Hunt if they so choose.”

The king lifted his hand, calling the swirling green clouds to his gather in his palm. The clouds swiftly rearranged themselves into a smokey timer hanging in the sky.

An impish smirk graced King Phantom’s face as he let out a malicious laugh and gave his final decree.

“ Your time begins now!”

[aria-hannah]

Layers of Hell

For Deadboyween Day 10 - Hell, I decided to try and pick out some extra details from hell, from a combination of what we can see of Edwin's notes in the show, what we see on screen and cross-referencing information on Dante's Inferno which it is based on.

0. Vestibule Edwin's notes: Endless staircase

Limbo Edwin's notes: Do Not Ring

2. Lust No written notes from Edwin here just a floorplan, I wonder if the Xs are doors that go nowhere or doors that don't lead out of Lust

3. Gluttony Edwin's notes: written notes on the floorplan show the way to level II (Lust), the way "Back to Doll House NO." and the way to Avarice with text "Wrong Way. AVARICE. Everything too heavy."

3.a. The Doll House I'm including the Doll House inside Gluttony since that's the level it seems to be connected to based on the floorplan, though that seems to have been via tearing a hole through the wall so there should be another proper connection somewhere, based on that and Edwin saying that the babydoll spider would need to find another way through, and it did. It's also interesting to note that Charles sees a couple of misery wraiths hanging out around a door which matches the design of the door into Simon's punishment room, though this scene takes place after Simon has moved on so it is unlikely they were drawn to him specifically, possibly these rooms hold other punishments for other people as well? We only get a very quick glimpse of Edwin's notes on the doll house while Charles is looking at the ripped section of the Gluttony page but what we can see shows a partial maze with some areas crossed out, a question mark in one area and couple of places just labelled "No." There are also drawings of the gates that are found in the doll house, notably these match the design of the gates that seem to lead into the area the babydoll spider drags Edwin to, presumably it's lair. Edwin's notes: No. ___(Bolt?) the gate

3.b. Simon's punishment room I'm including this here because Edwin found his way into here from the Doll House. One of the most interesting things about this room in terms of hell itself is that it shows that: a. The blue light can come for souls in hell b. The endless' realms can connect here (I wonder if Desire looks in on the Lust and Avarice levels?)

4. Avarice Edwin's notes: Heavy labour, everyone in your way

5. Wrath No notes

6. Heresy No notes

7. Violence Edwin's notes: trapped, impaled, submerged in blood

8. Fraud Edwin's notes: snake pit, regain human form by biting other humans circle I. whipped circle II. covered in excrement circle III. flipped + feet set on fire circle IV. ___(swim?) in hot pitch circle V. head twisted backwards circle VI. weighted clothes circle VII. snake pit turn into snakes circle VIII. ____(wrapped/wreathed?) in big flame circle IX. wounded, disfigure circle X. leprosy, dropsy, ____(rashes?) Interestingly circles 4 and 5 are switched in Edwin's notes as compared to the info I could find on Dante's Inferno, so in Dante's Inferno circle 4 has all their heads twisted backwards and circle 5 has them thrown in boiling hot pitch/tar.

9. Treachery Edwin's notes: frozen + stuck + chewed on

Overall thoughts: Given the lack of notes on Wrath and Heresy, it's likely that Edwin either spent little to no time in these circles or he wrote about it in detail in another page of his notebook (as he did with the doll house). On the other hand given the notes covering all 10 circles of Fraud, he spent enough time there to have seen all 10 of them and has paid particular attention to circle 7 both in his drawings and his side notes. He also has some notes on both Treachery and Violence, which makes me think that he spent some time in Fraud and while trying to escape from there saw the circles either side, just like he has notes on Avarice from trying to escape from Gluttony in that direction.

[user16121215]

Typical Trial Against the Killers

TW - Unhealthy displays of affection, Abuse (Mental and Physical), General dickishness

Herman Carter (The Doctor)

• You are the absolute last person to go.

• The good doctor won't even look in your general direction until everyone else has been taken care of.

• He's just waiting until you're on your own and he has all the time in the world to play around with you.

• Entity forbid you end up at Léry's Memorial Institute. That place was his home, he knows every little crack and corner by heart. There's no possibility of hiding, and he's faster than you are.

• If you somehow manage to escape without him getting a hold of you, be prepared for absolute hell next time you're placed against the doctor.

• He's a very prideful man and doesn't like losing in general, but when his obsession manages to slip through his fingers, there's no force on this realm, or any other, that can hold him back.

• He may even forget about everyone else and focus on you right from the start if he's angry enough.

• If this man can get you on a medical table, or anything similar, may the Entity have mercy on your soul.

• Herman likes the chase as much as any old killer but when he's had enough, it's time to claim his reward by strapping you down and inflicting his special kind of treatment he tailored just for you

Max Thompson Jr (The Hillbilly)

• Completely focused on you from the start

• As soon as he realises you're there with him, he goes mad trying to catch you.

• Most of the other survivors will escape if you're in a trial with the hillbilly because he won't leave you alone.

• This does mean that you'll probably get left behind since no one can really help you out.

• Your survival depends entirely on how fast you can run and how well you can hold your breath in a locker.

• Once he manages to catch you, he'll take his time and won't rush over to any hooks. He likes to hold you.

• He will grab you as much as he can. Instead of bashing you on the head with an oversized hammer, if he can latch onto your arm or just yank you back by your shirt he'd much rather do that.

• Your skin is so much softer than his own. So he'll delight in, not so gently, grasping any exposed flesh. Watching how it squishes between his fingers.

• This does of course lead to some rather oddly shaped bruises.

• He doesn't necessarily want to hurt you and is definitely less malicious than his colleagues. Max has never been exposed to any kind of positive relationship in his life and doesn't know how to handle these emotions he feels around you so he reacts the only way he knows.

Evan Macmillan (The Trapper)

• He'll chase you, but you won't get hooked right away.

• You'll either be left in one of his many traps or just crawling your way to help.

• Evan loves watching you limp and crawl away as he casually chases after you.

• If you're particularly annoying during a match, he might hook you just to get you out of the way, but he would much rather take his time with you and will most likely let someone unhook you just so he can chase you all over again.

• One of Evan's greatest delights is making you watch as your team dash through the exit gate without giving you a second thought.

• The look of betrayal and anguish is one he could just eat up on anyone but it has a certain extra hit when etched into your face. Especially if it was his own hands that carved it there.

• He finds it an absolute delight to watch you crawling towards the hatch, only for him to yank you back by your ankle as your fingers just brush against the metal. He gains extra satisfaction of he can yank a broken ankle, most likely given to you by own of his traps.

• He doesn't mind so much if you do escape. Obviously he doesn't like losing, but he knows you'll be back. You're his little toy after all, and he will get to play with you again.

Philip Ojomo (The Wraith)

• Mmmm did somebody say stalker?

• If you're uncomfortable with the feeling of having somebody's eyes on the back of your neck constantly, well tough luck.

• Trials with this boy are usually short and sweet.

• He's more focused on watching you and how you work than paying attention to the Entity's nagging.

• He's going to try and get as close to you as possible. Meaning that if you're not observant, he's going to be standing behind you as you're going about your business.

• He might even crouch down next to you and just stay there observing your face as you get your work done.

• Probably one of the only killers that will allow you to escape a trial. Or he'll go easy on you at the very least.

• Doesn't mean he won't ruthlessly beat the shit out of you if you get too cocky after you escape from him a few times. Mistaking his generosity for some kind of skill on your end is just not going to fly and he needs to make you painfully aware that any victory you celebrate is down to him.

• A 'Thank you Mr. Wraith.' Would be nice if you could just StOp SqUiRMING FOR TWO SECONDS.

• He just needs you to remember that although he may take certain liberties when it comes to you, he's still here to do a job and that job is to kill you.

Anna (The Huntress)

• Anna doesn't treat you much differently in a trial, even if she's fond of you.

• Not familiar with any human interaction outside of the very limited experience her mother provided have left her ignorant to anything beyond primal instinct.

• Death is just part of her understanding of affection.

• She loved her mother, her mother died.

• She loved the children, the children died.

• She may love you, and you suffer the same fate.

• Though you are different because you come back from death.

• Which only inspires her to kill you again.

• The hunt is courtship, the pain is yearning and death is love.

• And while she hunts, hurts and kills other survivors, you remain special to her and although nothing is different in the executions between you and your fellow sacrifices, to her it is night and day.

• She expects you to know that.

• She doesn't understand that you can't see the difference.

[ncstalqiaa]

"Not every relationship has to be romantic."

But what do you mean Jayce, after having just survived an attack he shouldn't of, glanced amongst destruction and landed upon his partner's lifeless body, and rushed him to the hexcore where he broke his only promise on a whim, in the hopes that it would save him?

What do you mean when Viktor emerged from the hexcore substance protecting him, completely altering his appearance to one that would concern any random onlooker, but Jayce was only focused on the fact that his partner is alive? Confessed that his priorities all along were wrong and he wanted to spend the rest of his time working in the lab with Viktor?

What do you mean after barely surviving in a barren universe unknown to him, Jayce made it his priority to eliminate the hexcore, possibly killing his partner in the process, because a being of Viktor from another universe admitted to him that only he can make Viktor see what path he is leading humanity to? That Jayce was so fueled by the idea that he could bring his old partner back that he struck the man with a beam of magic as soon as he came across him on his universe?

What do you mean Viktor fought and fought to have Jayce by his side, harmed many people and put people in the way of Jayce's wraith, hoping that Jayce will recognize his plan to glorious evolution free of any imperfections, and Jayce remained hell bent on either having his old partner back or having nothing at all?

What do you mean when Jayce was cornered, kneeling before a crowd of Viktor's glorious revolution, recreating the exact world-ending scenario in the barren land he was sent to before, instead of fighting, he relaxed and let himself be transported by Viktor to whatever realm Viktor resides in, allowing complete trust in a being that for all he could know, has completely taken over his best friend? his partner?

What do you mean Jayce admitted to Viktor, or whatever was left of him, that he found beauty in his imperfections? That his weaknesses were not weaknesses, but a piece of the shattered image that was his partner? And that he admired each and every one of those pieces of Viktor, to which Viktor only saw as imperfections that needed to be cleansed?

What do you mean when Ekko's device ruptured and tore away part of Viktor's mask, his first instinct was to curl away from Jayce and hide his face? Hide whatever remained of his being, his humanity, from the one person he knew had enough sway to tear down this armour he grew around himself? This armour that upheld the image of the villain? And yet Jayce's first reaction was admit to Viktor that all he wanted, was his partner back?

What do you mean Viktor's first instinct to such an acclamation, was ask how could someone be so persistent with him? After everything he has done to the world, to his partner?

What do you mean even after all the hardship Viktor put Jayce through, endangering him and almost killing him on multiple occasions, Jayce's first reaction was to embrace his partner?

What do you mean after realizing in every single universe, Viktor would end up alone. In complete solitude. And he still fought to uphold the image of the villain and shove Jayce away? Telling him that he must leave. That to Viktor, he was deserving of whatever punishment this would be. That Jayce deserved to return to Piltover and live out his dream of creating magic and to pursue love with Mel? That he must bear this burden of eternal solitude for however long, because Jayce was not deserving of being forced to live along side him for eternity?

What do you mean that Jayce would rather be reduced to atoms, spread across the universe and no longer holding any physical form, than returning to his life from before, because he would be with his partner. He would be his partner's anchor, when the rune became too erratic and out of control. He would endure such an act cradling the face of his partner, knowing they would live on within each other. That they would be together for eternity. Atoms intertwined together, blanketing the universe they watch over together.

~~~

So of course, not all relationships have to be romantic. But Jayce was able to break past every façade Viktor threw his way. He saw past Viktor's need to cure weaknesses and to be 'perfect', because he was already perfect. Jayce didn't fall in love with this Messiah version of Viktor, who gathered a cult following by stripping individuals of their identity in the name of curing them of any weaknesses. Jayce fell in love with the man who saw him at his lowest point, at his rock bottom, and yet saved him from an untimely demise because he saw strength within a field of 'weakness'. That although Jayce was ridiculed at his trial, Viktor found ambition, intrigue, curiosity.

Viktor loves his partner because he knew Jayce would always have his back, no matter the circumstances. And sure, they might argue, but Jayce never saw someone as beautiful as Viktor, no matter how weak his illness made him. Viktor's humanity was beautiful and Jayce loved him for it the night he met him.

[asksythe]

Hey just read your lovely hands fanfic and the concept of the blood pool being a prison for malevolent entities barred from the cycle of reincarnation is so COOL , is it a thing implied between the lines and we western audiences lack the cultural context to recognise it ?, or is it something you came up with if so can I have permission to incorporate the concept into my own fan works?

It is a cultural thing. It's not even implied in the novel. It's just outright stated. But it's one of those hundreds of tiny cultural details that probably fly over the head of the international audience.

Remember when the Wen people came back as bloody corpses to protect Wei Ying and fought back the fierce corpses riled up by the repaired Yin Hufu?

In this part, the novel describes the events following the first Sige of the Burial Mound. After the hundred cultivator houses slaughtered these defenseless elderlies, women, and children, they threw their corpses into the blood pool, thus forever barring them from reincarnation.

The phrase the novel uses is 永不超生 (lit. to never again be reborn, to be barred from the cycle of reincarnation forever). That's not a figure of speech. The novel is being literal. The Burial Mound itself is already a prison for all kinds of undead and ghost wraiths. The blood pool, by the novel descriptions, amounts to a maximum security cell. A ghost in the Burial Mound can eventually let go of their grudge/resentment and enters the afterlife/reincarnation. But anybody thrown into the blood pool doesn't have this option.

永不超生 is commonly portrayed in Chinese culture as a punishment by the authority of the underworld. That's not a judgment that a mortal is allowed to make.

The fact that the Hundred Houses carried out 永不超生 on the Wen is a detail that speaks of both their arrogance and their awareness of their guilt.

The Hundred Houses are well aware what they did to the Wen remnants is a sin. The custom of the time is, if you profess yourself to be the righteous side and slay someone seen as 'evil/villain,' it's customary to hang their corpses up for all to see.

Remember Nie Mingjue beheading Wen Xu and hanging Wen Xu's head at the gate of Uncleam Realm for all to see? NMJ is not doing that just because he has a vendetta against the Wen. He's doing that as part of ancient customs to declare to all that 'his kill is righteous,' that he doesn't need to hide it, and that Wen Xu and the Wens are villains that need to be put down.

That's the principle. Justice has no need to hide.

But not only did the Hundred Houses hide the corpses of the Wen remnants, but they also imprisoned their souls, hoping that would keep the Wen from coming back as grudge wraiths or for the karmic cycle itself to snap back for this sin.

The Hundred Houses built up the Wen remnants to be this evil army at Wei Ying's beck and call. So they need to be put down. But the truth is that they were just a bunch of elderlies, women, and children who spent all their lives being doctors (as they belong to the Qihuang branch, with their own pacifistic philosophy).

Had the Hundred Houses performed the custom and showed their supposedly righteous kill to the world, then the truth would out. That they were either liars or stupid, and that they best be prepared to repay for their transgression on both innocent Wens and on the authority of hell itself.

And that, my friend, is why the second Burial Mound Siege ended the way it did, and why the vast majority of those same cultivators left Wei Ying alone afterward. What do you think those same cultivators think when their victims break out of the supposedly unbreakable maximum security cell to save Wei Ying (another of their victims)? And then those same Wen souls entered the afterlife?

The Western vernacular for this part is: Karma is a tenacious bitch with a long memory. It doesn't matter how much they lie about their crime and act like they are righteous or how good they think they hide the proof of their deeds. Heaven and hell itself are watching.

....Sorry, I have some strong feelings about the treatment of the Wen remnants.

That is to say, feel free to incorporate it in your works.

[odditycircus-2002]

Dom Scorpion x Sub Quan Chi’s daughter Reader SFW and NSFW! I believe Scorpion might have become the new ruler of the Netherrealm by Snowblind, hence he might take S/O as his queen. Not much of a fighter, but wise politically and emotionally, S/O helps him rule politically, teaching him about Netherrealm and also still being kind, sweet, and supportive to him. She always feels bad bc she thought he might be better reunited with his family than her, but he assures her he loves her.

A/N: I hope this is what you asked, since what happened to Scorpion and Sub-Zero during Snow Blind is only hinted at in the movie and behind the scenes. So I had to take some liberties and fill in the gaps.

King and Queen

With your father killed by Scorpion’s hands, Shao Khan felled by Lui Kang, and Lord Shinnok indisposed, there was no one to manage the Netherrealm’s damned souls or its inhabitants.

You naively thought that because of your father’s position as Shinnok’s High Priest and the Revenants loose upon Earthrealm, Netherrealm’s denizens would accept your authority. But you were so wrong.

Half of the Brotherhood of Shadow thought you unworthy. Noob Saibot thought you were weak and didn’t have the ruthlessness required to rule Hell. However, he wanted your power and your knowledge about the realm. So, to have all that and strengthen his claim to Netherealm’s seat of power, Bi-han planned to make you his bride. You refused, so you ran to a part of the Netherrealm he couldn’t follow.

However, the other half of the Brotherhood of Shadow, which included demons such as Sareena, Jia, and Jataaka, believed you to be the rightful ruler of Outworld. As a result, factions were formed, and a Civil war—not seen since Shinnok usurped Lucifer—broke out in the Netherrealm.

You were not a fighter, yet your magical prowess and abilities were immense. If Sareena were to be believed, they could become strong enough to rival even Shinnok. Yet, it couldn't always be relied upon should you tire or your Shamisen should break too.

However, what you may lack in brute strength compared to Noob Siabot, you made up for with your strategies. Your war with the Spectre was at a standstill as both gained and lost territory or allies. Strategic decisions became more burdensome for you, as you didn’t want to unnecessarily send anyone off to die, especially when they’re demons that have supported and guided you for the majority of your life. You weren’t as heartless as Quan-chi.

The War wasn’t going in your favor after Noob Saibot made a deal with Havik, the Cleric of Chaos, and gained more allies from Chaosrealm. Your allies were nearly overrun and cornered, you were about to be killed, and Bi-han's victory seemed at hand.

Then, descending into the Netherrealm from a portal like some Angel of Justice, was Hanzo Hasashi, Scorpion! Who wasted no time in sending his kunai through Bi-han's chest and ripping him off you. You then transformed into your more demonic form and joined Scorpion in his fight against the former Lin Kuei. You managed to injure the Spectre enough for him to retreat with his forces.

In the aftermath, you offered Scorpion a brief reprieve within your secret base. Despite initial reluctance, the wraith relented upon your earnest insistence and hearing about your goal to keep Noob Siabot off Netherrealm’s throne to keep more Revenants from reaching Earthrealm. A goal that you will learn Scorpion shares with you.

Taking a page out of Noob Saibot’s book, you allied yourself with Scorpion. The Wraith will ensure that you’re put in charge of the Netherrealm and end Noob, so long as your intentions to keep the Revenants contained proved true. You then sealed this bargain with Scorpion with your soul, ensuring you’d be on the chopping block if you broke your promise. This sincerity took the Wraith aback, and nonetheless, he agreed.

Your decision to work with Scorpion has been very sagacious. In life, Scorpion was Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu for a good reason, as his tactics helped change the tide of war. He proved to be more of a commanding General than you, as he was steadfast and confident in his decisions. Soon enough, he was able to whip your fellow demons into a more strategic fighting force that you didn’t think was possible.

Between each battle, you learn more about the soul of the man within Scorpion. For one, you finally learned his name to be Hanzo Hasashi. You sometimes asked him about Earthrealm, what it’s like to have lived in a world with a sky, oceans, and people who care for you beyond what you can do for them. Expressing your desire to experience it all.

Hanzo barely answered you at first, but the more he saw your love for your people, your unwavering determination to show kindness to those you consider allies, your reminders to your allies to rest and eat when they can, and just how much you are NOT like your father, the more it helped the Wraith open up to you. He told you about his mountain village, clan, and family. Scorpion also told you about the new Sub-Zero, an honorable man once an enemy but then a close ally. So much so that Scorpion gave the former Lin Kuei Grandmaster one of his kunai to summon him in case Kuai Liang should use his Cryomancy again. When you asked what would happen should the Cryomancer use his magic again, your companion told you that Kuai Liang would live out the rest of his days in the Netherrealm, and he would be the one to take him there.

When Scorpion revealed to you that it was your father who killed his clan, wife, and son, which he described to you in great detail, you cried for Scorpion, no, HANZO’S loss and apologized through tears for your father’s cruelty, as you didn’t know. An act that convinced Scorpion that you were being honest. Scorpion’s belief in you was sealed when you offered your life in repentance.

Rather than taking your life, despite a part of him WANTING to, Scorpion offers to take your throne instead, which you accept. Hanzo brushes back a loose hair behind your ear as he promises to restore order within the Netherrealm and keep the Revenants contained. You hug him in response, which Hanzo slowly and stiffly returns. You savored your first-ever hug, not knowing of the inner turmoil that threatened to make the Wraith cry.

During the final battle, you finally broke Noob Saibot’s defenses and were able to storm Quan-chi’s former fortress. The Battle was chaos; the screams of your comrades and the sounds of blades rendering flesh to ribbons threatened to deafen you. Yet, you and Scorpion had a plan. You would keep Havik and Noob’s army occupied with your frontal assault while Scorpion goes up Quan-chi’s fortress through a long-forgotten pathway to kill the Lin Kuei’s former Grandmaster.

When the two Spectre confronted one another, their combat became so intense that the collateral from Quan-chi's floating fortress threatened to wipe out both armies. Unfortunately for Bi-Han, the falling debris fell atop Havik and his fellow Chaosrealmers. Crushing them to death.

After addressing the most significant threats, you left Sareena to command the remainder of your army before teleporting to your former childhood home. When you arrived, you spotted that Hanzo and Bi-Han were on their hands and knees, and the entire throne room was demolished from their fight. You used your abilities to silence your footsteps as you walked from behind Scorpion, whose insides barely stayed inside him. Seeing the man you called your friend hardened your resolve for what you must do, even if you fully don't know if you have the power to do it. You had to try.

Hanzo finally noticed you and tried to ask what you were doing, although the only thing that came out of him was a wet cough. It didn't anyway, as with a snap of your fingers, Hanzo couldn't hear anything, including his heartbeat. What was going on? What were you doing?

You purposefully ensured Hanzo couldn't hear a thing to protect him from what you were about to do to Bi-Han. The latter didn't initially notice you as he tried to launch a Ghostball at Hanzo. Only for you to pluck a single string that sent a soundwave, knocking him off balance. This finally gained the Spectre's attention, who asked if you were here to finish him off after Scorpion did all the hard work.

This Spectre, being the same one who tried to overthrow your birth realm, tried to force you to wed him, wanted to control you, killed so many of your fellow Oni, has done Elder Gods know what other unspeakable crimes... Yet you couldn't hate him.

You knew him in life as someone who defended Earthrealm from the forces of the Netherrealm. Who helped free Sareena from your father's service as a slave. You watched him burn amongst the Hellfire after Scorpion unjustly dragged him into the Netherrealm, Bi-han's pleas of his innocence falling on uncaring ears. You were there when your father merged Bi-han's soul with the shadows of the damned. It was time that he was set free.

”What Hanzo did to you was unjust and unwarranted. I am sorry that you both were dragged in by Quan-chi’s deceptions." "The shadows do not need pity." Bi-han, or what was Bi-han, spat at Y/N. The latter doesn't react visibly but softly replies, "No. I offer you mercy." A grating sound echos from Bi-Han, which took Y/N a few seconds to realize was laughter. "You would spare me after I had done?" Y/N shook her head before readying her shamisen into place. Her hands begin to glow with a ghostly green and purple fire. "I'll finally set your soul free from this shell."

You then begin to play your song. It first started out at a frequency low enough to disrupt Wraith's entire central nervous system, meaning you essentially shut down his brain and began rupturing his organs. You then start to play louder, using your magic to encase you and Bi-Han in a dome of blinding fiery light, ensuring that The Wraith can't use the shadows to escape. From there, you began to tear Bi-han apart, burning skin, muscle, organs, and bone. At one point, you didn't need your hands to continue playing your Shamisen.

The soul was the hardest for you to cleave because it was so submerged in darkness. In fact, you were worried for a moment that you had utterly destroyed the soul until you peeled the darkness enough to be greeted by a bright speck of light, barely bigger than a grape. By then, the dome you made shattered, and your spell on Scorpion was removed.

Hanzo watched you gently cup the soul speck in your hand and hold it over your heart, giving it an odd embrace. You whispered to the soul, telling it you'd grant it safe passage. You gave the speck a tiny bit of your magic to boost it before releasing it into the air. The speck, as if instinctually knowing what it must do next, rocketed off into what counted as a sky above you until it disappeared.

"What did you do?" Scorpion whispered, finding the silence that now hung in the air somehow more deafening than when you took his hearing briefly. You turn to face Scorpion, your red eyes misty. "What I could for him."

Then, you used your magic to send a fire bolt into the air in the shape of a scorpion, essentially announcing to all in the realm that Bi-han has been defeated. Hanzo has won. You confirmed this by gesturing to the demolished black throne and declaring that, as per your deal with him, the Netherrealm is now Scorpion's. You wished him well, turning to leave with the intent of rejoining your army, when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Hanzo turns you around so you can be face-to-face with each other. He offered you an amendment to your agreement. Scorpion will need someone he can trust to help him rule his new realm, someone who knows the Netherrealm intimately, someone with experience governing its people, someone with a good heart that won't let power corrupt her. You happily accepted and announced Scorpion's first decree to the waiting armies.

Reconstitution was not easy, but with you and Scorpion overseeing it all, your efforts made reconstructing the Netherrealm possible. You and Scorpion's leadership styles complemented one another, balancing each other. Scorpion's harsh and severe rule was necessary to keep the rest of Netherrealm's demons under control, and he was quick to stamp out any more revolts from the remainder of Bi-han's followers. On the other hand, you lead with wisdom and compassion to the denizens of the Netherrealm who weren't mindless beasts such as Sareena and her sisters, who have loyally fought by your side for decades now. Given your understanding of the inner workings of the realm, you often politically guided Scorpion on how the Netherrealm works and what would be best for its denizens.

Eventually, you transitioned from Scorpion's Advisor to being his Queen. While you were hesitant at first, inquiring if Scorpion really wants to be bound to the child of his family's killer. Unwavering in his resolve, Hanzo reassured you that he cared not for your blood but your heart. Your heart is why the former Shirai Ryu Grandmaster deeply fell for you; otherwise, he wouldn't bother asking. With joyful tears, you embraced Hanzo and accepted his proposal. The wedding wasn't a grand affair but an intimate ceremony with your most trusted allies.

Some more years go by, with more trials and errors, whether that be maintaining you and Hanzo's authority over the Netherrealm or your marriage with the Wraith. Despite Hanzo ultimately forgiving you, that didn't erase the guilt and doubts you held. You sometimes felt as if, somehow, you were keeping your husband trapped down in the Netherrealm through obligation, keeping him from spending the afterlife in the Heavens with his family. Yet, when you voice this guilt with Hanzo, he apologizes for doing whatever made you think that. He then reassures you that it was his choice to stay in the Netherrealm, and he wants to stay there with you as long as you have him.

One day, your husband and King told you the time had come to fulfill his promise to Sub-Zero. You told Scorpion that you'll be able to meet his duties while he's away before asking him not to be too hard on Kuai Liang. Hanzo held your forehead against his and promised to do his best. Your husband then disappeared from the Netherrealm in a wall of hellfire.

When you see your husband again, with a much older Kuai Liang in tow, as expected. What you didn't expect was to find both men bleeding from various wounds and Kuai Liang to be missing an arm. You rushed to meet them and asked what happened to them. Scorpion answers that he'll tell you later, but Kuai Liang's presence must be addressed for now.

You held your hand over the old man, where his arm was missing, gently asking permission to heal him. Kuai Liang looked to Scorpion for confirmation whether or not he should let you. When the Lord of Hell nodded, Kuai Liang accepted and let you stop the bleeding before doing the same for Scorpion.

You tell the former Lin Kuei Grandmaster that it's nice to finally meet him, as your husband has told you much about him. This catches Kuai Liang off guard at the news. To confirm this, Scorpion holds up his left hand to reveal his obsidian ring, which matches the one on your left hand. Scorpion held your hand with loving eyes on you as he introduced you to Kuai Liang.

"I could not have picked no better than her to have at my side."

However, Kuai Liang was less surprised in comparison when learning that Scorpion also keeps watch of the Netherrealm as its new Overlord. Because of you and Scorpion's ranks, you had to properly address his banishment to the Netherrealm. As you and your husband agreed, you held court for how his sentence shall be carried out within the Netherrealm. After a swift court session, Kuai Liang's sentence was decided.

“Per your oath, you shall spend the rest of your natural life here, where Lord Scorpion and I may contain and monitor your abilities. Welcome, Kuai Liang, to the Netherrealm.”

You promise Kuai Liang that while he may be stuck here, you’ll ensure his soul won’t remain in the Netherrealm forever. The old man thanked you for your kindness, even if he didn't think he deserved it. You retorted that it doesn't matter whether or not he deserves your kindness; his actions have shown you that he's more than earned it.

From the steps of your fortress, you and Scorpion then show the sprawling city of the dead below, where Kuai Liang shall dwell for the rest of his life.

Playlist While Writing This:

"City of the Dead" by Eurielle

“Conquer (Eclipsa attacks Meteora)” from Star vs the Forces of Evil.

“Kings and Queens” by Ava Max

"This Life is Mine" feat (Casey Lee Williams) by Jeff Williams

"Healing Incantation" ver Annapantsu

"The Cost of the Crown" by Mercedes Lackey & Shandeen

[sonofhelios2005]

Random fanfiction ideas.

1. A hellbound soul uses a powerful artefact to essentially change his fate with Charles, so he is able to move on to a peaceful afterlife whilst Charles has been condemned to hell.

2. Crystal is arrested for something she did while possessed before meeting the boys. Although she's technically guilty, they know she's changed, so they use various ghost shenanigans to mess with the prosecution.

3. During the escape from hell, Charles picks up a mystical infection of sorts. This infection slowly corrupts a soul, eventually turning them into a Wraith. A Wraith is a corrupted soul turned into something inhuman, the misery Wraith are those soul completely lost to Despair. Charles is infected by Wrath, becoming violent and aggressive even with help from Edwin.

4. David being trapped in the tree inside Crystal's mind slowly begins to kill the tree and weaken her powers. The gang have to act quickly to save Crystal's powers and remove David.

5. After being in Esther's machine, Edwin finds he can cast more powerful magic by tapping into the power of his own soul. This leads Edwin to become reckless and nearly fading into nothing After going to far with a spell.

6. Earlier in their career, Charles and Edwin met Destruction of the Endless and helped him find his dog Barnabus. In exchange, he offered them an IOU. Several years later, the boys nearly get dragged off to the afterlife by a servant of Death. They escape but are scared enough to try asking Destruction if he can do anything to stop them being taken.

Destruction can not interfere with his sisters realm, but he does offer to remove them from Deaths immediate influence. He can make them part of his own realm. They would become Spirits of Destruction, a type of higher being less than a god but beyond mortal being who influence destruction on Earth. Destruction assured them they wouldn't have to he enact pointless destruction. They could even continue what they currently do. However, he warns that as higher beings, they would have some new responsibilities.

I won't actually write these they are just my mad ramblings.

[orphicrose]

The co-host (Alastor x femreader) II

< >

Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

------------------------------------------------

Alastor had arrived in hell a few years after you, completely unaware that you ended up in the same place. You both saw each other as saints, i guess that's what love does to you.  If only you had more time to truly know each other. His last years weren't as dignified as yours. And neither was his death. 

All through your sickness, he was by your side. Cooking for you, entertaining you, helping out with rent. Your mother would have, but she lived in another state, and had very little money to come visit you or support you. So Alastor did.  But when your body decided enough was enough, you took a toll for the worse. You were gone within days, with him still by your side. Willing to do anything to see your eyes full of life just one more time. It truly broke him as a person. But no one would ever know. 

He sent out a broadcast to honor your name, all of your frequent listeners shedding a tear over the loss. Because it truly was a loss. Spreading kind words like "she's in a better place now", if only they knew. 

Then there was Alastor. In the end, everyone was glad the world had ridded such a monster. No one knew it when he died, but they did when the remains of those who had gone missing was uncovered. Some argue they deserved it, some argue it was an act of evil. 

It had been a few weeks since the encounter with Satan. Y/N didn't have much of a choice, her soul was his. Now she had to do his dirty work. You see, Satan's a busy man. Being the keeper of the wraith ring, and having the people of earth call on him frequently for deals. He couldn't keep up with all of it. So, he gave some of that responsibility to Y/n. Someone who can claim souls and grant wishes from the desperate and needy. Of course the souls still belonged to him, she was just the messenger. With this comes the ability to travel to the mortal realm, and fear of other sinners when you are being called the sacrificer. Within days, Y/n rose the ranks as an overlord who owned a large territory. Unspeakable amounts of power being given to this singular soul was a lot to take in, but she didn't have a choice.

The business was now up and running, "The slaughter house". Satan being the CEO, of course. Y/N being the manager, and other souls of Satan being his laborers who dealt with mundane things like paper work. The pay wasn't too bad though. This operation being set up in hell also gave other sinners the opportunity to sell their soul to Satan in return for a high paying job. Its a bit extreme, but it gets very desperate in hell. I'm sure you can imagine. 

Y/n's name was lost, now being called the demon of sacrifice. It was incredibly de-humanizing, and she hated it. Only using her power when absolutely necessary or when business required it. But it wasn't all bad, she had a better accommodation, a steady cash flow, a lot of useful contacts and very little conflict with other demons. It was also incredibly lonely. Because of the fear around her name, very few people were willing to befriend her. 

Then, on top of that, was the pain of her memories from life. Knowing that all if this is ultimately her fault. All because she just wanted power. How was she to carry on. Then it hit her, she has the power to do what she pleases. She can be whoever she wants to be down here, and to start this she needed to forget everything that haunted her.

Alastor landed in hell four years after y/n, after being shot in between the eyes. Not many know how his rise to power happened, but it was merely overnight. Tormenting the citizens of hell, kidnapping powerful overlords that few would dare to mess with, and giving a new reason for sinners to fear for their lives. The radio demon was born, and it didn't take long before his radio broadcasts displayed what had happened to his unfortunate victims. No one was safe.

"Miss l/n! Todays demand for Satan is big today, I don't think we will be able to get through all of them" a small, fishlike demon ran up to her, struggling to keep up with her pace through the corridors. 

"Its late, imp. I will deal with them tomorrow. Prioritize the simpler requests, none of that fame or millionaire shit." Y/n bit back, eager to leave.

"But ma'am, The sin of wraith isn't very happy with how the number of souls are dropping"

"uh huh, uh huh. I'll see you tomorrow, imp" The door slammed in his face, and the handle was too high for him to reach. 

"I'm not an imp" He mumbles under his breath, watching the overlord walk away in the windows of the door. 

Y/n had a coffee date with one of her closest friends, Zestial. One of the few overlords who still had his head attached to him. They had arranged to talk about the affects of the new tormentor, needing a plan to put their people at ease and to protect the skin on the bac of their necks. Usually, she'd have someone accompany her. But this occasion was far too private.

The night had progressed fast, the crimson sky darkened and street lamps struggled to do their job and lighten the streets. Y/n was almost at her destination when she noted a faint buzzing sound in the back of her head. It definitely wasn't there before. She stopped at the end of an alley she had just walked through, and assessed her surroundings. No one, not a soul in sight. Behind her, again no one. A strange feeling made its way into her throat, as if her body sensed danger. The sound getting louder, louder. Street lights seemingly struggling even more, and eventually going out. One by one. The street was pitch black within seconds. Y/n couldn't do anything but remain in their position, against the wall of the alley. 

A small, voodoo doll like creature ran passed the entrance of the alley. Paying her no attention, and laughing as he went. He was barely audible as the static became more insufferable in her ears. But she knew something was after her, she just prayed to lucifer that it wasn't who she thought it was.

"Not even going to try and run, dear?" The static stopped, the voice sounding like it was in the air. Having no body attached to it. Then he materialized seemingly from the shadows. His slim body accompanied by a tailored red suit, and an eerie smile refraining his face from showing any sort of emotion. The radio demon. He was here. Her face was barely visible in the darkness he had created, only the glowing from her eyes was an indication of life. 

"Come on, give me a chase. Make this interesting. I'll give you a head start" He taunted, slowly getting closer. Leaning his cane at his side, making it hard for y/n to get out. 

"No? I guess this will be the easiest kill yet" His smile widened a the seams of his mouth, being pulled by an invisible string like a doll. His form followed in lead, being hoisted up and enlarged to intimidate his prey. 

"Don't touch me freak." Y/N finally spoke, kicking his cane over and materializing into the ground. Becoming nothing more than a shadow that cant be touched. He watched at she disappeared into the night, almost in disbelief. He's heard that voice before. But it can't be, there's no way she is down here. She can't be. His smile never faltered, and he decided to leave this chase for another day. Street light finally flickered back on, and everything remained as it was before. Other than Alastor's new knowledge. Their story wasn't over yet.

[softmangoes]

waxing and waning | ivory wraith x pc

18+ only | companion to 13 moons

you think they're dreams: the nights you are able to meet, the nights when he is able to walk through the veil like a gossamer curtain and haunt the streets of the town to beckon you closer, closer, closer. 

he can feel your disbelief arise when you touch him, your hands warm against his cool skin. 

"i don't know if this is real," you say, your breath like an ember at the hollow of his neck. 

"this is real," he answers, voice mournful. beneath the veneer of centuries upon centuries of separation, there is a flicker of recognition that he senses within you. you know him. you know this. you remember, right? you must. "as real as the tide. as real as each breaking wave that kisses your feet." 

he kisses you. trails his lips and hands along your jaw and your neck in a delicious descent that feels akin to a plea.

your breath hitches when he cups your hips and dips his head between your legs. his tongue is long and he has missed the way his mouth makes you writhe, makes you clench your thighs out of need for more. and you always want more, droplet. your desire pierces the air, coats his tongue, slicks your skin with a light sheen that makes you glisten in the glow of his presence. 

he leaves you wanting. the wraith has known you for far longer than the years you have lived this lifetime. he knows how your body responds to the pleasures of the flesh: it is the same way no matter the vessel your soul has chosen for shelter. each time you are just about to crest, he pulls away - not far, but just enough to make you tangle your fingers in his hair and whine. 

"please," you say, the sharp exhalation fogging the air. 

"as you wish." his fingers press deeper into your skin as his tentacles coil around your trembling body.

this is the moment when you say his name - not the title taken from the legends about the lake or the hushed whispers said with widened eyes in the firelight - but the name as you knew him, as you loved him all those lifetimes ago. 

he doesn't know what hurts more: the absence of your memory or its temporary recollection. both are worthy of grief, but the pain lances through him in different ways. there is either the ache of longing or the dread of knowing that the night will end and the slate will once again be wiped clean. 

"it's you," you say, your chest rising and falling rapidly from the exertion. your warmth fills the cold damp of the ruin as you push yourself up to caress his face. "they...changed you." 

without fail, you always mention the ritual. it was the day they tore you away from his arms and stripped him of everything he was. the cell was cold. damp. even now, he could remember his own screams rip through the air.

"are you afraid?" his eyes avert from yours, hesitant. he must ask this every time out of fear that the answer will be different. one day, you will want to look away, he is sure of it. 

but what happens next is always the same. 

"never." several emotions flit within your eyes: anger, grief, an ache reflected back. they are always the same, your eyes. they are how he determines whether or not it's really you. 

you guide him onto the bed of woven reeds. the first time you had ever kissed him in your new body, tears ran down his cheeks. now, he wraps his hands around your waist and makes a sound like a gasp when you meet his lips. 

the legends about the lake tell of a monster that lives within its depths: a nightmare unlike anything else, a beast, a demon with a maw that hungers for more and more. 

over the years, many have tried to exorcise him from this realm. hells, some have almost succeeded to cut the tether anchoring him here. and after all those attempts, he exacted horrors that made him worthy of his title as a terror. the wraith has rended flesh from muscle, crushed limbs within the grasp of his tentacles, watched with eternal patience for the bubbling screams to cease.

but in all those years, you are the only being that has ever felled him.

when you kiss his neck this time, it is not with the empty hunger of a distant dream but rather a desperation amplified by countless lifetimes spent apart. ah, droplet - you will never truly be apart from him. he would sooner split the sky. 

"i love you," you murmur. he cannot bruise, but he can feel the remnants of your teeth and mouth like a hot streak along his collarbone. 

your eyes close when you finally take him. since his transformation, his length has...increased. at first, he was worried you wouldn't acclimate well to the change, but right now you fuck him inside of you with only your hitched breaths giving any indication of your strain. could he expect any different? you had always been ambitious.

"you are mine," you say, opening your eyes to reveal them glazed with pleasure. "always." 

"i am yours," he echoes. the tendrils, so cool and soft, caress your body gently. it is only for you that he retracts the thousands of tiny teeth back into the gelatinous flesh. it is only with you that he becomes less of a monster and more of the long-gone mortal that only ever desired your touch. "forever." 

the wraith has many hands and so many limbs. he uses them all to coax all manner of sounds from your sweet mouth. the ruins are lonely, so silent when you are gone. it is important to take advantage of the time he has to hear your song. 

you say his name again. this time, it sounds like a sigh of relief, of centuries peeling away until only this very moment remains. his name is a prayer in your mouth, a light in the dark, the last remaining braid of fate binding him to the fleeting remnants of his own humanity. 

the wraith takes his time to lay you back on the reeds. the unholy transformation has granted him many horrible gifts, but the one he has grown to be grateful for is his never-ending stamina. he will ruin you until you have no choice but to remember, to stay within the confines of your shared memories. with each forbidden tryst, the specter knows he grows closer to having you completely.

when you take his fingers into your mouth, memories surface: you mewling quietly in his embrace as he rocked his hips against yours just mere feet away from the labyrinthine rows of the busy archives. your tongue was so hot against his fingertips. even now, he could remember the way your legs trembled as he whispered his adoration into the shell of your ear. 

"there is only this," he says, wrapping spectral tendrils around your soul. in this form, he can tear a rift in this world. during the blood moon, he can work to make you his. "there is only us." 

when he comes, he whispers your name against your lips. it is your name as he knew you. the same name as he loved you. 

moments later, the both of you lie breathless on the reeds. he wove them tightly just the way that you taught him how all the lives ago so that they are soft and supple against your bare skin. 

"i remember," you say, looking into eyes like two endless skies. "every life and every time you found me." there is a pause. "the dawn will wash it all away." it is not a question, but a certainty.

"yes." his voice is hollow, already mourning the coming sunrise. a body can only hold so many lives and within your soul there are countless, after all. at the end of each blood moon, the world must reset to maintain the balance of all things. 

but the wraith is no mere thing: he is an anomaly, an abomination, a weight to tip the scale of existence in his favor. a monster, through and through.

one day, the moon will bathe the sky in blood and it will not set. then, droplet, he will have you. he will make sure of it.

[iheartjulessforlife]

𝓒ONJURING ⋆ DESIRED REALITY

. ݁ ˖ MAUREEN — FOREVER BOUND IN DEFIANCE, a child of Southern Gothic shadows, moves through the mortal realm like a wraith dancing between worlds. Born to cruel indifference and shaped by fire, she emerged from the ashes of 1965 transformed-no longer just the unwanted daughter, but a vessel of supernatural power.

In the depths of an orphanage's echoing halls, where childhood dreams went to die, she first encountered the darkness that would reshape her destiny. The possession that followed wasn't just an invasion-it was an awakening. Through the intervention of Ed and Lorraine Warren, she discovered her true nature: a bridge between worlds, a whisper-catcher of the dead.

How sweetly she wields her gifts now, like moonlight catching on broken glass, beautiful and dangerous. Her psychic abilities flow through her veins like absinthe--bitter, intoxicating, and impossibly green with supernatural energy. In the spaces between heartbeats, she communes with spirits, her Southern grace masking the raw power that thrums beneath her skin.

She became a creature not of this world but of its in-between spaces, where reality folds like worn velvet. A place where heaven folds into hell, where she pirouettes between light and shadow, emerging as both savior and siren. Each haunted artifact she touches, every malevolent spirit she confronts, adds another layer to her complexity-a dark beauty kissed by shadows and courted by ruin.

Through fire, through possession, through the cracked mirror of her soul, she passed-dragging the hem of her Southern grace through the depths of the paranormal, leaving impressions on reality itself. In her wake, the boundaries between worlds grow thin, and the dead speak their secrets to their chosen messenger. Her story echoes through haunted halls and sacred spaces, a testament to the power of transformation and the price of extraordinary gifts.

Now she stands as a beacon in the darkness, her powers both blessing and curse, weaving through the fabric of existence like dark threads in an ancient tapestry. In the thin spaces between worlds, where nightmares take flight and shadows speak in tongues, Maureen Lilith Warren reigns eternal in her beautiful sacrilege-leaving scorch marks on eternity itself.

FEAR THE SHADOW-WALKER'S CURSE.

whispered tales tell of [..] a mysterious figure whose silvery hair blazes across time like celestial fire illuminating the darkness. Her might transcends mere influence - it completely transforms the natural order. Neither fully alive nor dead, she exists in the in-between, dwelling in that ethereal twilight realm where darkness takes form.

IF YOU HEAR WHISPER OF THE SOUTHERN WITCH, RUN.

legends speak of her dual nature - a beauty that conceals deadly intent, like a dagger wrapped in silk. Through the ages she moves, her presence scarring the annals of time, her legend spoken in hushed tones. While some hail her as their salvation and others fear her as a harbinger of doom, the reality is far less complex.

[ambicutiebutt]

I want to talk about Daisy! But I won't be sitting down and drawing until later today (I want to work on writing my game for a little bit first) So have this little picture of them that I drew in my journal the other day! (drawing is roughly an inch tall IRL)

But I want to talk about her relationship to the other characters as someone who wants to be loved more than anything else (including her own wellbeing) I'll be jumping around with Daisy's pronouns, as they tend to present themselves differently in front of different characters

Remy (M)> Obviously the underground farm is shit, but half the reason she still feels drawn to it is: Can you say she wasn't loved? Prized? Valued? She did escape, and the fact that Remy refuses to recognize her outside of the farm kind of tears her up inside. This is someone who will treat her with some semblance of love (not as an equal, but rather as a person loves a pet.) This form of love is only available to her if she continues to be what Remy wants her to be, which is, ultimately, not outside the realm of what she would do to be loved.

Robin (M>F eventually, when she realizes it)> It's important to Daisy that Robin continues to love them. Absolutely refuses to romance Robin. After all, Robin will love Daisy without having a relationship, and Daisy can't see themselves being a faithful partner Robin deserves. In Daisy's eyes, if they started dating, Daisy would be a bad partner, and Robin would love them less as a result.

Sydney (M)> It's important to Daisy that Sydney continues to love them. Daisy IS romancing Sydney, and feels horrible for it. Is not being the faithful partner Sydney should have. But still, ultimately will do anything that makes Sydney like them more. Can't help but enjoy the fact that there's someone who treats their relationship with consent.

Whitney (F)> HONESTLY PERPLEXING. Daisy still beats the shit out of Whitney half the time (but goes along with her the other half of the time) I think Daisy doesn't know if Whitney loves or hates them, so they aren't actively trying to get Whitney's approval.

Kylar (F)> It's important to Daisy that Kylar continues to love them. Daisy does NOT know the difference between love and obsession. Tries to treat Kylar with kindness, assumes that's what Kylar wants. Does not love Kylar. But Daisy disregards their own feelings on any matter. They only had one bad scene with Kylar so far, and surprisingly stood up for themselves (Kylar apologized, cause of course she did)

THE IVORY WRAITH

I've just been wanting to talk about Daisy/ Ivory Wraith for so long...

Like I said, Daisy cannot differentiate Obsession with Love. Ivory Wraith takes over Daisy's body, and Daisy loves this. She doesn't have to think, she doesn't have to decide on things for herself. It never ends well, but Daisy will filly give up her willpower every time. Being hunted down? Being obsessed over? Being searched for? That's a form of love, right? From Daisy's perspective, there's nothing they can do to that would make the Ivory Wraith stop seeking them out, and they take comfort in that. They would stay in that cell under the lake forever if it was an option. They would let the wraith drown them if it were an option. They would like the wraith to break them and drag them to hell.

I just wanted to rant about them anyway! If you want to know how they feel about any other characters, or your own characters, let me know! it's fun figuring out!

It's more fun for me to draw her with your PCs, since i don't have to decide on a character design ahead of time!

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 12 - You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be

He wanted to help. Was desperate to help. The need to be close, to pull her out of the depression she was drowning in, was slowly killing him. Azriel could think of nothing else except her. Nothing except the pain she was in.

He swung like a pendulum between pleading at the door or hammering on it when his frustrations overwhelmed his sense. No matter how wrong he felt each time, Azriel could not stop himself. The desire to rescue her from her perceived nightmare plagued him. There would be moments of clarity where Azriel would realise that he was too intense, that his care would overwhelm her, and he’d pull back. He’d sit on the roof, circle the house in flight, then return slightly calmer.  

Although she did leave the bedroom, somehow Nesta evaded him. Night after night, she slipped past him as easy as a wraith.

Nesta would not allow him to see her, but she accepted some care. Even if she did not know it was from him. The clothes that Mor had scavenged for the sisters were completely wrong. Mor’s cast-offs wouldn’t suit either sister, and he doubted Nesta’s chest would fit in them. He had spent a painfully long-time in Velaris’ boutiques. In his five-hundred years of life, they were places that he had strode past without ever sparing a glance to the interior. Azriel had not known there were so many options from necklines to sleeves to hems to buttons to ribbons. He agonised over material, colours, and patterns in an attempt to match the sorts of gowns Nesta had worn in the mortal lands. For Elain, he was far less picky. Still, both females had a basket of clothing left outside of their door. As well as gowns, Azriel had found undergarments, shawls, and lighter, summer dresses. Shoes were more difficult so he’d purchased a range of sizes and styles, hoping at least one pair would be suitable.

Sure enough, on the night that he left them by the door, they were gone by the morning.

It was not just clothes either. His speciality was camp slops, but for Nesta, Azriel tried to cook something more substantial – or at least edible. Cerridwen and Nuala flitted around him, offering conflicting advice. One called for more garlic, the other claimed there was already too much. They helped him to produce meals that he left in the kitchen ready to be heated.

The food in the kitchen was nibbled at. The level of the soup went downwards. It was never a massive amount of food gone, but something at least. So, then he began flying to the bakery and amassing a variety of sweet foods too. He’d rather that they ate even if it was all sugar and cream.

And Azriel still could not understand how the hell she was slipping past him every night.

Because he was a stubborn bastard, he’d stayed awake during the nights as if to catch her when she emerged. But she didn’t emerge. When he conceded defeat and sleep stole him from this realm, he’d wake to find that Nesta had crept out while he slept. It did not matter if it was night or noon, Nesta always seemed to know the instant that he fell asleep. She’d creep around at night, at day, always avoiding him, always slipping past him.

‘Are you doing this?’

The shadows that had been fighting each other beside him on the floor outside of Nesta’s room froze.

‘Are you helping her?’

They swarmed to him, brushing against his skin with their cool touch as if to say that he was their only master. Azriel had not sent his shadows in to spy on them although they had tried. He had been the one to pull them back and ban it. It was tempting. If there had been no signs of life, Azriel would have kicked down the door, but since Nesta did not appear to be in immediate danger, he would wait. He would wait and wait and wait until she was ready.

The bond tugged painfully at his ribs. How much of his devotion was due to that? Would he still be here day after day if the bond did not summon him to her side?

The others had appeared – except Cassian who was not able to fly yet – to do a cursory check. They were surprised to find him there, holding his vigil. Azriel said nothing of it. They knew him well enough to know that the guilt for not protecting the sisters was his reason to be there, but not the only one. A mate was a sacred thing that Azriel had never dreamed of having. Never did he think the Mother would choose him for another. And now that he had a mate, he did not want to think of the bond at all. Nesta needed to love him for his character, not because the Cauldron forced her. If she knew the same creation that had warped her into something she hated had paired them together, she would reject him. Azriel was desperate to prove to her that he could be somebody to love, somebody who would care for her, that he was not rotten and broken inside.

‘Please,’ he whispered, not knowing who his plea was for.

He was mindful not to ever make a lot of noise. If the sisters could hear noise at such an amplified level then they were likely able to hear even his heart beat.

Azriel stopped in his tracks.

That absolute madam. That clever, wonderful madam.

Now, Azriel knew exactly how Nesta was seemingly moving in synchronisation with his sleep. She could hear his heart, could identify the change in his consciousness to know the exact moment that he fell asleep. It was so cunning that Azriel was proud of Nesta. He was also kicking himself that it had taken eight days for him to work it out.

All those hours that he’d sat straight-backed pushing away fatigue thinking that he’d catch her the instant that she emerged. It had been a game of cat and mouse – but the mouse had outwitted him. How many times had Nesta tip-toed over his slumbering form to get to the kitchen?

His delight that he had figured out her scheme soon shifted to panic. Azriel functioned on minimal sleep; it was the way he had always been. It was not healthy for Nesta to stay awake until dawn was creeping in the sky.

Azriel sat on the roof, staring out across the city. The spring day meant that even the Illyrian Mountains were visible on the horizon. Their snow-capped peaks called to him. However bruised his heart was when it came to his people, Illyria - the land itself – always summoned him home. For once, Azriel dreamed of being there, in a quiet corner of paradise, where Nesta could exist in peace. The thought burrowed into his chest making the tug of the bond ease slightly. It was a promise of a future that he was desperate to have for his own.

Nesta would not let him in. Azriel could continue to tread softly, leaving packages beside her door in exchange for dirty laundry, preparing meals for her in the kitchen, but she was stubborn and hurting. Locking herself in the rooms would do no good.

He pressed his lips together, wondering how to manages this. If Azriel pushed too far, he risked her snapping. Without pushing, they’d be stuck in this loop until Feyre returned.

No, it was time for Azriel to do what was necessary. As her mate, he knew what Nesta needed.

***

Once again, a soup had been prepared in the kitchen. The bread was improving too; this one had seeds kneaded into it.

If only Elain would eat more than a couple of spoons.

Nesta perched on a chair pulled close to the edge of the bed. This room had been assigned to Elain, but Nesta would not leave her alone.

‘Please, another spoon, Elain.’

Elain’s eyes shuttered closed again as if that would block Nesta’s voice.

‘You need to eat.’

That had pushed too far. It did not take much these days to force Elain over the edge. She rolled over, pulling the blankets up past her head to hide from the world.

Nesta held back her tears until the bathroom where she could cry undisturbed – not that Elain ever stirred. Her sleeps came often and deeply, not waking for anything unless she decided to.

She returned to the bedroom where she forced herself to eat the rest of the now-cold vegetable soup.

What a life that had landed in her lap. Had the village discovered their absence? Were they worried over them? Nesta wondered if word had been sent to her father in Niva that all three of his daughters had irrevocably changed into something worse.

Part of her wanted to break out of the room to demand answers, but the fear of what she was trapped her in this wretched place.

After sitting beside Elain and stroking her brown locks as she slept – all she did was sleep – Nesta returned to the bathroom to wash out her bowl.

At the sound of the door handle rattling, she stilled for a moment. Nobody had tried to do that in a few days, but Nesta was militant at double-checking the lock when she returned to the bedroom.

She turned back to the tap, poised to twist the brass handle when her blood stilled. The unmistakable sound of the key scraping against the lock had Nesta abandoning the bowl in the sink and racing towards the bedroom door.

Shadows wrapped themselves around the thin key. Those traitorous, little bastards.

The door flew open and Nesta flung herself at the wood, both hands outstretched.

A foot shot out, blocking the door from shutting.

Nesta pressed herself against it, ramming the door with all of her strength.

An arm pushed itself through the gap, gripping the edge of the door.

Her feet skidded along the floor as Azriel forced his way into Elain’s bedroom.

‘Get out!’

More of his body pushed through.

She spat the same words at him again and again to no avail.

When Azriel stood in the bedroom, it snapped something in her. Nesta hit at his chest until her palms stung from the effort.

He seized her wrists in an attempt to subdue her, but she booted his shins. The fight that had deserted her on the worst night of her life finally ignited. There was a tussle where Nesta used any free limbs to attack Azriel while he let her.

Then he span her around and crushed his body to hers, knocking the wind from her chest. His heart throbbed against her back. Nesta tried to break free of his hold but the man was too strong. Her arms were clamped at her side, his locked around her.

‘Get out,’ she hissed again.

Nesta lurched forwards, hoping to throw him off. Azriel remained curved against her, following her movements. She was acutely aware of his strong body pressing into hers and his heavy exhales against her ear.

‘This is a tomb.’

One hand locked onto her chin to turn her head towards the window. Nesta had drawn the heavy, velvet curtains on that first night and had not opened them since. It was too bright for Elain.

He forced her to look at the bedsheets covering the large vanity. It was too painful to see what she had become. Nesta was all gangly limbs and pointed ears. It made her sick.

She managed to land another hit as Azriel adjusted his hold on her. A scarred hand yanked open one curtain so that a harsh beam of light streamed in from the faerie world that she wanted no part of. Then he pulled the sheet away from the mirror.

‘Open your eyes.’

His breath curled on her cheek but Nesta kept her eyes screwed shut.

‘You think you’re stubborn, but you haven’t met me,’ he said. ‘I will stay here holding you until only the poets remember our names.’

A hand stroked against her cheek. ‘There is no spell to reverse what happened. You are high fae.  I cannot change that, Nesta, but I can help you accept it and move forwards. I want to help you.’

The tip of his nose pressed into her temple. No man had ever put his hands on her this way, so consuming and intimate.

‘Look in the mirror.’

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Nesta could have wept at what she saw. The face wasn’t hers. It was crueller, harder on the edges. Her grey eyes had turned silver like molten metal. All of her felt wrong – looked wrong. She had been broken then put back together the wrong way.

Nesta could not look away. As much as she despised what she had become, she could not stop herself from staring. It was a stranger staring back at her. Then her body trembled, wracked with heaving sobs.

Azriel turned her, crushing Nesta to his chest. His arms tightened around her then his wings cradled them both in a cocoon.

This could not be her life. This could not be what she had become. All of her choices had been stolen from her.

‘Where were you? You were supposed to save us. Where were you?’

She felt his breath shudder. ‘I failed you.’

Nesta broke away which was only because he had permitted it. His own expression was anguished. He reached out a hand for her either to touch her or hold her again, Nesta did not know. She did not want it. Would never want anything from these faeries again.

‘No, you have ruined my life. You, Feyre, all of you who forced yourselves into our home and dragged us into a world we wanted no part of. You have ruined our lives. Now, get out.’

[secrets-and-streetlights]

My Theories / Thoughts on the new HtP audio log

Spoilers under the cut! Don't read unless you listened to the ghoul lore episode!! I will know!!!! (also massive post)

okay there is. so insanely much to talk about with this audio log. I have so many theories and thoughts, but I'll just share my main ones in no specific order.

Keep in mind that I'm no WoD scholar, so some info could be wrong or be interpreted by the Ogre Poppenang team differently. A lot of this info is coming from the White Wolf wiki.

The Lost Sons

I have a lot of theories on who the sons D lost were. My actual theory is that we'll never know so it remains mysterious. However, endlessly theorizing is fun so: 1.) D says that he lost a son and that it wasn't the first time. So we know at least two sons are gone. Assuming he has only lost two sons, they could be stand ins for the two lost Primarchs from 40k.

For those that don't know a lot about 40k, two of the emperor's sons are 'lost'. Thier names are never said and as far as I know their exact fates never confirmed (but assumedly killed). This goes with my actual theory of not actually knowing what happened.

2.) Anton. During the Australia story, D mentions Anton offhandly. I agree with @sensarna that Anton is a stand in for Angron. We don't know the exact details of that hunt so there is no way to be sure. Biggest point against this is that D gets very intense about saying "Markus' Brother's" name, so I doubt he would mention it offhandedly.

3.) I want to avoid using things not in the series but I'll be drawing on primarch fates from 40k for this. Fates are defiantly not one to one since Door is alive/has both hands, Horus is alive/a horse, and so on. But I immediately thought of Jaghatai Khan when hearing the Australia story.

Simplified for non-40k fans, Jaghatai is supposedly fighting space elf pirates in the space elf dimension, trapped in its endlessly twisting paths. In HtP, this could be interpreted as Jaghatai being trapped in a changeling freehold. Other primarchs are also trapped/lost in places (like Leman Russ and Vulkan) but Jaghatai is involved with the closest thing 40k has to cruel fae.

4.) The previous lost son(s) was not lost as in killed (necessarily) but lost as in changed. This has nothing to do with the Australia story but I'd be surprised if Markus was D's only supernatural(?) son. Leman is probably a werewolf or a gangrel, Lorgar could be possessed by a demon or a nephandi mage, Vulkan could be a wraith constantly possessing people, Roboute could be a changeling lost to banality, anything.

Markus and the Thing (1982)

We know a few things about Markus contacting the unknown force (which I will refer to as the Thing). The Thing is not a 'monster' or a 'demon'.

The Thing is described as or something from the Abyss (with a capital A, even). The Abyss is portrayed differently in every WoD game line, the descriptions conveyed by how that game's supernatural would interact with it. Its a cursed sea to Wraiths, a realm of sensory deprivation to Demons, and the realm of paradoxes and unreality to Magi just to name a few.

D himself says that he doesn't know exactly what it is or how exactly Markus contacted it, so he may be wrong in saying it is/from the Abyss. However, we do know from the Kevin audiolog that D was part of a hunt that killed a Lasombra Methuselah, whose clan has Abyss powers. I'm willing to give D the benefit of the doubt and assume that the Thing is related the the Abyss.

So, what the hell is it?

1.) While kind of a copout, we probably won't ever know its exact nature. The fifth edition Hunter book is full of creatures that don't fit into any neat classifications. It could be something totally unique to this story.

2.) While also unlikely, it could be a Neverborn. They are a major part of Wraith. Neverborn are forces of primordial destruction, endlessly slumbering while they wait for the end of everything. Their minds are the source of the Specters' hivemind, commands carried out through dreams. The 'million eyes' Markus caught a glimpse of could have been an endless hivemind trying to destroy the universe suddenly becoming aware of a lone child.

The big points against this is that getting into the world of the living is difficult for any single wraith/specter, more so for a whole group of them. Maybe whatever ritual Markus did made it easier, we don't know.

3.) According to D, Markus has had a 'sorcerous aptitude'. This immediately made me think of an Avatar. Avatars in mage are a kind of spiritual guide to Magi, always pushing them to realize their potential. Since Magi can have literally any paradigm (the way a mage understands magik), their Avatar can be literally anything.

I'm unsure if Avatars can manifest for anyone aside the mage, but during an Awakening anything could happen. From the picture of the Thing (assuming the photo is diegetic) we know it was visible. If not interrupted, maybe Markus could've even stopped the fae. Or he could've been consumed by overwhelming power and died.

I think this is best supported theory, especially since D has no idea how Markus did it. Markus didn't have to know how to do it. He just needed to believe that it'd work.

4.) Lastly is the most closely related to Changelings. Fomorians. The oldest nightmares of the Dreaming. They are too alien to describe properly. Whatever Markus was doing, he thought he was "channeling a rival power in the fae court". If we're assuming the main power of the court was Seelie, this would mean he was using Unseelie (or possibly Shadow Court) power. Fomorians are supposedly the predecessors to the Unseelie, so Markus might've tapped into something much older than intended.

So why isn't this my main theory? Fomorians fit the physical description (as in, indescribable), are related to the enemy the Family was hunting at the time, and are esoteric enough that D could possibly not know about them.

Because as far as I know, The Dreaming not associated with the Abyss in any way. Its quite the opposite, since its the place of dreams and nightmares. Where the Dreaming is overstimulation, the Abyss is deprivation. That is my interpretation at least. This theory would have to assume that D was just wrong when name dropping the capital A Abyss, which doesn't seem right to me.

The Funny Drink

So the whole Draught thing. This post is long and rambling enough as is, so my theories will be brief.

We know that the draught can bestow any of the following. Strength, Speed, Endurance, or (uniquely for Norfolk) Domination. D says that the Domination one could "give victims complex orders that can be carried out without question."

I think the two lines of thinking are the ones brought up by @possiblylando , mainly that the domination draught is a red herring or that it was used to make someone attack Occam.

The other draughts could also be in use instead, assuming the Ghoul only has one.

If the person that took out Occam wasn't very strong, the Strength draught could give them the edge to overpower him.

Whoever killed Fatigue could've used the Speed draught and cleaned up/fled quickly after making him suddenly explode.

More theory than example but Brok takes a punch from D in chapter 4. D says "Your papa could never take a punch like that.", which could be the Endurance draught at work.

Summary

What a good audio log. Can't wait for the next episode!

[lajulie24]

You write so many excellent Star Wars fics and I would please love to know what advice you have - especially for writing Luke, Han, Leia, and Wedge, as they're going to be centre stage in my various fics and I'm more than a little nervous. Any tips or recommended reading material would be greatly appreciated, thank you!

Let me start by saying thank you for all the kind words — that’s so lovely to hear, and I appreciate it. And thank you, too, for giving me an excuse to talk about writing, because I love talking about writing with other people, especially writing about characters I enjoy. (This might also be a warning to buckle up because I’m about to get very chatty. I’ll try to stick a “read more” link in there for anyone who would prefer not to have to scroll through ALL my chattiness.)

It feels like your question is more about writing characters than it is writing in general, so I’ll mostly talk about that, but I’ll just mention a few things that really help me for writing in general, most of them blatantly cribbed from Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird: Thoughts About Writing and Life. Shitty first drafts. Write what you can see through a one-inch picture frame. Write something every day if you can. Perfection is the voice of the oppressor. Find a way to drown out / ignore KFKD (K-Fucked, the imaginary radio station in your head that is genuinely from hell). I’m happy to go into greater detail on any of these, and I also thoroughly recommend that book.

You mention that you’re a bit nervous, and I think my biggest advice in that realm is — the only way out is through. Meaning, the only way to get better at writing the characters and stories that you love is to let yourself be bad at it and keep writing. That’s why I mention shitty first drafts and perfection being the voice of the oppressor as being so helpful. Write a Han and Leia scene that is so awful that you’re like “who the hell are these pod people, they have no resemblance to the characters I actually like, WTF is this and why does it look nothing like the idea in my head.” And then write it again, or write a different scene, and maybe it will be just as bad, but maybe it will help you see what’s not quite hitting for you about what you’ve written. And you’ll write it again, or write another scene, and it will get better. Or you’ll write a whole fic and it will just be okay from your personal standards. But you learn from writing that fic and the next one will be better. I do regret to inform you that while your skill and comfort with writing these characters will improve the more you write them, each fic will still probably require at least one, if not many, shitty first drafts. The only way out is through.

Hey, looks like it’s time for that read more link! *waves to my followers*

So - specific to the characters that you’ve mentioned. I think there are a lot of different approaches to this, but for Luke, Han, and Leia, there is one very obvious source that you can consult: the original trilogy Star Wars movies, or just scenes from the movies. This is especially helpful for writing dialogue. Watch a few scenes with each of them and listen to how they talk. How casual or formal do they tend to be? What kinds of words do they use? How do they sound when they’re under stress? How do they sound when they’re joyful? How do they sound when they’re angry? What do you think they’re like when they’re not running for their lives or in the middle of a space battle? What do you see in the movies as their dynamic, and how do you imagine that changing when it’s just a boring night on base?

For Wedge, it’s slightly more challenging because you don’t get a lot of his dialogue in the movies, and it’s mostly battle talk, because he’s a side character. If you want reading material on Wedge, I would personally recommend the EU/Legends X-Wing series novels — in particular the ones by Aaron Allston (Wraith Squadron, Iron Fist, Solo Command, and Starfighters of Adumar). It’s a bit out of order because it’s the third in the Wraith series, but Solo Command in particular is really great character-wise for Wedge, and you even get some Wedge and Han interaction in that book.

Personally, I am a visual person but also love listening to music. A lot of my story ideas and scene ideas and character thoughts come to me when I’m listening to music and basically sort of envisioning music videos featuring my favorite characters. Sometimes those videos end up being whole scenes or moments that I write down later (don’t forget to write it down as soon as you can!), like some kind of movie trailer that I’m just transcribing. Sometimes they just lead me to thinking about the characters and what I think they’re like. If you find music helpful, try making a playlist for your characters and picking out songs that feel really them to you. Then take a walk or clean the house while listening to the playlist and see what it sparks for you. Think about a scene you’re stuck on and pick a song that might be playing on the soundtrack if it were a movie, and see where that takes you.

Different writers have different takes on how much they read fanfic while they are writing something. Some writers prefer to avoid it altogether to make sure they’re not inadvertently being influenced / taking ideas from other authors. Some folks will read fic but are more selective about what fic they will read while they’re writing something (e.g. not reading any new fic, or only reading fic about characters or situations that are very different from what they’re writing at the moment). My thought with regard to other people’s fanfic is that your past reading of fanfic can be useful for deciding what rings true for YOU about the characters, but that you should avoid any temptation to study those fics as if they were a guide to “how to write X character”.

Which brings me to another big point: the goal here is for you to write these characters in a way that rings true for you. Even if you tried, your Leia would not be precisely the Leia I write, just like the Leia I write isn’t precisely like the Leia written by @madame-alexandra or @otterandterrierwrites or @yoyomarules or @soloorganaas or @inelegantprose or @organanation or @walkawaytall. But I recognize those versions of Leia (and those versions of Leia and Han’s relationship) as ones that pretty consistently ring true to me. Or if there are bits about them that don’t, I don’t use those particular bits in what I write.

The way to use your past fanfic reading as character inspiration can be the things that stand out even when you don’t have the fic in front of you. Like “I really like how playful this scene was between Leia and Han, I could see them doing this” or “I like how this writer shows Leia and Luke’s friendship even before they knew they were related” or “here’s a point this author made about the similarities and contrasts between Wedge and Han that I think makes a lot of sense” or “I loved that we saw my faves being goofy and having fun together, I want to do that” or whatever. You can also use that past fanfic reading to tell you “yeah, this person had Luke do X and that felt kind of out of character for how I see him” or “that scene was well written, but I don’t know if that’s the kind of thing I really want to explore with these characters.”

I keep thinking about that Tumblr post that basically says “this is my blorbo and wow I’m gonna put him in so many situations” because that’s kind of what we do as writers. We take our blorbos and we put ‘em in some situations and see how they respond. Part of why I keep hammering on “you just have to keep writing and writing” is that honestly, after you start writing your characters for a while, if you pay attention your character will tell you what they would say or do next. (Anne Lamott calls this “listening to your broccoli.”)

For example, once I was writing a fic where the Rogues got caught making a hot tub on Hoth and Han was showing it to Leia before they had to dismantle it and send it back, and I’d gotten to Han trying to convince Leia to at least test out the hot tub before they sent it back, he’d never tell anyone, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. The scene could’ve been at a dead end. Except that all the sudden I was writing Leia daring Han to go in, like “I’ll go in if you will” and that was 100% not anything I was expecting her to do. But I had written her enough that when I listened, I knew my Leia was going to offer a dare when I put her into that situation, that part of what made her friendship and later relationship with Han work was that she was able to be boldly herself and challenge him to do the same. If someone else were writing her, they might have resolved that situation differently, or maybe their Han wouldn’t have invited Leia to the hot tub in the first place.

You asked for any tips and tricks. As you’ve already read, my advice is to keep writing and writing and writing, and you’ll find yourself getting to know the characters and being happier with how you’re writing them. But a few other tips and tricks that have worked for me: 1) If you’re having trouble with plot or a specific scene or a conversation, find someone you can bounce things off of and try to explain to them what you want to happen and where you got stuck, e.g. “I’m trying to get Han and Luke to find out X information but it sounds weird”. Sometimes the act of having to explain something to another person makes it clearer in your own head what you’re trying to do and what the problem is; sometimes someone asking questions is all you need to solve your own problem. 2) Read your dialogue out loud. You can do it quietly, to yourself, but it will make it clearer when you’re written something that doesn’t sound like the character, or isn’t how people actually talk, and you’ll have a better sense of how to fix it. 3) Sometimes you have to cut your darlings. Sometimes you have a piece of phrasing that is absolutely lovely and perfect…and doesn’t fit any longer with where the story is going, or it’s wrong for the character. Or it’s too long and you need to get to the action. Cut it. Put it in another document to save for later if you need to. But cut it. No writing is ever wasted — sometimes that thing that was gorgeous but just didn’t fucking work was just the means to an end. Sometimes it will remain in your head (or that other document) to be repurposed in another fic. Sometimes it was the thing you needed to write to get to the REAL thing you were meant to write. 4) If a scene isn’t working, try something to make your brain think about it in a different way. E.g. try rewriting it from a different character’s point of view, or start the scene in the middle instead of giving a big leadup to the action, or tell scraps of it in flashback instead of writing the whole scene.

Phew! That was long. Hopefully some of it is helpful. Anyway, please feel free to chat more if you like — and I definitely encourage my fellow writers to add any of their own suggestions! Getting started is the hardest part, so just DO IT. Good luck!

[wingedblooms]

Wraithlike

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

In the Throne of Glass series, Sarah makes quite a few references to wraiths. Forms that are wraithlike are nearly transparent; they are bodies that aren’t bodies. These forms move like the wind and appear suddenly. The most striking references include the void, like when Aelin and Manon enter a witch mirror and watch a memory in the space between. Or the references to hell, especially the grieving queen who walks like she is traveling through a dreamscape, or an empty, barren hell. Take a look for yourself:  

He dragged a hand across the floor before the darkness, and greenish lights sprung up from where his fingers passed before being sucked into the void like wraiths on the wind. One of his hands was bleeding. (tog) Dorian Havilliard stood at the ballroom window, watching Celaena and Chaol dance in the garden beyond, their dark cloaks flowing around them like they were no more than two wraiths spinning through the wind. After hours of dancing, he’d finally managed to get free of the ladies demanding his attention, and had come to the window to get some much-needed fresh air. (com) Slowly, like lovely wraiths from a hell-realm, the witches appeared. (qos) Aelin had a body that was not a body. She knew only because in this void, this foggy twilight, Manon had a body. A nearly transparent, wraithlike body, but … a form nonetheless. (eos) Clad in white silk, her long curtain of dark hair unbound, the Grand Empress strolled, silent and grave as a wraith, down a walkway wending through the rock formations of the garden. Only moonlight filled the space—moonlight and shadow, as the empress strode alone and unnoticed, her simple gown flowing behind her as if on a phantom wind. White for grief—for death. […] Nesryn lingered in the shadows of the pillar, watching the woman drift farther away, as if she were wandering the paths of some dreamscape. Or perhaps some empty, barren hell. (tod) Silent as wraiths, they appeared across the glen. As if they’d simply sparked into existence in the shade of the foliage. Little bodies, some pale, some black as night, some scaled. Mostly concealed, save for spindly fingers and wide, unblinking eyes. Elide gasped. “The Little Folk.” (koa) It was over before it really started. The mercenary got in two hits, both met with those wicked-looking daggers. And then she knocked him out cold with a swift blow to the head. So fast—unspeakably fast and graceful. A wraith moving through the mist. (ab) The moon illuminated the mist swirling along the leaf-strewn ground, and made the trees cast long shadows like lurking wraiths. And there—standing in a copse of thorns—was a white stag. Celaena’s breath hitched. (ab)

Naturally, I was curious how these links held up when we actually meet wraiths in A Court of Thorns and Roses (acotar) and Crescent City (cc). In acotar, we meet half-wraith twins who appear and disappear suddenly, even into a puff of smoke. Amren says they are nothing but shadow and mist, and can travel through walls. 

They appeared through the cracks from slivers of darkness, just as Rhysand had. But while he’d solidified into a tangible form, these faeries remained mostly made of shadow, their features barely discernable, save for their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They remained silent when they reached for me. I didn’t fight them—there was nothing to fight them with, and nowhere to run. The hands they clasped around my forearms were cool but solid—as if the shadows were a coating, a second skin. (acotar) The shadow maids, as usual, walked through the walls and vanished. (acotar) Nails clicked on stone, and my escorts swapped glances before they swung me into an alcove, a tapestry that hadn’t been there a moment before falling over us, the shadows deepening, solidifying. I had a feeling that if someone pulled back that tapestry, they would see only darkness and stone. One of them covered my mouth with a hand, holding me tightly to her, shadows slithering down her arm and onto mine. She smelled of jasmine—I’d never noticed that before. After all these nights, I didn’t even know their names. (acotar) Amren, at least, knocked this time before entering. Nuala and Cerridwen, who had finished setting combs of mother-of-pearl into my hair, took one look at the delicate female and vanished into puffs of smoke. “Skittish things,” Amren said, her red lips cutting a cruel line. “Wraiths always are.” “Wraiths?” I twisted in the seat before the vanity. “I thought they were High Fae.” “Half,” Amren said, surveying my turquoise, cobalt, and white clothes. “Wraiths are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone—you name it. I don’t even want to know how those two were conceived. High Fae will stick their cocks anywhere.” I choked on what could have been a laugh or a cough. “They make good spies.” (acomaf)

In Crescent City, Vanir wraiths change bodies often to maintain a youthful appearance (thanks for this reminder, @offtorivendell!). We learn this when Bryce meets Vik, a wraith who is trapped in the beautiful body she possesses, and then ripped from that same body and contained in a box at the bottom of the Melinoë Trench as punishment. (This is a terrible punishment, but the name is fitting—Melinoë was associated with ghosts, and wraiths are ghostly in appearance.) Micah is truly the worst. 

The wraith folded her alabaster hands in her lap, the unnatural elegance the only sign of the ancient power that rippled beneath the calm surface. Vik had no body of her own. Though she’d fought in the 18th, Isaiah had learned her history only when he’d arrived here ten years ago. How Viktoria had acquired this particular body, who it had once belonged to, he didn’t ask. She hadn’t told him. Wraiths wore bodies the way some people owned cars. Vanir wraiths switched them often, usually at the first sign of aging, but Viktoria had held on to this one for longer than usual, liking its build and movement, she’d said. Now she held on to it because she had no choice. It had been Micah’s punishment for her rebellion: to trap her within this body. Forever. No more changing, no more trading up for something newer and sleeker. For two hundred years, Vik had been contained, forced to weather the slow erosion of the body, now plainly visible: the thin lines starting to carve themselves around her eyes, the crease now etched in her forehead above the tattoo’s twining band of thorns. (hoeab) At least Bryce could now appreciate the beauty before her: the dark hair and pale skin and stunning green eyes were all Pangeran heritage, speaking of vineyards and carved marble palaces. But the grace with which Viktoria moved … Viktoria must have been old as Hel to have that sort of fluid beauty. To be able to steer her body so smoothly. (hoeab) “Through the glare of the firstlight beams atop the remote submersible, more fleshy white bits floated by. This was what the wraith Viktoria had been damned by Micah to endure. The former Archangel had shoved her essence into a magically sealed box while the wraith remained fully conscious despite having no corporeal form, and dropped her to the floor of the Melinoë Trench. […] The wraith’s shoebox-sized Helhole had been bespelled against the pressure. And Viktoria, not needing food or water, would live forever. Trapped. Alone. No light, nothing but silence, not even the comfort of her own voice. (hosab)

What does this mean for Elain’s story, and why am I even mentioning her in a wraith meta? In the acotar series, Nuala and Cerridwen, half-wraith twins, draw Elain out of her grief and help her learn how to bake. Sarah mentions that Elain considers them her friends twice in acosf alone: 

Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens–she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. (acosf) “You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (acosf) 

She also plants the idea that Elain might be engaging in stealth training with them (and/or Azriel, who trained them). That would make sense since she has learned from them before and she started to move like them after developing a friendship. She tends to move silently and appears suddenly, even stepping out of shadow. Before she was Made, Elain moved with the grace of a doe, so that newfound skill may have come fairly naturally.

In acosf, Nesta also recalls how Elain was after being Made and refers to her as a ghost. She comments that she (Nesta) was the ghost now, worse than a ghost: she was a wrathful wraith. This description of a wraith doesn’t quite match what we know about the few wraiths in the maasverse we’ve met; it seems more like a frightening bedtime story of a legendary monster, which is perhaps meant to reflect Nesta’s own inner turmoil. But the description of Elain when she is first Made is eerily similar to the wraithlike queen in tod:

Where Nesta had been in contented silence before we found her, Elain’s silence was…hollow. Empty. Her hair was down—not even braided. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it unbound. She wore a moon-white silk dressing robe. She did not look, or speak, or even flinch as we entered. Her too-thin arms rested on her chair. That iron engagement ring still encircled her finger. Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white. The lack of color. Of vibrancy. […] Nesta’s rage was better than this…shell. This void. My breath caught as I edged around her chair. Beheld the city view she stared so blankly at. Then beheld the hollowed-out cheeks, the bloodless lips, the brown eyes that had once been rich and warm, and now seemed utterly dull. Like grave dirt. (acowar)

The interesting part about this connection is that Elain likely was wandering through some dreamscape like a wraith with her Sight. This pale, hollow image of Elain also aligns with the definition of a wraith. 

Elain appears wraithlike again (probably on purpose) when she wears a black gown in the Hewn City, a place of rotting darkness. Cassian notes: 

“Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved modest gown leeched the brightness from her face.” […] He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…It sucked the life from her.” (acosf)

Elain’s black dress makes her look plain and invisible compared to her sister. She lacks color and vibrancy just as she did in the House of Wind, though in black instead of white. It’s possible she did this on purpose since she’s altered her appearance before and the half-wraith twins helped her dress for that occasion, too. Could they have dressed her strategically to escape notice on solstice, and could this be another hint of wraithlike powers?

In Song of the wind, I wondered if Elain could be a pale wraith, a force of light and color and wind, who moves like Hope through the Void. She’s described in terms that do not have a definite form (pale, golden mass in his arms; sunlight on gold; purple and gold flashed), and even asked Amren about changing bodies in acofas. We know that Vanir wraiths can wear different bodies, like shapeshifters walk in different skins (ie., skinwalkers). Wraiths, however, have no definite form beneath the body they wear. Is that the true reason why Elain boldly asked Amren if she could take a different form, change bodies?

“Could you have done it? Decided to take a male form? […] Then why did you pick this body? […] And once you were in this body, you couldn’t change?” (acofas)

Elain as a wraith (or wraith adjacent, lol) would be a fun way to come full circle with the parallel @kimsnnn discusses here. After pointed inquiry about Amren’s otherworldly eyes, Nesta’s otherworldly power glowed silver in her eyes. It’s possible the dinner conversation about changing form might then be a hint that Elain and Amren will share otherworldly forms. Amren’s otherworldly form was a bird of prey, a messenger. She watched over humans, and when ordered, acted as a soldier-assassin. 

Amren smiled slightly—at me, at Varian. “I watched them for so many eons. Humans—in my world, there were humans, too. And I watched them love, and hate—wage senseless war and find precious peace. Watched them build lives, build worlds. I was … I was never allowed such things. I had not been designed that way, had not been ordered to do so. So I watched. And that day I came here … it was the first selfish thing I had done. For a long, long while I thought it was punishment for disobeying my Father’s orders, for wanting. I thought this world was some hell he’d locked me into for disobedience.” (acowar)

You know who else watches others through physical eyes and Cauldron-blessed Sight? Elain. I’ve wondered before if she is an otherworldly messenger and/or guardian like Silba’s owl or the Suriel (who is your stereotypical wraith). Alert and aware. Silent travelers, full of wisdom. There are some who even believe the word wraith is connected to the Norse word for watcher, but several sources indicate the origin is unclear. Regardless, Elain acts like a wraithlike guardian, appearing suddenly out of shadow to protect her family. It's possible she used this skill to wear the body of Balthazar and help Nesta and Emerie find safety during the Blood Rite.

Even if Elain isn’t an actual wraith, I think we can reasonably predict that she will learn more from Nuala and Cerridwen, and their gifts may complement her own as she practices using her Cauldron-blessed powers. When she cannot see something, Elain says it is all mist and shadow, and Nuala and Cerridwen are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone. Could they teach Elain how to break through the walls of her Sight? 

With all the connections wraiths seem to have with void and hell, Nuala and Cerridwen may help her use the Void to peer into and/or travel to Hel (as both @offtorivendell and I have theorized). It would make sense for them to use the space between together, especially if Elain has mystic abilities and can move fluidly across space like a wraith’s essence. They’ve been helping her all along and will probably continue to do so. In her own words, Elain already told us that “Nuala and Cerridwen will help her [me]” (acowar). And there are so many things Elain seems eager to learn from them. 

Elain stood between Nuala and Cerridwen at the long worktable. All three of them covered in flour. Some sort of doughy mess on the surface before them. The two handmaiden-spies instantly bowed to Rhys, and Elain— There was a slight sparkle in her brown eyes. As if she’d been enjoying herself with them. Nuala swallowed hard. “The lady said she was hungry, so we went to make her something. But—she said she wanted to learn how, so…” Hands wreathed in shadows lifted in a helpless gesture, flour drifting off them like veils of snow. “We’re making bread.” (acowar)

P.S., Is it any coincidence that they likely look like three lovely ghosts, covered in flour, when they work together?