#This is way long than anticipated

[storylocke]

I really just want a chance to ramble after a conversation this morning woke up the muses.

Dippy:

Back when we did the TPP Gauntlet in 2020, I started a series of fics to go with it. No surprise. It's funny though because I didn't start one for Oriana / "Red0" from Gauntlet Red even though G.Crystal connects directly to it. So the first one we meet in all this is Dippy. More specifically, we meet his mother. She doesn't play a huge role in all this, but it says a lot about the kind of person she is that she won the Who Wants to be a Millionaire (pregame) and her first priority was to get her son out of Rainbow Rocket ruled Kanto (Randomized Ultra Moon comes before this in the timeline so all of the Gauntlet leaders are different from the canon gang), and then went off the radar to protect him. She bought a small house in Newbark Town, helped Dippy to graduate early and go after his dreams in music and botany. Or biology. Pokemon is weird about what Grass types would be considered. And that's it really. She stays at home and sells stuff from their garden, most of her remaining fortune is saved in secret for Dippy and he likes to add to it too when he can. They live pretty comfortable and planned to stay in their small town the rest of their lives where they've become loved by the community with no one knowing how they afford things.

Then came the Voices. Honestly, they're barely an inconvenience for Dippy besides dragging him into fights he'd rather avoid, but he and Elm both notice that things suddenly start happening. Dippy gets picked up by Oak's Dex project and Elm encourages him to branch out in his field studies to better himself. Then the break in. Then Rockets... It's about Azalea Town when Dippy realizes he's in over his head, but that's okay because he's got a sharp memory and a lot of patience. Especially as it's here his story shifts. He's the hero, of course, that's the role of the Host in all the stories he's read or heard, but this isn't "his" story.

This is about Alaija, who broke into Elm's Lab when he saw no other way. This is about the Rainbow Rockets, who Alaija has sworn to destroy before they can begin their terrible world takeover plan. This is about Red0, who everyone thought had crushed the Rockets only to mysteriously disappear shortly before disaster struck on Cinnabar Island.

Dippy may have been called to rise up against all of them, but instead he does what he does best. Listen. He finds out what he can from the people who knew Red0, including from a glitched entity that once belonged to him (Missingno) who he promised he'll help find the boy any way he can. He gets Alaija to open up about his past with the Rainbow Rockets and the pair decide to work together with Dippy gladly taking any advice Alaija has to offer. If someone has information for him, he'll sit transfixed as he takes it all in. Because what he lacks in strength (which he really isn't) he wholeheartedly gives as a support to everyone he meets.

By the end of the story, this hasn't changed. With the Rockets gone but not defeated, Dippy finds Alaija and gives him a place to stay in case they try to come after him. Dippy gets a teammate that tells him about Cinnabar and he realizes where he has to go. Red0 didn't just disappear, he's in trouble, an no one would ever know. Red0 has become a monster after suffering from his own hubris in playing with the Glitches (his run ended with a crash after we were allowed to play with the game unpatched). In the battle to bring him back, he seems to be completely taken over by the ghost of Red in Red0's weakened state. (Phase two fight was super cool, but man kid, what happened to you?) But even seeing this lost child, scared, crazed, and out of control, Dippy doesn't put the boy out of his misery. He wants to help him. He gets him home. And when home turns out to be no place for an unstable and extremely powerful Glitch, Dippy and his mother dig into their funds to get him a place of his own.

Red0:

I didn't write a story for him because I didn't have a story. The GRed Run was fun and we had a lot of lore for the kid, but his arc was mostly in stages in my head. Oriana grew up in the Church of Helix where from early on he'd been told he was to be one the next Red. The threat of the Rockets was a sign of corruption that needed to be purged from Kanto, and this boy prayed to be taken by the Voices so he could fulfill the will of Helix. But... Once the Voices actually came and Red0 got out into the world, the sudden freedom and seeming invincibility pushed him to rebel against the lessons that had ruled his life. He hated Red, he wanted nothing to do with Helix, he was reckless with power and took it out on any Rocket he came across. He made a name for himself and quickly became a target by the big man himself: Mr. Grimsley. Red0 didn't think much of Grimsley saying he planned to scatter the group and leave Kanto for a while. Good riddance. The boy was overconfident and proud of himself to have destroyed the Rockets without the help of any so-called god! So it was little surprise that when the Glitches started to appear and Red0 learned he could gain even more power if he could catch them, that that's exactly what he set out to do. Most of his team was quickly replaced with little abominations and he admired the riches and cool talents they gave him. Until he wandered too far. Until a certain alien jellyfish appeared that he mistook for a Tentacool and gave him the bite. Until his friends from the haze seemingly turned against him. Until everything in his mind had gone to mist.

Red0 was presumed dead after Cinnabar erupted. Probably for the better that he was, surely it would have grieved his family more to see what he had become. The Voices had left, and with them, so did his sense of invincibility. He was a god among ants but these ants merely drifted along the edges of the Void. He didn't know how long he'd been on Mt. Silver by the time Dippy came to rescue him, all he knew was to destroy anything and anyone that came near him. How many had come to hunt the beast? Enough to have the gateway blocked until they are strong enough to trust they knew their lives were at risk beyond there. But then something strange happened when Dippy managed to tear down his team and break through the Glitchwork armor. Red0's greatest nightmare, the one he had spent YEARS running away from such lunatic prophecies, finally came true. While he had hardly been himself since being riddled with corruption, it wasn't Red. Red0 completely lost himself as the bizarre ritual took hold, trying to bring the epic hero fully into the plane of existence, but Dippy beat it back. Red0 fell, no armor, no ghost, no teammates left to protect him. He honestly feared the worst as he saw this Trainer with an air of fearlessness standing over him. He would finally get what was coming to him.

A hand up.

Red0 still doesn't understand why Dippy saved him. Why he trusts him, the boy understands even less. All he knows for sure is the Voices sent Dippy there that day, and for that, he's forever grateful to Them for not abandoning him like he once thought. They are a strange and unpredictable entity though. More than that, he's grateful for Dippy. The boy lives quietly up in the mountains still, but it's with a small farm his new plant-loving friend has been teaching him how to manage. There's comfort there in working with the land, in the company and protection of his Pokemon now that he's been humbled about thinking he could do everything himself. He's still traumatized though, prone to nightmares and outbursts, and cloaking himself in the cursed armor when feeling overwhelmed. He's glad sometimes he's alone. Dippy's been helping with that too. Staying with him whenever he has to go into town for supplies or meet the occasional customer, eventually even meeting some of the other hosts. Battle can be fun again as he gets back into the swing of things, usually just sparring with Alaija when he comes along to the farm. Even as they hear about the Rockets still out there and trouble overseas, Red0 might be scared but the Voices will send someone... Right?

Alaija:

Alaija is by all accounts Mr. Grimsley's son. He grew up in Rocket Castle with the other heads of the organization looking after him and everything until they were overthrown by Virginia and the team was scattered to the winds. Fortunately, he ended up with his dad when they split up, but it also meant getting to really know the guy in a way he hadn't before. Grimsley was a monster. No, not cruel necessarily, but according to many who feared him, an actual monster. Alaija had been cursed plenty of times as some kind of little freak but it was only as he got older, he started to really understand what being a Glitch meant. And even started to question if he actually was his father's son or merely something dredged up from the Void himself. Alaija had glitch powers, mostly just super speed and the ability to walk through walls normally, but thanks to Mr. Grimsley, most high ranking members in the RR have a unique power of their own. It helps bind them to each other. In a way, it helps bind them to him. Being the youngest heir to the supposed throne, Alaija spent several years being groomed for his role in the takeover. But the more he learned about it, the less certain he was about going along with it. It's not like he could just leave though. His father would find him. He would always find him. So imagine the boy's shock when Red0 blasted his way through to break up the team and leave a certain redheaded orphan suddenly alone. He's sure if he stayed in Kanto the Rockets would have come back for him. If nothing else, Grimsley would be back for him, and he was too angry and afraid to wait.

Now the thing about Grimsley is, this is actually the same Grimsley from back in Season 1. He was corrupted by the Glitches in a sort of twisted experiment by Fennel. He fought against the curse eating away at him for quite a number of years, but when Unova was nearly swallowed by the Void in Randomized White 2, Grimsley finally gave in. It's been a couple of centuries since he gained this unwanted immortality and it's been enough to drive him crazy trying to find a way to get his humanity back. There's a ritual spoken of in legend that may hold the key, but it requires someone of the same blood... And he's not dumb enough to go first.

As Alaija has grown, there's a certain level of trust given to him about what's going to happen when the RR make their move. But unlike even most of the higher ups, Alaija has also learned what it is his father is after. And it terrifies him to think in the end he'll lose his life so his father may live. A lot of his issues stem from his dad, especially given the level of Glitchery the RR has now, he's just one kid trying to stop an army. He's so scared, he doesn't even get a Trainer's licence for Johto because he feels like the RR could use it to track him down after he makes himself known, and if he's planning to poke the hornet's nest, he better be sure they can't follow. But without an ID, he can't even get a Pokemon. Johto seems oddly trusting though that once he steals one for himself everyone just assumes he's a normal Trainer. Living off found items is hard though when he can't use the Pokemon Center and going from training with the best to starting from scratch is infuriating. He's not a bad Trainer, he's just not used to using such weak Pokemon! And then there's Dippy. Why the Voices chose some meek, passive, sheltered brat is beyond him but the more the run into each other, the more they seem to rub off on each other.

Alaija was almost caught in Azalea Town and found himself having to rely on Dippy of all people to bail him out. They aren't friends, but it's the first time they genuinely get to meet. After that, he finds himself slowing down, and knowing the fate of the world could be resting with this idiot, he even starts training Dippy on how to stand up to the Rockets. Admittedly, his powers are no match for them, but at least Dippy has the Voices on his side. And after hearing what happened with Virginia and witnessing first hand with Red0, he knows better than to underestimate a Host. They talk more often and he slowly warms up to the idea that maybe taking time to care for his Pokemon can make them better as well. Turns out, it might even make him better too. And when it turns out somewhere along the line Dippy surpassed him? Then... Maybe he can trust things will be okay. With the Rockets gone, for the first time in his life, Alaija has time for self reflection. He's got a home for the first time in years, and can feel safe setting foot back in Kanto again. ...Then Dippy brought home Red0. Alaija is glad the kid has no idea who he is, but seeing him brings back memories. He's also quite scared of Red0's power as his own pales in comparison. They may both be Glitched, but there's still a hierarchy there. Hearing what happened to the kid makes him sick. And when Dippy tells him about Mt. Silver, Alaija feels his fears returning. Given Red0's history, he can't shake the feeling this has Grimsley's hands all over it. He doesn't have the heart to tell the kid though. He wouldn't want to bring up bad blood anyway.

Dippy knows his friends have a lot of stuff to work through, but that's okay. He'll use whatever resources he can gather to help them every step of the way. It actually gets a lot better when fellow RR escapee Nia shows up to reunite with her little brother. She helps a lot with Red0 too with her nature loving ways. It's still sad to see how it affects them all though when GBlaze Black 2 comes around though. Dippy makes Alaija stay home just to be safe. There's no telling what Grimsley planned to do if he went. Red0 is a little better with Dippy, Nia, and Izzy there to both protect him and keep him in line.

#twitch plays pokemon #Gauntlet Crystal #GKids #Dippy K #Oriana Red0 #Alaija Grimsley #This is way long than anticipated #Haji babble #I really need to post my fics here

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Do you know that Bagi and Empanada, they created a mafia?

Tina: WHAT?

[Several minutes later]

Tina: You could've lied, Pac. You could've lied. Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I'm gonna let you get away with this?

Tina went through an entire character arc during her conversation with Pac about the Pancake Mafia today!

#Tina Kitten #Pactw #QSMP #Tina #Pac #Edited #March 14 2024 #WHEEZES THIS TOOK WAY LONGER THAN IT SHOULD'VE #their conversation was very long though #It was ~7 minutes long but they continued talking for a long time #I need to catch the rest of the VOD later #no subtitles today because good lord this took way longer than anticipated and I have gotten NOTHING done today #aghhhh #I did a lot of audio adjustments for this video because you could BARELY hear Pac in the actual stream

[cerealboxlore]

Billy Batson related question, as always! How do you think the League would react to Black Adam knowing who the Captain is, especially when they don’t even know? (The relationship between Billy and Teth doesn’t matter, they could be allies or enemies).

Billy Batson related questions are my personal favorites!

The idea of the Justice League not knowing who Captain Marvel's secret identity is always makes me giggle :D it's the layer of mystery and unknown danger that presents itself behind not knowing who the Big Red Cheese is that keeps them on edge sometimes. They admire their friend, but sometimes they do wonder, are they his friend? What is he? An alien? A human? A monster beneath the disguise of a man? Three kobolds in a trenchcoat? Nobody knows... They do wish to get to know their friend better.

Normally, most league members have their secret identities kept, you know, a secret. With the exception that Batman knows, of course. However, even he remains stumped on this mystery. He doesn't enjoy not knowing who Captain Marvel is behind the boy scout smile he often shines, but Batman is determined to find out one day. There's almost some respect for how well the Captain manages to hide his identity and tracks.

Meanwhile, Billy is surprised he's lasted this long with a secret identity. He's working with a braincell, half an oreo cookie, and a dream.

I got sidetracked, ack! Okay, so the relationship (depending on which version of Captain Marvel and Black Adam you are familiar with) is almost always going to be personal. There's their shared relationship with the wizard Shazam, but the one I'm most familiar with and enjoy is Black Adam being the one to have killed Billy's parents. (Also, I appreciate you separating the identity of Black Adam and Teth!)

It would be absolutely amazing and gutwrenching to see Captain Marvel shake hands with a "reformed" Black Adam, possibly during a public setting with the JL in attendance, fully knowing the truth behind his parents murders and still going through with the painful decision to let him go unpunished.

For Billy, this hurts. On a deep level that scars his heart and soul for allowing his parents deaths to go unavenged. For the years of pain, he spent alone on the streets homeless and separated from his twin sister, none of it can be fully healed no matter how hard he tries to forget. Scars fade over time, but to Billy, time is eternity. This pain will follow him for eternity.

However, as Captain Marvel, he understands that there's more to the situation that he can't control, and fighting Black Adam would only make things worse. With the wisdom of Solomon, he knows he can't justify a fight against the ruler of a nation, no matter what. So he just smiles for the camera and shakes the hand of the man who orphaned him.

It is through holding Black Adam's hand that the thought passes through his mind: the hand he's holding right now was once stained with the blood of his parents.

Then, the heroes are given a moment of privacy to be around each other without the public's eyes or ears to interfere, and that's when **** hits the fan.

Captain Marvel is avoiding Black Adam, understandably, but when Black Adam loudly calls out his name among the other heroes, Billy can't help but feel rage boil inside his divine blood.

"William. I thought you knew better than to ignore others when they're trying to talk to you. Such rudeness, I am most glad your parents were not the ones to raise such behavior in you."

Whispers among the league ensues. Was that the Captain's name? Did Black Adam know Captain Marvel on a personal level rather than just a regular hero and nemesis level? Despite the eyes watching them, waiting and prepared to step in case of a fight, the Captain grits his teeth and, through miserable eyes of a broken man, chooses to smile.

"Yeah, they really were good people, Adam. I may not live up to their expectations, but I do live for them. Every day. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

"Your gratitude is most welcome, William. May one day come where you live for Mary and Frederick, as well. They would appreciate you honoring them."

Through a wicked smile, Black Adam chuckles, turning his back to take his leave back to Khandak. Leaving Captain Marvel still smiling all alone, his fists at his side curled with rage, drawing his own divine blood from the intensity of his own strength.

After that, the league would be in all rumors and whispers about Captain Marvel. From the past, they knew that Black Adam was fond of taunting the Captain with strange and mean words during their harrowing battles, but had it all been a personal dig at him all this time? Did Black Adam have a hand in accidentally giving Captain Marvel the motivation to become a hero?

Superheroes like Batman would immediately be looking into any information they learned from this and try to decipher what is the truth behind the Captain. Or should he say, "William," now having a name to the face of the hero of Fawcett. He would also be investigating Black Adam far more closely now, should the reformed man ever step out of line. If he heard right and Black Adam had indeed killed the Captain's parents, then he needed to keep an eye on Captain Marvel, too. In case of a breakdown or instability in emotions.

On the other hand, heroes like the Flash and Superman would take the time to visit the Captain in his city and check on him. They'd be concerned after seeing how pained Captain Marvel was. If a villain like Black Adam knew who the Captain was and specifically chose not to reveal his true identity to the public and just the Justice League, then perhaps there was more to it. Superman knew as well how painful it was to let a guilty man go free because he was deemed "reformed" in the eyes of the public (Lex Luthor, ew).

Overall, there would be a whole range of emotions after finding out Black Adam knows who Captain Marvel is. And I am here for it!

#this ended up way longer than anticipated #oh gosh but this was such a great ask #this was such a lovely ask #tysm for the ask! #billy batson #dc captain marvel #shazam #justice league #black adam #teth adam #angst #im sorry this took so long but you have no idea how many drafts this took to seem coherent haha #I adore the angst #Black adam bullies a child and sees nothing wrong with it

[bilbao-song]

The Police - De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da (x) ↳ requested by @doktordyper

#the police #the police band #80s #classic rock #uploads* #mygifs* #HI sorry this took 400000 years longer than i anticipated #i started like a month ago and then. Well #sgsdjghsdglsghs but here it is i hope u like it!!!! i have leftovers tbh idk what to do w those #there were so many parts that gif worthy tbh. i wanted to include the blue snowsuits but it just didnt work out that way #but like i did actually make gifs of that part so........may post separately idk!!!!!! #also im p sure these aren't in order anymore but it just looked the best this way #anyway sorry again for taking so long lmao #@ other gif request people You're Next #also send more pls i made a google form. it's fun

[siren-of-agony]

Immortal whumper that let's immortal whumpee run away every now and again.

They both know, sooner or later, they'll be found again.

#whump #whump prompt #immortal whumpee #Immortal whumper #🤌 It's about the constant fear 🤌 #🤌 It's about the recapture trope 🤌 #🤌 It's about the characters knowing each other so so well and them being the only constant in each other's long long lives 🤌 #🤌 It's about the horror in the comfort and the comfort in the horror 🤌 #🤌 It's about the question if running away is worth it or if the anticipation of being found again and again isn't worse than enduring #the constant torture 🤌 #Okey im done now #Actually #🤌It's about maybe feeling almost safe after like a hundred years or more only to realize that whumper has actually been waiting close by #for years for exactly that moment #Maybe even having wormed their way into whumpees social circle #To show how fake that safety always was 🤌 #Also 🤌 It's about the intimacy 🤌

[foursaints]

can we please hear about your sirius i’m captivated by their childhood trauma and tgirl swag

ofc! i don’t speak as much about sirius (at least compared to the slytherins) bc i don’t have the most concrete idea of her yet, but there are definitely pieces there that feel very real to me…

i primarily consider sirius in terms of fallen angels. i think she’s living a fallen angel’s narrative. to me, the black family dynamic is primarily made of insulation (against the outside world) & ignorance (of what lies beyond their bubble). it’s not like the rosiers’ actual, physical undersocialization, but more like a charmed “bubble” that the black children are living in even when participating in society. one that’s made up of privileges and rules and traditions that only apply to them. and it’s beautiful & terrible, at once.

being someone who escapes this could feel a bit like being unceremoniously dropped from heaven to an unfamiliar earth. sirius has to realize the world is bigger than what they were told, and that everything isn’t as simple as they were taught. but they were brave enough to realize this on their own, and startlingly young. they’re really unique.

i think sirius is learning to be Their Own Human Being more than anything, that’s their central struggle, like an angel that has violently plummeted to earth and is forced to learn the customs & rituals of regular human life. her transness is important to me because i think it ties into that idea: of inventing yourself, making yourself fully your own.

to me, her infamous jacket is an oversized brown leather bomber. she’s charming and popular or whatever, but is privately bewildered at the attention (doesn’t register it half the time, since she’s used to it) and too much fawning disgruntles her. super androgynous, and the gender question is rarely outright addressed. smokes like a chimney. wears lots of mismatching socks & has a tendency to want to give New Life to unique secondhand shit. my sirius tends to dress pretty masc, but there’ll always be like pigtail braids with ribbons.

when remus looks at her, he’s fully convinced he’s looking at an angel. the things running through that man’s mind are CRIMINAL. historic.

#a #THIS GOT SO LONG IM SORRY LMFAOOOO #i had way more thoughts than i anticipated. ANYWAY JAMES HAVING A GIRLBESTFRIEND IS SOOOO REAL

[zuiz41]

Taste in Music 🎧✨ (and Men 😏)

Iwaizumi's too stunned to speak.

#iwaoi #oiiwa #my art #haikyuu!! #my art is crappy #And handwriting too #I'm sorry for that huhu #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #my grammar sucks ughh #Ughhhhh im so sorry #it was a weird prompt #i drew it anyway #ugh im sorry again #Idk if we should thank makki or not #this took me way too long to make than i anticipated

[azoosepted]

i must draw bl don x kurokumo ishmael yuri i must draw bl don x kurokumo ishmael yuri i must draw bl don x kurokumo ishmael yuri i must [dies]

#nothing more gay than dueling eachother in a turf war amirite or amirite #“Ishmael began to notice a pattern.” #“Surely enough / the bright eyed Salsu always found her way to her / as if she were seeking out Ishmael specifically.” #“Their blades would always find themselves clashing against each other / no matter the place and time of conflict.” #“For whatever reason / Ishmael began to anticipate their duels.” #“She began to eagerly await each battle between the Kurokumo Clan and the Blade Lineage.” #“And when a fight erupted / Ishmael would scan the crowd for the petite swordswoman.” #“It was only a matter of time before she’d inevitably show up / dashing in with her blade in hand.” #“And then a long / lengthy / and passionate duel would be had between the two.” #“Only a few thousand duels later / and raised eyebrows (as well as questioning) from Heathcliff did Ishmael realize:” #“She had stopped attempting to purposefully harm her opponent.” #“It was certainly odd / Ishmael had to admit. The way she found herself lost in the swordswoman’s eyes…” #“Or the way she felt almost dizzy looking at the swordswoman’s smile… 'Cute' had been a word Ishmael used to describe that grin—” #“Which had earned her a couple of raised eyebrows from her clanmates (and in Rodya’s case / a snicker.)” #“It was surely nothing though / Ishmael thought to herself / as she gripped the hilt of her katana.” #“Another battle was about to break out / after all…” #“And she could worry about the implications of the sensations she feels when fighting against that particular somebody afterwards.” #if i had a nickel for wvery time i hijacked the tags to write an entire minific #id have two nickels #which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice #anzu says shit #ishdon #limbus company #project moon #lcb ishmael #lcb don quixote

[iwanttobepersephone]

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like Pritchard was the kinda guy to act with such pure sass that, if you didn't know he would routinely check up on people in private, it would feel inconsiderate. And then I imaged a little skit where Halt had pulled a usual joke of his, but in a very different manner than he did in Hibernia, and Pritchard just burst out laughing. Then, this happened:

Pritchard: "I'm sorry, I've just never heard Halt say that with a straight face before!" Halt, rolling his eyes: "Oh, shut up!" Pritchard, turning to look at him: "did you just tell me to shut up??" Halt, clearly regretting it but not wanting to back down: "Uh... yeah" Pritchard: "Well, you certainly got brave! Care to inform me of when you suddenly got this new attitude?" Halt: "Tough living, Pritchard" Pritchard: "Ohohohoh, is that true?" Pritchard: (turns to face Egon) "Can you believe this? Would you ever have expected an apprentice to talk to me like that?" Egon, in disbelief: "No, never" Pritchard: "I've heard him pull that joke thousands of times before, but never once so seriously!" Pritchard, turning to Halt: "And may I ask, dear, sweet apprentice of mine, if that was a genuine assessment of the group?" Halt: "No, it was sarcasm" Pritchard: "Ah, sarcasm, I should have guessed, huh?" Halt: "Can we get back on topic now?" Pritchard: "Oh, I don't know," (turns to the rest of the rangers), "can we?" Renegade Rangers: (a small chorus of "yeah"'s and "mhm"'s, along with multiple sources if barely contained laughter) Pritchard: "Ah, perfect! And, since it seems Halt is in need of a reminder on some manners, what do we say, Halt?"

Halt, under his breath: thanks

Pritchard: "Perfect! Now, back to the topic we were on. What were you saying, Crowley?"

#funny #rangers apprentice #ranger's apprentice #halt o'carrick #pritchard #tbh this turned out to be way longer than I anticipated #so sorry if its too long or something lol

[seventh-district]

so uh. that 2.2 Special Program, huh

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr 2.2 #hsr spoilers #hsr leaks #the body of this post reads as far less enthusiastic than i really am #i just don’t know how to casually return from my latest 2 week hiatus only to gush abt a game i’ve hardly blogged abt before #but i’m not making a whole ass sideblog for it like i did for Genshin. nah y’all r gonna bear witness to my fixation with this one #so anyways don’t mind me. vibrating into another dimension with anticipation for the next 11 days #it’s insane man. a year ago i Never ever woulda thought i’d be so invested in this game. and it took Months for the game to really grab me #but i’m v glad i kept coming back even when i was struggling to really get into it. like i just had this feeling that if i stuck around and #gave the game a chance to really like. come into its stride. i just always felt like there was Something there and i just hadn’t found it #and holy shit i finally found it in Penacony. the devs really truly outdid themselves with this region and these characters and this story #not to discount everything that’s happened prior. like i was genuinely Liking it all before now but i wasn’t Loving it y’know #but that may be more a ‘me having to fight tooth n’ nail to force myself to consume new media’ thing than it is a matter of the actual game #anyways i came here to talk abt the program! bc since i’m not filming my HSR stuff i’m gonna be insufferable abt it on Tumblr instead ! :) #and i’m probably not filming any more Genshin stuff. or anything else at all for that matter but let’s not talk abt that dead dream #pun not intended lmao. Anyways let’s return to the subject at hand while there’s still room left in these tags shall we #i’m so fucking glad they had Aventurine on this program man. especially since he’s leaked to only have 18 lines in 2.2… it was nice to see- #-him here at least 🥹 i’ll take what i can get. his unenthusiastic little bird noises at the beginning.. him being reluctant to come out.. #the way one of the first things to come out of his mouth was ‘y’know DR RATIO once told me…’ like boy we get it ur in love with him 🙄 (/J!) #i love how they can’t go on these programs w/o talking abt each other it’s adorable. AND THE WAY HE WAS THE ONE TO EXPLAIN BOOTHILL’S KIT!? #they can’t just fuel my crackship like this… god and his whole ‘muddle-fudger.. son-of-a-nice-lady?’ thing had me wheezing #Aven mocking Boothill’s inability to curse was not on my special program bingo card but fuck i’m here for it #and Robin being all curious abt him was so cute.. ‘who /is/ he? … does he order milk at the bar?’ i’m crying she’s so sweet #also the trailer was fucking insane. which feels redundant as hell bc all of HoYo’s version trailers go hard but like. still. wow. #that millisecond long shot of Boothill surveying the skyline is so fucking good. also what the fuck is Jing Yuan doing here!! #not complaining at all tho. we’ve got JY & DH(IL?). Argenti(?). Boothill. Sunday. Aven. all my men r here and i am eating so fucking good #Seven.txt #viddy game stuff

[menaceadored]

Okayyyy so a big thing that has been holding me back while writing this fic that no one is wanting or anticipating is that I had this idea to create a second conflict for Nancy with school for the B plot, but then that conflict became two conflicts when I added my OCs and it all just got way more convoluted than I anticipated- so in order to move forward with this story, I’m cutting the B plot down significantly so I can refocus on Robin and Hawkins and less on the OCs in Boston

#anyway #no one is gonna care about this update #but this is my blog and i need to dump these thoughts somewhere #this fic is moving slowlyyyy #and the first chapter is way longer than i anticipated #this might end up only being like 40k words max if I ever finish it #and it might be like 4 long chapters #btw this is my fic: #current title - I’m Gonna Be Strong #part two of #Girls Just Want to Have Fun #in the series #A Moment in Time #both titles come from songs by Cindy Lauper bc i like consistency #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #stranger things #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x robin buckley #robin x nancy #nancy x robin

[anxiously-kk]

ok so i’m about to be reflective and rambly about some of my thoughts on the season so im putting it under a read more incase you want to skip because it is soooo long omg

ok so a lot of criticism on this season has been about The Flip™️ and how it ruined both corys game and the season. but i don’t think it’s that simple. to me there are many moments and choices that get made that helped build into the situation we are in now. flipping the vote on reilly week two which gave matt a huge chip on his shoulder and a wild vendetta against those who wronged her leading him to base so many moves on what she would want. was it good for cirie and izzy at the time i think it was but it did have long term consequences. you could also say that hisam telling his alliance they had to get matt out next but them flipping on hisam instead plus cirie green lighting matt saving jag(this isn’t all on her but she said she regrets not trying to stop him harder so i added it) lead to them forming a super tight bond that has helped them run the back half of the game. you could say leaving cameron (and bowie to an extent) out of the red blindside turning cams focus onto the ladies was unnecessary and it would have been better to include them. maybe that was the smarter play cause cam would have tried to stop it or maybe it made an unnecessary enemy. Maybe if meme hadn’t also been left out of that blindside till the last second cory wouldn’t have been able to get her to go along with the flip.

now in regards to the flip in question by this point that early core group had flipped (and blindsided) their alliance members more than once and cirie told matt she played path to power but not cory which eventually got back to him gave cory a reasonable opinion that they didn’t trust him and could cut him easily just like hisam and red. when you add that info to the fact that jared was acting like a total fool and on some extreme anti-cory shit that week plus izzy saying point blank america needs to go asap i wouldnt have felt secure with them either. now let’s be honest should have flipped that vote at that time even with all that info most likely not in my opinion because izzy at least liked him and was working with him while felicia could never let go of the belief that he was untrustworthy and that hurt him down the road. but would that have got him much further in the game? and would it have stopped the matt nag show? that’s hard to say because you can’t change one variable and assume every other event stays the same you know? like if izzy stayed but cory grew closer to america would they have gotten sketched and cut him earlier, or if he decided to ditch america would she have felt like she couldn’t trust cory and tried to turn people against him, if the blow up didn’t happen that week jared probably wouldn’t have been evicted that same night, so who would have gone in his place and how would that impact the game, if two people who were evicted didn’t have a whole week to chill in the house and put the game on pause would it not have given jatt time to set themselves up as the power structure or would cory have been able to keep momentum going and put together a solid group? instead? so i do think they should have taken out felicia that week probably but i don’t think doing so guarantees better results. i think its physics that’s like every action has an equal and opposite reaction and that’s true here too. this is a living game where people react to what is happening around them. every choice someone makes builds on each other any of those moments that i mentioned could have the right move or they could have backfired but they don’t exist in a vacuum you can’t isolate them from each other because one scenario only exists because of a choice someone else made

#bb25 #i am in no way saying i’m totally correct i could be so off #but that’s how i see it #and anticipating reactions is part of the game but you can’t ever be totally sure how someone will react you can only go with a best guess #omg this is so long if you read it all and it made sense to you you’re an icon #because it’s literally just a stream of consciousness idek if it’s punctuated well #i did try harder than normal to make real sentences though haha

[freuleinanna]

trials (and errors)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 AO3

Chapter 4: Liars

A perfect lie does not exist. Untether it from truth, and it's a mere fantasy. Weave truth into it, and it becomes a commemoration, for concealment is just an act of protection, and protection, well, is just an act of love.

Can you imagine? The chapter I started the whole thing for? Ugh. Welcome to the circus, aka the courtroom angst, aka Sturrock hardly dealing with those two and those two hardly dealing with each other

The hearing itself is a blur.

If they were to compare memories, both Marisa and Asriel would probably agree that what they remember most is endless bureaucratic gibberish and a whole lot of pretentious words flying about. Illicit affair this, conspiracy to murder that. Asriel powers through the whole thing silently agreeing to at least consider respecting the Authority should he miraculously manifest himself and strike down the bunch of dim-witted black-robed idiots blabbering about marriage institutions and the worth of a human life. Beside him, Stelmaria is unmoving, her eyes glide from one speaker to another, thoughts impenetrable behind the icy facade. Both of them exude the feeling of having much better and more important things to do with their time, which isn’t wrong. Both of them are fully focused on not looking at the opposite side of the hall where Marisa and her daemon are.

They climb their respective stands. They aren’t allowed to be seated. After all, it is a trial, and they are supposed to be defending themselves. Asriel has a feeling that neither him nor Marisa are interested in defense, simply wanting things to be over.

Stabbing each other in the process is just an extra perk.

‘State your name, please,’ Cardinal Sturrock is slumping in his direction. Asriel opens his mouth and doesn’t shut up out of spite listing his name, status, estates, and full heritage up to the seventh generation even when he’s interrupted – twice. His voice thunders through the room. People wince.

‘You did ask, Your Eminence,’ he shrugs coldly.

‘Thank you, Lord Belacqua,’ comes the most thankless tone possible.

Marisa’s answer, against his, is short and dry.

‘Marisa Coulter, née Delamare.’

With the precision of French vowels on née. Whether it’s pride or emotions that make her resort to the accent, or a simple habit of pronouncing it right, Asriel doesn’t really know. I love you, sea creature. He doesn’t look, but his teeth hurt from clenching.

And then it becomes very hard not to look because questions come one after another, and it’s their shared history that gets spilled on the floor.

‘Could you remind the honorable judges of the circumstances of your meeting?’

He stifles a groan. The only thing stopping him from suggesting the honorable judges to shove their honorable questions up their honorable asses is Stelmaria’s tail around his legs. She could have crushed the pathetic daemon-insects between her paws if she wanted, but she is playing impassive for his sake. Asriel burrows his fists deeper into his pockets and clears his throat.

‘It was a social event, I don’t remember which. Both Mrs. Coulter and I were present.’

Well, he made the whole board frown. Again. What, did they expect him to pour out every detail? Who cares, let’s cut right to the chase. They met, they slept together, they had a child, he killed her husband – that’s what everyone wants to discuss anyway. Dancing around the subject just takes the meaning out of it.

‘And how old were you?’

‘Twenty.’

‘And Mrs. Coulter?’

‘Why don’t you ask Mrs. Coulter herself?’ he snaps, patience is leaking out of him despite the decision to stick to his best behavior. Damn his non-existent tolerance for stupidity.

‘It is your account of the events, Lord Belacqua. We will address Mrs. Coulter when needed.’

Speaking of her like she isn’t in the room. The spot of blue color is very still in the corner of his vision as Asriel makes an effort to look straight in the Cardinal’s bloated face. He can’t lick Marisa’s taste off his lips. It’s distracting. Stelmaria moves her head in a warning: focus.

‘I believe, Mrs. Coulter was nineteen at a time.’

‘And is it correct that your affair started a year after that?’

To be fair, Asriel said so himself during one of the previous hearings because it was easier then, one on one with Sturrock and his henchmen. He said a lot of things. Now, however, with Marisa standing witness, the lies become palpable like rough stitches in the air. Seeing them, knowing them, how could anyone believe they lasted a whole year?

The truth is, the affair had started immediately. It’s just that the sex came well after, but she cheated on her husband the moment their hands met.

They would meet at the library. She would pretend to not notice Asriel’s presence until the last minute, but always made sure to wear the most flattering dresses. He would pretend he visited the dusty archives for any serious, adult reason except spending a day with Marisa.

She would smile politely as she saw him and say, ‘Lord Asriel. Here again?’ – in a voice that fit a genderless servant, not a woman of flesh and blood, but her eyes would spark with delight. Sometimes, he would approach to read over her shoulder, hardly seeing the lines from being struck on the head with the scent of perfume mixed into that of her skin.

She would turn her face half-round to ask, ‘I wonder, what do you make of the Bermundsen’s last paper on potential use of natural events, Aurora lights in particular, as a source of renewable anbaric energy?’

He would breathe ‘I think Bermundsen is flying pitifully low’ down her neck.

They would sit across from each other, shamelessly making love with their words and ideas, innocent to anyone who could see.

At times, she would make for the stepladder to take another book. He would take it for her, reaching over her head, almost pressing her into the shelf in the process. Their eyes would meet, and there would be that look in hers, all at once calculating and genuinely content, impossible to decipher all the way through. Not daring to allow their fingers touch over a book, they would pause. In the air, an instant collapse waiting to be released. They would both stand, undoubtedly imprinting one another in memory to imagine late at night for their own raw, secret pleasure. Adding a throbbing sensuality to that image on purpose.

At the end of the day, they both knew exactly what they were doing.

It’s a force Asriel, with his scientific mind, cannot comprehend or break down into a handful of co-applying laws physics has to offer. Something possesses him to take a look, something not entirely lost, that’s still trying to live and breathe despite his best efforts.

Marisa appears withdrawn. Empty, like she isn’t there at all. The harmony of deep blue with the gold of her daemon would be fitting to a saint, except that wearing a color besides black only paints her more of a sinner. Deep within, Asriel is admiring the defiance. His admiration is of dark, self-torturing quality.

Under a delicate hand, the golden monkey seems to have lost all life. Therein lies the Marisa effect.

‘Lord Belacqua?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Is it correct that your affair started a year after you and Mrs. Coulter had met?’

‘Yes. Yes, that is correct.’

***

Mrs. Coulter, he keeps saying.

I briefly collaborated with Mrs. Coulter on one of my branching research, she was providing theological base to…

When Mrs. Coulter and I had become involved…

… there was no paper correspondence, Mrs. Coulter insisted…

…Mrs. Coulter…

…Mrs. Coulter…

Some other woman she must be, that Mrs. Coulter, because Marisa doesn’t recognize herself in what Asriel is saying. The person he talks at such lengths about sounds rational and cold, plotting her way through the affair down to every breath she takes, and not at all in love. She remembers being in love. How does one pick memories clean off the carcass of that giant dead thing?

Bones are there, alright, but Asriel is lying. Tiny details get cloaked sometimes, and sometimes grand ones. Marisa isn’t fool enough to think it a protection, instead pulling herself together against what it really is. An erasure, utter and complete: of her, of what they were. Matter-of-factness, with which Asriel answers the questions, ultimately retelling the story in a way a dust-dry librarian would retell the plot of an exciting novel, is an act of killing. She is reduced to an outline, a character – someone unimportant, and only vaguely familiar.

A stranger, in a word. A stranger whose name he pretends to have never tasted on his tongue in moments of disarmed tenderness.

He said he wouldn’t spare her. Who knew it was to be like this.

Despite the indignation it pokes alive, his flow of immaculate half-truths has another effect, an unexpected one. They carve Mrs. Coulter into existence out of thin air, and the more Asriel speaks, the more real she becomes, allowing Marisa to dissolve in the image. Soothing her until she enters a state of tranquil trance, her tyranny buried into the golden fur. How easy it is to pretend uninvolved. It allows her some control – maimed, disfigured, but control still.

So she listens, and doesn’t object. Her hatred, now cool and steady as opposed to the fiery eruption before, listens too. Grasped by curiosity almost unhealthy, it wonders how much less emotional Asriel can make the whole thing sound.

And then, suddenly, it’s her turn.

And then, suddenly, it’s a full-blown interrogation.

Air grows thicker, as if molecules knit themselves closer together with every pair of disapproving eyes landing on Marisa. She tenses.

‘Mrs. Coulter, do you agree with Lord Belacqua’s account?’

Down to the detail, except where he left out that we actually had hearts, she says, yet the words transform in her mouth and leave it as a plain, ‘Yes.’

‘Very well,’ Sturrock locks his ring-laden fingers, leaning over them and resembling at that moment a fat hawk on the search for a prey. ‘Could you say for how long you had been married to Edward Coulter prior to meeting Lord Belacqua?’

‘Six or seven months.’

‘Are you not sure?’ the hawk frowns.

‘Seven,’ Marisa corrects, even though it’s not true, because the whispers start swishing and she needs some merit. Yes, she was still very freshly a wife when she broke all her vows, but at least she can track her own marriage. That must count for something, must it not?

It was, in fact, six months and eighteen days. She spent endless nights wishing she’d just waited for six months and eighteen days longer before allowing Edward to put a wedding band on her finger. Or that Asriel had come along that exact amount of time earlier. Either way, a fruitless endeavor, but it kept her up for hours.

‘And would you say you had amicable relationships with your husband?’

‘Quite.’

‘Mrs. Coulter, I’m afraid I need you to elaborate.’

They say, when vultures come, it’s already too late. Marisa stands surrounded by vultures, painting and repainting her cracking mask of humbleness to not let fury taint it. Even in death, Edward traps her. Say a few good words about him, and her sins become appalling in comparison. Say a few bad ones, and she’s obviously besmearing his memory with lies to save herself, a malign creature whose only hope is to pray for forgiveness. In a convent.

Very carefully, her voice treads across rows.

‘My husband was a man of politics, as you know. Often away. Amicable is the exact right word, Your Eminence, for we didn’t have much in common, nor did we spend much time together. There were always…other duties.’

‘Is that why you chose to betray your sacred union by infidelity?’

Damn you.

Is there any winning this at all? The Cardinal himself is pushing her onto the thinnest ice Marisa’s ever walked on. Everyone is waiting, everyone is angry. A bunch of men who’ve never known a woman’s touch behave like she’s been unfaithful to them personally, and that is a mighty dangerous sea to navigate. That collective ego can crush her like a wave.

Giving herself some time, Marisa strokes the gold. Her hand is hard despite the gesture, the monkey shivers under it. It might pass for embarrassment, his fear. Good. She tugs at the fur a little and greets the pain where, connected to her deamon, a part of her soul resides, stuck among arteries and veins in rivers of blood – the one thing she’s yet failed to dissect to understand the nature. Her insides yelp; it helps her think. She needs to think fast.

Truth, she decides, is the simplest thing to say. And the quickest way to try and thaw a few hearts that are so hung up on innocence.

She only makes one mistake. She looks at Asriel.

‘I was…’ in love, is what Marisa tries for, ready to play the cards, but that incomprehensible soul of hers… She would throw it to the wolves if she could. It makes the words cluster in her throat. It fights against every sound, clawing them down with a fierce proprietary desire to omit, to withhold, to never share a single meaningful piece.

‘Yes, Mrs. Coulter?’

Because it was theirs.

A young man bumps into her, rushing away from her husband like all dogs are on his tail, which is a bit funny since he’s being followed by a giant cat. A  leopard, alright. For the sake of precision, a snow leopard. The man’s face still carries echoes of an argument he’s very obviously continuing in his head even as he turns.

‘My apologies,’ he mutters, a hand on Marisa’s shoulder making sure she’s okay.

‘No need,’ she chuckles at how aggravated he looks, then nods to his suit. ‘You’ve spilled your drink.’

‘What? Oh–’

Something very inappropriate is about to leave his lips, but the stranger contains himself, albeit hardly. He does give an impression of someone who’s not used to doing it. A gentleman, then; sparing Marisa’s ears the horrors of hearing him curse. She smiles. It is a very expensive suit he’s wearing, of fine materials, clearly tailored. With a big wet whiskey spot on the left sleeve.

She lends him a handkerchief. Simple as that.

‘Seemed like you were having a hard time with Edward Coulter there.’

‘Politicians,’ the man scoffs, patting his sleeve dry. ‘A fine specimen too, pigheaded as they come.’

‘Hard to disagree.’

The man snorts.

‘Thank you.’ He looks up to return the handkerchief. For the first time, their eyes meet. Marisa feels blizzard skies touch her face.

Fathomless, untamed, impossibly blue.

Now she’s dizzy.

She has to blink and breathe before reinforcing a polite smile.

‘You’re welcome.’ There’s a little crack in her voice, through which something new seeds in, spilling gold all around. Everything is brighter. Warmer. And the stranger doesn’t help, the stranger is watching her with intensity so profound, as though taking his snowstorm eyes away would be death.

‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’

‘We haven’t,’ meaning to take the pitiful piece of cloth, she reaches forward, sly cruelty curling the corner of her mouth in anticipation. ‘Marisa Coulter.’

Now their hands meet. Now she shudders.

It’s against the rules, the anbaric charge running from her fingers and all the way down her spine.

The young man raises his eyebrows, glances over at Edward, then turns to Marisa again. She nods, enjoying the trick. Now he’ll say, ‘Forgive me’. He’ll say, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude’. They’ll laugh about it for as long as another minute will be merciful to last and by tomorrow, they’ll have already forgotten. Simple as that.

He sends her a grin with not a hint of apology in it and whispers, ‘My condolences.’

Their hands are still touching.

Now, Marisa falls.

How does one share… that?

‘I was weak,’ she says instead, hiding the truth so deep in the hardened soil that is her core now, it doesn’t have any chance of pushing back to the surface, ‘and easily seduced. A young woman, the high society. Getting plentiful attention from a handsome young man. It doesn’t excuse me, but the result is, I think, understandable.’

That should do it. That should be enough.

In years to come, she’ll bare her teeth at anyone suggesting that she was, indeed, seduced, for every time, this exact moment will come before her eyes. When she set the rumors free to cover her refusal, her actual inability to kill whatever love there was by laying it down before the judging eyes. When she stood lying her heart out to protect it. What a wild, unreasonable thing to do, lacking any logical backbone.

‘In your own words, Mrs. Coulter, could you describe the nature of your affair with Lord Belacqua?’

And she keeps doing it again, and then again. Before the board of the Consistorial Court, before the Authority himself. Before Asriel, to whom she has no means of explaining what she’s doing and why, and it’s too late for explanations anyway.

‘It was just that, an affair.’ The monkey’s frozen under the palm of her hand, but his heart is racing. He’s looking at Asriel, making her want to look. She can’t bring herself to, not with all the atrocities falling out of her mouth. ‘I never made any advances.’ A lie. ‘Our relationship was merely physical.’ A lie. ‘There were no high feelings involved on either of our ends,’ a preposterous lie, ‘and I certainly never planned for a child.’

‘Now, the child…’

And so it continues: a hook after hook, round after round of scrupulous investigation, escaping traps, spinning a detail or two into webs by myriads and morphing them to the point of striking unrecognizability, concealing what couldn’t be shared.

Marisa goes through humiliation of describing her pregnancy to a board of priests, each of whom, at some point, winces at the realness of their beloved sacred concept. She answers increasingly stupid questions, and grooms her voice to sound respectful and calm. She acknowledges her sins without ever raising eyes. She, for all means and purposes, survives.

There’s one moment where it almost goes downhill.

‘What were the circumstances of your conceiving of a child?’ Sturrock asks, cruelly overdoing the air of grave solemnity. Perhaps, Marisa is just too exhausted to be impressed anymore.

Are you stupid? she might have as well said it, with the way she turns to the man raising a brow, face completely unreadable otherwise. The fat hawk dives out of his papers. Without as much as a word, he gestures for her to talk, and Marisa, the perfect statue, feels the last crumbs of patience being incinerated within.

‘Physical intercourse,’ from her tongue, venom all but drips. ‘Am I supposed to explain to the honorable judges what that is?’

Well, now she’s done it. Caused a storm. Rows of black attires buzz in a unanimous disapproval. Marisa imagines Asriel chuckling. She doesn’t see him, doesn’t hear him behind the noise, but she’d like to imagine a smile. A half-hidden, proud smile he used to have as he looks at her stirring trouble.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! A gavel brings order by slamming the living demons out of the wood. The monkey’s tail curls around Marisa’s forearm. He scowls, and takes a step back. Closer to her. She doesn’t have shelter to offer, only her nails driven deep in the fur.

‘Let me rephrase the question, Mrs. Coulter, and from now on, please refrain from any irrelevant comments,’ the Cardinal grimaces. ‘Were the circumstances clear enough to presume Lord Belacqua to be the father?’

‘I am the father!’

Immediately – a roar, as if that man can’t speak in lower volumes. Always the roars with him.

Across the room, the whole magnitude that is Asriel comes alive, and suddenly Marisa knows – not even understands, it’s not a eureka, she just knows. Stelmaria paces, abandoning her sphinx-like grace; her hissing grows into snarls and back. Asriel is arguing with Sturrock who, without a doubt, is telling him to shut up, which Asriel, without a doubt, ignores. The voices echo. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that for all the lies they both told – the lies, she realizes, absolutely identical in their meaning and reasoning – this one he won’t allow. That single grain of truth must remain unmutilated, untouched by their game of erasure.

For Asriel loves that child. He loved it enough to name it, loved it enough to steal it away. He loves it enough now, to fight for it. And Marisa, while having the power to invent any obnoxious story and take his fatherhood away, won’t do it.

Because it’s theirs.

Because it’s the only thing they haven’t buried yet.

Because, as her love-stricken body never ceases to remind her, she didn’t want a child, but she also wanted his just a little.

So she bites her cool, steady hatred down and doesn’t ruin it all the way. For an act of killing, an act of mercy. Screaming: Here. Don’t you fucking dare say I didn’t have a heart.

‘My husband was frequently absent, sometimes for weeks on end.’ A sterile voice, devoid of anything but a drop of sarcasm. ‘As a scholar, I pride myself in knowing the basic mathematics to do the count.’

It’s hard to say if the Cardinal’s forehead is glistening with sweat of responsibility or mere frustration. He waves his hand, and doesn’t ask Marisa any more questions.

From the distance, Asriel is scrutinizing her. She can imagine gears turning in his head as he contemplates her actions. Imagining is the only thing she can do; to salvage something, something else must be sacrificed. Marisa fakes a cold smile. He frowns. Threads of Aurora colors are still hanging between them, uncut, piercing the space to weave the two together, but the ability to read them is lost.

***

Mercury. Lead. Cadmium. Aluminium. Any type of hazardous metals, Asriel is used to handling in his laboratory with according tools and protection, but when a tiny bundle nestles on the crook of his arm, he suddenly feels stupefied. What to do. How to hold it. How, for heaven’s sake, to not harm it?

Afraid of breathing the wrong way, he walks to the stairs. Thinks. Properly, carefully. Then sits on the lower steps, all the way making sure not to press the baby too hard, not to bump the head, not to… a billion other not-tos.

The tiniest face he’s ever seen wrinkles in sleep, and Asriel understands why it’s called ‘falling in love’. It is a fall. His heart plunges down toward something so entirely new, it’s torturing, yet rewarding at the same time. He felt it with Marisa but this, this is different. He stares at his daughter’s face with awe written all over his.

‘Won’t you introduce us?’ He’s oblivious to his own daemon approaching. Stelmaria rubs at his shoulder, her impressive might turned delicate, affectionate. Amber eyes find the baby. She gives the blanket a couple of sniffs and grumbles with content, tail slowly passing from side to side. Asriel feels holy.

‘Stelmaria, this is Lyra,’ he whispers proudly, stunned at the sheer strangeness of the words he never thought he’d use in a combination until he does. ‘My child.’

And then again, ‘My child.’ Like he’s perpetually amused by it. His chest shakes with a stifled laughter of joy.

The baby’s eyes aren’t fully closed, so he thinks he might need to ask Ma Costa if that’s alright. She’ll know. Still, the child appears happy in her slumber. His child, sleeping in his arms. Under her eyelids, a shard of blue. Gyptians say, everybody’s born with blue eyes, sky eyes, and only when spirits finish weaving the threads of one’s life here on earth, do they acquire their true color. What a bunch of nonsense. His child, Asriel knows, will have the bluest eyes forever, even when she’s all grown up. Because she’s theirs, Marisa’s and his.

A little mousy thing climbs from under the fold, yawning and squealing. Perhaps, it’s too hot there. The tiny daemon doesn’t even fully wake, slumping right back on his daughter’s chest and dreaming their little dreams.

‘Won’t you introduce us?’ Asriel turns to Stelmaria, echoing the question. The leopard comes to lick the mouse, her tongue as long as his whole body. A kiss of love, though she’s careful enough not to touch the baby. Small paws catch at the fur on her chin. She licks the daemon again, unmistakably pleased.

‘Feisty,’ she says with quiet fondness before resting a head on her human’s shoulder. ‘Asriel, this is Pantalaimon.’

‘Pantalaimon,’ the name settles over the little thing. Both little things. ‘Lyra and Pantalaimon.’

He sighs, content, amused. In love.

‘My child. My child.’

‘He was going there to murder my child, and I wasn’t supposed to intervene?’

‘Lord Belacqua, we’re not questioning…’

‘Where in your holy books does it say that a father should sit and let it happen?’

‘Your motifs are…’

‘Because I’ve read them, and there’s no such thing there! You know what else they don’t say? That a husband can kill the bastard his wife bore. And don’t give me the ‘violation’ speech, if he was going to avenge his wife, he’d have come straight to me. Edward Coulter chose to go and murder the child.’

‘Silence!’ Sturrock roars, banging the gavel in a deafening, psychotic rhythm for so long, the thing must have gone flat. The Cardinal drops it on the table before wiping his forehead for the umpteenth time. Another ink smudge appears. The man sighs. When he speaks again, his breath comes out heavy with wheezing. ‘As I was saying, Lord Belacqua, we are not questioning your motifs. But if the murder of Edward Coulter was indeed, as you claim, undesigned, the question remains: how did you know of his whereabouts?’

Asriel’s hands are itching to break something. The damn gavel, preferably. Preferably, against the Cardinal’s head. Conversations have been going in circles forever now, following the same patterns like figurines in a music box.

‘Once again, the gyptians sent for me,’ he grips at the sides of his stand until his knuckles show white. ‘I know you’ve spoken to Ma Costa and John Faa. I’m sure they told you the same.’

‘Did any of them know what Edward Coulter looked like?’

‘Why would they?’

‘So, a stranger shows up, and they immediately call for you? Certainly, you understand why I’m finding this peculiar.’

‘The man was ravaging their settlement, screaming my name and demanding to see the child. I doubt the dots were hard to connect.’

‘And you, luckily, showed up just in time?’

‘Luck, chance, divine intervention, I don’t care what you call it. Ma Costa sent a boy for me. As soon as I heard what was happening, I took his horse and rode. And yes, I killed a man, but need I remind you, I did so protecting my child.’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, Lord Belacqua,’ Sturrock mutters, clearly irked, dropping back in his chair.

A short silence follows. A short time to regroup for another attack. What ticks His wheezing Eminence the most, Asriel thinks as he’s watching the man shuffle papers on the table, is that he does not exhibit guilt. Every fool knows it’s the surest way to win the judging party over, yet he disregards even the most basic of rules. Deep within, he can’t miss the appeal: a man of science facing a board of clerics and winning, slowly but surely. He allows himself a smirk. Right away, comes a cautionary glow of golden eyes. Stelmaria bares her teeth, just slightly. Nothing is over yet.

They are all tired, agitated, and way, way less patient. Sturrock finally stops pretending to be the all-knowing bringer of justice and sulks in his high seat, clueless as to what comes next. That makes him pesky, stubborn. From here on in, dangerous paths wind ahead.

‘Where is the child now?’ the Cardinal finally asks.

Ah. So they know.

Asriel draws air to reply when he notices a tiny movement. It only makes him pause for a fraction of a second, but his mouth grows suddenly dry as he realizes what it was. Marisa turns her head. Marisa, who, for hours, stood as  indifferent as a statue and seemed to be oozing nothing but quintessential, undiluted boredom with the fate of their daughter, turns her head, and listens.

‘Lord…’

‘Yes, I heard.’

He can feel Sturrock frown.

‘And?’

It doesn’t matter. Her listening doesn’t matter. The woman is a labyrinth, each turn a dead-end. A sea creature that learned to mimic humanity. It’s just his heart he needs to persuade, because, well… She told the truth. Threw away the best weapons she had and told the truth where it mattered.

‘Lord Belacqua, I have to insist…’

‘The Jordan College,’ Asriel barks, pushing through the pounding in his chest. ‘She’s in the Jordan College, in care of its Master.’

Come what may, he’ll fight.

‘So,’ the sweaty, round face of the Cardinal proves to be a surprisingly good distraction. Who could’ve thought. ‘How does a child, placed in a nunnery, end up in the Jordan College?’

‘I took her there myself.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘On the grounds of my doing whatever the hell I want, because this is my child!’

He shouts. Stelmaria’s roaring, carried by the echo, rambles through the hall, and a whole lot of bugs, spiders, and mice daemons hurry to hide in their humans’ sleeves. They don’t have anything against him, Asriel realizes with grim satisfaction. Better yet, they are quite afraid. He stands prouder, arms folded. The taste of victory grazes his tongue already, nearing in anticipation to that first sip of tokay as the liquid gold pours into a glass.

‘And did you not think to consult with Mrs. Coulter?’ Sturrock gestures innocently to the side. ‘Its mother?’

He looks a cheap magician demonstrating a trick, although why, Asriel can’t seem to grasp. Marisa has been standing there this whole time. It’s not like he made her appear out of nowhere. A thought stumbles on its own irrelevance, at once fading.

There’s something in Marisa’s eyes.

Something, he could swear.

She stands wearing her guilt, and shame, and sin like she would one of her ravishing dresses, and he could swear she gives him the smallest, sharpest nod.

‘Mrs. Coulter…’ Asriel begins hoarsely, then stops. Honey-spiked wine turns into a nauseating unctuous slush in his throat. With an effort, he swallows it all the way down. He’d swallow his own pride to keep talking. ‘Mrs. Coulter does not have a grain of interest in being a mother, Cardinal. As soon as the child was born, she wished for it to be sent away. She even went as far as telling her husband that it died at birth. That child never knew a crumb of mother’s care, so I don’t think Mrs. Coulter has a say in the matter.’

He never takes his eyes off Marisa. Treading onto the ice, waiting for creatures to come from the depths and devour him.

Take her away, Asriel. I can’t… I’ll hurt her, or do something, or… She will ruin everything, she will. I hate that. I hate… Just hide her, Asriel, please. Hide her from me. I’d rather hate her from the beginning than love her, and hurt her still.

Creatures never come.

The lie settles.

Hanging over the room, an uneasy silence: the entire board of the honorable judges grows quiet, shifting their gazes from one stand to another. There’s not a cough, not a chirp from their daemons. No minds able to unriddle that enormous magnetic charge pulsating in the air, created and sustained, it seems, in half-accidental, neither scientific nor theological, conditions of two people looking at one another. Each a defendant, each a prosecutor. Making their own gravity.

Which can only exist for as long as it’s allowed.

‘Be it as it may, Lord Belacqua…’ the Cardinal sounds a tad less sure now, yet there are no more grounds to surrender. ‘She is still the child’s mother, and in terms of the rightful…’

‘Your Eminence, if I may?’

A clear voice, so perfect in its tone against the angry, tired grumbles that have been bouncing off the walls for hours, it’s like a breath of air.

All Asriel can do is watch. It all depends on her now.

Sturrock pinches the bridge of his nose – needless to say, dripping with sweat – before addressing Marisa. Whether he’s contemplating his career, or wondering if the two of them decided to team up specifically to wear him down, Asriel would understand.

‘Yes, Mrs. Coulter?’

‘Let him do with the child as he pleases.’

What are you doing.

‘Again, Mrs. Coulter, any elaborations?’

‘None,’ she shakes her head. ‘Except that I have no intention of being a mother to, as Lord Belacqua so eloquently put it before, a bastard born of sin.’

What are you doing, goddamn you.

She stands there. Just stands there, with whispers and looks touching her face, her clothes, getting under it and branding her a monster. An adultress, twice sinner, a mother who left her child. They would be more merciful if she just played her cards. Everyone loves a sad story with a mother and a child somewhere in it, and none more that the church folk. She doesn’t leave them a chance to be merciful.

In her eyes, shards of sea-blue, so familiar it sends a violent thrust through his heart. The ones forever mixed into the blue of their daughter’s. And suddenly, Asriel finds himself nodding to her in the same hidden gesture she did.

That’s right. Hit harder. I know you can.

The golden monkey stirs. Behind her stand, Marisa is a mask of cold elegance. Right next to her, her soul withers in a white-knuckled grip. Then she blinks, and her sea-blue goes completely blank, and she looks away.

‘Is that your official request, Mrs. Coulter?’

‘If need be, yes.’

The Cardinal gives out an exasperated sigh. Then bangs a gavel.

‘So be it.’

***

The very last thing they do is sign the orders.

Marisa sways when she takes the first step, but simply because she spent hours on her feet, hardly moving. Not because she’s afraid of walking toward the inevitable end.

She doesn’t look at Asriel. He doesn’t look at her.

They’ve said all they wanted, agreed on all they needed, and lied the living souls out of themselves in the process, painting each other all colors of monstrous. The tainted mess left on the courtroom floor has nothing to do with what they really were. And that, perhaps, is the most victory they can share. With nobody knowing the truth, they might forget it too. Forget there was ever love at all.

Ugly, grotesque versions of them that will leave the room shouldn’t make it too hard.

Asriel is the one to leave first. Stelmaria follows him quietly, a ghost of a man and ghost of a daemon.

His signature is right there on the paper. Marisa hardly even reads what is above. She’s not to approach Lyra or visit the Jordan College, that much she heard from Sturrock’s lengthy speech. The rest, she couldn’t be bothered with.

She signs a confident ‘M’.

A less confident name, not yet understanding why.

Then shivers.

For whatever reason, her hand is aching to write ‘Delamare’. I love you, sea creature. Taking a deep breath, Marisa has to spend a good minute closing her mind, sealing it up for good. Resorting, ironically, to the very thing she and Asriel created together.

Marisa Delamare drowns at sea. From its depths, a creature emerges, as enigmatic and obscure as the black waters that have turned its blood cold all the way through to the heart, and its beautiful embrace is deadly.

The creature’s name is Mrs. Coulter.

#i'm SAD #i'm feeling SAD #it is a long-ass chapter considering #probably overly so at times but ok a just couldn't edit it anymore #and it actually turned out WAY softer than i anticipated #(which makes me contemplate the necessity of the last chapter but we'll see) #but also - for that reason - kinda even angstier? #i have so many comments i'd better just shut up but i hope the idea is even comprehensible through the writing #there's a lot going on #ALSO #some flashbacks #including papa azzy one that made me go fUCKing ballistic #alright im done #hdm #hdm fic #his dark materials #trials and errors fic #masriel #young masriel #marisa coulter #asriel belacqua #marisa x asriel #asriel x marisa

[thedreadvampy]

callout posts will truly be like:

and the post they're talking about will be like

and then they'll be like "what do you mean I'm overstating harm?"

#red said #so um. i do not know the user this post is about btw #but like i don't know bc this is literally the only link in the callout that was not broken. #so like. if the way this. the only link where i could see what she actually said. was framed was imo so wildly hyperbolic #what does that imply about the other strongly worded links? which i can't check? #and why given that all but one link is broken in a callout would you be linking to that callout other than that #you anticipate that people won't look past the long long looooong list of links titled like this? #i mean jesus christ you fucking people #and look it's entirely possible this person has done some fucked up shit idk her. but if you want people to hear you or #is uhhhhhhh is framing something this benign as 'moving a concentration camp survivor for using the wrong language about his experience' #(note that takei isn't. talking about his camp experiences in the tweet which the user compared to the existing tweet abt liberals) #is that. helping your case? or priming anyone who like. LOOKS at what you're linking to give your points less credence #bc it makes it look like you're scrambling for anything you can paint in a negative light rather than responding to actual harm #every callout is like this. get ya fuckin priorities in order babes.

[dapper-nahrwhale]

Hmmm. Having a predicament and I am curious to see what I should do cuz like:

So one of my players will not be available to play in the next session of our fairy tale ttrpg game. Not a big problem, but we have had this planned for weeks as it was one of the only times all 6 people are avalible to play. Now, we could just catch them up later.

But last session I thought it was about time to reveal some big plot things to the players (ie their world is not real, they are characters in a book, the world has just been destroyed and now they have to figure out what to do next as a group, they believe everyone they know to be dead, they arent but they dont know that yet, there are wars going on abt things they dont even know abt yet). And we couldn't play the week after the big stuff, so now we can finally play.

But I dont want to leave anyone out of these big things, as I am going to be revealing even more stuff abt how the world works now and going thru some individual character story arcs with them. I could just put off doing those things till later, not that big a problem usually. But I have also been doing that since the very first session.

And also everyone is really really eager and wanting to play again, and this is not the first time someone has had to miss a game, actually we havent had all 6 players there for a session together since the first one, and that was 5 months ago. Every other time I put off revealing the big things, but now I already did, and cant really put any more filler in it for them (and last session when the world got destroyed, I had anticipated all players to be there, and 2 couldn't make it at the last minute and I went through with my plans anyways, and caught up the others later in individual sessions. And that worked out well enough, it was just alot to do, and now that things are more serious I anticipate ill be doing that for everyone who misses a session, because things are going to be moving at a much faster pace now.)

And I am also very very tired of planning out things for them, and then having half the players be there, and having to come up with new things and not being able to continue or create any bigger plot points, and now seeing as we are in the bigger plot things going on, I kinda really would like everyone to be there from now on. But also. I do not anticipate being able to get everyone there for any session, as it has been an impossible feat for the entire campaign.

I AM going to be consulting with the group to see what they would like to do as a whole, but you know. I am curious to see what other people would do tbh.

#im just. so sick of having people miss sessions. idk if i should just start rescheduling it. #but. if we start rescheduling it every time someone will miss a session. then we wont play again. #because seruously we havent had the full group there since session 0. work schedules always get in the way. but this time isnt a work thing. #b.text #just.... aghk. i cant move on with any plot things that involve all players to be present because we have never had all of them there. #>:((((( frustrating. you see my predicament now #is this partially me venting abt this? maybe so. because i am just. so sick of this hapoening every single time. #every single session i anticipate all players there. and it doesnt happen #and i have to rewrite my plans last minute. and now its even more serious because missing a game now #when like. i am finally getting to the parts i have been planning to get to since we came up with the game idea. its just soooo. #aghk. #this a frustrating thing to happen every once in a while. and it happens evry single week #this is also my first gamethat has lasted longer than like. 3 sessions #fun fact! i have never been part of a campaign thats lasted this long #allof them fall aprt after the first few sessions due to ta da scheduling!!!!! #afgghhhggg. very tired of this thing. i was gonna have them all go thru the stories they came from #and figure out some stuff. then the war between the ink and eraser. and that its really abt following ypur destiny with no agency #and destorying the very fact destiny exists by erasing everything. and more meta stuff like that. #its very ever after high inspired tbh.. #tbh this whole thing really makes me feel as though they dont get how much work i put into these things for them to have fun and they do #i just. do not have fun with it very much. i want to get to the big plot meta destiny book fairy tale things so bad! #and every time i plan stuff. i cant do it cuz people are missing. so. like. aghaak. #the most the players will engage with the story and plot is like. to date npcs. which idc abt doing at all. but #that is ALL we have been doing. well that and like. pther stuff idk im jist so annoyed abt this aaa. #like. they just dont remember most of the plot stuff thats happened. or they will literally walk away from the game to do other stuff #the moment its not abt their character they stop listening. or theyre playing video games while playing this game. #and they dont remember the whole session. like. agh. i just want to get to the fun part. #alao it just started storming really scary bad so. #ok im doneeeee. fine #i really love this game so i dont want to not play it but. dam is it annoying every week. and im tired of is so.

[whysamwhy123]

I'm soooo happy to be actually writing again! But I am having way too much fun with this Dead Dove fic. And I haven't even gotten to the Bad Stuff yet! I have PLANS. Such PLANS.

So far, I've just been writing Daniel flirting and y'all, I am writing him as so very Cringe. Negative rizz, the typical straight fuckboy whose congratulating himself for everything he says like it's all gold when it's just laaaaaaaame and laughable but he's so sure he's a fucking rizzgod. And *REDACTED* is over here like ''I am going to ruin this boy's life 🙂'' And he has no idea whatsoever! It might actually be too comedic now that I think about it? I might need to rein it in a little when I get to the editing stage, otherwise the tone is gonna be all over the place, like it always is in my writing.

Still, fun! Writing is fun again YAAAAAY

#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write #Why is writing the set-up before some nasty shit so much fun? #Is it a calm-before-the-storm thing? The anticipation? #He's just soooooo confident and sooooooooo sure that it's going to go exactly the way he wants it #But it's not going to! 🙂 #And then he's gonna get *long censored beeping* #And have a week-long mental breakdown because of it! #FUN STUFF YAAAAAAY #...if I'm being honest I'm still not very far - my writing process has gotten even slower than it was before the slump #But I'm having fun and maybe that's all that matters? #I don't know if I'll be able to finish this thing - and even if I do I might not feel confident enough to post it - #But for the time being I'm just glad that I'm writing again even if it's just a little bit at a time