#poor hector today

[hufflepuffhabs]

Do you ever just forget that Hector Bellerin is actually a footballer?

#poor hector today #but on the bright side you will never be truly just known for football #hector bellerin #real betis balompie #football

[autumnmobile12]

The Epic Saga: Just A Man

Trigger warning for infanticide.

I want to talk about what an interesting choice it was in Epic's first installment for Odysseus to be the one to kill the infant.

In all versions of the story, the fate of Astyanax, son of Prince Hector, is always the same. He is thrown from the walls of Troy while the city is sacked. What varies from telling to telling is who does the deed, and it's usually between two people: Odysseus and Neoptolemus.

Most modern retellings make Neoptolemus the villain in this story, or they'll leave out this part entirely, because in the eyes of today's society, the senseless murder of a helpless infant is something only a villain would do.

Who's Odysseus? He's the man who won the Trojan War by engineering the idea behind the Trojan Horse, he's the guy who took ten years to sail home, he's the main character of The Odyssey. Odysseus is a hero. And heroes don't kill infants.

Who's Neoptolemus? He's forgettable. He didn't go on any heroic quests like Herakles or Perseus. He didn't slay any noteworthy monsters. Neoptolemus' biggest claim to fame are three things: He's the son of Achilles, he clubs King Priam to death in the sacking of Troy, and in some versions, he kills Astyanax. (He also enslaved Astyanax's mother.)

From the lens of the Ancient Greeks, a hero wasn't an upstanding guy who did the right thing. A hero was the guy who fought for what he wanted and did horrible things to his enemy in the process.

In the context of modern society, it's no wonder why the dubious credit of Astyanax's death goes to Neoptolemus. When that's the only real claim to fame he has, of course he's going to be a villain. We can't be having heroes killing babies because that's insane.

So let me tell you that when I first listened to The Horse and The Infant and I realized it was Odysseus who was committing the deed, that took me so off guard and I had to pause the song just to tell my poor sister how fucking crazy that is. I rarely saw this version. I mean, I understand the reasoning; it's setting up Odysseus' guilty conscious that'll plague him for the remainder of the musical. It's the flawed hero trope, which is a far cry from the brutality of the original myths.

And that in itself is testament of how mythologies have evolved over the centuries. It's why we have different variations of the myth in the first place. Societal views and values change and the stories told adapt accordingly.

Did Hades kidnap Persephone or did she go willingly to escape Demeter, her overbearing mother? Both versions are correct. All versions are correct. We cannot look for something as narrow-minded as a 'canon' version of mythology because mythology is a jumble of headcanons about the same basic concept thrown together by countless storytellers over literal centuries of storytelling.

In The Horse and The Infant, Zeus directly warns Odysseus that if Astyanax lives, he will take vengeance on him and his homeland. And after what the Greeks did to Troy, slaying the men, enslaving the women, and leaving the city in ruins, Odysseus is one of many Greek kings who have a lot to answer for.

Is Odysseus heroic for protecting his family by killing Astyanax because now the infant prince won't grow up to take vengeance?

Is Odysseus a flawed hero who carries the shame of his sins with him?

Is the deed committed by Neoptolemus and Odysseus goes home with his honor unsullied?

It all depends on interpretation. You can choose one that reflects a harsh history or you can pick the one that's been adapted to suit modern values. You don't even have to pick. You can appreciate them all for what they are.

And Epic: The Musical came out swinging.

#epic the musical #odysseus #the odyssey #the iliad #the horse and the infant #neoptolemus #astyanax #the sack of troy #greek mythology #myth retelling #mythology evolution

[eponymous-rose]

Pet health/medical cw!

Had a little scare with Clara today - brought her in to the vet to get a new lump I found this morning looked at (fine needle aspiration revealed a likely benign cyst, just gotta keep an eye on it and get it removed if it starts bugging her)... and the vet found a heart murmur. Obviously my first thought was Hector's whole situation, but this was a very minor murmur and the xray looked great (neither of which were true of poor Hector, who had a VI/VI grade instead of Clara's II, and his x-rays showed a visibly enlarged heart). So now poor Clara gets a barrage of tests to make sure everything's okay (obviously want to rule out anything serious, but it's also important for stuff like how well she can tolerate anesthesia down the road and/or whether she might have to start medication).

Blood tests should be back tomorrow or Wednesday to rule out anything systemic, and the vet suspects that'll all be fine, which means we'll probably want to get her heart imaged just to rule out any structural problems or heart disease.

The odds are in favor of something relatively minor since she's young (turns 4 in June), at a healthy weight, and is behaving normally (including sprinting up and down stairs after her toys. Consistently measuring a resting respiration rate of 20‐24 throughout her adult life as well!). Also has visited the vet on average twice a year (due to minor issues or moving vets), including two months ago, and has never had this detected despite some extra long listens that vets have done at my request after Hector. She's a very high-strung cat and her pre-vet chillout dose of gabapentin was a bit late today, so she was pretty keyed up and stressed, which can exacerbate these things. Vet wasn't too concerned but was glad I was on board with all the due diligence stuff.

So.... yeah! Stressful day, still gonna worry, but overall it looks like things are probably all good, and even if they're not we likely caught whatever it is pretty early.

Also important update: she now weighs 7.51 lbs! Very very tiny but a healthy weight for her size... and put on a little bit of weight since her last vet visit, so eating well!

#eponymous cat tag

[blackjackkent]

Had Hector check out that weird door that Jaheira couldn't get through and it just leads to a passageway to the sewers. Not super clear on what you would do if you came into the palace from that direction because there doesn't seem to be a way to get back up once you're down there, but luckily that doesn't have to be my problem today. XD

Onward to the last door in the dungeons!

More doors!

The doors on the left and right appear to be jail cells; the left is full of children and the right some adults. I think these might be the captured Gur that we promised to try and rescue. The door straight ahead leads to a very large room that looks plot-important so we'll go there last.

Narrator: Approaching the cells, you're met by hollow-eyed faces. There's an almost physical stink of decay and neglect.

"Gods..." Hector mutters. "These poor people..." How long have they been down here? And what's been done to them? He has a sudden sinking feeling that he may not be able to fulfill his promise to the Gur after all; those red eyes say all too much.

"Oh, they're disgusting," Astarion mutters, wrinkling his nose as they approach. "Cazador never fed on wretches like this. How did they get here? What is Cazador doing with them? My brethren spoke nothing of this..."

One of the men in the cell looks sharply towards them as Astarion speaks. Then he steps against the barrier, and those glowing red eyes burn with pain.

"You. I know you..." the man groans hoarsely. "You're the one from the tavern. You smiled... and joked... and got me drunk..."

Astarion goes completely still and his eyes go wide. Hector is sure that, were it possible, he would go even paler than he already is. "You..." he whispers. All the disdain has vanished for a moment; he looks shocked to his core. "No." He takes a step backwards. "You're dead."

"You called me... so many sweet things..." the man says. "My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue..."

"Sebastian..." Astarion answers, and it's as if the word is wrung from him without his consent.

The thrall's eyebrows lift. "You remember me..."

"You were handsome," Astarion says haltingly. "Shy. You'd never been kissed..."

"You taught me how," the thrall says bitterly. "And then you destroyed me."

On the last word, without warning, he surges forward with a roar, shoves an arm through the bars of the door, reaching out to try and grab Astarion, to strike him.

But he can't reach, and slumps against the door, falling to his knees.

"It can't be..." Astarion whispers unsteadily.

(A/N: INCREDIBLY SAD HECTOR FACE happened here. :( )

Hector is feeling a little ill listening to this all play out. The abject cruelty shown by Cazador, the terrible pantomimes Astarion was forced to play out-- the bewildered grief and anger on his companion's face which so often shows such a carefully constructed shell of disdain...

One would think I would be more used, by now, to the terrible things people with power do to those who lack it. I have seen it so much in this city, and among the Absolutists... but every time it feels worse than the last, not better...

"Who is he?" he asks Astarion softly.

Astarion swallows. "It's not just him," he says. His voice is unsteady, just on the edge of trembling. "I know so many of these faces. They're... my conquests. I pursued them, seduced them, then brought them to Cazador. He told us he was feeding on them."

His fists clench at his sides. "But he turned them to spawn," he hisses. "He turned very last one so he'd have souls for this cursed ritual!"

Hector's eyes widen as he looks around, taking in all the faces of these poor broken creatures. Oh, gods... A chill runs through him as he remembers the cell full of children behind him.

"How long...?" Sebastian groans out.

Astarion flinches. "What?"

Sebastion stands, very slowly, returning that fixed gaze to Astarion's face. "How long have I been down here?"

It will be a bad answer, Hector is already sure. He feels himself struggle suddenly with the urge to babble out words of reassurance - we'll save you, we'll kill Cazador, we'll end this whole terrible nightmare of a place - but what reassurance can there be, really, to these people whose lives have already been shattered?

Let Astarion answer.

Astarion's eyes drop to the floor. "One hundred and seventy years," he mutters. "You were one of my first."

Sebastian's shoulders slump. "My friends..." he whispers. "My family. They're... all gone..." His glowing eyes narrow. "You took them from me! You took everything from me!" His voice builds to a desperate roar.

Hector draws back a step, puts a hand to the side - not quite touching Astarion's arm but gesturing him back. [PERSUASION] "We'll set you free," he says firmly.

Sebastian's head twitches slightly, a half-shake. "Free?" he says bitterly. "We'll never be free while that monster lives."

"That's why we're here," Astarion says sharply, eager to turn the subject from his past failures to his present hope of success. "To destroy Cazador."

"You can't," Sebastian says despondently. "It's not possible."

"We'll find a way," says Hector.

"And then?" asks Sebastian, rounding on him. "What happens to us?"

The question gives Hector pause for a moment. It's a valid one, really. His instinct is to tell them to run from this place and never look back - but if Astarion is right, they're spawn now just like him. And Astarion feeds on animals, but can such a crowd of people all be depended to maintain such discipline?

"What do you want to happen?" he asks slowly after a short pause.

Sebastian looks at him with a steadiness that does him credit given the length of his torture. "I don't know. I just don't want to die down here. Please... Whatever you do, just do it quickly. I can't go on waiting..."

Astarion is clearly fighting the urge to look away, but he holds the other man's gaze as he answers. "We'll be back. You have my word."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #ughhhhhhhhh how fucking awful #fuck cazador

[yandere-writer-momo]

Hey there 👋, how would the harem react with a male s/o that isn't interested in men? Perhaps we could add Jack and Sikorski in this?

Poor male S/O

Yandere Baki Head Canons

Male S/ O isn’t interested in men

Jack Hanma

He’s the only one who is lucid enough to be okay with you not being interested. At least for a short amount of time

But as his feelings get stronger, he’s not going to accept your rejection as well. He will challenge you to a fight

When he wins, he presses his lips against yours and asks you, “this feels so right to me, don’t you feel the same?”

He’s going to ‘convince’ you that you’re made for him. RIP your lower half

Sikorsky

You’re kidding him right? The way you present yourself clearly shows everyone you’re into men. That you bottom so why don’t you like him? You’re not interested in men?

He is extremely persistent in his pursuit. He keeps bothering you to at least try it once until you give into peer pressure. Did Sikorsky go down on you better than anyone ever has before? Yes? Did he change your mind? No

You took turns topping each other and although it was new and fantastic, you didn’t have any interest in him. Sikorsky on the other hand now believed you two were in a relationship

He began to follow you around and tries holding your hands, carrying your groceries, and doing house work for you. Sikorsky truly believes you two are in a relationship. It almost makes you feel bad but then again, free labor

Hector Doyle

Doyle spotted you a distance away and he wanted you to top him. You had such an attractive build that he wanted to be under immediately. It was disappointing to find out you weren’t interested in men but he could work with it

You thought he was a girl when he approached you at the bar. He was presenting himself as one to you but once you two got back to your place, your eyes were wide in shock

Doyle insists it shouldn’t be a big deal. You were interested in him and he would make it worth your time. Doyle was really good at pleasing you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt such pleasure before

If you would’ve paid more attention, you would’ve heard Doyle tell you that you two were consummating your relationship tonight. Doyle was never going to leave you along after today. He was going to completely integrate your lives together until you accepted him as your life partner. Your soul mate

#baki hanma #baki the grappler #baki x reader #baki son of ogre #yandere #yandere imagine #yandere fic #baki the grappler x reader #female reader #yandere baki #baki headcanons #jack hanma #sikorsky #hector doyle

[pin-crusher2000]

Friendships.

Friendships are one of the most greatest things a person can have. ( that & maybe a shotgun, can also be applied in anime as a plot armor XD) here is some of the friendships in Earth-66.

FireWing (Jake Grayson) & Wonder Boy (Robert Long): BFFs cause in canon, Donna Troy & Kory Anders are actually BFFs too so it makes sense that the boys are best friends.

NightStar (Mar’i Grayson), ThunderHeart (Irey West), & Red Cat (Lian Harper): in the famous & one of the best comics: Kingdom Come, these three girls are best friends in that universe (from what I remembered) so in my universe they are too.

Surge (Jai West) & Kid Tempest (Cerdian): Cerdian is dead in todays comics (so far) & Jai doesn’t really have anybody (poor guy) so I decide these two boys can be best friends.

SunSlinger (Jon Kent) & Robin (Damian Wayne): come on y’all, we all know they are best friends; they are the Super-Sons! (& mostly likely carrying DC as a whole)

Wonder Lad (Hunter Trevor) & AquaBoy (Arthur Curry Jr.) both boys’s familes came from isolation locations (alantis & themyscira) & ones from the sea & other from the land. Same side of a coin (I think that’s the saying)

HawkBoy (Hector Hall) & Green Canary (Connor Queen): they are best friends because ironically, their dads hate each other politically XD

#youngtitans #mari grayson #jake grayson #lian harper #irey west #jai west #cerdian #robert long #newyoungjustice #jon kent #damian wayne #hunter trevor #hunter prince #hawkboy #hector hall #connor lance queen #arthur curry jr.

[nanabrainrot]

I don’t know if you could write a story about this, but what do the other Salamancas (or just Lalo’s family) think of his wife ? Ty <3

I’ll write abt the first time everyone went “wait ur married.” like two years into the marriage it kills me

SORRY FOR THE WAIT tumblr ate this draft literally 4x and then my connection would blow the moment i hit post look at me im on my knees. here's some blurbs about the moments they feel for hmmc though and then author notes about the general consensus on the poor thing

cw for hmmc and lalo's relationship imbalance

A Moment in Passing: Salamanca Style

A Moment with Marco and Leonel

The emotion is pity.

The candy slips in your hand and the grin crosses your face and it’s the smile that Marco realizes this was wrong. The problem with being a Salamanca is you knowingly do things that are wrong or at least ambiguous. But this feels strange, Leonel commented in the car. You had been his wife for five years now, only seen in passing and looking more content every time which was unnerving. When they had first met you, you were shaking in the courtyard of Lalo’s brand-new hacienda style house. You were nervous, like a dog that wasn’t socialized yet (and you were). The fridge was stocked with healthy things on the left, ingredients galore, and beers on the right. You ate portioned meals and drank water and juices. Lalo did not allow for much more.

After five years you suck on the lollipop with so much childish joy. A brief spark in your eyes. Lapping at it once, twice, before mumbling, “Thank you guys.” It is blue raspberry. You suck it, glancing around nervously if Lalo were to catch you taking an earthly pleasure that was not him.

It feels like pity for twenty-four years. Even when you greet them with a smile and hang off Lalo’s arm. It is watching a dog on its chain of 14 karat gold.

A Moment with Tuco

The emotion is confusion. It is like wondering about if a dog loves its life.

You had cried that day, much to Lalo’s dismay, when Tuco had come around and the boys were drinking too much. Firing shots at beer bottles, you startled from the kitchen. Two plates of birria sit there on the island, in the pretty Tuscany-styled kitchen. You peer around the corner with a wet face, with wet eyes, with a watery gaze. Lalo comes to you, sighing and rolling his eyes as Tuco watches, brows cross with confusion. His wife of three years is scared. He had seen you in passing, cooking, before scurrying to another room, tugging Lalo’s sleeve and not making eye contact. It was tender, the moments, but it looks worse when he sees it up close. Your glazed eyes are so trained on him, refusing to meet Tuco’s eyes.

You wept every time Tuco came around, he noticed after the third visit, probably because Lalo drank when he came around more than usual. The drunken ministrations and come-ons from Lalo in front of his cousin made you sniffle in embarrassment, still newlywed to him after those three years. It escalates every time he rolls around and the memories collect dust from the late 80s, the 90s, and today in 2003.

You don't weep when he comes around, not today. Lalo is plastered, sipping off the decanter like it's water, and you sit unmoving on his lap as the men chatter. Unacknowledged, as common as if Lalo had a pillow on his lap. Your head lulled into his shoulder, Tuco wonders when the grew to love Lalo.

Pulling out of the driveway, the emotion is wariness. Wondering if a dog so disciplined is bound to react one day and bite.

A Moment with Hector

The emotion is gratefulness, wariness, it's a sinking sadness in the belly.

When he met you twenty some years ago, he scoffed. There was no real reason to keep a wife after they had a baby and according to Lalo, you weren't even fertile so there was no reason to keep you. But it was twenty-four years since Lalo wed you, twenty-two since Hector met you in the hacienda-style house all silent and shaky. You loomed around corners like you were an intruder despite the house being built specifically for you.

You were focused on a vase, sitting by Hector and Lalo as they spoke. He wondered how long it would last, your silence, as you scribbled into the paper. A vase. You had drawn a vase full of faux poinsettas as they spoke on life or death matters, on business, on betrayal, and the rest of every other ungodly topic and you sat in a sundress doodling a vase. Sheepishly, you showed Lalo and, beside him, Hector scoffed. A fucking vase.

The emotion then was agitation, but today it was wariness. Something adjacent to gratefulness that your silence lasted twenty-four years in Casa Tranquila, Lalo toting you over the border like a rich woman's purse dog. Doodling today, in your sundress, dragging the shitty nursing home marker over the paper as Lalo consoles him with a grin, slipping liquor from his flask into the shitty drink. Scribble.

"And we'll get you home right, tio?" he grins. Clink.

A marker on the table, and it's silent with no drag of a felt tip on the paper but a slight noise. The wobble of thick construction paper as it's moved through the air. A vase. You drew a fucking vase again.

The emotion of agitation looms again, but then the gratefulness surges just a bit. Never a word means never a word of pity left you, your sheepish grin the same as when he could walk and talk. A good dog is a quiet dog.

-

tldr everyone knows their relationship definitely has awful undertones because its lalo 1 and 2 hmmc is extremely withdrawn and quiet. shes usually likened to a dog like in companion dog due to the way she follows lalo and his orders. she didnt meet the family for two years because lalo had her isolated in a ranch home training her to be a meek and mild wife. everyone feels bad for her but also like its lalo and since family is first everyone turns the other way on the topic

#lalo salamanca x reader #lalo salamanca x you #lalo x reader #lalo x you #nana writes bcs #ask nana #eduardo salamanca x reader #eduardo salamanca x you #nana writes

[the-habbit-reviewer]

(PSA)Racism & Ableism. Typical. | Trident Business Review

First off I want to talk about the creators of the series.

I've had nothing but poor interactions with these guys. the second I was active, trying to fit in and be funny, I could clearly tell they didn't like me

the creator, Mark, wanted me to show my face to him, saying I type like a kid. Then he banned me

After a bit where I was admittedly being kind of an asshole to them, I was allowed back in. Before this I joked about people not liking me always end up as bad people one way or another, like they're pedophiles or they're racist(keep that in mind)

Mark seemed to freak out, going into one of our servers and starts defending himself... even though I told no one, and I was just joking. Then I'm allowed back in the server.

I read his defense, and I jokingly call them ableist for the things his friends said about me, and he backtracked, saying they weren't using autistic as an insult(keep this in mind for later as well)

And just today, I was doing my usual shtick, sending unfunny gifs and saying random shit, and the cast are being particularly antagonistic towards me, and then...

they call me a vegetable, even though I've told Mark that I'm autistic. So he and his friends should already be aware by now.

I bring this up to Mark, and he just says it's the type of insults they use. It's just their type of humor. Then....

...Yeah, they're racist too.

to sum it all up: The creators of Trident Business are racist, ableist assholes :D. Why can't Slenderverse creators just be normal?

Okay, now onto the actual review.

TRIDENT BUSINESS! It's... not good! It's very basic, full of the typical cliches most modern Slenderverse series have. I tried watching this myself multiple times, and I genuinely struggled to get past the first handful of videos.

1: The Pacing

The pacing is really, really bad. Every single episode is just a slog of silence, bad distortion, bad acting, mediocre editing...

You could probably remove MOST of the episodes from season 1, leaving 10, or even less, and the series would most likely improve.

Let's take the first three videos for example: Intro, 1. Hector's DVDs, and 2. Lost Media. Why were these three separate videos? Each video is drawn out for no reason, and you barely learn anything plot relevant in them, so they should really all be one video.

2: The Characters

The characters are flat. All of them are. No real personality traits, or anything to make them interesting. So there isn't anyone to actually care for. I can't even remember their names.

3: The Story

What story? Just watch Marble Hornets, it most likely does everything this series does but better, and I'm not even a big fan of MH!

4: Personal Nitpicks

The editing. It's is really poor, especially during the earlier videos. The distortion is loud and obnoxious. The Collective ripoff videos are also pointless. They have NO reason to be there, and barely anything is ever learned from most of them. They're just there for the sake of it. And they don't even have decent visuals like TribeTwelve.

The Red World/The Minds Eye. What a shitty addition tbh. It's only there because TribeTwelve did it. Mark making the Red World an open source concept is just laughable.

tHe cOnTRoLlEr. What a silly name for the Slender Man. The series give no reason for why he's called that, so I can only assume it's because TribeTwelve/Marble Hornets did it!! The Slender Man doesn't even do anything in the series. He just stands there.

Final Thoughts:

1/10. Trident Business is REALLY basic, so it doesn't deserve a higher rating. It does nothing new, nothing interesting, and is overly long, bloated with filler and pointless videos. It only has one decent looking Slender Man appearance. Like c'mon, even the most mediocre series can be saved by good Slender Man appearances. (TribeTwelve)

#Slenderverse #Slenderseries #Creepypasta #ARG #Unfiction #Slenderverse Review #PSA #call out post #serious post #New Gen Slenderverse

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 32 - Five Finger Flop

After everything is confirmed, Ophelia calls Penny to tell her, and to check in on her friend. She's furious, more for Miko's sake than her own. The poor thing hardly needed something else to stress about.

Penny thanks Ophelia and the team for their hard work and says goodbye.

Ophelia can't remember the last time she was this angry. Tiff had no right to ruin Penny and Miko's wedding day just to spite them for not letting her sing.

Hector can't protect Tiff from Hilary this time, so maybe that knowledge clouds Ophelia's judgement.

Ophelia storms into the dressing room, targeting in on Tiff's perfumes. It's not like Tiff's ever seeing this room again. That can be her overtime payment.

Her usual perceptiveness is gone, and she reaches to take them without even bothering to notice the incoming footsteps.

Xander: Hey, do you want me to make- What are you doing?

Ophelia: Huh?

Xander: Were you… trying to steal Tiff's perfume?

Ophelia: What? No, of course not! Come on, only a kleptomaniac would do that!

Xander sees right through her attempt to walk around the truth.

Xander: That’s your third trait, isn’t it? Kleptomaniac?

Ophelia: I…

Xander: Have you been stealing other stuff from here too? This place is what keeps a roof over my sister and her kids!

Ophelia: No, I would never!

Xander: Kleptos can steal autonomously! They don’t even think about it, they just swipe with no regard!

Ophelia: I don’t need your judgement, Mister Good, Self-Assured Goofball. Not everyone is lucky enough to have all nice traits.

Ophelia: I didn’t grow up with parents that support me! I did the best I could, but I have this one little vice. I’d never steal from my friends, or anyone I cared about. If I could change it, I would!

Xander: You can change it. It just takes some work.

Ophelia: Well I was a little busy working to get where I am to worry about that. Stealing a soap pump from a community lot every now and then is a victimless crime!

Xander: The people who uploaded those builds on the gallery worked hard on them and every little detail counts!

Xander: Look, I know you’ve had a rough week, but you make good money now. It’s not like you need to steal to survive. Maybe this is a wake up call for you to reassess some parts of your life.

Ophelia: Ugh, you sound like Father Winter

Xander: …what?

Ophelia: Why do you even care if I swipe something from Tiff? You hate her too!

Xander: That doesn’t make it okay! Tiff may have crossed the line, but stealing from her isn’t going to fix anything.

Ophelia: Her not having her perfume would make me feel a lot better, though!

Xander: So someone pisses you off, you take their stuff? What if you played for a bridezilla, and you got caught trying to steal from her? Not only would Hilary have to fire you, that looks bad on her. I’m not going to stand here and let you jeopardize my sister’s career.

Xander has a point. What was she thinking?

Ophelia: Xander, I’m sorry! I’m sleep deprived and frustrated and- you’re right, I shouldn’t have even tried it. Please don’t tell Hilary. I would never do anything to hurt your family, I swear. Not after everything they've done for me.

Xander: I’m not going to tell anyone. You were already in a bad place, tonight made it worse, and you made a mistake. Everyone deserves a second chance. I know you're a good person. But you need to work on this. It’s not cool. I expected better from you, Ophelia.

Xander leaves, and Ophelia has never felt so humiliated. She doesn't think he's ever called her by her name. This feeling isn't worth all the highs she's gotten from swiping in the past.

Ophelia thought the day she got dumped was the worst day of her life, but no. Today is.

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #The Sims 4 Legacy #The Lemon Legacy #TS4 #The Sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 #generation 1 #ophelia #xander #tiff

[beedreamscape]

Zerxus gets caught in morbid conversations.

~ 2.1k words. This takes place pre loquaerryn marriage (yes, they're my measure of time, sue me).

CW for conversation of death and grief.

Zerxus awakes as he feels a stir on the bed. Zerxus calls it instinct, Evandrin calls it a bad habit.

There's an orange glow permeating the darkness and soft grunts from muscles stretching in the air.

He turns to see Evandrin's sitting on the side of the bed with his back to him, still in his sleeping shirt and underwear. Beside where the lampshade sits, on the clock, Zerxus can see it's still a quarter to four.

Zerxus lifts his head from the pillow. "Is there scouting duty today?"

Evandrin turns, face and hair still tousled from sleep. "Morning, darling, go back to sleep, sorry for waking you."

"I would still say good night." Zerxus pulls on the hem of his shirt lazily. "I thought scouting wasn't for another three weeks."

"And you're right, this is something else." Evandrin gets up against his husband's pull and starts putting his trousers on. "One of my soldiers just died, young Hector, and he has no family here in Avalir so I need to sign his death certificate."

"Isn't a cleric that does that?"

He rubs his eye. "Sorry. It's not the certificate, it's a lease for the Conversion."

Zexus sits up. "What conversion?"

Some realization comes Evandrin's eyes before softening. "Oh, I never told you, did I? I don't think you had the chance to see it either... It's how we get rid of bodies in Avalir. Haven't you noticed we have no cemeteries here?"

"Not really. You don't just bury people?"

Evandrin doesn't bother taking his sleeping shirt off, shoving the hem into his pants before taking a dress coat from the rack.

"No, there wouldn't be enough land to bury every dead. And if you consider the funeral rites of the elves who care to perform them, there wouldn't be a need for them anyway. Not to mention they live way too long."

"And what is this conversion?"

"They convert whatever's left of ether inside your body into usable energy. Also from the combustion of it. That's where the name comes from. It feeds the city like a corpse would feed the earth... except way faster and cleaner."

"Sounds very... functional."

"I know." He sits on the bed again and holds Zerxus' hand. "But you can always let someone know if you want it to have it done to your body or not, poor Hector didn't have time or who to tell that so he goes straight into conversion."

With his free hand, Zerxus brushes Evandrin's long hair into better shape. "You can let Tempus eat me before when the time comes."

"Thanks, dear. What if he doesn't find you tasty enough?"

"Tell him to pick me up and drop me in the ocean." He makes the gestures with his hand. "From really high so everyone can see the impact and the sea creatures may eat what's left."

"I'll have it arranged when the time comes. It's more creative than my wish for a pyre on the ocean. It's kinda how my mother chose to go, burnt in a pyre with dragon fire."

"You had a dragon at her funeral?"

He nods. "It was actually a wyvern and it was a trained but it served its purpose. Dad was placed in a burial cave since he had a bit of dwarvish blood, it was what my grandma wanted."

He brings Evandrin's hand to his lips for a kiss. "Thanks for sharing. I wish I could go with you."

"You wouldn't see anything interesting if you did. It all happens in closed chambers bellow city level."

"I don't want to see anything I just didn't want you to go by yourself."

"Don't worry, I've been through my people dying on me before, it's just sad he went so young." He opens a smile and ruffles Zerxus' hair. "Get back to sleep, my lil' paladin."

"I think I'll go check on our tiny little fighter."

"You go do that, just don't scare him this time."

He starts getting up from the bed. "I said it wasn't on purpose."

"I know, but you gotta understand that a six-foot-tall man standing ominously in the dark is terrifying for a little boy."

"I'll turn on the lamp this time."

"Good." He gives Zerxus a little peck. "I won't be long."

"Please don't let them turn you into city juice as well."

He can hear Evandrin's laugh in the corridor. "I won't make any promises."

"Since when has Avalir done this Conversion thing? For the dead?"

He wasn't really interested in getting into this subject, much less with her, he assumes neither is she, but he rarely got the chance to sit down with Laerryn, let alone just the two of them, so he wouldn't get another chance to satiate his curiosity and it's been days since it started plaguing his mind.

A new Marquesian-themed restaurant had opened and they were the only two in their friend group who curiously shared a true appreciation for its foreign cuisine.

She doesn't refrain from shoving a forkful of sillgoat loin chop into her mouth before speaking. "Oh... I guess since the beginning, I'm not sure if we were the ones to come up with it or some other flying city."

"Can't you just disintegrate the body? One spell and poof, it's gone."

"We could but what a waste of precious ether that'd be. You see a single corpse doesn't hold much ether, but when you amount to several deaths a year then it means something. It's not even one and a half percent of the total energy stored in the city but when every drop counts, it's something."

He looks down at his plate, empty with stains of dark red sauce on the perimeter. He always finishes eating first no matter who he's eating with, a mixture of anxiety and hunger only a man his size has. He catches himself staring at her glass of white wine.

"Feels very utilitarian."

"You just haven't been in Avalir long enough. We are a flying city, every handful of resources counts, there are people," she points at herself, "that work to manage that. On top of managing who manages it."

"I know, but it's people we're talking about. Their bodies."

"What do you think I'm talking about? They're just bodies, I've seen them rot before. People are here, living, doing shit. The only person buried in Avalir is our most special boy, Imyr, in his very special mausoleum, which I consider such a waste. Don't tell Patia I said that."

"Why a waste?"

"The older wizards, I'm talking elves, gnomes, dwarves, the big boys, store immense amounts of ether within them. Sorcerers? You could turn the lucky bastards into massive bombs with the right calculations."

"Suddenly I'm more inclined towards it."

She gives him a playful kick under the table.

"But that's necromancers and transmutators playground, minutia and too many physiological factors to take in. I prefer working with big numbers and machines. Despite that, it's a respectable representation of wizards and artificers working together."

"Is that how you want to be taken care of?"

"I think so. However, I would like to be stored into something like a necklace or a sword until someday the yielder has to use me to kill some legendary enemy before floating back into the leylines. But honestly, I'll take what I can get, I'll be dead anyway."

He stares at her chew in amusement, still puzzled at how the woman before him and his husband are the best of friends. "Avalirians have strange death rituals."

"You need to meet the Aeorians then, heard rumors of them preserving the bodies for a really long time."

"For what?"

"How am I supposed to know? Probably something nefarious. As I said, rumours, I'm sure you'll get more from Loquatius or Patia than me."

"I think I've had enough of the subject for now."

She cleans her mouth with a napkin. "I don't personally like talking about death either. Maybe it's an elf thing... but I've had to learn to deal with it since I've befriended so many humans and... other short-living folks."

He never got truly offended by 'human' but something in the way she says it never sat comfortably inside his skull, yet he lets it slip with her. "Who else?"

She thinks for a moment and he can't interpret what passes behind her eyes. "Everyone except Patia."

"Even Van?"

She nods, takes a sip of her wine. "Half-elves don't live a quarter of full elves, some can but most don't. When I think of loss, it's the only time I grow any respect for necromancers, I too have a hard time letting things go."

"I used to think I was very detached from everything, until I got a family. Maybe it'll happen to you as well," he says with a hint of humor.

"I have a family, believe it or not."

"But they're in Cathmoíra. Always seven years away from you."

"Yes... But I do have a version of it here in Avalir, a very busy one that lives in different houses."

He smiles. "We'd kill each otherwise."

She laughs loudly, it always gives him a pang of accomplishment wherever he manages to get it out of her.

"For sure we would. Though I would cut you some slack because of the lil ginger."

"Loquatius would be the first to go."

She takes the last sip with a smile. "Probably, yes."

"First Knight."

The voice is whispery, tiny and soft and as Zerxus turns to its source so is the half-elf woman who owns it. With the cold weather, she's covered by a hooded cape. On her chest, the clasp that closes the cape is a familiar mask.

He had been walking through the city checking for any suspicious behavior and has done it for at least a week since their temporary bridge with Zemnia.

"Hello, miss, how can I help you?"

She keeps her stare fixed on his feet. "Thanks, but I require no assistance. I'm Ivorah Orlan from the Conversion Nucleus."

"Are you a cleric?"

She looks surprised by the question but notices his eyes glancing at her chest. "Yes, cleric of the Matron of Ravens."

He just nods.

"I'm sorry for being forward but there's something I'd like to ask. It's about your late husband."

Zerxus feels a bubbling sickness in his throat, he also feels starved - very few even mention his existence. "Proceed."

"As I said I'm the responsible cleric for the Conversion Nucleus and I was a friend of the First Knight Evandrin. In conversations we had, he had mentioned that when his death came he'd like me to be his sepulchral ritualist, but I never got the chance."

"He didn't want to be Converted."

"I'm aware. He wanted to be burned in a pyre and sent into the Lucidian. But we had that discussion and I never... his body was already dealt with before I had the chance and I feel like I broke a promise," she finishes with a quavering voice.

The memory of the time comes blurry to him, everything around it comes as a big horrifying blur. Loquatius and Patia had dealt with most of the funeral rites, he dealt with Elias, and Nydas dealt with him. Part of the ring had been broken and through fire and violence forced back into shape.

He turns the sickness into a solid mass, a boulder that keeps him from breaking every other hour.

"And you're not the only one." He steels himself. "The nature of his disease, we... we had to let go of many luxuries of honour."

"It still puzzles me what took such a young and strong man..."

"Puzzles me as well."

"Wish I had a chance to..." She closes her eyes, breathes deeply. "At least he was given an honourable funeral march."

"It was the Septarion's making."

She nods with her head down. "I'm sorry bothering you, First Knight."

He places a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you. For caring. Perhaps your Matron has him in her company and I envy her for it."

She lifts her eyes at once, then he sees them for what they are - terrible dark circles, perfect eclipses. "I've sought her insight about it... she doesn't have him in her sights."

"What does that mean?"

Her intensity deflates. "I don't know. I like to believe he went to an even higher place of honour for a soul as pure and valiant as his."

He tries smiling but feels tears sting in his eyes, the boulder starting to melt like a stray iceberg. "So do I."

#I never think I'll write about Zerxus but then I catch myself doing it willingly #the topic came to me first while I was in church and I planned to first write it with Laerryn #but then she wouldn't have a plausible reason to think about this or be where I needed her to be #anyway so Zerxus was the logical character to have here talking about death #I wanted to describe the actual place but I had no space here. might try adding in the longfic #evandrin alterra #zerxus ilerez #laerryn coramar seelie #zerxus x evandrin #exu calamity #critical role #flash fic #writing

[sealrock]

Strained! ( from @tsunael )

ask meme (closed)

cw: implied domestic violence, discussions of mental illness, brief mention of self-harm, misgendering, brief mention of trans pregnancy

(ty for the ask @tsunael!)

Paris stood there in the hallway, obscured by shadow, watching their dad stare out the open window of his room. The lace curtains swayed gently as a cool autumn breeze blew into the room, carrying the subtle scent of sea salt from the rocky cliffs of Old Sharlayan. The actual sun hid behind rolling clouds, peeking through occasionally to brighten up the space Hector resided in. Hector sat slightly slumped in his wheelchair, his back facing the door. Paris' hands couldn't stop shaking, their feet glued to the marble floor. No amount of psyching themselves up could make them step through the threshold. What would his reaction be like today? Would he allow Paris to sit next to him, or would he lash out and scream for help? Paris knows he doesn't mean it, but they could sense the long-forgotten feelings of bitterness resurface.

From the moment he regained consciousness, Hector had no idea what happened to him. It took him weeks to recover his speech, but before that, all Hector could do was scream or cry and weakly thrash about in his cot. When Hector could walk, he tried to run away. He didn't get very far as his legs couldn't support his weight. As a preventative measure, the Sages had to strap him down to the cot. "It was for his own good," they had said, not wanting to risk serious injury.

So, instead of being stuck down below in Labyrinthos during his recovery, Andromache requested to move him above ground to live with her. Once the initial shock wore off, the novice Sages at the Physis Technon were itching to get a chance to study him, and Paris' mother refused to let Hector become a lab rat—not that he recognized her at first. Being the mother of the esteemed Warrior of Light—with Andromache herself a former warrior of Hydaelyn—gives Andromache a steep advantage in handling negotiations. The Forum, and most notably the whoresons that comprised the Bibliothec, couldn't refuse the saviors of the Star a safe haven, no matter how much they wanted to say otherwise. With their medical technology saving Hector's life, they gave Andromache a house of her own, a small villa tucked away from the city. But this house was not a home.

This house, one made of fine stone and marble with its sterile walls and crafted beams, was not something Paris felt comfortable staying in. It wasn't the homely cottage they were born in; it didn't have a leaky roof to catch rainwater nor creaky floorboards to indicate a sneaky child playing with shadows during bedtime. This house was not Hector's house—it was a stranger's house to him. Paris was also a stranger to him. Even now, three moons after his awakening, he couldn't recognize them. The three little words still rattle around in Paris' head, haunting their every waking moment:

Where is Paris?

Hector looked right at Paris that day. To him, Paris was just another face without a name. The Paris he knew was a curious, excitable, and clingy child who would fumble around the house because of their growth spurts. That happy child was gone, and a jaded adult was in their place. Paris couldn't answer him. They couldn't answer that question whenever they went to visit him. And every time, Hector grew aggravated. It was an endless loop, a tortuous repeat for Hector's fragile state of mind to suffer through. If Paris had the means, they would bring back Halmarut and personally beat them so bloody you wouldn't be able to recognize the body. 

Hector's soft sigh interrupted Paris' violent ruminations, causing them to look up to see him tucking thick strands of hair behind his ear. From what Paris could see, his hair needed trimming again. Poor Patroclus' attempts at giving Hector a new haircut, something he offered to do out of the goodwill of his heart, ended in tears from both parties. From what he described, Hector spiraled after seeing his reflection in a mirror, spotting an aged and jagged scar on his forehead. Paris knew how it got there, what used to be there, and to think about it still evokes fear in them.

Paris hasn't slept in their room since Andromache obtained this dwelling, not right now, regardless of their mom's pleas to reconsider. Hector doesn't outright hate Paris and throw things as he does with Andromache or hits her as he fights to get away from her, someone he remembers in bits and pieces. But the fact that Hector doesn't realize that Paris has been there the whole time makes the proverbial knife dig deeper into Paris' chest.

Letting out a quiet exhale, Paris knocked on the open door, watching their dad jump in his seat. He whipped his head over to the entrance, his unruly black fringe dimming the sparkle of hope in his eyes. His hands held onto the arms of the wheelchair, still spindly and pallid. The bland clothing, too loose-fitting for his thin size, seemed to swallow him up. It made him appear frail.

"Paris?"

His voice cracked halfway, his scratchy vocal chords straining to say their name. He must've been screaming about something earlier in the day for his voice to sound so hoarse. Paris almost didn't want to enter. To hear his timid voice call their name with such anticipation makes them want to turn around and walk away. The relationship they once had with their dad may never be the same now. However, if Paris were to be honest with themselves, their relationship began to crumble when Hector's delusions became more than delusions. The scar on their nose is proof of that. Hector started losing sight of Paris early on, and Paris could do nothing. They were just a child.

Paris stepped into the room, shoulders hunched with their hands stuffed inside their pants pockets to keep them from fidgeting. Hector's stubbled face fell, something Paris expects nowadays, and he turned back towards the open window. The sound of seagulls filled the room for a few minutes.

"Where is she?"

I'm right here.

The words died on their tongue. Paris moved to sit in a chair near the window, not missing how Hector cut them a dirty look for invading his space. Paris noted how gaunt his face looked, his undereye bags in direct competition with theirs.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Why should you care?"

Paris dropped their gaze to their boots. Hector's glare made them uncomfortable. They heard Hector take a shaky breath before asking again:

"Where's Paris?"

Right in front of you.

Paris knows that he won't listen to them now. Forcing him to remember only caused Hector to lash out more against Paris. Paris is a stranger to him, and their mom is an enemy. The ties that bind them together become more strained with each passing day.

"... She's fine."

I'm not fine.

Paris almost didn't want to say it. They blinked back tears to look at the opposite side of the room to recenter themselves—the desk lamp casting shadows against the paintings adorning the white wall, Hector's simple yet comfortable bed, and the finely woven pattern of the area rug. They glanced to their right to see Hector's puzzled expression.

"How do you know, and why can't I see her?"

Hector's voice rose as he wrapped his arms around his middle, a habit he picked up whenever he was nervous. Paris pushed out the memories of how Hector would hold them in his lap, how the ghostly sensation of his nose tickling their scalp hit them with a heavy sense of nostalgia. Even when Paris got too big to be held, Hector allowed them to cling to him during fleeting moments of clarity. Maybe it was the opposite. Or perhaps he wouldn't let Paris go out of fear of forgetting.

"You'll see her when you get better."

Somehow, that put Hector at ease. His eyes softened at the prospect, his knitted brows relaxing. His head drooped, allowing his hair to fall like a curtain over his face.

"Please... I need to know if she's well. Is she alright?"

No.

"Yeah... She's doing fine. She misses you a lot."

Hector squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. "My little sprout, she must be so lonely."

More than you would ever know.

"She has friends. They play with her," Paris ignored the nickname and how their heart panged painfully in their chest, "and her mom is with her. She's safe and happy."

"Andi..." For a split second, Hector's jaw tightened as he hissed out her name, "She took Paris away from me. Andromache tore Paris away as if she tore her from my womb."

Paris couldn't watch how Hector's eyes welled over. The overwhelming sense of loss Hector carried made the air feel heavy, but Paris couldn't fill that void for him. Hector blamed Andromache for saving Paris; if she hadn't shown up when she did, who knows what would've happened next. Hector must have blocked out the worst bits to forget. He blocked out the context behind everything.

Paris could see it clearly: the blooded knife lay discarded on the wooden floor, how Hector's arms squeezed Paris' small form close to his chest. With his last ounce of sanity, he sobbed out apologies and begged for their forgiveness as he desperately tried to wipe away the blood and tears from their face, but it only made Paris' wound bleed more. Paris couldn't wiggle themselves out of his crushing grasp—they had never felt more afraid of him before that moment.

Hector has the luxury of forgetting that painful memory. Paris could never forget. Looking in the mirror reminds them of that day. There was once a time when Paris hated their dad just as much as they did their mother, Paris had despised him for reasons they couldn't understand. They sat by helpless as Hector fell deeper into that dark pit of despair and lunacy, and they resented how he alienated Paris from what was a happy home. But even after everything the two of them have been through, Paris couldn't readily forgive him. Paris had got their wish, but they could not have imagined things to turn out like this. Maybe Patroclus' childish idealism rubbed off on them when they heard the news of Hector's awakening, only to be met with stone-cold reality.

Hector looks right through Paris like one would do a spirit. And Paris hates him for it. Paris sees that Hector is relying on old coping mechanisms even now, going back to happier times to shield himself from hard truths. He can't confront the truth about how he harmed someone who loved him more than anything.

When it seemed like Hector retreated to the recesses of his mind, Paris took this as a chance to leave. Staying any longer wouldn't do either of them much good. But Paris couldn't leave without reaching over to plant a small kiss on top of Hector's head.

"I love you, dad."

Turning on their heel, Paris sped towards the door without looking back. Paris had the vain hope of hearing those three worn words uttered back at them, but they never came. Paris closed the door with a soft 'click' of the latch and headed down the stairs and out the door. The rush of fresh air caught them by surprise.

They needed a cigarette. And maybe a drink or two.

#inbox #cylleona #does this fit the prompt? idk #this came to me in a dream #this takes place a while after my last drabble with hector & paris #so it's not really a 'past' event but anyway #*thinks about that one meta post i made months ago about the wormwood family woes* #*head in hands* #sorry this took so long :plead: hope you like it :) #mywritings.

[scotianostra]

On 15th September 1773 the emigrant ship “Hector” arrives in Pictou Harbour on Nova Scotia carrying 189 Highlanders, most loaded two months earlier in Ullapool.

Although they were not the first Scots to arrive in North America they were the vanguard of a massive wave of Scottish immigrants to arrive in what is now Canada. In the century following the landing of the Hector more than 120 ships brought nearly 20 000 people from Scotland to the port of Pictou. By 1879 more than ninety-three percent of the region’s rural property owners had Scottish names.

Ironically, very few of the Hector people stayed on the Pictou Plantation. They had been cruelly deceived by the shipping company that brought them out to Nova Scotia. The land was not ready for settlement as promised and supplies for the coming winter were meagre. Most of them moved on to settled parts of the province leaving an intrepid handful of their countrymen to fend for themselves in an uncultivated wilderness.

The Hector was owned by two men, Pagan and Witherspoon, who bought three shares of land in Pictou, and they engaged a Mr John Ross as their agent, to accompany the vessel to Scotland, to bring out as many colonists as they could induce, by misrepresentation and falsehoods, to leave their homes.

As they were leaving, a piper came on board who had not paid his passage; the captain ordered him ashore, but the strains of the national instrument affected those on board so much that they pleaded to have him allowed to accompany them, and offered to share their own rations with him in exchange for his music during the passage. Their request was granted, scrolling through various passenger lists I have found out the Piper was more than likely a man called William McKay.

All those travelling that were aged over 8 were required to pay full fare for the passage, those between 2 and 8 were charged half fare under 2’s were free. It was bad enough that they were conned with the promise of land in Canada but conditions on board the Hector were said to be horrendous, the ship was barely sea worthy and has been described as a crumbling wreck. I can’t find any mention of how may survived the 11 week journey or how the passengers were related to one another it was a nine week journey over the Atlantic, Smallpox and dysentery took their toll on the infants and children on board. In all, eighteen died at sea, I think by that they mean 18 children, poor things. By the time the rotting hulk landed, people were picking at the planks to find worms to eat. On arrival about all that they seen was the dense forest grew down to the water’s edge as far as the eye could see.

The unfamiliar customs and appearance of the natives inhabiting the area so terrified the settlers that they remained on board for two days despite their desire to walk again on dry land. Finally, on September 17, 1773, dressed in full Scottish regalia, with all pageantry of their kilts and the pipes, they went ashore The “Hector” pioneers faced extreme difficulties during their first year in the New World, but with the development of a lively timber trade with Scotland and the finalising of land grants, conditions improved and the development of what is now Pictou County was under way. The land was rich, the rivers and oceans plentifully stocked with fish, and the timber of high quality.  

Pics are of a stamp issued in 1973 to mark 200 years since the crossing and the Hector replica at Pictou.   The Hector Heritage Quay is one of Nova Scotia's major cultural tourist attractions.  The  Hector is  a full-sized replica of the original ship. A  Highland Homecoming, a celebration of the strong Scottish spirit, takes place on-site every September. and kicking off today.  The ship is currently going through a $2.5 million restoration project just now, you can find all the details on their FB page here https://www.facebook.com/shiphector/

#Scotland #scottish #canada #emigration #the highland clearances #history

[thenightling]

Spookiest moments from the first season of The Sandman

Since we are only two days from Halloween I have decided to compile the spookiest and creepiest moments from the first season of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman from Netflix. I will be providing video clip links whenever possible for this list. 10. The fate of Rosemary in episode 4 and perhaps all of 24/7 (24 Diner in the comics and audio drama). This particular story isn't really scary to me but it is very gory and I know that is scary for a lot of people. The gore actually kind of bored me but that could be because I'm very desensitized to gore from watching too much of things like American Horror story. The part of this story that actually does catch me off guard is the changed fate for Rosemary. You get so worried for her and her dog. The way the story was changed was definitely an improvement (in my opinion) but you get so worried for her, that I have to count it as a spooky moment. By the way, Sandman fans so heavily approved of how Rosemary's fate was changed that just today I saw the phrase "I was hoping they Rosemaryed her." used by Sandman fan.

9. Poor Jessamy's death. Jessamy's Death is one of the most gut wrenching moments in The Sandman. What makes it all the worse is the hopeful music playing while her plan to rescue Morpheus is set into motion. And then, just when it looks like she's about to free him... she gets killed very suddenly right in front of him. It's startling and heartbreaking at the same time. It leaves you feeling chilled, disappointed, and also pitying Morpheus for his reaction. The emotion conveyed by Tom Sturridge as Morpheus in that scene, without uttering a word, is incredible.

8. The banishing of Hector Hall's ghost to the Afterlife. When Morpheus banishes Hector Hall's ghost, Hector looks like he is decomposing right before our eyes. No wonder Lyta Hall mistakenly thought of it as Morpheus killing him. 7. Funland and his death. Funland is a creepy predator attending a serial killer convention. HIs death is a creepy moment because you think Jed and Rose had just been rescued but really they are now at the mercy of the rogue nightmare, The Corinthian. 6. Johanna Constantine's Nightmare. Much like with DC"s John Constantine, we get a tragic flashback of what happened in New Castle, where a Dark Magick obsessed father (treated much like a drug addiction) opens a portal to Hell and accidentally invokes something. The demon claims an innocent little girl while Johanna Constantine is trying to banish the demon. 5. Johanna Constantine exorcises a demon. Here Johanna Constantine banishes a demon but the one who is possessed is not who she suspected. (Though many of us saw the twist coming.)

4. Death comes to collect a soul. This isn't really "scary." In fact it's sweet. But there is an underlying creepiness to knowing the end is near and the mystery of what comes next. Here we see Death (Morpheus's sister) come collect an old man and take him to the afterlife. Though this isn't necessarily scary it can still be disturbing.

3. The summoning of Morpheus. Roderick Burgess and his coven, The Order of Ancient Mysteries, attempt to invoke The Grim Reaper and get Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams by mistake. The invocation scene is pretty intense but I must admit I actually think the audio drama version is better. It just feels more intense, more foreboding, or maybe that's because my mind has to come up with the visuals. It's definitely longer in the audio drama version, mind you.

At the exact moment that Morpheus feels the pull of the summoning spell, he was confronting the rogue nightmare, The Corinthian, who Morpheus meant to uncreate for having been roaming The Waking World and killing mortals.

2. Invoking The Hecateae. After Morpheus escapes his captivity he has to track down his tools that had been taken from him by his captors. This includes his ruby amulet (a conduit for his powers), his battle helm (he never actually goes into battle but it's a symbol of his authority), and his pouch of dream sand (He is The Sandman after all). Having no clue where his tools have ended up Morpheus is left with no choice but to seek the aid of the Three-in-one. The Three-in-One represent the triple Goddess, Hecate (Goddess of Witchcraft and magick), The Fates, and the furies (divine vengeance against those that spill family blood). The Hecateae are fickle and dangerous and very powerful.

1. The Oldest Game. Morpheus vs. Lucifer. Many people would tell you that there's nothing creepier than a depiction of The Devil. In this scene Morpheus challenges Lucifer to a sort of duel to win back his helm, which had been stolen from him during his long captivity at the hands of mortal sorcerers. The challenge between Morpheus and Lucifer is known as "The Oldest Game" which some might recognize as the Wizard's duel from The Sword in the Stone or even the version from The Raven starring Vincent Price and Boris Karloff as rival sorcerers. If Morpheus wins he gets his helm. If Lucifer wins Morpheus (and by extension the dreams of mortals) become enslaved by Lucifer.

#Youtube #The Sandman #Neil Gaiman #Sandman

[blackjackkent]

Given all that business with Shar and Shadowheart, I've come to the conclusion about something that needs to happen for Hector, at least in my headcanon if not canonically in the game.

------

"Copper for your thoughts, love?" Karlach asks softly as she crawls into bed next to him in the Elfsong.

He's already stretched out on his back under the blankets, staring at the high rafters of the ceiling thoughtfully, and it takes him a moment to come back to himself at the sound of her voice. He smiles, though, as his eyes meet hers, and scoots aside at once to give her room to snuggle up against him. "They're complex enough that I think a copper might be undercharging," he says ruefully.

She slides an arm under his shoulders, pulls him into her arms so his head is nestled on her shoulder and against her cheek. "Well. I've got time," she says, kissing his temple gently. "You scared me, you know. Back there. I don't know what Shar did with you but you and Shadowheart and her parents all just... I dunno. You sort of phased out, went all smoky, and everything got dark..."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't know any of that was going to happen..."

"I know." She hesitates. "You really spoke to her? The goddess?"

"We both did." He sighs heavily. "And she was exactly as cruel as I was always taught she was. But for better or for worse, Shadowheart's free of her now, I suppose..."

She noses against his hair, another kiss to the top of his head. "You sound like something's still bothering you, though."

"Well, all of it, I suppose. How awful the whole thing was for Shadowheart, for one thing. But... other, more selfish things, too." He pauses, and then the words burst out of him. "Is it so much to ask, that if I am to face down Shar, and Myrkul, and Vlaakith and Orpheus and Mystra and Bhaal and Bane... is it so much to ask, that I come so close to Selune, even once?"

She frowns. "You're asking the wrong person, I'm afraid," she mutters.

"No, I... I know. It's not really something anyone can answer, anyway. I just... grow frustrated, at times. Fifty years I've lived trying to follow the Moonmaiden's light, and now here I am at the center of a battle where all the gods seem to be converging..."

"And yet yours hasn't spared a word for you."

"Yes." He sighs. "Don't worry. It'll... it'll pass. Today's just put me at a low ebb, that's all. All of us really, I think."

"No kidding." She rolls over into him, pulls him fully into her embrace.

As always, he starts to relax at once; no matter how terrible the day is, this is always safety, always home. He turns his head so he can press a kiss under her jaw and lets his eyes close. "Good night," he mumbles. "It'll all look better in the morning, I expect..."

------

His eyes drift open and at first he's conscious only of a strange, floating sensation. Everything around him is the pale blue-white of pure moonlight, and it is a blank abyss without a point of reference. For a moment he almost panics, feeling that sense of emptiness in all directions that almost reflects what he saw in the Shadowfell, or his vision of the Absolute in Moonrise Towers...

But the panic eases almost at once, because he is dimly aware on some level that he is dreaming, that somewhere he is still in bed with Karlach's arms around him. And because he realizes with a sudden soul-shocking clarity that Selune is there watching him.

She takes no form as Shar did; she is in the very moonlight that surrounds him. And where Shar's voice was a thunder-rumble of cruelty, the voice that speaks to him now is soft, a gentle murmur, almost a whisper in his ear.

"Poor boy..." his goddess says to him softly. "Poor boy that has traveled so far in my name, and grown so weary..."

He cannot speak. His tongue feels frozen in his mouth. But his head lifts, looking around wildly, drinking in the sense of the presence he cannot see, like a parched man spying an oasis in the desert.

"Hector Carlisle, you show a strong front to the world..." the voice whispers, and there is a touch of kind amusement in it. "So strong it could fool even the divine. I should have reached out to you long past..." A touch like silk drifts across his cheek. "But do not believe that you travel alone."

He finds his voice with difficulty; the words stick in his throat a little, hoarse and uncertain. "I knew I did not..." he whispers. "So many times I have felt your light on me in the dark places... so many allies you have sent to help me carry the load..."

And yet they both know the truth - that he has longed for his goddess to speak to him, to bring him words of comfort and approval and pride... to tell him with certainty that he has done her will and hewed to the right course...

"My son... lonely child of my faith..." the Moonmaiden says, and there is an infinite sadness in that divine voice now. "Would that you could have been spared it all - the darkness you have been forced to face, and the darkness that yet lies ahead. The burden you bear is one that evil wrought for you to carry, and you have borne it beyond all my expectations."

He swallows the lump that forms in his throat at hearing these words. "There is so much... so much more to the world than I ever imagined..."

"It is a place full of life, full of light and full of darkness," she agrees. "A place you were ill-prepared for, and yet you have thrived."

"Have I done as you would wish?"

"You have done as your heart guided."

"With Shadowheart, with Aylin-- matters so close to you, did I do as you wanted?"

Again that faintest hint of amusement. "Had you done otherwise, I would have made sure you knew it long before now..."

A pause while he drinks in the overwhelming comfort that comes with that reassurance.

"Will we be all right?" he asks softly.

"Even I cannot say..." Selune answers. A thread of iron runs beneath the silk-smoothness of her voice. "The Dead Three have constructed a weapon that has broken beyond their control. Were it in my power to tell you the exact path that lies ahead, I would do so. But my light penetrates only so far before all becomes shrouded beneath shadows even deeper than Shar's."

He nods slowly. "I knew that, really," he answers, his head bowing.

"But you travel with my blessing," she continues. He feels a blossom of warmth grow in his heart, spread tingling through his whole body. "Let hope sustain you, for it is not lost yet, nor shall it be."

"Thank you..." he whispers. He feels dizzy with relief, with gratitude, with the sudden urge to smile and to sob simultaneously. "I will not forget it..."

"Rest, now, my boy..." she whispers gently in his ear, and he feels the moonlit abyss around him begin to fade out of his awareness. "Rest, and carry my light with you into the morning..."

-----

His eyes open again. He is back in the Elfsong, back in bed next to Karlach; she is face down, snoring into the pillow, her arm stretched haphazardly across his chest. And for a moment, with Karlach's embrace around him and Selune's voice in his mind, he feels a sense of deep peace such as he has never imagined he might experience again.

Thank you... he thinks, and tears sprout in his eyes. Thank you... I will not fail you... I swear it...

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #drabble #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #custom tav #monk tav #selunite tav #selune #bg3 oc #bg3 drabble #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #another one i'm pretty proud of i think c: #or at least gave myself plenty of feels with #hector is starting to get so so so tired y'all #good thing we're getting close to the end of things one way or another

[naoko-world]

Sushi for the Encanto Sushi day!

Since today is the Encanto sushi day launched by @hectic-hector, I'm having Sushi for lunch today! With my Bruno doll watching me because he can't eat...Poor baby 💚

#encanto #bruno madrigal #bruno doll #encanto sushi day #sushi #sashimi #maki #asian restaurant

[grimbunnies]

Fr. Theo: "Camilla! I am pleased to see you. I worried you might not attend today. Seeing your face in the pews warms my heart."

Camilla: "I would never miss your sermon, Father Theo. I am so disappointed in Hector! I tried to talk to him, to convince him to apologize, but he's irate. I hope he did not hurt you."

Fr. Theo: "Oh, well, my wrist hasn't felt quite right for days, but I couldn't be certain that's not just age."

Camilla: "You poor thing. If you need any help with meals, let me know. It can be difficult to cook with a bad wrist."

Fr. Theo: "You are wonderful, Camilla. Thank you."

#camilla farfalle #fr theo tortellini #katrina fusilli #mercutio monty #miranda capp #tortellini household #rodeburg to europa hood #rodeburg to europa round 1 #sims 2