Let's see you walk it

black tentacles (soul crushingly sad, quality jazz influences)

cloud of daggers (uptempo lofi era banger, a la all hail west texas)

protection from evil and good (sonically would have fit on all eternals deck)

flesh to stone (one of those hard hitting songs that makes you feel like you can survive anything)

insect plague (boombox recording from the late 90s)

bones of the earth (2006 inside voice piano ballad played only at 3 live shows)

mountain goats song titles that could be dnd spells:

foreign object (3rd level evocation targeting the opponent's eyes)

shadow song (practically useless illusion cantrip)

birth of serpents (2nd level transmutation with niche but entertaining application)

bleed out (controversial 8th level necromancy)

orange ball of love (4th level abjuration with great utility)

orange ball of hate (4th level enchantment with even BETTER utility)

Summary: Dulce is a Hero. The people who made her one better hope they never see her again. TW: mentions of violence, ptsd, panic attacks

————.

She is a villain when the adventure is over. It creeps up on her slowly. The shortened temper, the unnatural laughter, the darting eyes. She looks up at the corners of rooms for demon bats that don’t exist in this world and claws at her own flesh when she doesn’t find them.

Her companions come find her six months afterwards.

What does it look like, a prince and a knight and a mage walking into a McDonald’s? It’s 1 am, closing time, when she finds out.

“Dulce!” Prince Amor clanks through the fronts doors. He’s wearing the Royal Armor, the set that seems to glow from within with the Holy Light of his Blessed Ancestors. The crown on his head is as gold as his eyes. Everything about him looks fake under the artificial dining room lights, but he doesn’t notice. His golden eyes are locked on her. “At last, we’ve found you!”

She’s covered in a fine mist of oil, slashes of burns from the heat lamps marching up her arms. Her black pants are grey under a dusting of spilled flour and she knows her short, brown hair is frizzed up after her eight hour shift. She blinks at the three walking into the dining room and can’t find the words.

“I told you I’d find her,” Mage Kira says proudly. Her black dress looks like it belongs in a gothic version of the Nutcracker. She waves her flowering wand over her head. “Dulce’s magic has always been so distinctive, I knew it would be easy to find her in the Mundane World!”

Mundane world, Dulce thinks. That’s what they think of Earth. Mundane. Run-of-the-mill.

Not special.

Not worthy.

Dulce’s stomach cramps so badly that she sways on the spot. Why did she send the other girl home? Things would be so much easier if she had another human here.

The profound silence that received his words made him wary. Already ser Lyrian felt as if so much of his world had come crashing down, and not for the reasons he’d ever expected. But more and more he was beginning to realize there was a whole lot going on beyond his helm and shield that he’d never really noticed, but which had noticed him entirely too well.

You know it’s been three whole days since the messenger came to the door. It doesn’t feel like it though. It’s as if you’ve only blinked and your husband has gone from catching you as your knees gave out to standing beside you.

Phil’s hand is wrapped tightly around yours, colder than the shadows slowly growing all around you. His eyes are fixed on the mound of earth lying under the orchard’s oldest tree. Neither of you have spoken a word since that damned messenger left, but you didn’t need words to decide where to bury the medals they returned instead of her body. Antonia spent almost her entire childhood in the embrace of this apple tree. When she wasn’t in the tree, she was in your arms.

And now she’s gone.

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone and somewhere far away her blood has dried on hands that never had the right to touch her.

You look up at your husband. Already his face is turning gaunt from grief, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks and slipping down from his heavy brow. You will never see him smile like he did with your daughter. You will never know the pleasurecontenmentpridejoy that flooded through you each time you saw them together again. You will never have so many things all because your daughter was Chosen and you believed the King when he claimed she would not fight alone.

You let that bubble within you, that helpless rage, as you wait for your husband to look at you. Maybe he can feel the weight of your gaze, maybe he can feel the heat returning to the hand clutched in his, maybe he just knows you, knows you like you know him because he turns.

Meets your eyes.

And nods.

war and genocide

suicide (including coerced suicide)

murder (including decapitation and dismemberment)

cannibalism

guns

terminal illness and biological weaponry

persuing monster-based horror

unreality

scientific experimentation-based horror

racism

childhood trauma and parent death

infanticide (or more accurately, bird abortion)

emotional manipulation

unhealthy/codependent relationships

death of a romantic interest

twisted morality and gray morality

and in the absence of Shiro (or when Shiro's K.O.) we see Lance take the leadership role (seriously, take a watch of the escape from the Galaxy Garrison and understand that Lance is the one directing them all to leave after setting the events of all of the paladins coming together by talking up spending time together as a team bonding exercise)

Shiro deferred to Lance's tactical expertise when they planned on rescuing Allura, and Lance just. follows Shiro but is able to view the situation from a perspective that Shiro doesn't have, and challenges him to cut loose and have some fun once in a while