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toasterdrake · 3 years

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Zvezdnyy

Yelena Belova x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Genre: Fluff

anon requested: "Can you do a yelena one where Yelena is touch starved but readers love language is touch so they work together and one day they snuggle for the first time? thx"

⭐⭐⭐

Humans are wired to be touched. From birth until the day we die, our need for physical contact persists. It drives our emotional connections, our physical health.

It is one of those beautiful poetic moments that inspire us to keep living through all the hardship.

Yelena, however, had experienced little to no touch since she was a young child.

Her time with Alexei, Melina and Natasha had been the only memorable time in her life that wasn't cold. As the three years progressed, and she grew, so did their attachment to her. Alexei loved fawning over the little blonde, and even Melina had to admit she was cute.

In early life, touch is crucial for building healthy relationships. Missing out on regular human touch can have serious and long-lasting effects.

Melina, ever the scientist, was well aware of this, and tried her best, but Alexei was more comfortable giving the kids what they wanted. Piggyback rides with Papa were a popular form of transport in the Vostokoff-Shostakov household.

However, Yelena's eventual line of work, away from her parents and her sister, didn't exactly make a habit of hugs or holding hands. This inevitably resulted in touch starvation in the young Widow.

The feeling was deeply rooted in Yelena's psyche. It was a lusting hunger; a primal need from within, clawing up her throat. But her training kept it constantly tamped down, insisting it be ignored in favour of the mission. She was never allowed to understand this burning, lonely desire.

After Oksana and Natasha, it grew from a mild heat to a raging fire. Every brushing of skin ignited something in her fingertips, like hot electricity attracting her to beg for more.

What that 'more' was, she couldn't figure out. Not until you.

You were a very touchy person. You had loving, attentive parents that encouraged physical displays of affection all your life. Of course, they had their faults, and no parenting technique is perfect, but the frequent gentle touches had raised you to find comfort in contact.

You'd grown up a hugger, in a word, and all your friends were well aware of it. If they thought they could avoid you being attached to their sides, clambering over them, or resting your feet in their laps whenever they were in your vicinity, they thought wrong.

Yelena was the exception.

Not in a hateful way; very much the opposite, actually. In such a way that you paid extra attention to how she acted and reacted. In such a way that you noticed when she flinched or froze up under your touch. In such a way that you withdrew your friendly touches because you weren't blind.

Yelena was also the exception in the way she was more than a friend.

Your relationship was still new, and you were scared to be asking too much from her. You were still adjusting to each other, learning how to be together, learning what you wanted from the other and how to give what they wanted.

And the more you withdrew, the more Yelena began to tentatively want it, you, your touch, back.

Even in her relationship with you, Yelena couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly lonely. Not because you weren't paying her attention, affection: you still showed that in different ways. But you were right there, next to her… and yet you weren't close enough. The blanket you were both wrapped in wasn't enough; you were.

But she didn't know how to ask. So instead, she slipped away from you, leaving you to doze, and took a long, hot bath.

She curled up alone in bed that night, cold, guilt clawing at her throat and churning in her stomach. Fanny tucked herself into Yelena's side, golden fur tangling in her fingers. Fanny's warmth still wasn't enough. Fanny wasn't you.

She was only able to fall asleep after you had stumbled into bed beside her hours later. You weren't even sharing a room yet. You wanted to be close to her as much as she did you.

You were simply better versed in expressing that desire.

You wanted to show Yelena your affection for her the way you knew how. And you decided to make that known.

You scooted a little closer every time you sat together, little by little by little, eyes trained on the movie playing. You leaned into her when she helped you cook, stretching over her to grab something, trailing a hand on her waist when you leaned away so that the contact was never broken. You slipped your hand into hers while waiting for a ride to collect you both.

You were careful not to cross any boundaries, though, adjusting accordingly when Yelena subtly distanced herself.

Slowly, she began to accept your advances.

"[Y/N]? [Y/N]?"

"Wha- what?" You wake up, trying to blink away the blurriness of your vision to get a clearer view of the figure leaning over you.

Yelena shifts awkwardly, fiddling with the corner of your covers. "I can't sleep." She admits shyly.

Something, you're not sure what in your half-asleep state, but something, clicks in you. You shuffle over to make room, opening your arms to her, and she readily crawls under the sheets.

You lay on your back, looking at her across the bed for a long few moments. There's that closeness again; that not-quite-close-enough closeness; that simmering, bubbling heat.

You clear your throat, wincing at how abrupt it is in the dark and quiet room, at how sharply it makes Yelena snap her gaze to you. You open your arms again, silent invitation in your eyes.

Yelena shifts forward, tentatively curling into your side. Soft, pyjama-clad skin glides over yours like velvet, until the warmth of her settles pressed into you.

Slow and steady, you wrap an arm around her waist, firm enough to remind her that you are there. Your fingers splay over her stomach, drawing abstract patterns.

She rests her head on your chest. Your heartbeat is calm and strong. She matches her breathing to it, looking through the darkness out the window at the blanket of stars.

"Do any of them catch your fancy?" You ask. She can feel your gaze following hers, your fingertips floating lazily.

She points at a small star just coming into view from behind a drifting cloud. It's light is weaker than the others, twinkling faintly among the diamond glitters.

"I bet it wants to learn how to shine brighter," You begin softly. Yelena snorts, but doesn't stop you.

"It's packing up its possessions; a picture of its beloved sister, its famous iced coffee technique;" Yelena buries a giggle in the crook of your neck, then peeks back out at her star. "And it's setting out to visit it's aunt, who lives on the other side of the galaxy. She's one of the brightest... Nebulaway stars, so she'll surely be able to teach it how to shine.

Along the path, it meets another star. They shine even brighter than it's aunt, so it asks them to teach it. They say, 'shining isn't something you can learn... Shining comes to you naturally when the time is right. That time is different for everyone'. The dull little star doesn't feel this is helpful at all, so it carries on and leaves them behind. Further up the road, it meets another star."

Your story is interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn, tears springing to your eyes. You blink them away and continue. "This star asks if it has any spare iced coffee, since he ran out. The dull little star -- y'know what, let's call him Jeffrey," Yelena's laugh evolves into her own yawn. "Jeffrey gives him the last of it's coffee.

He says 'this is the best iced coffee I've ever had. What's the difference? Is it your brand? Do you use... Milky too?' Jeffrey shows him, and it turns out the ingredients are the same." Yelena half-heartedly provides a shocked gasp. "Jeffrey teaches him its technique. He carries on the path much happier with his new flask of iced coffee.

Jeffrey carries on, and now notices the dark path it had been following to reach Nebulaway is now illuminated. It looks around, but doesn't see any other stars. It is the only star here on the path, and the light radiates around it."

You pause again, this time for thought. You look down, and notice Yelena's eyes are closed. She breathes steadily, deeply, an arm around your waist and head settled on your shoulder. Her warm, sweet breath fans over your collarbone.

You smile, pressing a kiss to her head as your own heavy eyelids fall gratefully shut.

⭐⭐⭐

Taglist: @starryparchments @themagnificentmx @bisexual-chupacabra

love,

- Lynx

#yelena belova #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova fluff #marvel imagine #lynx writes

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theramseyloft · 4 years

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Let’s take a moment to talk Shit.

You can tell a lot about the health of a pet by its poop.

Changes in its color or consistency are among the first warning signs that a pet may not be feeling well.

In birds, you will usually see changes in poop long before the changes in behavior that indicate illness, like irritability or lethargy.

When most people think of pigeon poop, This is what usually comes to mind:

Nasty white streaks

Or splatters

Or gross colored splats

Any place feral pigeons frequent.

But this is what poop from a healthy, well fed pigeon looks like:

A small, compact ball of the indigestible fiber left over from the hulls of the seeds they eat whole, with a tiny white cap of urate.

You can see the consistency from the others underneath it, where nesting straw has been mashed into them as Pippin has come and gone and arranged, and rearranged individual blades.

A reliably well fed and hydrated pigeon will usually leave stools that keep their round shape on impact with a texture slightly softer than well worked playdoh.

Pigeon poop can be sloppy after a big drink of water following a 6-12 hour period of having gone with out.

The bowel movement after their first drink of water in the morning, for example, may make a sloppy mess, but in a healthy, well fed pigeon, the solid part will still be brown, and there will be more water than the white urate.

Look at this third picture again:

That wet mess of solids on mostly urate, with a mucus-y shine and slimy texture, is indicative of a heavy gut load of intestinal parasites.

Not just most ferals, but most racing, performing, and exhibition pigeons (since there are often housed out doors) are infested with the nematode Capillaria, the round worm Strongyloides, or the protozoan Coccidia.

While usually sub-clinical, an active infection of Salmonella will turn the poop a distinctive sulfur yellow to lime green.

But poop is only pure white,

Like those streaks and splatters most people associate with feral pigeons, when the birds have not had access to solid food in 12 hours or more.

Nearly all feral pigeons perpetually teeter on the brink of starvation, and it shows in their poop.

They are strict granivores, meaning that they can only digest seeds: the embryonic tissue of plants.

With cities being so carefully landscaped, often with the only plant life available being in the form of flower beds and trees, with grasses only in public parks and mowed too short to bloom and seed, the food they can actually digest is mighty hard for the average feral pigeon to find.

Barn ferals tend to be much more healthy for access to seed and animal feed.

But spilled garbage and the hand outs of the people that like them enough to feed them are literally all the food city ferals have access to.

Most of that is bread.

And while bread is made from grain, milling that grain and baking it into bread breaks it down, making it easier for a HUMAN to digest, but HARDER for a pigeon.

They like the taste of it, and eating some as an occasional treat won’t do a pet bird any harm, but that’s the VAST bulk of the food feral pigeons have access to.

It would be like a humans having to wander for miles every day to find food, but only being able to find potato chips, snack cakes, and the occasional slim jim.

That human would not have a long, or healthy life.

Now imagine that person ALSO had two different kinds of lice, mosquitos, and a parasitic fly sucking their blood from the outside, a painful cheesy growth in their throat that could block off their trachea or esophagus if it goes untreated long enough, two species of worms eating the nutrients they manage to find before their intestinal lining gets the chance to absorb it, and a protozoan eating their intestinal lining, with no hope of getting any of those things treated.

And you have a pretty accurate representation of what it’s like to be a feral pigeon living “free”.

I am all for wild animals living free in the environment for which they were adapted.

But pigeons are not wild life, and they were not adapted to cities.

ESPECIALLY not on the continent of North America.

The pigeons that were brought here as military messengers, meat, and entertainment had been domesticated for thousands of years already.

When homers were no longer faster and more reliable messengers than phone lines or radio waves, they were no longer profitable to keep, pigeons were released. This was common practice in the places they came from.

But in Europe, Africa, Turkey, and Saudi Arabia, where Rock Doves are native, there WAS natural habitat for the exclusively cliff nesting birds to relocate to, as well as open lofts that would welcome the boon of free livestock.

But there is nothing like their actual habitat: A high cliff near the sea, between desert and grass land, in north America.

So, as lofts shut down and were (as they still are to this day by racers) habitually destroyed to discourage the birds no one would buy from returning, there was nowhere for the unwanted birds to go EXCEPT the tall, concrete buildings, and the metal structure under bridges and billboards.

The problem of feral pigeon mess, from the structural damage caused by the pure uric acid they excrete on an empty stomach to their potential as vectors for zoonotic disease is one of our own making.

That’s why I don’t re-abandon feral pigeons that come into rehab by releasing them.

I get them medical care. Heal their wounds, treat their infections, clean out their parasites...

And then I treat them like any good shelter would treat a stray dog:

I evaluate their temperament, and find them a permanent home where they can be well cared for and as happy as possible.

I fiercely love pigeons.

And for the same reason that seeing mangy, thin stray dogs roam the street treated an invasive pest species; ignored at best and chased off or exterminated at worst, would horrify and haunt the average american...

My goals are to make hoards of feral pigeons a thing of the ignorant past by encouraging the development of shelters for them like we have for dogs, cats, parrots, and other exotic pets.

Wildlife, like Mourning Doves, should absolutely be returned to the wild if at all possible.

Urban wildlife, like raccoons, are natives that have willingly ventured into cities and found them a welcoming, supportive environment, for which that animal happened to be naturally well suited.

Invasive wildlife, like Collared Doves, happen to be well adapted to the new environment into which they were released. T hey can be a danger to natives, so culling is preferred over release in the event that they can’t be penned. But still being wild animals, being caged stresses them severely.

Pigeons fit NONE of these categories.

They are not wildlife.

They did not “invade” cities.

They were abandoned there the minute they ceased to be profitable, they had no where else to go, and we treat the mess like it’s their fault.

We have done pigeons a terrible disservice by having entirely forgotten that they are domestic livestock.

And any one that calls a pigeon in north America a “wind animal that should be free” perpetuates and encourages that abandonment of responsibility.

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sneakyboymerlin · 3 years

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Once again extrapolating on my nature deity Merlin theory, with a particular focus on how Merlin interacts with the cycles of birth, life, and death…

Merlin understands all too well how all life comes from death and all death from life. Realistically, he knows that people must hunt or scavenge to survive. But, even so, he sees unnecessary cruelty against animals—e.g. Arthur hunting for sport—and, just as he does for people, sabotages from the sidelines.

(And I think that fandom doesn’t enjoy nuance very much and tries to pin Merlin as either a trigger-happy murderer or a full vegan who couldn’t hurt a leaf, neither of which is accurate, but that’s another post.)

By no means is he against hunting for food, having lived in Ealdor for the better part of two decades; not when he and his friends were short on food in 1x10/11 and 3x13, not when it’s needed. Merlin is not the type to put perfectly good food to waste—we catch him eating Arthur’s leftovers in 4x10, for example. Additionally, with no indication that Merlin is against domesticated animal consumption, it’s easy to infer that he regards hunting from a practical perspective.

Just as he understands that killing a person in self-defense or in defense of others is an awful necessity, he would also never harm a person purely for his own enjoyment—he is on the receiving end of this more often than not, as a servant who is frequently taken advantage of by nobles. And so he applies this rule to animals as well: he’ll hunt to stave off starvation, but never for the supposed euphoric rush of a kill. He doesn’t understand Arthur’s enjoyment in this, just as Arthur doesn’t understand Merlin’s repulsion to it.

It’s easy to assume that being connected to nature means that Merlin is just a fan of deer and bunnies, but the reality is that innocence exists amongst the predators as much as the prey. Merlin knows this and applies it to his own life. But this does not mean he condones the needless killing of helpless animals.

What fascinates fans is how Merlin extends his sympathy to animals, defends them to people who don’t seem to care, and how this ties into his apparent magical connection to the natural world. If Merlin is able to feel how “full of life […] every tree, every leaf, every insect” is, then how has this influenced his prior actions and following behavior? Why does Merlin mistake this for a universal experience, only realizing after his explanation that other people do not feel the same way and have never met someone who is so sensitive to nature?

Humans are a natural factor of our ecosystems. Hunting is necessary to maintain a certain balance that has existed for thousands of years and to prevent the overpopulation of prey animals. In this way, humans fulfill a similar role to any other predator in the wild, same as when a predator’s body is decomposed and becomes nutrients for the trees.

But Merlin can only observe this system from afar. His own body can never be a part of the full cycle because he cannot stay dead and allow his physical body to become new life. He merely oversees nature and applies his will to support/maintain fair hunting.

He has a natural sense of justice and compassion for all living things, be it a creature of magic like the unicorn or a regular prey animal like a deer. He sees these beings as ultimately defenseless against human inventions/weaponry, whereas—from Merlin’s perspective—Arthur is convinced of his full superiority to animals and feels entitled to abuse his power for his own entertainment. (Although, it’s easier to see the fault of human social constructs if you’re at the bottom rung of the ladder like Merlin is.)

To make a long story short, Merlin is incredibly in touch with nature on both a metaphysical and instinctual level. He’s not inconsistent in how much he values nature, he simply uses as much of his environment as he needs to—no more, no less—and wishes that other people would follow his lead there.

Merlin can sense the harmony and cacophony of nature in ways other people can’t comprehend, but is comparable to a person’s ability for gauging the mood of other humans. This connection strengthens Merlin’s resolve to treat nature fairly, an ideal which necessitates the nuance and exchange of survival, as opposed to divorcing himself from the morbid bits.

Ultimately, Merlin is not much different from the rest of nature (including humanity)—rather, he epitomizes this shared, forgotten quality so instinctively that it stands out to everyone else, like the sudden conscious thought of your heart beating. It’s always there, but you have only a fleeting awareness of it, unlike our hyper-sensitive Merlin. Deity Merlin is intrinsically representative of nature.

#merlin is a minor nature deity #immortal!merlin #merlin emrys #bbc merlin #mine #ooh it’s been weeks since I typed this wtf #well here’s my old 3am tags:#I think it’s tempting to flanderize Merlin and treat him as one extreme or another but his character is much more complex than that #why settle for narrow ideas when you can sift through a rich plethora of critically thought-out inferences #from your own original interpretation of canon ??? it can be good to divorce yourself from ideas popularly accepted by the fandom at large.#it’s always good to question things when they just don’t add up

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

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Demon Brothers being Soft for Their Daughters

Might just be me but I think there's nothing cuter than a Dad who loves his daughter so I made a hc for our boys. Strap in, it’s a long one!

IMPORTANT! Watch out for first half spoilers! Assumed that the child is a half human/half demon with the MC!

Lucifer

Tries to be really strict but ends up being kind of a pushover.

Oh there ARE rules that even his little girl can't break, but most of the time she can get away with almost anything if she's cute clever enough.

Pushes her to be the best at almost anything she tries, expectations be real high; gonna take the MC stepping in to remind him winning isn't everything and please cool it on the pressure.

Lowkey learned his lesson before and doesn't want to make another Satan situation so tries to take MC's advice to heart and not be quite so controlling.

Her favorite uncle is Mammon and he gets cold sweats about this every night.

Wasn't able to be there for a lot of her firsts due to work and gets real sulky when he misses out. Videos just don't offer the same experience...

Feels bad that work keeps him so busy so he tries to make up for it with toys, clothes, jewelry, pretty much whatever she likes at the time.

Would never admit it, but his black heart melts every time he comes home and sees she's excitedly waiting by the door.

One of those parents who will never stop bragging about how amazing their kid is to anyone who will listen, but never when she's in the same room.

100% that overprotective "I'm going to give you a brief tour of the torture chamber, then we’ll browse my whip collection. Oh, make sure she's home by 8" kind of dad if she were to ever bring home a date. They will know that his baby is not to be messed with (like anyone's crazy enough to try honestly).

Mammon

So over the goddamn moon that someone actually wanted to have a kid with him that he couldn't shut up about it for weeks.

Treasures his little girl more than anything he owns, even Goldie. When she's a baby the two of them are practically inseparable.

The biggest pushover to ever be pushed. She's about the only person he's ever unconditionally generous to and he really spoils her rotten.

She's just as materialistic as her father, honestly, but MC made sure their girl was raised with good morals. The first of which being no stealing. Ever. She works for every cent she spends.

On the one hand, he's actually pretty damn proud and relieved that she won't be called "scum" or anything like her father, but on the other hand like… Ew. Who raised you? (No one remind him it’s kind of his doing anyway).

For once in his greedy existence, he can tell a sob story about really needing that loan or those shoes for his beloved daughter and actually mean it… most of the time 😏

Even when she's young, though, she will ask him if a gift he's giving her was taken from someone else and, man, he cannot lie to her face. People shame him for stealing all the time but the little look of disappointment she gives him hurts WAY more than all of his brothers’ insults combined.

Probably one of the most supportive and involved dads in existence. He will be at every game, every recital, every meet. Even if he's complaining the whole time, if anyone so much as suggests that he just shouldn't go he'd be appalled.

…. He's perhaps a little too involved because he's also totally the kind of father who will lowkey stalk his daughter's dates to be sure nothing bad happens. MC, please step in. She needs privacy too.

Leviathan

Was incredibly worried about having a kid, he's not even had the best track record when it comes to pets and parenting is some high-level normie stuff. But his little girl's first smile absolutely melted his doubts away.

That being said… he's still not the greatest with little kids. For a long time if the baby so much as sneezed unexpectedly he'd start shouting for the MC and checking every website he can like??? My half demon baby won't stop sneezing, is it pneumonia???

Gets a lot less panicky as the child gets older, but in those early years he'd practically want to stick them in a bubble wrap suit.

He passed on his love of the ocean and underwater creatures pretty early on. The running joke is that his girl knew how to swim before she knew how to crawl.

Family aquarium trips are an absolute must.

The second they're old enough to understand plot he's introducing them to his favorite shows, but only the best (and most child-friendly) ones of course. He wants his daughter to grow into a woman of culture, damnit! Pop culture that is.

Sooo much text/chat lingo between these two. It's not her fault really. She was bound to pick it up but man can it sound like they're speaking tongues at times.

With practice she can and will beat her old man at most video games and, yes, it makes his cry tears of equal parts pride and aggravation.

Has a mini-panic attack every time she hits a new milestone, like, yes he's so fucking proud but also don't you think she's growing up too fast??? MY BABY GIRL!!! 😭😭😭

Cries like a baby to the MC when she goes out on her first date because he realized she's really, truly, growing up and he's afraid his little girl isn't going to want to spend time with her lame old dad anymore.

Satan

Tries to be strict and IS strict but mostly on schoolwork.

Her grades best not be slippin' or this Book Papa will take all her stuff away. End of discussion.

Otherwise, he's surprisingly chill being the Avatar of Wrath and all. He of all people understands the desire to just have your own life and do your own thing.

She'll inherit his temper though, that's a given, and if they both get going then watch out. Fights between them can get verbally explosive, but never physical. Even at his angriest Satan would never once lay a hand on his daughter.

Read to her every night when she was young: storybooks, novels, mythologies, didn't matter to him. Whatever she wanted to hear. Still, he was so proud the day she told him that she wanted to read on her own.

100% makes nearly everything in life a teachable lesson but also helps her when she needs it. He wants her to forge her own path but is still very supportive when the situation calls for it.

Would never EVER admit it, but he does just as many dad jokes as Lucifer.

Of all the brothers, he's probably the most typical father to have, there for his kid just enough while also making sure they're not getting away with murder.

Is totally chill with her dating because he knows he doesn’t have to be super protective of her. She can more than handle herself if something goes wrong, in fact, if he were to step in it would probably add insult to their already grievance injury.

That being said, he IS the Avatar of Wrath. If someone hurts his girl he’s going to have a turn one way or another.

Asmodeus

Oh YEEESSS, he's not normally the commitment kind of guy but he and MC raising a child? They'd be the most gorgeous thing in the universe!!! (Not counting himself of course)

Beautifying his baby since day one, but the MC keeps him from doing anything too extreme. A lot of baths, good moisturizer, hairstyling (when she grows enough of it), etc.

Soooo many outfits. She'll practically never wear the same thing twice and Asmo coordinates his own clothes to match hers all the time.

He actually goes out and parties LESS if you can believe it, especially when she's young and needs a lot of supervision. But he'll get pent up real quick so learning how to do a quiet quickie during naptime is a must.

His girl is all over his Devilgram, nearly every milestone is snapped up and recorded. He loves her more than anything and would just scream about his pride and joy from the rooftops if social media didn't provide him that outlet.

Makes sure his daughter knows that she is gorgeous, she is loved, and passes on every bit of self-confidence he has. Doesn't matter if she grows up a girly-girl, tomboy, or anything else under the sun. When you're feeling good just being you, heads will turn on their own accord!

Not the best at discipline and would only really step in if he thinks she's being a real jerk about something. Day to day attitude adjustments are totally up to the MC.

He is, however, the best sex-ed teacher one could ever ask for and makes sure his daughter knows there's no shame in what comes natural, just be sure you're respectful and responsible!

Completely unfazed when the suitors began lining up, I mean she is HIS daughter. It was inevitable. Offers tips and advice when he can but lets her go off and experiment naturally. Young love is a beautiful thing! (Just don't break his girl's heart though because he may lowkey curse your whole bloodline)

Beelzebub

….. MC, you're going to be eaten out of house and home.

Though his daughter's appetite isn't AS bad as his, Beel could tell it's going to be an issue from day one but he's ready for it.

Dedicates his freaking life to being sure she never goes one night hungry. He'll cook, he'll shop, he'll even share from his own plate if he has to. The thought of her going through anywhere near the level of starvation he feels on a daily basis is enough to crush his soul (if he has one)

You better bet there will be eating competitions. She never wins, but the fact she can even get close will have him grinning anyway.

That being said, he will push for a healthy and active lifestyle for her too.

Highkey wants her playing sports and doing team activities because he genuinely thinks it will help her stay healthy and make friends.

Just the right amount of discipline. Tries to be understanding but also knows when to call a spade, a spade and express his disapproval.

Very in-tune to her emotions and her needs even if he can’t quite grasp WHY she's feeling the way she is. Keeping up with teen drama is going to be the bane of his existence...

Uncle Belphie=That one cool uncle who lets you get away with anything and probably gives out sugar after bedtime.

One of the only brothers who makes a point of his daughter also seeing and exploring her human heritage too and not just treating her like a pseudo-demon… And it's totally not just for the added excuse of sampling human world cuisine, like, come on who do you take him for? 🤫

Somewhat cautious about her dating, but ultimately just wants her to be happy. He'll usually trust her judgment but he's pretty good at reading someone's character and if he gets real bad vibes from anyone he's not above telling her, "No. Not that one." Whether or not he's listened to depends on the situation.

Belphegor

Lol MC, you could have picked a much better choice. Borderline Deadbeat/Cool Dad here!

Kids… not his thing. He doesn't dislike them exactly, they're just a lot of work and he's sort of allergic to that. He's more of a semi-irresponsible babysitter type.

Case in point, "Belphie, watch the baby" becomes "Belphie, if you're going to take a nap at least hold onto her leg so she doesn't go anywhere."

Only saving grace is she takes after him so most days she's pretty dang sleepy too. Naptime is a good third of the daily routine (not that anyone is complaining).

Shit at discipline because, like, what leg does he have to stand on? If she wants to ditch class, why not let her? Once or twice ain't that bad.

Takes her on a lot of "field trips" to the human world like he would with Lilith. Genuinely wants her to experience both sides of her identity and encourages her to explore her human side just as much as her demon.

The kind of chill dad that you feel comfortable going to when you've got to talk out a problem or need life advice. He might not be able to offer many answers, but he tries in his own way.

Will prank his kid and will not feel sorry, but is never cruel about it. In fact, this will only spur on a mutual prank war between the two.

Uncle Beel=that genuinely nice uncle who tries to teach you life lessons and how to take care of yourself… while also eating a ton of food.

Would be super confused at first if she started dating like?? How? He kind of sees her like a mini-him at times and his human came to him. Since when did she stay awake long enough to leave the house?? But otherwise he goes with the flow. Whatever she wants, her life.

He might get a bit more agitated if she starts to date a human, like, lowkey bad flashbacks to the whole Lilith situation and the MC would probably have to cool his jets about it. Different circumstances after all.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me headcanons #obey me luficer #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me scenarios

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tg-headcanons · 3 years

Note

You ever think about that whole argument (from the narrator/Ishida) that humans are just like ghouls because they eat animals to survive? So, so flawed. A LOT of people are vegetarian or vegan these days. It would have been better to make the argument that any animal's survival is dependent on the death of others, whether those 'others' are slaughtered or not. Circle of life and all that.

THANK YOU FOR SAYING THIS

This is one of the ways in which tokyo ghoul gets close to a nuanced philosophy, but instead falls short into a tired old cliche. It’s just inches away from getting the point, but is held back by a major issue with Ishida’s writing style: Full focus on individual responsibility

We see it with how he portrays Kaneki alone with very little focus on countless other people who contributed as the catalyst for Change. We see it with how he portrays a handful of CCG members and Ghouls as “the bad ones who are making it worse for everyone else” rather than predictable products of their world’s system. And we see it with how he frames the world in a philosophical sense. There’s far too much focus on single people and simple goals. What will Kaneki do to save the world? What will Touka do to protect kaneki? What will Hinami do to decide if she’s a good person or not? It fails to take into account the sheer immensity of outside forces. It shouldn’t be “will X character choose to do Y?” it should be “how does Z effect X character’s ability or reason to do Y?”

Think about how Hinami had to kill Kureo because otherwise she and Touka would die horrifically. Was that even a choice? Could anyone blame her for fighting for her life when it was the only way to live? Or how Nishiki ate a piece of Kimi. Was he ever in a position to turn her offer of herself down? Was there any other way for him to survive then? Or how countless ghouls hunt down innocent people to eat. How else are they supposed to get food for themselves and their families? What other way can they survive starvation when every other Avenue is purposely blocked?

But I’m every single case, the situation these characters are in are set aside in favor of framing it as decisions they made with no other factors than their own desires

Now let’s compare that to how humans interact with meat. We’ve evolved for it, we sweat, see, and even support complex brains because we eat meat. Whether we like it or not we are predators, and that has been the case since the first hominids took down prey with sticks and rocks. We’ve been doing this for ages and it’s ingrained in our biology, cultures, and day to day life. Of course throughout history people have chosen not to. Whether it be for religious reasons, not liking it, or just being uncomfortable with the thought of eating animals some people have always been vegetarian, but in recent years there’s been way more. Sometimes it’s about diets, but other times people claim that to eat meat is unethical. “How could you eat a poor animal? How can you support factory farms? That’s disgusting I’m gonna email you a link to a poorly researched paper focused solely on Eurocentric ideas of consumption and terrible comparisons to actual human suffering that will guilt you into veganism”

The thing is, eating meat isn’t inherently evil. Not to sound like a cannibal or anything but I don’t think there’s anything morally wrong with eating both humans and animals given that it’s done respectfully. The problem comes when we focus on what farming is like now, that animals are mistreated, that farm workers are mistreated, that it can harm the environment, but does that make people who eat meat evil? Are they supporting this when they get dinner?

No, of course not, and to understand why we need to look at the reasons. First and foremost, it’s just good for a lot of people. Many people can’t survive on vegan/vegetarian diets, many people struggle with food and animal products are what they can eat, and often animal products are the easiest and most affordable food out there. Even in urban areas it’s hard to find food without animal products that are affordable in the long term for everyone, and that’s in the best case scenario. Look at places like Alaska, food most take for granted costs so much that no one can reasonably live only off that, and people there have lived off of animals they’ve caught for millennia before diet crazes existed. And yes, there are so many ways in which the methods of farming are unethical and harmful and those should absolutely be called out, but the responsibility lies with those profiting from it. How much evil is someone tight on cash trying to make it last until their next paycheck doing by taking their family to McDonald’s rather than getting food so much less filling for the same amount of money or more?

There’s so much complication added by factoring in society and capitalism and colonization’s effect on the local environment and what kind of life our meat animals live, but in the end, predation is natural. Animals eat animals, and humans who have benefited so much from our rise on the food change as early hominids are the only ones who take issue with it. Some people believe it really is evil and unnatural to eat animals, and they are free to believe that for themselves, but it speaks volumes about their own privilege when they turn that judgement on the people just trying to eat enough to survive. It isn’t a massive personal stake, it’s trying to survive in a world that has so many roadblocks to something as simple as a full meal

So compare that to ghouls. They steal bodies and hunt and kill because they have to. The rich may be able to outsource the carnage and keep the blood off their hands so they seem ethical, but they contribute to the deaths of humans the same way people touting that the animal farming industry is killing the world will buy animal product substitutes that harm people and the ecosystem just as much. After all, is the agave syrup that some company tore up a shitload of land in a more exploitable country to farm any less harmful because you can pretend that no people or animals were hurt? They can feel bloodless, but that doesn’t make what they do more ethical. It just lets them feel like it

As for the poor ghouls? They have to hunt. They get to play the part of ravenous monster because they don’t have the time or money to have someone else get bodies for them. Even anteiku ghouls have a little privilege by finding bodies that are already dead. Not every ghoul has a car to pick up corpses, or bodies that can walk that distance, or the knowledge to find good spots. Most hunt since the people that have died naturally are locked away because humans think of themselves as too evolved to take part in the circle of life, and would rather ghouls keep killing than let their loved ones be eaten like most animals are

In the end you’re completely right. Any animal’s survival is dependent on the deaths of others. All we as people can control is how kindly that is done. Humans with the means to can choose not to eat meat, but humans who don’t and ghouls can’t, and that does not make them evil. If humans in the TG world were willing to give the dead to the ghouls, it’s entirely possible that they wouldn’t need to hunt anymore. Meat will always be necessary, but the way they get it can be better, and that change relies solely on the system preventing them from having ethically sourced food. The fault does not lie with the individuals who need to eat

Ishida fell just short of the point in favor of the boring and nihilistic “oOoOh HuMaNs ArE tHe REAL mOnStErS” thing because it’s edgy and easy, but not correct. There’s nothing evil about having a biological need to eat meat, there’s nothing evil even for humans who don’t need to to eat meat, it’s just the circle of life. Nature is gruesome sometimes, but claiming that people are inherently evil is just edgelord bullshit. We can make the ways we get meat better if the people profiting off of it are held accountable, and ghouls can too if the people profiting off of their slaughter are held accountable.

Humans and ghouls are alike. Neither are bad for feeding themselves, and both can benefit a whole lot by not fighting over who is worse and instead demanding that the people in charge of their world make it better

#tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul headcanon #tokyo ghoul meta #tokyo ghoul criticism #mention of animal mistreatment

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silkentragedies · 3 years

Text

A boyfriend sounds good, but…

Non idol! Jung Wooyoung x fem! Reader

3.1k words, Highly suggestive at best, making out, FLUFF, E2L vibes, College AU

Warnings: Mentions of STDs, making out. ( This is so self-indulgent it’s horrible lmao- also, not explicit at all.)

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Jung Wooyoung. Not meant for minors.

College was supposed to be late night parties and hurried submissions, overdosing on caffeine and woefully unedited essay compilations. College was supposed to be hellish hangovers and greasy weekend brunches in bed, helter-skelter running to part-time jobs and missing classes with snoozed alarms.

You got all of that, of course, but you also got one thing you didn’t ask for, in fact, wished beyond wishes that it wouldn’t happen but of course, your guardian angel was up to some mischief: You got yourself an archenemy.

Jung fucking Wooyoung.

It all started off small, of course; bumping into each other rather violently in the hallways on orientation day ended with your coffee on the floor. Minor detail- his phone had also dropped on the floor.

You apologized profusely- he seemed like an upperclassman with his leather jacket, slim but solid build, a head of double-toned hair and oh were those tattoos peeking out of his collar- no point in causing a ruckus on the first day. You even offered to pay for the damage.

And then he opened his mouth.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

The sheer annoyance in his tone rubbed you the wrong way- obviously you had to respond, you weren’t the only one at fault-

“Sorry, but you weren’t watching where you were going either. So don’t tout the blame to me-”

“Oh, whatever, just keep your money. I can get it fixed myself.”

The audacity of this bi-

“Good for you then, because my offer is off the table now, pretty boy.”

A smirk curled up his lip- “You think I’m pretty?”

“About as pretty as a skunk, especially with that hair.”

You had to tamp down the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at his bemused, mildly annoyed expression before walking past him.

Lamenting the loss of your morning coffee, you hurried your way to the orientation venue. At Least he was an upperclassman. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to deal with him-

“Did you see that hot guy in the leather jacket and that black-blonde hair ?”

Fuck’s sake.

“His name’s Jung Wooyoung and apparently all the upperclassmen already have an eye on him. He’s in our major so we really lucked out, hot guys-wise.”

Fuck’s sake.

Surely you could just avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist?

But no.

Jung fucking Wooyoung turned out to be the apple of the campus’ eye in a matter of 2 weeks. He was as new to the university as the rest of you and yet, managed to look more put together, cooler than the rest of you still struggling to figure out class numbers and professor names.

He was the upperclassmen darling- people drooled over him, wanted to befriend him, and invite him to all the big parties…

and fuck- even the teachers were already wrapped around his infuriating pinky finger. They allowed him to waltz into class 25 minutes late, smile his infuriating innocent smile and chill in the back row, scot fucking free.

A month in, he’d gotten into the Dance Club too- cementing his legendary status in the university. It was unheard of, after all, for a freshman to get into the unattainable Dance Club in his first attempt.

You happened to visit one of the club’s performances one weekend and even you couldn’t ignore the sheer talent he radiated. It only infuriated you more to watch Wooyoung hog the stage’s spotlight with almost no effort- all perfect lines, sharp and clean movements…

It’s fine, you could still ignore his existence

But no.

Another thing about Jung Wooyoung- he found sick pleasure in annoying the living daylights out of you.

It was so juvenile, so high-school, so immature of him- sticking gum in your hair, snapping your bra strap, kicking the back of your chair, striking up nonsense debates with you in class…

And then he had the nerve to laugh in your face when you glared at him with hellfire in your eyes because you were too polite to lash out in front of a professor.

Of course, you exhibited no such restraint outside the classroom.

“You vs Woo” was a commonplace explanation for the commotions that blazed up in the campus courtyard every other day. You were like wolves, the way you snarled at each other, not hesitating to slash at each other with as many cutting words as you could find.

This went on for months, an entire semester marred by an enmity that seemed to stem from nothing- until one day, mister Jung Wooyoung really fucked up.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WORM!” Your angry yelling and thudding on the door had Wooyoung’s roommates Yeosang and… Choi San? running to open the door to their shared dorm room.

You barged into Wooyoung’s room, unplugging the game he was playing. “What the fuck-”

“You dirty fucking bastard. You shameless shitstain of a fucking human being-”

Slap. Wooyoung reeled back. In all this time, you’d never actually hit out at him physically. It had always been words. Maybe this time he crossed a line?

“You told Changbin I had a fucking STD. THE GALL OF YOU-” You lashed out at him with every few words, pushing Wooyoung further back against the back wall of his room.

“How fucking dare you make assumptions about me like that. you lowlife scumbag.” You snarled in his face, now having him trapped between you and the wall.

You were smaller than him by quite a bit- it was almost amusing to see Wooyoung cowering in front of you, lowkey terrified of what you’d throw at him next.

“Okay okay, fuck, I’m sorry!” He burst out finally, cutting you right across your angry rant. “I didn’t mean it like that!! I swear, I didn’t even know you were the one he was talking about. And I only told him to be safe from STDs, not that anybody had one.”

“What makes you think I’ll believe you, Jung,” You screeched. “You’ve always been a dick in general to me. I wouldn’t put it past you to say something like that and lie to my face about it.”

You back away, almost disgusted at being so close to him, “Seriously, dude. Get fucked.” Flipping him off before leaving, you turn around to look at him still standing where you’d backed him up to, an evil glint in your eye.

“It will be so fucking unfortunate if somebody told the campus gossip blog you had erectile dysfunction and your hookups were all fake.”

Safe to say, Wooyoung never made digs at your sexual activity again.

Neither did he have much sexual activity of his own for a while. Not that there was much sexual activity in your case either.

Maybe it was that exact…starvation that led Wooyoung to behave the way he did.

What was juvenile teasing became more… flirtatious?

Oh gods, what the fucking fuck is going on-

Suddenly, it wasn’t gum in your hair, it was soft whispers against your ear, breath warm against your cheek

It wasn’t kicking the back of your chair, it was leaning in front of you to fistbump Lee Felix on the other side of you until you could smell his intoxicating chocolate-honey-sweat scent.

He’d taken to taking his leather jacket off and sitting through classes (he still turned up late for) in a muscle t shirt that showed off his toned arms-

All of his movements now seemed to be designed to tease the crawling under your skin you hadn’t been able to quench recently-

Not that you were a serial hookup kinda person, but you’d been fairly sexually active until semester exams and Wooyoung’s rumors had brought around quite a dry spell for you.

It was like every action of his sparked something wildfire hot in your head, tension stringing your senses into overdrive- were you imagining it?

Wooyoung was having some troubles with said crawling under-skin himself.

Since when did you wear skinny jeans like that to class? Did you always have such a pretty neck, just waiting to get marked up? Did you always have that sway to your hips when you walked out of class?

The forced abstinence was doing bad things to him.

It did rather amuse him, however, when he could see your breath catch a little from his murmurings in your ear, or squirm in your seat when he spoke to Felix before the professor arrived. It was the little things, truly.

You still fought like a cat and dog though- there was no way the two of you would ever let on that your scope of noticing each other had gone beyond annoyance and rivalry a while ago.

“Fuck no. I’m not doing this fucking project with you. It’s worth half the fucking grade and you’re a numbskull when it comes to this subject.”

“Like I want to deal with you anymore than I have to, sweetheart. You’re pretentious enough in class as it is.”

Fate really loved playing the cliche card with you- of course you got paired up with Wooyoung for one of your semester projects.

No, it definitely wasn’t the teacher that saw you two glaring more at each other more than the whiteboard and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Of fucking course the teacher refused to allow switching of partners or individual grading- it had to be a team effort or you’d both fail the subject. As a team. Yippee-ki fucking yay.

So you two ended up in the library at 11 p.m, two nights before your first check point review, having procrastinated the fuck out of working together until the last possible minute.

Amidst cursing at each other and cups of ramen and iced americano, the two of you found yourself stuck with each other and attempting to build the basis of an acceptable report to present.

Surprisingly enough, Wooyoung wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to the subject. He actually made sizable contributions to the report. He even got you some coffee on his break, despite the jibes and taunts you threw at him about going soft- you were the type to hold a grudge.

You were both wandering down the shelves in the library, looking for more references when Wooyoung decided to open his big mouth again.

“You do realize that shitty rumor you put out didn’t really mess with my prospects, right?” Wooyoung was so full of shit. “If anything, I’d be worried about you, sweetheart.”

There it was again. Sweetheart. Another of those taunting things that just riled you up in all the wrong(right) ways. It was like he knew everything you would go weak for and then shamelessly exploited them all.

“Unlike you, Wooyoung, I don’t need people to stroke my ego…or anything else. I can get myself going just fine.”

“If you did know how to stroke anybody’s anything, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have trouble getting some.”

Ohhh, so he wants to play some games!!! Okay then-

You reached out to flick at his ponytail, ever-so slightly enamoured by how well he pulled off the double-toned look.

“Like you know anything about how to please in bed, babe.”

It was unfair how much that nickname falling from your lips affected Wooyoung. Some…not very appropriate thoughts had already taken root in his brain and you running your mouth was not helping at all.

“Good enough for them to beg, sweetheart.”

A soft crow of laughter escaped you as you turned to fully face him, the both of you standing between the Greek Architecture and Geography sections.

“You sure you weren’t the one doing the begging?”

“Oh, really now?”

You really should’ve thought through what was leaving your mouth

Because now you were wedged between the shelves and Wooyoung’s (unfairly) toned body, his arms caging you in with that signature shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned closer to you-

The tension was almost atrocious now, suffocating you when it had only previously nudged at you. You could feel it settle under your skin, in your veins, fingers itching to reach out and pull him closer

But you kept your hands braced against the shelves- you would not give him the satisfaction of making the first move yourself…right?

Fuck, you really wanted to though-

It had be the late hour leaving you with lesser inhibitions than normal or possibly the pent up horny in your system or maybe the questionable direction your conversation was headed in

There was no other plausible reason for your arch nemesis’ lips to look that inviting

It must’ve been the way your attention flitted from his eyes to his lips that gave you away, a momentary lapse of self-control before you looked away, off to some point behind his shoulders-

And he smirk only widens

“You know, nobody really visits this corner of the library.”

“Your point?”

Both your voices were whispers now, your bodies close enough to touch but not quite, Wooyoung’s face a few inches away from yours and holding your gaze

(He had honey flecks in those dark eyes, 7 on one side and 4 on the other, like gold leaf in coffee)

“We could easily find out who begs for who…”

He still hadn’t touched you yet, his hands placed on the shelf on either side of you- you could move out from the space if you so wished-

Despite the tension between the both of you, it seemed like… like he was waiting for you to make the first move, voice your consent, act on it

How considerate, you thought to yourself as you let your sight wander to either side, checking for people

Surprising you found Jung Wooyoung’s one possible redeeming quality like this, mind hazy and barely restraining yourself from kissing the living daylights out of him-

Oh well, fuck it

A soft sound left Wooyoung as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to yours, lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss

How dare he be a good kisser too?

One hand reached up to cup your cheek and you instinctively tilted your head into the warmth of his palm as the kiss deepened

Unfair that he could take your breath away so effortlessly

There was nothing hesitant about the way Jung wooyoung kissed you back

Lips pressing more persistently against yours, teeth grazing your lower lip and pulling slightly before diving in again, hand now curled around the back of your neck

His other hand caressed your side and gripped your hips as he pressed you gently against the shelves, your arm slipping down to clutch at the front of his shirt as his body molded all too perfectly against yours

You could feel him everywhere

Everywhere

From the way his lips had begun to land messy kisses against your jaw and neck, the hand on your hip tightening and slipping under your shirt to clutch at soft skin, hips flush against yours

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from Wooyoung, your head spinning at the intoxicating feeling he brought with him

The sensation of his mouth against your neck was almost euphoric, your head lolling back against the books and leaving you to pull your lower lip between your teeth, an almost futile feeling bid to keep silent, you’re still in public

Somehow your hands wound up in his hair, pulling the double-toned strands as his head dipped lower, a quiet groan from Wooyoung your only pointer that he liked it

So this is why he was so sure of himself, your mind temporarily blanking when Wooyoung’s teeth pulled against the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently

A choked, uneven sound escaped your mouth when he pushed you harder against the shelves, hand reaching lower to squeeze your butt-

A smirk lit up his eyes as he straightened up to look at the line of red- blue blooming across your neck, then at you, cheeks warm and still biting your lip, looking resolutely away from his gaze

“Weren’t we supposed to be working on the project?”

This little buzzkill.

You didn’t work on the project that night

You spent it in Wooyoung’s bedroom, getting railed within an inch of your life.

Not without the lack of the both of you being absolutely unable to keep your hands off each other on the way there

Between the library and his dorm, you pulled or got pulled into shady alleys and corners for ‘another taste’

“Never again.” You warned him when he dropped you off at your dorm, you looking windswept from the wind of course and his hoodie up because of the cold not because his neck was more purple than tan-

Lies.

Your daytime dynamic remained the same

But now with added benefits-

He got to corner you after class, feel you up until you were gasping his name and then leave you hanging

You got to make brazen moves under the table in the library whenever he got too snarky for his own good

He could ask nicely, you learnt. Broken groans and choked-up sounds would escape him when you ran your nails over his skin, soft and sharp and wanting and unyielding as you kissed your way down his body

Down his neck, over his chest, the hard planes of his stomach

He would plead for more when you sucked him off, bucking his hips closer to you everytime you slowed down or stopped

Find him at the right time, though and he could just as easily return the favour

He would tease you relentlessly, hands ghosting everywhere dangerous and then pulling away just to watch you squirm and make grabby hands at him, a frown marring your kiss- swollen lips

Leave conspicuous marks too high up on your neck for you to cover, dark enough for a day or two that even makeup left shadows

Spending a long, long time between your legs only to get up and start dressing, claiming to be late for class

Quickies were your religion at this point

Janitors closets locked and hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans before a dance competition, empty bedrooms in frat parties with one of you getting pushed onto the bed

It was an infernal coupon from hell : Find one archrival, get a fuck buddy free of cost!

Of course, there were side effects

“Did you just walk out of that empty classroom with Jung Wooyoung? After class hours?” “We were studying for the midterms!!”

“Uh.. Wooyoung, who was that leaving the dorm building? at 1 in the morning?” “uh yEAH WE WERE DOING THE PROJECT YEAH.”

Yeah, a boyfriend sounds nice but an archenemy you can make out with in secret sounds ravishingly pleasing-

When the boy in question is a certain young man with double toned hair with a penchant for leather jackets and out-of-line snark, you couldn’t agree more.

Yes, this is a revamp and repost from my main account xD. Like I said, this was self indulgence to the peak 😩 I'm a tad whipped for snarky boy Jung Wooyoung 😀

Do lemme know what you think ^_^. xoxo, A💕

Possibly interested parties: @aliceu @whiteprincessofnohr

(drop me an ask to be added or removed! )

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #ana.writes ateez #atz #atz x reader #atz imagines #atz smut

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full-of-roman-angst-trash · 3 years

Text

A Prince’s Room Part 2

(I finally got past my writer’s block and finished part 2! Also I got some inspiration for this chapter from an amazing anon from this ask. So yeah, sorry this took so long to make, writing is hard)

TW: Unsympathetic Sides (Except for Roman), Self-Doubt, Cursing, Arguing, Injuries, Mention of starving once self and not sleeping, Mention of Manipulation, Quilt tripping, Blaming, Caps, Hurt no Comfort, Weapons, If I missed any, pleased tell me and I will add it.

Pairings: None

Word Count: 2384

~~~~~~~~

A few months have now passed since the awful accident. Roman was now in his room. He hasn’t eaten in about 4 weeks. He has kept hydrated and he occasionally slept once in a while. Well, more like he would wait until his body gave out and forced him to sleep. While the sides didn’t need to physically take care of themselves as normal people do, they can choose to be affected by things like starvation and sleep deprivation. And, Roman chose to let it affect it.

He considered this his punishment. His punishment for being so stupid. He had one reason to live. One reason to continue fighting despite how much it hurt him. To make his friends happy. To please them. And he failed. He failed so badly. All those days of taking notes, of observing their friends closely, of forcing himself to change. All of that, for nothing. All the struggles and self-inflicted punishments for participating in what he labeled a bad habit, just for him to mess it all up. Just for him to make the dumbest mistake that will make all his work for nothing. He couldn’t stop thinking of where he went wrong. Was it letting himself lose track of time on the day of the confrontation? Was it leaving the chart in such an obvious place? Was it naming the chart “Duties”? Was it making the chart in the first place? He couldn’t decide. All he knew was that he lost the war. He had prided himself on winning thousands of battles. But in the end, he let himself lose the war. He lost by his own hands. And now all he had left was nothing more than toxic thoughts and a torn-up room.

He knew that he couldn’t die, at least not from something like starvation, so he just sat there suffering. He gave up on giving Thomas ideas. He didn’t think it was worth staying up all night or constantly fighting writer’s block. He didn’t think it was worth sitting through the harsh criticisms of the others. It just wasn’t worth it. Nothing was. Not anymore.

The others knew about Roman’s absence, they just didn’t care. In fact, they enjoyed it. They were happy that they no longer had to deal with a fake friend. On top of that, they were glad he didn’t have to deal with his dramatics. They no longer had to deal with his excessive talking that many times was too loud. They didn’t have to deal with him constantly talking about Disney or another interest for hours non-stop. They didn’t have to deal with his nonsense stories that often derailed and became off-topic. They didn’t have to deal with his loud singing at random times of the day. They didn’t have to deal with him constantly accidentally bumping into them every time he would dance around the living room. They didn’t have to deal with him. It was a breath of relief for them.

What they did care about though, was his lack of work. They cared that Thomas had been in a creative block for months. They cared that he wasn’t working on scripts for the next video. They cared that he wasn’t going out to auditions. They cared that they had no way to make money.

And so soon, they got fed up with it. They were tired of not being able to make money from their main source of income. They were tired of Thomas just sitting around and wasting time. They were tired of Roman just being selfish, but none of them wanted to talk to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, what are we going to do now?” Logan looks at the others.

They all decided to gather in the living room to hopefully construct a plan of action.

Virgil rolls his eyes in annoyance, “I don’t care but whatever it is, I am not going to talk to that bastard.”

“Kiddo, language,” Patton mumbles.

The anxious side just rolls his eyes in response.

“Can you all focus?! We need to figure this out! Thomas can’t continue neglecting his job!” Logan says, starting to get frustrated with the others.

“Wow, thanks for the information Logan,” Janus starts sarcastically, “It’s not like we didn’t already know that.”

The logical side turns to the snake-like side, “Shut up Janus. If you already know this then how about you help me find a solution!”

Now Janus starts getting mad, “Isn’t that supposed to be your job! You’re the logical one!”

“Enough!” Patton intervenes, “This isn’t getting us anywhere!”

Remus laughs, finding the others bickering quite entertaining.

“What are you laughing about?” The moral side asks pointedly.

The intrusive side shrugs, “I just think it’s funny when you guys argue.”

That’s when a full fight breaks out. Everyone yelling at each other and insulting one another. This happened quite often nowadays. Ever since the accident tensions have been very high, often overspilling into massive arguments. They didn't want to argue. They didn't like to constantly sit in a room fueled by tension. They didn’t like carefully picking out what to say. Walking on eggshells so thin that the smallest amount of added weight made that sea of eggshells crumble in seconds.

In the end, though, it never mattered. No matter how careful they were. How much they didn’t want to argue and fight. Or how much they wanted the tension gone. It didn't matter. Because in the end, all their efforts were for nothing. The sea of eggshells was always broken. The tension always built up to a suffocating extent. And it was frustrating for them. So, they took out that frustration on each other.

About half an hour later of them just arguing, Patton decided it was enough.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP! WE CAN'T CONTINUE DOING THIS! WE NEED TO FIND A SOLUTION TO OUR PROBLEM AND THIS IS GETTING US NOWHERE!"

Everyone went quiet and just stared at Patton for a bit.

Eventually, Logan spoke up, "You're right. We should all go to confront Roman and convince him to stop being unreasonable."

It takes a bit of convincing but eventually, everyone agrees to the plan. So, they start making their way over to Roman’s room.

Once they get to Roman’s room, Virgil is the one to begrudgingly knock on the door. Minutes pass and there’s no answer making all of them frustrated. So, this time Remus knocks on the door, much harsher and louder.

There’s still no answer.

So, in an act of frustration and anger, Remus breaks the door down. The second he does a terrified scream fills the room, startling all of them. When they take in the scenery, they all feel their hearts sink.

The room itself was a mess. All the posters and papers were ripped off the walls and laying on the floor, crumpled and torn to bits. The actual paint on the walls was scratched off, nail markings and dried blood in its place. Makeup and art supplies littered the floor, most of it was no longer usable. Medals and prizes were either broken or accompanying the rest of the mess on the floor.

The most heartbreaking part about the situation in front of them though was the small trembling figure in the corner.

Roman looked pale and sickly. He was significantly skinnier than the last time the others had seen him. He was shaking so much, it looked like the smallest touch would shatter him. His eyes had deep bags underneaths his eyes, once that easily beat Virgil’s. It was upsetting, to say the least.

They slowly begin to make their way over, noting how the sickly side didn't react at all. They stop a few feet in front of him.

"R-Roman….?" Patton calls him quietly.

He doesn't respond. Not even move, well aside from his shaking.

"R-Robro pl-please…." Remus tries, his voice deep with regret and uncertainty.

No response from the broken side.

Logan decides to move closer and place a hand on the other side's shoulder gently, immediately noticing how cold he was. Before he can say anything, Roman slaps his hand away and tries to move further into the corner, whimpering when he realized he couldn't.

Logan steps away, startled by Roman’s actions. It was now Janus's turn to try anything. He goes over and kneels in front of the creative side.

He speaks softly, "Roman, can you hear me….?"

Roman hugs his knees and buries his face in them, going back to not moving or responding.

Virgil groans quietly and steps forward, "Come on Princey. This isn’t funny."

"Virgil is right," Logan says, "This is impractical and a waste of time. Thomas needs you to get back to work. Stop acting like a child and letting all these things affect you. You're not human, you can't die."

"I hate to agree with them kiddo," Patton speaks up, "But, they're right. You can't continue doing this."

Suddenly Roman stands up, ignoring the dizziness it brought him. His legs were shaking so much that it seemed like his knees would just give out underneath him. Yet, he stood strong, his anger very visible.

“Get the fuck out of my room! All of you FUCK OFF!”

Patton quickly reacts, “Roman! Language! We’re here to help you and you’re being ungrateful! We’re trying to fix your mistakes!”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE!” Patton flinches and hides behind the others.

Everyone else is completely speechless.

“YOU’RE NOT HERE TO HELP ME! YOU’RE HERE TO QUILT TRIP ME INTO THINKING THAT I’M IN THE WRONG AND THAT I’M THE CAUSE OF ALL THIS! GUESS WHAT? I WON’T FALL FOR YOUR SHIT ANYMORE!”

Remus manages to find his voice, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN’T TREATED US LIKE SOME SORT OF TASKS NONE OF THIS WOULD BE HAPPENING!”

Roman turns to Remus, summoning his sword and nearly slashing his twin with it, however, Remus was able to block it with his morning star in time.

“I DIDN’T TREAT YOU GUYS LIKE TASKS! IF YOU HAD ALL JUST SHUT UP AND LET ME SPEAK ON THAT FUCKING DAY YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT THE GRAPH WAS ACTUALLY FOR!”

“Enough!” Janus says in a harsh and serious tone, mad that Roman tried to hurt Remus.

Logan sighs, “Roman, what was the graph for?”

Roman grits his teeth and puts his sword away when he sees Janus glaring at him.

“The graph was to try and keep you guys happy! It had lists of what you guys liked and made you happy so that I could please you all and make sure I didn’t FUCK UP OUR FRIENDSHIP! BECAUSE GUESS WHAT?! YOU ALL WERE THE ONE THING THAT GAVE ME A REASON TO CONTINUE DOING MY JOB AND LIVING! YOU GUYS WERE THE REASON I STILL CONSIDERED IT WORTH IT TO GET UP EVERY MORNING! WAS THE NAME OF THE GRAPH BAD? YES! I REGRET NAMING IT THAT BUT WHEN I CAME UP WITH IT I COULDN’T THINK OF A BETTER NAME BECAUSE OF THE HORRIBLE CREATOR’S BLOCK I HAD!” Hot angry tears flow down Roman’s face as he takes harsh, semi-short breaths.

Every other side suddenly freezes. Remus lowers his morning star. Janus’s glare vanishes. Virgil, who was standing in front of Patton in a defensive position, dropped his guard. Patton’s face goes pale and ghostly. Logan bites his tongue a bit and tenses slightly.

The other sides don’t dare to say anything and instead just watch Roman, who is trying to desperately wipe his tears away and calm down to no avail.

“R-RoRo….” Remus decides to try and fix his mistake.

“Don’t.” Roman quickly shoots down any sort of apology they try and give him.

“R-Roman please….” Virgil shakily speaks, on the verge of an anxiety attack.

“Leave,” Roman looks away from them, fighting the urge to forgive them and fall into their abuse again.

Janus takes a deep breath, “Please let us talk-”

This makes Roman’s blood boil all over again, “OH DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT!” His tears start again, “Not after everything I’ve been through because YOU all REFUSED to let ME talk!”

They go quiet again, watching the once prince-like side with pity.

“You don’t get to cast me aside and make my life a living hell, then once you learn the truth try and to apologize to make yourselves feel better! I REFUSE TO FALL FOR YOUR FUCKING GAMES AGAIN! Just SECONDS ago you were all dismissing my feelings just to get me to work and make you guys money again! I’m DONE! SO. GET. OUT. OF. MY. ROOM!”

They don’t dare to try and argue again. They all start walking out of the room. Roman keeps his eyes to the floor, once again trying to stop his tears with little success.

Then just before he hears his door close, he hears words that add salt to his thousands of wounds.

“I’m sorry.”

From a voice, he quickly identified, Patton…

Roman punches the wall in rage, not caring or even flinching when the wall breaks and his knuckles bleed.

He falls to the floor, hugging himself tightly as he sobbed. All the pain he felt from that unfortunate day that spiraled everything out of proportion, now back a million times worse. As well as the pain of having to confront the very people he once loved and fighting the urge to hug them and just forgiven them for the sake of being loved again.

The guilt-filled sides all went back to their individual rooms and, much like Roman, broke down. Their tears filled with regret and self-hate.

But, even if Roman could hear their cries from his room or as he passed their rooms to get food, he didn’t feel bad. They only cared after he snapped at them. They never tried and asked for his side of his story during the time he was locked in his room. He didn’t feel bad for them because he knew they didn’t really care about him. Instead, they cared about their own emotions and conscience.

So as he walked back to his room after getting some snacks, once again passing through the loud sobs, he pledges to never let them win again by blindly trusting them and giving them his friendship.

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solesurvivorpaigeargot · 4 years

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Okay but let’s talk about the opening of Fallout 4

And I’m not talking about the part where you gotta pantomime your way through a half-hour of BS at least before you’re actually allowed to step out into the world and get shite started [seriously Bethesda, if you’re gonna keep making openings like this, please include a ‘get to the point’ option and stop making modders do it for you. First time it’s interesting, second time it’s mind-numbing.] I’m talking about when you roll up on the museum and have to help out Preston and the gang-- and I’m just gonna rant for a few paragraphs here so here’s a read-more cut so I don’t clog up dashes too badly.

Fallout 4 never gives you the chance to value human life.

Fallout 3 had this issue as well, but it’s even more glaring in 4 because in 3 an order came down for your death. When you aren’t given a choice, what you’re doing can at least be penciled in as self-defense. 4 expects you to devalue raiders and treat them as unreasonable threats, to see them as a shooting gallery and nothing else... but there’s a serious problem with the framing.

You made me pantomime being a normal person for the first 30 min to hour of your experience, and now you’re telling me a normal person can just pick up a gun and start popping people with no moral issues.

This is required to even get close enough to talk to Preston. He might take out all the raiders if you’re willing to wait 20 minutes, but when you put yourself into the role play head space of a character, what kind of person ducks behind the sandbags and waits for the dude with the laser to pick everyone off? And there is no force preventing you from simply running away, this is true-- but doing so simply removes your ability to interact with what is a core mechanic of the game a-la the minutemen and establishing settlements. So if you wanna keep the game experience intact, and follow along with the mission? Murder is required, without any time taken out to consider the value of human life or if that murder is justified, or if your character is capable of that kind of violence.

To say I dislike this headspace in shooters, that whomever the denoted ‘bad’ group is are just okay to treat as squishy playthings, more so in shooters that try to integrate choice and morality, is a massive understatement. There are plenty of other things in the commonwealth that could threaten a group of settlers that aren’t people, and framing us as a normal person [PARTICULARLY IF YOU PLAY AS ‘NORA’ WHO WAS NOT A MILITARY MEMBER] who is just immediately ready for this is ASSUMPTIVE BULLSHIT. More so when you remember that if you played as ‘Nate’ this dissonance would be less-- it assumes a male audience who would choose the male protagonist, and his military service makes this opening a lot smoother. But when you don’t? It becomes batshit insane. Your average lawyer is not ready to just pick up a gun and wreck people, even when there are innocents on the line.

So, if ya like, I’m gonna propose an ‘alternate’ idea for what this mission could have been that would have kept all the same elements. The raiders, the power armor, the deathclaw-- but not forced the player character directly into murder.

Step 1: Finding Dogmeat.

When we find Dogmeat, he appears to be just... wandering the gas station? And yeah, he’s in our path, but Mama Murphy appears to think that Dogmeat went and found you, so let’s take that a step further. Let’s say Dogmeat actually ran and found you-- that he spawns into the world when you get past the footbridge, and no matter where you go from there Dogmeat will find and bark at you. That no matter how you treat him, Dogmeat will try to lead you to Concord and ruin your stealth by running in circles around you and barking if you try to go the wrong way. That this pupper is trying to find someone to help his group, he found you.

Step 2: The approach.

So say we follow Dogmeat, who leads us to where the raiders and Preston’s group are in standoff. And yeah, sure, we pass the main road where they’re all sandbagged up, but Dogmeat leads us around back to a rear entrance the raiders have not yet realized exists. Possibly a fire escape that has a ladder that could be released from above that was pulled up when Preston and co hunkered down. While, yes, the player could choose to engage the raiders at this point, deciding they’ve seen enough and take on the museum from the front? Going around, Dogmeat barking, and Mama appearing to let the ladder down because she probably knew you were coming gives you a non-violent in. Why haven’t the group left? There’s too many of them to just sneak out, Mama is old and slow, and Jun is nearly catatonic. No changes have to be made to the group to make that path out non-viable, it’s simply a way for you to get in, speak to Preston, and understand what the fuck we’re dealing with here without the one and only solution being kill everyone-- though the power armor is posited as something that might be helpful in a show of force to get the raiders to fuck the fuck off.

Step 3: The Raiders.

Banditry is not something ‘bad people’ do. It is an act of desperation. The idea that all the raiders are just the most repugnant people on the planet, and there appears to be no fuckin’ end to them is the same flavor of bullshit that’s used in all that war on drugs propaganda 50′s politicians were so high on. The idea of ‘Oh, the raiders are just bad people, so it’s okay to shoot at them’ ignores that they are people. People with lives. People with motivations. People who had their own path that led to where they are and what they’re doing. And what motivates a person to this kind of violence?

Starvation, usually. And I’ll be the first to say I don’t make great decisions when I’m hungry, either, but let’s dig a little deeper on this. Let’s step into the role of the leader of a raider group for a few seconds, get into this head space, and think about what’s going down with Preston’s group.

Imagine that I am a leader of a raider band. Let’s imagine that it started as me and a friend getting forced out of Diamond city, possibly given exile, because we couldn’t find work and decided to steal some food. The lack of work was no fault of our own; me and my friend may not have known the right people, or had the right skill sets, or been willing to take work that risked our lives as if we were worth nothing. Maybe we survived on good will for a while, but after so many hungry days got desperate, held up the Dugout for all the caps they had, or stole food from the general store, and tried to run with the take before we got caught. Whether we were caught, stripped of our gains, and then thrown out, or we got away-- we now have a place we can’t go anymore, and are at the mercy of the outside world. Are we bad? Are we bad because we were starving to death and desperate? Am I bad for coming up with a not great plan but at least trying to take action rather than just quietly dying in a gutter? I just wanted to eat. So now me and my friend are drifters, and we stick together because we’re all we got. And maybe we meet another drifter here, and another one there, and on some hungry night someone gets the idea that hey, if we all jump out from the side of the road and threaten a trader, maybe they’ll drop some of their stock without a fight?

We don’t want caps. We want food. We can’t spend the caps, and we don’t wanna get into a fight because none of us can get treatment-- we’re exiles and criminals. We don’t want blood, we want to eat.

So we threaten a trader, and that goes well-- we got supplies! But those supplies don’t erase our records. We still need to live, and this food is only gonna last so long. The traders know about us now, they talk-- even if we got money, who the hell would trust us? No one, that’s who. Even better, sounds like our little hold-up horned in on some other group’s territory that we didn’t even know about, and they ain’t happy with us. We all have guns, but none of us have ever killed anyone. None of us want to. We just wanted to eat.

So did the other group. They just wanted to eat, too, but they saw us horning in on their territory. Their take. Those supplies belonged to them. They have mouths to feed. More than us, probably. We stole from them, and all we wanted was to eat.

Whatever happens next is desperate, and it’s a baptism in blood. It’s a process of alienation. While there may be a select few who are actually out of their gourd and enjoy the violence, the majority of people who engage in banditry are desperate and hungry.

So what the hell does this have to do with the group holding up Preston’s group?

By all rights, Preston’s group does not have anything a gang of raiders wants. Even if they’re far enough along that caps have value to them again, able to do trade with their own network, injuries are expensive and often lead to permanent disability because these groups lack consistent access to medical supplies and knowledge, and fatalities means your crew is down an important and useful member. SO WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY WANT?

In the canon encounter, what they want is nothing. They want to wipe out Preston’s group because the game said so [I think there’s a terminal entry about it later, like they’re getting paid or something, but no payment is worth getting wiped out the way they did, and you don’t run a group that big on blind arrogance alone. Gristle woulda been displaced by then. All the caps in the world aren’t worth your life; you can’t feed dead crew members, and greed is useless when you’re blacklisted from all the settlements with any sense of luxury] They exist to shoot at. But when we ascribe motivation to them, what the fuck do they want?

The power armor.

It’s a tool; something that would change the balance of power in the area, make other groups think twice and lower the chance of losses when trying to gain supplies. Screw wiping these morons out, there’s only five of them left-- hold them at stand-off for a day or so until someone breaks and asks to negotiate, make them drop everything they’ve got as the toll for getting out, and then the group steps in to take the prize. There’s no need for anyone to get shot, just gotta starve ‘em out a little and then let them run with their lives.

Step 4: The Death Claw

So we have a stand-off situation that could... probably be pretty easily negotiated through without major loss of life. Your player character is a third party, after all. Opens up some non-lethal ways of doing things if you wanna convince Preston and co to give up all their stuff if it means getting out with their lives. Likewise, a high speech character could possibly go to Gristle and convince him that you’ve seen the power armor and it’s wrecked, no worth the effort he’s spending on bottling this crew up, and the men he’s probably already lost in the process. Or maybe a character with high intelligence could work with Sturges to sabotage the power armor, handing it over to the raiders knowing that in a day or two it’ll fall apart. All of these make for some interesting shades-of-gray choices...

Then the deathclaw shows up. In the middle of negotiation. Everyone gets forced up to the upper floor; no time to kill each other, there’s a giant murder machine prowling around the lobby and it is only a matter of time before it climbs up to the second floor and starts ripping out walls and doors to get at people.

This could have served to make the situation even more interesting-- if you’d gone aggro in the beginning and started killing raiders in the streets, you have less people to deal with a massive threat that could kill the fuck out of you. If you’d been in the middle of convincing the raiders to take a sabotaged set of power armor, you’d have to explain to them why the power armor isn’t gonna help you... or let Gristle take it and get murdered when it freezes up and leaves him stranded to get ripped out of the can and munched. Is that murder? How’s the player feel about that? Meanwhile, if you hadn’t killed anyone and were in the middle of negotiating a bloodless solution, you might have a chance of unifying everyone to take down the deathclaw-- possibly with a future bonus that Gristle and his crew wanna go straight and giving you the choice to set them up within your settlement system, or becoming yet another ‘civilized’ system that won’t work with them because they’re too far gone.

...................... I may have to write another fic just to explore these ideas in a modified canon.

#Fallout 4 #Preston #Raiders #Gristle #speculation #choice

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thedumbguywithaheart43 · 3 years

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BoomLord's weird adventure

Chapter 17 where's the storm?

Twilight and boom Lord both laid back on the bed the question still hung in the air. How do they tell their friends as even they weren't sure how it happened. For now though the two seemed content just laying there leaving the question for later."well it's probably not the best idea to rush it for now I just like to take a bit of time as I'd like to get to know the person who somehow taken my breath away."twilight's worried face disappeared as boom said this a look of interest on her. Who could blame her even though they knew the kind of people they were and much of the base stuff they were still so much mystery and mystery can be quite intriguing. She leaned into one allowing him to embrace her, wrapping his arms around her."okay well tell me about your kind to be honest even when uh."her face filled with a blush 'shit Twilight how do I tell him about my experience with humans."Boom started to chuckle finding it hard not to burst out in complete laughter. Her face was so flustered it was funny to him."Twilight I'm aware of your time as a human beforehand I know many things about you...er.. well that sounded creepier than I wanted it to."He quickly looked away before looking back to her gaze.'Of course he knows' she thought before holding back her own chuckle."okay then well tell me about humans."Boom let out a sigh. Truth be told he was waiting for this question yeah just expected it to happen later on."well humans are a complicated species and it's not always a happy tale when it comes to us."This only made Twilight more curious as she leaned in."humans are some of greatest creatures in the Omniverse and they're also the worst in it. In every world in every Galaxy in every multiverse where there are humans there are war, deaths ,hunger, starvation we commit terrible horrible Acts for the dumbest reasons."twilight's face went blank for a moment."we fight over land over opinions for love and hate.The ones over love can can often be the bloodiest."a distant look entered boom's eyes those Twilight looked up at him with soft eyes."I don't understand how can love it's a wonderful thing create such a terrible act?"her voice was sorrowfull admittedly the conversation was pretty so far."Twilight you'll find many things in our adventures but nothing more powerful than love. Love can be a terrible thing when misused it can lead to rejection obsession and betrayal ultimately that leads to death the bloodiest wars in my history may have started with acts of love. Trust me I've witnessed it first hand."He look down at the beautiful girl in his arms looking like she was about to cry 'Ah shit them what the fuck are you doing!' He took a deep breath determined to give Twilight a more satisfying ending to the question."but Twilight even for the many faults of humans we are capable of great acts together when we put aside our petty differences we have built towers that reach into the sky vehicles that extend into the Stars and relationships stronger than steel."He reached down grabbing her hand intertwining their fingers."and well love can lead to terrible things the best things in life are pointless without it. Without Love there can be no compassion sympathy loyalty and the other elements that you and your friends represent. And it's love that keeps us going In the Blake is of times. One day in the dark when there's no hope no future insight love love is all it takes to make a light."twilight's expressions slowly turned back into a joyful one as she leaned up nuzzling into his chin."you know you wouldn't make bad poet."Boom give out a snort."nah I ain't got the patience for that I'd rather just blow stuff up."the two of them burst out and laughing before embracing each other once more however it was time to face the day.

2 The pair quietly open the door before heading downstairs towards the exit of the castle. It had been a few days since Twilight or boom had spoken to spike mostly Fluttershy and AppleJack were keeping an eye on him bringing him gems and other food. Mostly candy. Once the two actually entered the main courtyard many of the candy citizens took notice of them taking a sigh of relief noticing that it wasn't Pinky. They were sick of having to replace their buildings."man it's so weird being in the Candy Kingdom without peppermint Butler announcing my presence."she turned to look at him with a confused expression one that she had had several times today."okay I've met a lot of candy people but whose peppermint Butler?" Boom shruged." Just the smartest person in the Candy Kingdom next to princess bubblegum sadly he won't be around for a bit he's currently recovering from an incident so I don't think he'll be around much."he decided not telling her about the dark magic would be for the best. The two of them eventually reaching the Cotton Candy Forest where the large form of Spike rested after a little bit of walking. Spike had remained relatively the same with Fluttershy and him playing Tic-Tac-Toe in the dirt. Currently Fluttershy was winning. Spike turned his head noticing the two approaching figures."hey guys what's up!"Spike blurted out in excitement. Twilight giggles going over to hug the giant head of Spike who nuzzled back. Boom can help but smile at this it was truly a sight to see. It's not every day a unicorn person hugs they're Giant dragon surrogate son. But booms of warm feeling quickly faded as another feeling took over. This was a feeling of dread of hatred but it wasn't his own. Boom turned his gaze to the forest we're a lone figure stood in the shadows. If it weren't for his demon eye you never would have spotted it. The figure was at least 7 ft tall dark black robes covered the entire body with a hood obscuring the face. Metal gauntlets were the only thing visible and in its hand was a small black cylinder object. An object boom knew too well. The figure in boom stared at each other for what felt like an eternity well Twilight talked with Spike about last few days their words faded in the background to him. But he had to act he knew exactly what was about to happen but he could only speak."run."Twilight and Spike caught notice of them along with Fluttershy. Twilight was about to say something before boom turned to her."RUN!"he screamed as the figure emerged from The Shadow holding up the cylinder and a blade of red light shot from it lighting up the area in a red glow.

3 the dragon and the two ponies looked at the face of their friend the terror across it and anger. They knew better than to question that face. Two girls quickly hopped on spikes back who took off towards the castle leaving boom with the figure."what's wrong boom didn't you miss me~."the figure mocked seductively in a female voice. Boom didn't respond as he pulled his guns from his satchel pointing them at her."not even slightly you piece of shit."she chuckled she enjoyed the anger coming from him and he knew it. But he couldn't help it it was the person he hated most in this world or any world."fuck you Lily!"boom unleashed six shots from each gun unloading them on her the flashes filling the forest. But she stood there the bullets merely creating Sparks on her as they fell to the ground."oh boomy did you really think your little guns were going to do shit against me?"a devious chuckle came from her her blade raised up in a fighting stance."it really was more about the principle of it."boom joked. The two stared for a minute."well I'm assuming you came here to kill me so why not get the fight over with already it's not like you'll win anyway!"boom fight desperately to keep his anger out of his voice but her presence only fueled it."boomy boomy I did want to kill you but now someone has showed me the right way~. They showed me the best way to get revenge is to make you suffer~."this time a cackle came from her as she raised her hand."but I wasn't quite sure how to go about it but thanks to those cute little friends of yours I now have something to torture you with. You always did have a taste for the Smart ones~."boom's red eye glowed in anger. Lily had just threatened his newfound relationship and it hadn't even been a day yet."if you lay a hand on her on any of them I will hunt you down till the last world falls! Not even palpatine will be able to save you from my wrath!"he roared at the saber welding woman."how will I have the time to torture your friends when you'll be too busy killing them~?"she asked. Boom's face went to one of anger to fear."you wouldn't!"he couldn't see her smile but he could feel it."oh I fucking dare~what's that thing you used to say bada bing bada boom or some shit~."she raised her hand as a stream of lightning left it hitting boom causing his body to fill with electricity. The pain for him was unbearable but it wasn't the pain that caused him to scream."NOOOOOO!"she then lifted boom tossing him towards the Candy Castle and he flew he flew all the way to the castle and right through the walls landing in the center chamber where everyone besides Spike was gathered. And his Golden eye shines one last time before turning red. A dark blood red.

#mlp fandom #adventure time #twilight sparkle #slight romance #fluttershy #star wars fandom #fanfic #writing #comedy #dramatic #action #mlp gen 4

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

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Little Bird: Chapter 20 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 19 here. Part 21 here.

Summary: You wonder where Ren got his teaching license. His education strategies are unorthodox.

Words: 4800

Warnings: snowballing, Commander Ren’s a Nasty Boi (tm)

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hi and welcome to Anna makes herself Sad. I love y'all so much--so happy to hear you enjoy Ren in this fic. I love writing him! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. I'm deeply appreciative of any and all feedback.

(p.s. sorry but snowballing is hot, deal with it)

You pushed open the two curtained French doors and walked into the den, easing them shut behind you. The lamps in the room were out--the only light spilling from a blazing fire at the hearth. A warm orange glow filtered through, an incandescent film, the room transformed into a sunset. Tall shadows stretched across cherry hardwood, now bubbling with a magma aurora, grazing the ivory wallpaper, revealing the tiny golden threads woven through its curling pattern. Gold-trim paintings gleamed at the sides of heavy maroon curtains, their inlaid marble settings flickering with the fire’s breath. Its heat crawled through your toes, up your ankles, inspiring sweat at the backs of your knees.

Or maybe what was making you sweat was at the opposite end of the room--your Commander, Kylo Ren, seated behind a large, chestnut desk, its thick Cabriole legs appearing delicate against the background of his enormous frame. In front of the desk was a single Chesterfield chair, upholstered in a luscious blue velvet. Ren, impassive, met your gaze, focus dipping over your figure before he straightened, directing you to sit with his eyes.

Throat dry, you obliged.

Under the pressure of his presence, even the scratching rustle of your dress as you sat seemed ear-splintering. You focused on the desk--across it was the Bible, open to Samuel. More notations in the margins in that loopy, lovely handwriting. Only one word was identifiable, underlined at the bottom of the page.

Obedience.

Ren’s stare lingered in the silence. You weren’t willing to break it. It was a rush of relief when he finally spoke.

“You’re not happy here.”

You raised a brow, studying the folds in your gloves. “No. I’m not.”

“That needs to change.”

“You’re saying you care about my happiness?” You still refused to meet his eyes.

“No.” He sat forward. “Your willingness. Your compliance.”

“My obedience?” You held back the snark in your voice.

Ren shifted again, thumbing the page in front of him. “It’s not enough to be obedient,” he said. “We strive for acceptance. Understanding. The end result is happiness.” He paused. “Tell me what needs rectifying.”

The words floated like buoys in your mind. He was, in his own bizarre way, asking your opinion--but what you wanted to say was never going to be what he wanted to hear. Finn’s words, distant, echoed: You’d have to get on his good side. Here now was an open opportunity to endear yourself to Ren, to bathe yourself in pliant understanding, to assuage his concerns and, with any hope, use your increased proximity for your own gain. All you needed to do was lie. You glanced at your hands again, tracing the seams of your gloves.

“I’m not sure if anything needs rectifying,” you said. “Some Handmaids are just… defective.”

“Defective.” The word shriveled on his tongue. “Is that how you classify yourself?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t really seem to get this stuff through my head, you know? I don’t think that means there’s anything wrong with the system.”

“You believe that the fault lies within your own shortcomings.”

“I do.” Your tone was even. Cool. And, hopefully, convincing. “There are plenty of Handmaids who don’t do the things I’ve done.” You sighed, as if frustrated with yourself. “You have to leave room for human error. The problem is with me. Gilead… I mean, what else could you do? There’s been a lot of thought put into it as it is.”

Ren sat, considering you, your heart a timpani in your temples, the distant echo of your concussion rapping the edge of your skull. Silent, he snapped to his feet, circling the desk. Then circling you. Every breath drawn into your lungs wilted in the silence of the den, his attention a laser, searing the perimeter of your skin. He stopped--you felt his powerful grip at the back of your chair.

“That’s not what you believe.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t believe you’re defective. Or that Gilead is errorless.”

Clearing your throat, you shrugged again. “How would you know that, sir?”

Ren swooped and pinched your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I’ve told you to use my name.”

His eyes, live coals glittering with the fire’s reflection, disintegrated the oxygen in your chest. Warmth licked a line up your spine to your nape.

“Kylo,” you corrected. You kept your neck straight. “How would you know that?”

He released you. “Because it’s not what I believe.”

“What?”

He returned to the head of the desk, looming over it, palms planted on either side of the Bible. His eyes roamed, searching for something either intangible or invisible, before looking at you.

“You’re not defective,” he said. “It’s precisely because you’re not like the others that I want to know what you think.” His jaw tightened. “I want to know what you want.”

You blinked. “What I…”

“If Gilead was errorless,” he said, “then you would accept your role. You would want for nothing.”

“You want me to want for nothing.”

A pause as he held you, briefly, in silence. “Yes.” His eye twitched. His lips trembled. “I want that.”

Your palate was more arid than a desert. His admission battered your guard. How could it be that both of you could sit, drenched in your desire for the other, each attempting to justify it through your politics? Here you were, pretending that you craved a connection to him only for the benefit of the Resistance. And here he was, using Gilead as an excuse to secure your safety, your happiness.

Perhaps he’d been right. You and Ren were separated by a mirror’s edge--one and the same, both bound by shame and fear. Honesty could be your only respite from this misery. Whether he was ready for it or not.

“I want you, Kylo.” To speak the words into existence, acknowledge their truth with your tongue felt more dangerous than anything you’d done since entering his home. “I want you in ways I can’t have you. To know you in ways I can’t, ever.” An ache throbbed its way to your skin, pulsing raw and red from your belly. “And all of that is Gilead’s fault.”

Ren watched you, chest swelling with air, his shirt buttons straining with each breath, his shoulders crowding. The tendons in his hands tensed like violin strings tightened to the tune of his conflict, the tips of his fingers paling as they scraped the desk. His lips parted, his tongue darting to wet them. He’d caged an animal behind his flesh--an animal that, having heard its name, wanted nothing more now than to ravage you.

“I was right.” His mind pared you, an apple, sinking teeth into your tender core. “You are me.”

“I am,” you breathed. “God forgive me.”

Kylo Ren rose to his full height. “Oh, little bird,” he said, meandering toward you. “Forgiveness isn’t our lesson, tonight.”

Lust grew a thick knot in your throat. The question of whether or not you were going to fuck him didn’t even enter your mind--now that this forbidden longing, the one beyond pure lust had been named, it burst, a storm surge, washing you both in its riptide. So you swallowed.

“And how will any of this engender obedience toward Gilead?” you asked, only half-serious.

He sniffed in amusement. “We’ve said it ourselves. Gilead is flawed.” A large hand encircled your wrist, tugged you from the chair and against his solid frame. “I want you obedient to me.”

“Oh…” If breath were steam, your eyes would’ve fogged. “Fuck.”

Ren leaned forward, hot exhale whispering over your ear, his palms gliding along your sides, snagging the fabric of your dress--you shivered, a familiar burn kindling between your thighs. His teeth grazed the helix of your ear, and a whimper escaped you as you inched closer to him, grasping the lapels of his jacket to remain steady.

“I can’t stop thinking about your body,” he murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about how you taste…”

You nestled into his chest, heat streaming into your face. “How I--”

“Mm.” He nipped your ear. “Since I had your cunt last night, it’s all that’s been on my mind...” Ren pressed his lips to yours in a firm kiss and tore off your bonnet, your hair rolling free. “Take off your clothes, and get on my desk.”

Stilling your lungs, you nodded. It was a process--first your gloves, your shoes, your socks, then your dress, then the slip underneath that, your undergarments--but from the corner of your vision you saw Ren studying you, mesmerized, the entire time. You hadn’t the courage to look at him while you stripped, the reality of your red uniform still chaining your boldness, but when you stepped out of your underwear (hardly sexy enough to be called panties), you met his gaze--and suffocated under the gravity of it.

In Ren’s eyes, you could see nothing but complete and utter worship, as if your body was an altar, and he’d arrived for his blessing--or, maybe, his flagellation. This was a benefit of Gilead, you thought, the starvation for connection so intense that your nakedness had the power to bring Commander Kylo Ren to his figurative knees. And his hunger resonated--your pussy twinged with need.

You only basked in his admiration for a moment before you hoisted yourself onto his desk, the cool wood pimpling the backs of your thighs, and in seconds, a large hand seized your hip, another coiling itself in your hair as Ren pressed his mouth against you, plush lips smothering yours. Whimpering, you scooted forward, pinning your knees together to put pressure on the growing ache between your legs.

He drove his tongue in your mouth, slipping it over yours, the hand on your hip skimming your skin and finding your breasts. The feeling of flesh on flesh drew a moan from his throat, his grip greedy, possessive, kneading your tits while his kiss turned primal. Ren pinched your nipple, rolled it between his fingers, mouth moving to attack your neck, tongue tracing heat as he nipped at the sensitive skin, another shiver rippling through you.

“No--” If he left a hickey, you’d be dead. “Please--”

“Quiet.”

Grunting, he moved lower, licking a long line across your collarbone before lancing you with lust-addled eyes. Holding you in his stare, he teased the tip of his tongue across the tender tissue--and then growled, drawing it up between his teeth and sucking a harsh, dark mark into the skin. You whined, fighting the urge to let your head fall back; instead, you dipped forward, gripping his shoulders, burying your face in the thick waves of his hair. His smell--smoky and wooden and wintry--scrambled your brain. Taking in a long breath through your nose, you held it there, stupefying yourself in his scent.

Ren’s greed grew--he dug his teeth into your clavicle, breaking blood vessels, birthing a network of bruises across your upper torso. Electricity crackled in your veins, hips bucking toward him, clit growing stiffer with his aggression--in response, his hand left your hair, wrenching your thighs apart and smoothing over the soft, exposed flesh.

Your mind spun with how quickly this had escalated--mere moments had passed and now you were naked, on your Commander’s desk, body screaming for him--but the fact that you’d both charged forth, possessed with passion and unashamed, was liberating. Within this tiny prism of space-time, Gilead’s hold had vanquished, its roles banished to irrelevance, the raw nerves of instinct exploding to the surface like cicadas--a hungry, blind swarm.

“I need to taste every part of you…” His mouth drifted again, pressing kisses across your sternum until he reached your breasts, gazing at them in awe. “You’re beautiful...”

This dunked your brain in desire, left it to swim--you crumbled in his grasp, shuddering with want. Ren flicked your nipple with his tongue, relishing your full-body squeal before sucking it past his lips, a lewd, desperate moan escaping him. Pleasure buzzed over you, and you inched closer, your sex seeking any scraps of his touch it could manage, core throbbing wildly. He laved your peak, his other hand skating over the lips of your pussy, two digits testing you, peeling you apart by millimeters.

“Fuck.” Fingers foraged his mane, seeking purchase while he suckled at your tits. “Fuck, yes…”

Ren snickered, releasing your bud, trailing his mouth lower still, strong hands prying your thighs wide as he littered hot, furious kisses down the roll of your belly, streaks of saliva in his wake. Your blood pulsed with an insistence that dizzied you--or maybe it was the fact that Kylo Ren, your fucking Commander, was growing dangerously close to putting that beautiful fucking mouth on your cunt.

His two digits opened you wide, a third feathersoft on your clit, and you gasped, limbs jerking, nails biting into his scalp. He growled and snatched your wrists, tacking them to the desk, gazing at you from between your legs, a mask of deviancy on his face. It occurred to you then--Ren, not only figuratively, but literally on his knees.

“Is this what you wanted, little bird?” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose, brushing the tip over your folds before his lids fluttered open. “For me to make your pussy cum on my tongue?”

Face hot, you could do nothing but nod.

“Say it.”

You groaned, tucking your chin to your chest. For all of this egregiously illegal intimacy, he hadn’t lost his desire to humiliate you, it seemed. “Please,” you said, “please… um, please make me… um...”

“Go on.”

“But--”

Ren pinched your clit in reprimand, and you squeaked. “Go on.”

“Please…” Embarrassment scalded you, flesh in flames. “Pleasemakemecumonyourtongue.”

The corner of his lip curled in the slightest acknowledgement. “Almost.”

Kylo Ren purred in anticipation and pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, leaving soft, slow kisses there, warmth flooding you as he worked his way toward your wet, pulsing heat. Stuck under his control, you squirmed when his lips grazed your cunt, ghosting your folds, moving to your other thigh, nuzzling it and nipping the skin. Your walls clenched, and you whined, desperate, strained to snapping in your need for him.

“Please,” you gasped, “please make me cum on your tongue--God!”

He huffed. “No need to deify me.” He licked a flat stripe over your slit, and you snuffed a scream. “Desperate little thing.”

With that, Ren placed a deep, vulgar kiss to your pussy, tongue delving into your slit, a trembling groan echoing in his throat when he swallowed your wetness. His eyes, in the pits of perversion, watched you, soaking in your speechless delight while he explored each tiny crevice of your cunt. Bliss built inside of you, blocks of white hot energy, stacking with every second those velvety, full lips massaged your folds. Your mouth fell in an open pant, your hips rocking into his face--his hands moved, sticking your wrists to your hips as he gripped you there.

Your mind attempted to flash to the last time a man had his face in your cunt; the memory was hazy, forgettable. But this--the heat from the fire stoking sweat down your back, your breathless, wanton whimpers, the tickle of Ren’s hair at your thighs and the soft, urgent pressure of his tongue exploring your sex, the waves of pleasure cresting over you as you strained in his grasp--this was, would be, indelible. Resistance and its sacrifices be damned, you could die with this memory being your last, satisfied that you’d had the most beautiful man you’d ever seen place his lips to your pussy.

It was as you thought this that a spear of infatuation pierced your heart, and you gazed at Ren, chest tight with the distant reality that your temporary tryst could never flourish outside of these four walls, that beyond them, Johana was sleeping--or maybe sobbing--beyond them, Poe was dead and the Resistance was waiting. Beyond them, you were his Handmaid, a womb in his service, and your life, infinitely expendable, laid in his hands.

Thankfully, his tongue, expert enough to interrupt your exi-sexual crisis, fluttered over your clit, effectively wiping your brain blank, and you released a whining breath, hips jolting into his face when he drew the stiff nub into his mouth. Your head tipped back, pleasure crashing over you, tiny moans leaving you while he sucked slowly on your clit, engorged and throbbing at his lips.

Your core thumped with a demand to cum--Ren was reining you to a cliff, your desire a wild animal, bucking with abandon and ecstasy. His tongue swirled over your nub, slipping wet circles around it before he groaned and sucked it hard between his teeth. You wailed, calves wrapping around him, tugging him closer, your lungs emptying rapidly.

“Oh, fuck, fuck--”

Biting your lip, you fought yourself, your walls clenching with your impending climax. Ren slicked your folds again, pressing another greedy, rough kiss to your swollen pussy, gathering the cum at your core and gulping it down. Your clit twitched, screamed for him--he soothed it with the hot cavern of his mouth, the beating of his tongue--you almost cracked, hands fisting at your sides.

“That’s right,” he muttered into your flesh. “You know what I want to hear…”

“Kylo...” It left your lips without hesitation. “Yes, fuck, Kylo--”

Ren sucked fast at your clit, so deep in your pussy his nose flattened against you--and you broke, orgasm gushing through you, a geyser, a cascade of ecstasy that left you quaking, your walls spasming at his chin. He swallowed it hungrily, clutching your hips to his head, as if the evidence of your pleasure sustained him, laving at you until you squeaked and jerked from sensitivity.

With a satisfied gasp, he released you, still stroking the sides of your hips, mouth glossy with your juices, watching with tethered emotion while you descended from your high. “As perfect as I thought you’d be.”

The cycle of anxious air in your chest slowed, and you allowed yourself to sigh, internally panicking at the level of tenderness that was trying to settle into your heart like a tired puppy. A tremor crept over you, evidence of the dangerous game your mind wanted to play. You ignored it. How horrific your desire to nurture feelings for this man, this murderer, manipulator, misogynist--how horrific that in this moment, you didn’t care. And how horrific that he’d guided you here, with his soft mouth and terrified eyes and need to hear his name.

Fuck, you hated him. And you wanted all of him, from the bottom of your accursed, wretched soul.

Ren rose, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before cupping your head, pulling you to his lips. Humming, you allowed his tongue--still coated with your cum--in your mouth, the tingling of your post-orgasm skin lapping up the physical comfort. Your legs wound around him again, your palms resting at his chest while he kissed you, his other hand petting your side before pushing your pelvis toward him, the steel urgency of his clothed erection grating your sensitive cunt.

You broke the kiss with a whine. “Kylo--”

His digits gouged your flesh, and he tensed, back swelling. “Needy thing, aren’t you?” He squeezed your ass, shoving you to his body. “We can fix that.”

Ren stepped back, keeping you attached as he moved to his chair and sat, leaving you naked, on his lap, covered cock grinding into your heat. It was automatic--you dropped your hips, seeking friction, and his hands seized your face, your fingers finding his hair. Your mouths met like magnets, your bodies writhing in rhythm, his tongue wrestling with yours as you groaned, smearing your cunt over his slacks.

His kiss was rabid, almost angry, teeth clacking, hands groping your ass, your thighs. The memory of his body from the night before blinked in your brain--you fumbled at his neck as you loosened his tie, pulling the ends apart and tossing it to the side. A moan escaped him, muffled by your mouth while you then worked at the buttons on his shirt, popping them free.

The second his chest was exposed, you scoured it, skin-on-skin sending a clench to your cunt. You mapped his muscles to your memory--the strength of his breast, his firm, powerful abdomen, all of it hot with need--breathless at the sight of his beauty under your palms. Your touch sent a quake through him, and he released you, trapping you in his stare while he grappled with his belt, face flush with relief when his cock sprung free.

It was a combined effort--he fisted his length, angling it at your core, your hands clutching his shoulders as you sank onto him, ribcage still as he split you wide. God, you couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe you were in your Commander’s den, riding him at his desk; you’d ask to be pinched if he hadn’t done it already. You felt shameless, naked but not exposed, only exalted, only desired.

Your fingers burrowed into his shoulders while you throbbed around him, seeking air, and he snarled, setting a brutal pace from the very first thrust. Cries fled you, pushed from your lungs from the force of his hips, and Ren consumed you, sucking at your tits, hands bearing bruises into your ass. His dick stretched you wide, fucked you deep, wracking your body with its punishment--pain ripped through you, pleasure hot in its wake, foaming in your veins, an effervescent euphoria.

“Oh, Kylo…” Now his name spilled from your lips unbidden.

He seethed, muscles rigid for only a moment. “Fuck--”

Ren buried his face in your tits, biting the bouncing flesh, decorating you with desire. His cock pumped into you, summoning another orgasm from the bottom of your brain, and his hand wiggled between your legs, teasing your over-sensitive clit. Squealing, you squirmed on top of him.

“Mm, I want you to cum again,” he muttered. “I want to make you cum over and over…”

“Jesus Christ…” Lava flowed through your bloodstream, scorching you from the inside.

“This is what obedient girls get...” Ren’s voice was ragged, shorn with lust. “Have you learned enough, little bird?”

You smirked. “I don’t think I have.”

With a growl, he stood, holding you on his cock with one arm as the other swept across his desk. The Bible, pens, wooden organizers stacked with paper clattered to the floor--and he slammed you on the open surface, crushing you with his weight and fucking you hard. You wailed, nails scraping his chest--this drove him wilder, and he grunted, tearing into your shoulder with his teeth. The wail became a scream, and you curled around him, cunt clamping his pulsing length as it slammed you, the rest of the world whittling to waste. You and Ren were the only extant beings on the planet, both enthralled by the unspeakable, terrible force between you.

His fingers went to your clit again, toying with it. Ecstasy splashed at your toes, a tsunami at the horizon. “Filthy thing,” he muttered. “You love this.”

“I--I do.” Your words came out strangled through your hiccuping breath. “But y-you knew I’d love it the m-moment you met me…”

“Fuck…” The head of his dick smacked you deep, and you yelped. “That’s right--you were begging for it in your sleep.” His hips moved faster, length plunging into you. “And you’re still not satisfied.”

Satisfaction seemed foreign in the world of Gilead. But that’s not where you were, right now. You were in some other world, a world where getting fucked on a desk by a married man wasn’t the result of months of suppressed emotion.

Well, maybe that particular world didn’t exist.

“Oh--Maybe I’ll n-never be satisfied…”

“We’ll see.”

Ren threw the heft of his frame into you, pounding your pussy, sucking at your neck, his hair brushing your face. His digits rubbed at your sore, swollen clit, pleasure ricocheting through you like lightning, overriding whichever system was pleading for pause. Your face screwed in bliss, and you sobbed, witless, a body broken by the ruthless ramming of his dick. Another breath, another, heat flashed your flesh--you quailed, so fucking close--

“Do it,” he hissed. “Cum.”

A violent orgasm ruptured through your thighs, and you quailed, submitting to it, cunt convulsing, tightening around his cock. Ren choked, cursed, his hair spilling over your throat as his hips stuttered, desk creaking across the floor with the throes of his orgasm. The room itself seemed to shudder, a tremor rumbling in the hardwood until he had finished and collapsed--a spent, sated beast.

You stared into the ceiling, lungs heaving, skin veiled with sweat and sparks. Wood snapped in the background, a shower of light cast over the room as embers sprayed into the hearth. Ren returned to reality, peeling his sticky chest from yours, glancing at himself as he rose and slipped out of you--half naked, painted in pleasure, a shining example of the results of oppression: furious, exhilarated rebellion.

Two large digits dug into your cunt, scooping out the concoction of your cum--you winced, but raised your neck, watching while he guided it into his own mouth, sucking his fingers clean. Heat raced over you, and before you could respond, he tugged you forward, catching your head and pulling you into a deep, slow, kiss. The viscous, salty mix, blended with his spit, spilled into your mouth. It was repulsive, delicious--you moaned, rolling it over your tongue before you passed it back, threading your hands through his hair. Ren sucked in a breath through his nose, swirling it a final time before forcing it over your lips, a demand for your obedience. Grateful, you swished it from your teeth and swallowed.

He pulled away, lips gleaming. Silence settled in the separation of your bodies, each staring into the other, processing the connection. Your chest constricted--shame. Yearning. Despair. His face was wiped clean of emotion, the only hint of his confusion a flicker in the shadows of his eyes. Then Ren broke away, adjusting himself back to decency. Sound returned to your ears. You could move.

“This is insane.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing him, or yourself. After all--you still had to expose him to the Resistance. “We’re going to get killed.”

Ren’s face was stone. He’d moved to buttoning his shirt. “No.”

Deciding you needed to redress, too, you eased off the desk, searching for your clothes. “No?” Underwear first. Socks. “Easy for you to say. Johana knows.” Dress, now. “Why are we doing this?”

“Why?”

You threw your hands in the air. “We can’t be together like this, Kylo.” Where the hell was your bonnet? “And the reason we can’t is by your design.”

He sniffed. “Not mine alone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “Is your design to destroy Gilead?”

A pause--he glimpsed you before pulling his tie from the floor, measuring it under his collar. “No.” With practiced ease, he flipped the fabric around itself. “My design is to perfect it.”

“You can’t perfect what’s inherently broken.” You found your bonnet, started to wrap your hair and tuck it onto your head. Ren was gathering the items from the floor, replacing them on the desk. “What’s your goal, then? To--to what, have me and Johana and a baby? To fill your home with resentment?”

His jaw tensed. He pulled the tie tight, dusting off his jacket. “My goal is to have you,” he said. “And you alone.”

You swallowed, heart clenching. “What?”

“As we agreed.” Ren turned, stalking toward you. “The system is broken. And I will correct it.” He reached out, fingers grazing your chin--you flinched. “Johana is irrelevant. You will belong to me.”

The fire seemed to have incinerated all of the oxygen in the air. You shook your head, imperceptibly. “I don’t want to belong to anybody.”

His gaze passed over you, assessing, before he plucked the Bible from the floor, flipping through it. “Hm.” His eyes met yours. “We’ll see how you feel when our lessons are complete.”

Ren’s hand enveloped the back of your skull as he pressed his lips to the lump at your hairline, igniting a shock of pain. “I trust you can get yourself to bed,” he murmured against your skin. “Goodnight, little bird.”

Tucking the Bible under his arm, he stopped at the fire, shuttering it to its death, then opened the doors to the home. The air of Gilead rushed in, stiff and cold, stealing the warmth from the room, extinguishing the lingering joy in your belly. You stood, listening to Ren’s footsteps down the hall, a statue until the flames in the hearth guttered, drowning you in darkness.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #I Love Snowballing: the TED Talk

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perspective-series · 4 years

Text

Kingdom Perspective (15)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, panic, kidnapping, keeping/treating people like pets, threats, unwanted touching/grabbing, crying, and almost drowning.

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Roman woke up bright and early the next day and looked down at Virgil, still asleep. He smiled sadly, knowing today was their last full day together. He managed to get out of his duties today though, thankfully. He could spend all day with Virgil, without endangering him. Today was going to be a lazy hang out day, Roman decided. So instead of getting up and dressed like he normally did he snuggled back into the covers and waited for Virgil to wake up.

It was quite a while later when Virgil finally began to stir. He blinked his eyes open, surprised that he had woken up on his own. Usually Roman the early bird got him up at the crack of dawn. Instead, Virgil rolled over to see the giant prince was still in bed, watching him.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on his lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning sleeping beauty.” Roman chuckled. “Have a good rest?”

“Mhmm.” Virgil sat up. “But why no wake up call? I thought being a prince was a full-time gig, you get fired or something?”

Roman snorted, cover it up with his hand. “Uh, no. I took the day off. I figured, since it’s our last day together we could have a bit of a...lazy day. Where we just hang out.” Roman explained.

“I didn’t think you had a lazy setting.” Virgil observed.

“I usually do not but I am willing to make an exception for this.” He motioned towards the both of them and then offered his hand to Virgil. “Feeling hungry?”

Virgil just nodded, climbing on.

Roman got out of bed and looked between the desk and the door before heading towards the door, Virgil still in hand.

“Where are we going?” Virgil asked, having never accompanied Roman when the giant got food. Usually he was still asleep; or busy being mad at Roman.

“Well, I figured you could come with me to pick breakfast up.” Roman paused for a moment. “Um, if that’s okay?” If needed he could turn around and drop Virgil off in his room.

“No, yeah, that’s fine.” Virgil shrugged. “I mean, unless someone’s gonna attack you again while you get toast.”

Roman chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah, no, we’ll be fine.” Roman continued towards the kitchen, shifting his hands to move Virgil onto his shoulder.

“Greetings everyone!” Roman called out. The cooks nodded at him in greeting. “What’s for breakfast today?”

Virgil quickly grabbed onto the collar of Roman’s pajamas, paling slightly as he remembered just how tall Roman actually was. Not wanting to fall, Virgil scrambled closer to Roman’s neck for stability.

“We have prepared oatmeal today, sire.” A cook said, motioning towards the bowl. Roman hummed, frowning as he thought about Virgil eating the oatmeal. Yeah...that wasn’t to work.

“Could I have some toast as well? Perhaps with some jam?” Roman asked. The cook simply nodded and retreated further into the kitchen to get it. She returned with another plate of toast and jam and gave both the bowl and plate to Roman. Roman nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned and left, heading back towards his room.

“Careful!’ Virgil warned, grip tightening as he was moved up and down with Roman’s steps.

“Sorry.” Roman slowed down a little, making it to his room and setting the plates down on the desk. He then grabbed Virgil off his shoulder and set him down as well. He took a seat. “Alright!” Roman tore off a piece of bread and jam and handed it to Virgil.

Virgil glanced at the food, only now noticing how Roman had specifically requested a cleaner meal. “...thanks.” Virgil said genuinely, taking the bread and taking a bite.

“You are most welcome.” Roman said, digging into his oatmeal. After taking a few bites, he looked down at Virgil. “Honestly, I...can’t believe you leave tomorrow.” Roman chuckled sadly. “Where has the time gone?”

“...mostly there.” Virgil admitted, pointing over towards the cage still sitting at the other end of the desk. Though the time might have flown by for Roman, to Virgil most of it had dragged on.

Roman winced. “Right.” Roman was silent as he ate the rest of his breakfast.

Virgil frowned down at his own portion of food. Why had he said that? Now he had ruined the mood again.

Roman set his dishes off to the side to take back later. “All done?” He asked, looking between Virgil and the plate of toast.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Virgil nodded, pushing away the rest of the food. There was always so much food, it was insane. This place could easily solve all the starvation problems on Earth.

Roman nodded and put the dish with the other one. He then turned to Virgil. “So, what do you wanna do on this lazy day of ours?” He asked.

“Well, I don’t know.” Virgil admitted. “Usually a lazy day for me consists of netflix binging all day, but something tells me you don’t have that.”

Roman blinked. “What’s a netflix?” Or binging, for that matter.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“No, I’m serious.” Roman said. “I… I know next to nothing about your world...or your life for that matter...Though, I supposed I never really asked, huh?” He had been so caught up, seeing Virgil as a pet, that he hadn’t cared about his previous life. The thought made Roman sick. How could he have ever been like that?

“I just assumed you didn’t care.” Virgil rubbed his arm. “But I mean, to be fair, I didn’t ask a lot about your world either.”

“Well...to be honest, I didn’t, at first.” Roman admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I do now. And I don’t blame you for not asking anything. After all, why would you want to know more about a world that treats you like a, um, pet.”

“Indeed.” Virgil pulled a face, remembering his first few days here. “To put it in kid-friendly terms, I was, and still am, not this place’s biggest fan.”

“Yes, I can understand why.” His people still saw Virgil and Patton as nothing more than pets, after all. “But, um, if you wouldn’t mind...could you tell me a bit about your world? And maybe what your life is like?”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked. “I mean, there’s certainly a lot to tell, but I doubt I could give you a history of the entire Earth in a day. Nor do I want to, that sounds like far too much work.”

“Well, no, I don’t expect you to tell me that much. Let’s just start with…” Roman thought for a moment. “Well, let's start with you and go from there.” Roman grinned.

“Me?” Virgil leaned back, wondering where to start. “Well, I started in your typical nuclear family. Two suburban parents, an older brother who set impossibly high standards. Grew up in his shadow. Then one day brother goes missing, drama drama drama, I get shoved into the limelight where I fail spectacularly, aaaand now I’m the family disappointment serving coffee to make my way through community college.”

Virgil said this all with an almost playful tone, rushing through his explanation. He wasn’t fond on repeating the same details of his tragic life; he had already had to relive that pain so many times.

Roman winced. “That sounds...rough.” To say the least. “How, uh, how long has your brother been missing?” Roman asked, hoping it was an okay question to ask.

“A year, year and a half?” Virgil shrugged, pretending he didn’t know when the answer immediately came to mind: 15 months. “Thomas was just there and then one day...he wasn’t. Vanished without a trace. Mom was heartbroken, kept going on about how her darling baby boy was missing. I kept getting sent out to look for him, saying it was my fault he went missing. I mean, they weren’t exactly wrong.” Virgil gave a dark chuckle. “Last I saw him was when he stormed out of the house after we got in an argument. I told him I never wanted to see him again.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh I am...so sorry.” Roman didn’t know what else to say. “Is it...alright if I ask what the argument was about? I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course! Just, if you want to.” Roman had to admit he was curious but the subject still seemed a bit sore for Virgil, so he understood if Virgil would rather not talk about it.

Virgil blinked, surprised he felt like sharing. He never told anybody this much. “Well, ah… it was actually about me. Thomas was trying to help me, saying I needed to get out more and get my life back on track. I mean, he was right, I was headed down a bad path, but I didn’t need to be told that, ya know? Plus I’ve always had this thing about talking to new people, Thomas always made it look so easy with all his friends and…” Virgil cringed, remembering how those friends had all flocked to their doorstep looking for Thomas after he went missing.

“Well, anyway, I lashed out.” Virgil continued. “I told him to mind his own business and that it’s my life to ruin if I so choose.”

“Virgil…” Honestly, Roman couldn’t picture Logan going missing like that, suddenly and without warning. And having those be his last words to him? Roman could picture the guilt Virgil must be feeling. “Well...I mean, there is always a chance you’ll find him again. Right? And then you can make up.” Roman tried to give Virgil a comforting smile.

Virgil gave a humorless snort at that. “Yeah, sure.” The human rolled his eyes. “It’s been over a year. If Thomas was still around he would have shown his face by now. Either he’s dead, or… he never wants to see me again.”

“I don’t think that’s true!” Roman exclaimed. “By the sounds of things, your brother really cares about you. I doubt one argument, no matter how intense it was, would change that.”

“Okay, fine, whatever, Thomas was perfect.” Virgil snapped. “I get it, he’s a saint and he would have forgiven me even if I didn’t deserve it but instead he went and got himself mugged in an alleyway or something.”

“Hey, I’m not saying he is.” Roman said. “I’m saying that as a brother myself. I...look, I’ve already told you Logan and I have never really...clicked before. He’s always gotten more attention since he was next in line and I was left behind, and all that.” Roman looked away. “But...even so, I...care about my brother. I always have and I always will. And if anything were to happen to him, I…” Roman sighed and turned back to Virgil.

“All I am saying is, nobody's perfect. Not you or your brother but...if that whole argument started because he was worried about you? I honestly cannot see your brother not forgiving you.” Roman paused for a second. “After all, you forgive him, don’t you?”

“Of course I forgive him.” Virgil let out an involuntary sniffle, his eyes having begun to tear up. He wiped at them furiously, hating the way he was showing weakness. “I just haven’t forgiven myself.”

Roman wanted nothing more than to reach out, scoop Virgil up and comfort him. In fact, his hands were already starting to reach forward but he restrained himself enough to ask. “May I?” He asked softly.

Ugh, now I’m being pitied again. Virgil felt his tears begin to drip down his face as he nodded, knowing that despite everything, he was in desperate need of some human- er, giant- contact.

At the nod, Roman wasted no time in scooping Virgil up and holding him close to his chest. “I’m sorry you’re going through this...and that I can’t be more help. You deserve forgiveness just as much as your brother does. From him and yourself.”

Virgil’s tears turned to sobs at Roman’s words, having never heard anybody tell him he deserved forgiveness, too. Virgil clutched at Roman’s shirt, clinging to it desperately as his chest tightened, breathing getting difficult as his tears threatened to overwhelm him.

“It hurts.” Virgil admitted, referring to a pain greater than physical.

“I know.” Roman said softly. He gently rubbed Virgil’s back as he continued to cry. “You’ve been holding this in for so long. I’m so sorry you had to go through all this alone.” Roman knew all too well about dealing with things by himself and how just...bad it felt.

I miss him so much. Virgil found himself unable to even convey his thoughts as his breathing became shallow, and his energy had to be refocused into the sole act of crying his eyes out. Soon Virgil’s bubble became a hazy mixture of signals, only vaguely aware of the world around him as he focused on steadying his breathing to Roman’s own. It was a pleasant sensation, feeling Roman’s great chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm. It was a constant, something Virgil desperately needed at the moment.

Slowly Virgil’s breathing began to even out, lulled back to a normal pace with the help of Roman’s touch. Virgil let out a long sigh, feeling incredibly exhausted and vulnerable now that the wave had passed.

Roman kept Virgil to his chest, still rubbing his back gently. “How are you feeling?” He asked softly.

Virgil nodded, keeping his head decidedly down. “...sorry about that.” Virgil muttered. He cringed, noticing what a mess he had made on Roman’s shirt.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Roman smiled. “I can tell that you needed this.”

“Ugh, yeah I did.” Virgil winced. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed having someone around who would listen, someone who actually cared. And to find that in Roman? The giant prince who kidnapped him? The whole thing was so bizarre.

“Thanks.” Virgil said quietly. “That was...that was good.”

“I’m glad.” He finally pulled Virgil away from himself and looked down at him. “How about we get some lunch. Get your energy back up, hmm?”

“Mhmm.” Virgil nodded, covering his mouth as he gave a yawn. Though they had slept late, Virgil now felt like he could simply fall back asleep.

Roman noticed how worn out Virgil was now and bit his lip. “Or, we could take a little nap. Whichever you prefer.”

“No, no, I’m good.” Virgil insisted. He certainly didn’t want to ruin Roman’s day by sleeping it away, especially since it was the last day they’d have. The least Virgil could do was be there for him back, just this once. “We can do lunch.”

Roman grinned. “Fantastic! Do you wish to accompany me again? Or would you rather stay here?”

“I…” Virgil paused, realizing he just wanted to do what would make Roman happier. After all, he felt like he owed Roman after that. “Whatever you prefer.”

Roman frowned a little at that. “Well what I prefer is whatever you prefer.” Roman said.

“Uh, no you don’t.” Virgil crossed his arms stubbornly. “I know you’ve got a preference.”

“Maybe I do.” Roman admitted. “But I am done doing things you don’t want to do. So please, tell me what it is you would rather do so that I may respect your decision.”

“Okay, well my decision is that I want to forfeit my decision to you.” Virgil retorted. “So by all means, I insist: what do you want?”

“I want you to tell me what you want.” Roman huffed. “I do not want to make the same mistakes again. So please just tell me.”

“You’re not making a mistake if I’m telling you to do it.” Virgil grit his teeth.

“Well, how do I know you aren’t just saying that because you think it’s what I want.” Roman paused. “You...aren’t doing it because of that...are you?”

“...no.” Somewhere along the conversation Virgil had gotten lost. He shook his head, getting annoyed. “Whatever! Just do what you want.”

“...Alright.” Roman sighed and set Virgil down on the desk. He grabbed the dirty dishes as he stood up. “I’ll be right back.” He then exited the room and headed towards the kitchen.

Virgil glared at the door, sensing that Roman was only doing this because it’s what he thought Virgil wanted: even after all that hassle, Roman was trying to be considerate.

How dare he.

Roman huffed as he dropped off the dirty dishes and grabbed lunch, heading back towards his room. He entered his room and set the plate down, which held a simple ham sandwich. He then took his seat and busied himself with cutting a small piece for Virgil. He purposefully didn’t say anything to Virgil during all this.

“That’s not what you wanted to do.” Virgil crossed his arms, giving Roman a hard glare.

“Maybe not but I know it’s what you wanted.” Roman said, sliding the piece of sandwich more towards Virgil. “And like I said, I am done doing things you don’t want to do.”

“That’s not true, I was fine with either.” Virgil took the food begrudgingly. “Look, if I really cared I could just take you up on that day of doing what I say you still owe me. As it stands, seeing you all cooperative is just...creepy.”

“What? How is that creepy?” Roman was just going to go ahead and ignore what Virgil said about their deal. He had forgotten about that and wished for it to stay that way. “I’m trying to listen better. I’m doing exactly what you wanted me to do in the very beginning! What? Do you want me to go back to how I was before? Making you do tricks and keeping you in a cage? Taking you wherever I wanted without so much as a warning? Is that what you want?” Roman was glaring at the human now.

“No!” Virgil ducked his head, a bit intimidated. “Obviously not, but that doesn’t mean I have to dictate every little thing we do either!”

Roman dropped his glare and sighed, looking down at the table. “I just...I’m trying, okay? I’m just trying to make up for how much of a jerk I was to you. For how much of a...monster I was.” Cause he had been, hadn’t he? He was sure Virgil had seen him that way. And honestly, he couldn’t help but agree.

“I understand that, Roman.” Virgil assured him. “And I appreciate it. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up all your wants and opinions too. Putting me in charge just feels...weird. We can just be on equal footing, like normal people.”

Roman nodded. “Yes...equal footing. That sounds...nice.” Roman lifted his head and gave Virgil a small smile. “It’s just…” The smile went away. “I’ve uh...never really been on equal footing with anyone before.” Even Logan had always had a higher status them him.

“Right, the whole royalty thing.” Virgil had almost forgotten about that. Of course, looking at the elegant decor adorning everything from the rug to the bedspread to even Roman’s shoulders, it was hard to miss.

“Yeah.” Roman confirmed. “Everyone is either below me, or above me. I’m in this...weird middle ground.” And Roman hated it.

“Isn’t only one person above you?” Virgil asked, tilting his head as he considered that. “If Logan dies, do you become king?”

“Well, yes.” Roman said. “But before that, it was always my father, then my brother, and then me. And then everyone else in the kingdom is below us. But my father and brother were more on equal footing than I was ever allowed to be. Logan even got his own throne, something I never received. Though...I suppose his old throne is mine now…” That was strange to think about.

“Congratulations.” Virgil’s mouth crept into a slow smile. “So, if we’re on equal footing, does that mean the throne is half mine?”

Roman’s lips quirked up. “I don’t think it works that way.” He chuckled. “Anyway, all I’m saying is that I’m used to either telling people what to do, or listening to people tell me what to do. There isn’t a whole lot of...compromising going on. But I would love to give it a try.”

“Great.” Virgil rubbed his hands together. “So, first rule of compromising, you lay all your cards on the table. Lay it on me, Roman. What do you actually want to do today?”

Roman blinked. “W-Well...I wasn’t lying when I said I just wanted to spend today relaxing and hanging out with you. Especially since I’m going to be so busy starting tomorrow, with all my new duties. And with you leaving tomorrow...this is really our last chance to just...hang out.”

“Right.” Virgil nodded in understanding. “So what do you want to do to hang out?”

“Well…” Roman thought for a moment before an idea came to mind. He grinned. “We could go swimming!”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. “...swimming?” That certainly wasn’t what he had expected.

“Yeah! We have our own private pool here inside the castle. No one else except my father, Logan and I are allowed to use it. So we would be all alone.” Roman explained, knowing Virgil didn’t want to be around other giants.

Unless one of those two decides to go for a dip. “Wouldn’t that be a little...unsafe?” Virgil tried to be gentle in his critiquing, not wanting to shoot Roman down completely, but the idea of swimming with a literal giant was quite terrifying. The waves would be like a tsunami.

Roman hummed. It could be quite dangerous. It would be as if Virgil was swimming in the ocean with how deep the pool would be to him. But...that gave Roman another idea. He grinned and stood up. “I’ve got just the thing!” He ran to a small storage box he kept in the corner of his room and rummaged through it. When he found what he was looking for, his grin grew.

“What if you used this!” Roman walked back to the desk and revealed a toy boat he had had as a child that he never had the heart to throw away. “And look! It’s just your size!”

“Why do you even have that?” Virgil asked incredulously. It looked like quite a vessel, but Virgil realized it must have been just a toy to Roman.

“Got it as a kid and I never had the heart to throw it away.” Roman shrugged. “But see! You can use this in the pool, you don’t even have to get in the water!”

“Does it even float?” While it looked sturdy to Virgil, if it was only meant to be a toy there was a high chance that it wouldn’t perform very well as an actual boat.

“Of course it floats. I’m a prince, I only got the very best toys.” Roman said. “Come on, let’s give it a try! If it doesn’t end up working out, we’ll just stop and figure out something else to do.”

Virgil glanced at the boat again. He didn’t think this was a very safe idea, but he trusted Roman. One day of risky adventures wouldn’t kill him...hopefully.

“...okay.” Virgil agreed, trying to look upbeat rather than anxious. “We can try it, I guess.”

“Great!” Roman exclaimed. He set the boat down and ran into his closet the change. He came back out in a pair of shorts and a simple tunic. “Did you want to change too?” Roman asked.

“Well, I don’t think it really matters.” Virgil glanced down at his clothes. He had a feeling he’d be getting wet regardless, but he didn’t have many clothes to begin with, and the majority of the time he would be on a boat. He should be fine.

“Alright.” Roman grabbed the boat in one hand and offered his other hand to Virgil.

“Do you know how to sail?” Virgil asked, climbing on. He certainly didn’t.

“I’ve sailed once or twice but if anything I can just push the boat along.” Roman said with a shrug. He exited out of the room and headed down a hallway he hadn’t taken Virgil down before. When he got to the double doors he pushed them open and motioned inside. “Ta-da!”

Virgil’s eyes went wide as saucers, barely able to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the body of water before him. Virgil was unable to tell if it was merely gigantic to him or extravagant for a pool regardless, but given he was inside a castle Virgil guessed the later. The water spread out for what could actually be several miles, and if someone had declared this to be an ocean rather than a swimming pool Virgil would not have doubted it for a second.

“So? What do you think? Pretty great, right? We have people year round who tend to it to keep it looking this good.” Roman spoke, coming more into the room. He set the boat and Virgil down on a side table as he pulled off his tunic.

“It’s big.” Virgil nodded, vocalizing the first adjective that came to mind.

“Yes and trust me, it’s big to my kind as well. Nothing but the best for royalty.” Roman explained. He went over to a side closet and got out a towel, putting it over one of the chairs surrounding the pool. He then held out a hand for Virgil. “Ready?”

“I guess so.” Virgil said, climbing on, but as he glanced at the water Virgil couldn’t help but think about the fact he wasn’t a very good swimmer.

“Great!” Roman grabbed the boat with his other hand and then headed over towards the pool. He got in slowly and then moved a bit away from the steps. The water came up to a little above his waist in the shallow end but he thought here was a good place to set Virgil up.

He put the boat down and then carefully held the hand holding Virgil next to it so he could climb on. “She’s all yours captain.” Roman chuckled.

Virgil gave a two-fingered salute, then focused on the task at hand. He steadied himself by putting his arms out as he stepped onto the boat, feeling it rock beneath him. Quickly Virgil grabbed onto the main mast, centered in the middle. Slowly the rocking returned to a gentle swaying motion.

Roman grinned. Virgil just looked so cute on the boat. “So? How is it? Everything seem to be in order?” He studied the boat carefully to see if it was tilting or sinking but it seemed fine.

“Well, I’m still afloat, so I count that as a win.” Virgil gave Roman a nervous smile, feeling the Giant’s movements cause the boat to rise and fall with a greater magnitude than before.

“Perfect! I knew it would work.” Roman grinned. “Now, I’m going to go for a quick lap. I’ll be right back.” Roman said, ready to actually swim a little. He moved a little away from Virgil and the boat before going under and swimming to the other end.

Virgil moved carefully closer to the edge, peering over the side. Underwater, Roman’s shadowy form almost looked like some sort of monstrous sea creature. It was weird, looking all around his tiny boat. It truly felt like he was adrift in the middle of the ocean.

When Roman was on his way back, he could help but get an idea as he looked at Virgil and his boat. With a mischievous smirk on his face, he went under and started to slowly sneak up on Virgil.

Virgil glanced back where he had last seen Roman, only to realize the prince was missing. Virgil did a double-take, trying to peer into the further waters. How did one lose a Giant?

Roman quietly rose up behind Virgil but only up to his nose. He saw that Virgil hadn’t spotted him yet and grinned before pulling himself under the water again.

“Roman?” Virgil called out, cupping his hands to his mouth. Virgil began to get worried. Was Roman alright out there? But what if he wasn’t? There wasn’t exactly anything Virgil could do about it. By the looks of things, this boat didn’t have any oars. Virgil smacked his forehead. Of course, why would it? It was just a toy, after all.

Roman figured it was time and slowly rose up fully behind Virgil, putting on a fake evil laugh. “Well, well, what do we have here? A puny captain sailing into my territory?”

Virgil felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up despite himself. He whirled around, finally spotting Roman as the boat swayed. The human felt a sense of relief wash over him, glad to see his anxiety had just run wild again. Roman was fine.

“What’s with the evil voice?” Virgil raised an amused eyebrow. “Are we playing make believe? What are you, twelve?”

“How dare you!” Roman said, staying in character. He narrowed his eyes. “This is very real and I advise you think twice before you insult the sea monster of the Sanders Seas.”

“The sea monster of the seas doesn’t exactly look very threatening.” Virgil glanced up and down Roman’s body. “He also doesn’t look like he’s made for the sea.”

“Well, uh…” Roman faltered for a second before coming up with an excuse. “This is my humanoid form. If you were to see my true form, you would die on the spot.” Nailed it.

Virgil let out an audible snort. “Uh huh. And what exactly is the sea monster going to do to me if I keep insulting him?”

“Well…” Roman smirked and then sent a small splash of water toward Virgil, causing the boat to bob in the water quite a bit. “Let’s just say I hope you’re good swimmer.”

“Hey!” Virgil took a quick step backwards, narrowly avoiding getting wet. He gave Roman a glare, grabbing the mast once again as the boat tipped dangerously.

“Now you see the danger you are truly in?” Roman said with a smirk. “If you do not leave this place then I shall send you to your watery grave...or maybe I shall go a different route. After all, I’ve never had the pleasure of tasting a human before.” The thought made actual Roman want to gag but he figured a sea monster would say something like that.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Virgil searched Roman’s face, trying to see how far Roman actually would dare.

Roman sunk down and got closer so he was practically face to face with Virgil. “Do not test me, little one.”

This close, Virgil felt tempted to throw something at Roman. He glanced around, looking for a viable item. Only now did Virgil notice a chest that was attached to the side of the ship. Virgil went over to it, surprised when it actually opened. He had half expected it to just be a decoration.

Reaching in, Virgil found a variety of pirate-like tools, all human sized and clearly toys. He pulled the armful out, dumping them onto the deck.

“Why do you have these?” Virgil turned to Roman, inspecting the toy sword from the set.

Roman blinked, breaking character for a moment. “Oh! Those are my old accessories for my old pirate doll! I don’t have the doll anymore...but I guess I kept all his add ons on the boat.”

“So I’m your replacement pirate doll?” Virgil raised a judgemental eyebrow. This game was beginning to make a lot more sense.

“What? No!” Roman huffed. “I just thought we could play a little game...to make this trip more fun. That’s all…”

Virgil stared at Roman thoughtfully. The human had never been very good at make believe games, but he could tell that this was something the prince wanted to do. And Virgil had agreed to come here so Roman could have fun… thus decided, Virgil decided to give it his best.

“En guarde, beast.” Virgil smirked, throwing the oversized plastic pirate hat on his head and pointing the sword in Roman’s direction.

Roman blinked and then grinned before getting back into character. He chuckled. “You actually think that puny thing is going to do anything against me? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Stay back, uh, matey!” Virgil swung it in Roman’s general direction, using the techniques the Giant taught him before. “This is my pirate ship, and I’ll be a dead man before this vessel is threatened by the likes of you!”

Roman leaned back as Virgil swung, once again standing to his full height. “I can arrange that.” Roman grinned evilly and then sent another wave towards Virgil and the boat.

“Woah!” Virgil clung fiercely to one of the ropes, the boat tilting precariously before settling back down. Virgil felt his heart still pounding from the slight scare, but for once the fear was exhilarating.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Virgil shouted, scurrying up to the crow’s nest to get as high as he could, facing Roman with his weapon once more. “Come at me, you coward!”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Oh you have asked for it now.” He lifted his arms up. “By the power of the water and sea, I summon a wave to wipe you out!” Roman flopped his arms into the water sending another wave, one that was bigger than the other, towards Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes widened, watching the wave approach that reached above his head despite his heightened altitude. “...uh oh.”

A moment later the wave came crashing down, soaking Virgil to the core and completely tipping the boat. Virgil clung to the crow’s nest as best he could, but the sheer momentum forced the human to release his grip and he was flung over the side, sinking below the waves.

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #human!virgil #human!patton #giant!roman #giant!logan #platonic #Kingdom Perspective #part 15

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

Text

I do most of my writing in google docs so as to worry less about having to back it up and also be able to access it on mobile, but with no power, no wifi, and no data signal for the past day and a half, I couldn’t get to anything that I should’ve been working on. So instead, I got bludgeoned in the face with an AU that is entirely on-brand for what I am right now, but also if I ever dare to try and continue this, I do not just permit you all to beat me to death with my laptop. I in fact encourage it.

“Roddy, what have you done that’s so--?” 3k of the opening of a FE3H Fae AU, ft. Jeralt and the three lords. That is my crime.

-----

Jeralt cradles in his arms a child that has never once cried, and it stares up at him with big eyes, ever silent as the grave. "You know what this child is, don't you?" the doctor asks, and Jeralt wants to tell him no, I don't, or maybe fuck off, that's why I brought you in here, or maybe just fuck off, but instead of any of those options, Jeralt stares without a word. The doctor sighs and continues, "You have a changeling child on your hands. You can tell by the way it doesn't have a heartbeat."

Is its silence a mark of a changeling, too? Jeralt has seen babies before - he knows their eyes always look too big for their heads, but this child's eyes are just slightly too big, not just for its head but for anyone. Its eyes are blue but have depths like the sea, fathomless dark, and its big eyes are too perceptive, following Jeralt wherever he goes, and he feels like there's something much more than a child peering out from behind them. Its eyes have the keen stare of something ancient and wise, some creature more and less than human.

"What do you do with a changeling child?" Jeralt asks. How to care for one - how would Jeralt care for any child? What does a changeling eat - what would any motherless newborn eat that Jeralt can provide? What does Jeralt do with any child now that Sitri is gone? It doesn't have teeth - the baby doesn't have teeth. Babies shouldn't have teeth, but Jeralt heard that changelings have from their births sharp teeth that draw their mother's blood and drink it. Jeralt has heard a lot of things about changelings.

"There are options," the doctor replies. "But you're past the point that iron would help - iron is preventative. Hang a horseshoe over a cradle, or beneath the pillow--"

"I know," Jeralt interrupts. He's been around a long time. He watched those customs fall out of fashion and recently start to resurge. In times of tumult, people fall back on old ways, old traditions good or bad, and Fodlan might be at peace but Jeralt feels a storm coming on the wind. "I know. We're past that point."

The doctor clears his throat. "Well, mistreatment of the child will often prompt the mother to come collect it. Even they have some sort of protective instincts towards their offspring, to not want to see them come to harm. You could beat it with some implement of iron, leave it out exposed to the night elements, or leave it over hot coals or a fire. Leave it at night unprotected by iron, whatever you choose, and pray that in the morning you find that your own child has been left for you, and the changeling taken back."

Jeralt studies the child and it seems to study him back, its eyes as intently fixed on him as his are on it. Its gaze is uncanny and seemingly knowing. But it doesn't make a sound, and surely if it has any understanding of the spoken word, it would cry out on hearing the doctor's suggestions. Perhaps it is nothing more than a child, if a faery one.

It doesn't look anything like Jeralt; it looks very little like Sitri. The few tufts of hair on its head are too dark. Its eyes are blue, like the evening sky has pooled within them. It is too quiet to be anyone's human child. Blood pulses through its veins but its heart does not beat. It is a changeling, a faery child, and that means that somewhere there is a child of Jeralt's flesh and blood - a child of Sitri's flesh and blood and Sitri's own life traded to birth it. There must be that child, spirited away to some netherworld, if there is this changeling child here in Jeralt's arms.

That must be what that means, but Jeralt was there so soon after the birth that Sitri's body was still warm, yet the child in Rhea's arms was still silent as the grave. It had not yet been fully cleaned of blood and the residue of birth but it did not cry and Jeralt thought that it might be dead until he saw those big eyes blink. It was silent so soon after its birth and if that is a sign of a changeling then it was switched so soon after its birth. And if it was switched barely parted from its mother, then the one responsible must have been the only other living being there.

Jeralt does not know what Rhea is; he knows she saved him when he should have died, and then over a hundred years hence he still has not died. And that he knows that is enough.

Rhea might be the one who possesses the child whose heart beats to pump the blood of Jeralt and Sitri through its veins. And if she has that child, then for her to swoop in and save the silent child and return Jeralt's to him, then Jeralt must--

Its eyes are too big and it is too silent, without a cry, but it is still a child. Its eyes survey Jeralt like it is a predator waiting to pounce, but its small hands cannot grasp Jeralt's fingers. It is still a child and still helpless. It cannot lift its head. It might not be the child of Jeralt's blood, but it is still someone's child. It is still a child.

There is a fire. A great, blazing fire that tears through the monastery, devouring pieces of it even through the rain that falls still upon it like tears for Sitri's death. There is a fire, and Jeralt thinks of the doctor's advice.

Rhea cries for the child with a grief beyond what she even expressed for Sitri. But no other child appears. No child of Jeralt and Sitri falls back into the empty cradle.

Jeralt takes the strange, wide-eyed child whose death he faked, and he runs. He leaves behind some truth he cannot fathom and does not want to; he leaves behind the woman who he has served for a hundred years, and he leaves behind the esteem of the Knights of Seiros, and he leaves behind the grave of his wife. He is not sure that he is leaving behind another child that has a heart that beats. He is no longer sure of anything but that he does not trust Rhea. He could not trust Rhea even with a changeling child, either.

Jeralt leaves behind ashes and takes with him a child that never cries, a child he could not put to flame.

Claude - though not Claude then, not yet ever set foot in Fodlan then - hears stories of faeries from his mother; she tells him the stories that she and her brother were once told, stories that urge children to behave for fear of faeries. Children out in the night. Children who stray from the path in the woods. Children who venture alone too far from their homes. Any might be disappeared away forever, or perhaps changed instead for some strange faery-child. Faery-children have sharp teeth from birth and a thirst for blood; faery-children are too quiet and too smart, and when rarely they speak, they speak with full phrases well beyond their years. Faery-children have no heart.

He doesn’t believe in faeries for several reasons. Children who get lost in the night or the woods can easily fall victim to wolves, or wild wyverns, or starvation, or the cold. They might be kidnapped by bandits or political rivals and so, vanish. Some kids just don’t like to talk but are smart and observant despite it - doesn’t make them monsters.

If he believed in faeries, anyway, he would still worry less about them than he does about assassins. But he doesn’t believe in faeries, because he’s been a target of assassins but there are no stories about faeries in Almyra. “First I heard of them is from your mother,” Nader says. “Our armies can cross the Throat, but these faery-people can’t? Seems to me they’re far weaker than us! Scared of us and our wyverns, if anything.”

Not that Almyra’s armies ever stay far past the Throat, or Fodlan’s push far past it either on their counters. People who cross the Throat never stay on the far side of it, no one but his mother. He asks her if people back in her homeland might blame faeries for taking her (because there’s some stories of them taking or switching adults, too, not just children but mostly children), and she considers that and decides yes, they might.

His mother tells him a lot about faeries, and when Claude - now Claude, now also of House Reigan - goes to Fodlan he hears a lot about Almyrans, and he finds overlap. His mother said that faeries hold grand feasts that last for days, and dances that last all through the night, and Claude thinks of Almyran celebrations. His mother tells him that humans taken by the faeries cannot eat of their food else they will fall into debt and be forced to work their life away to pay back a mouthful, and that humans joining to their dances cannot stop and will dance until they die of exhaustion in the dawn. People of Fodlan tell horror stories of what happens to prisoners taken by the Almyrans that sound so the same. And Claude might not know everything that happens in Almyra but he knows that isn’t true. People from Fodlan talk about Claude’s people like they’re monsters. But people from Fodlan are also Claude’s people.

The Alliance nobility whisper about this Reigan heir who so suddenly appeared in Deirdru to live with the Duke. Claude listens to the whispers because it’s good to know what people think, even if they’re wrong, and time and again he hears himself called a changeling. “Do they mean it just because I’m some weird child who turned up here seemingly out of nowhere?” he asks his grandfather. “Or do they actually think I’m a faery?”

His grandfather has no firm answer, one way or another. Claude thinks if faeries were real, he’d feel bad for the changelings. It’s not their fault if they’re placed among people who expect them to be monsters just because they’re different.

Edelgard holds fast to a dagger of iron and makes promises to herself, to the world, to her siblings’ spilled blood on the stone floor of a dungeon. “They act as though they’re so different,” she tells Hubert, “the Seelie and the Unseelie, but they aren’t.”

They all take children, some way or another. The Unseelie emerge from beneath the ground when summoned, wearing beaked masks and beneath them faces and hair as white as bone, and they take children and carry them off below. But those who survive them they let go. Edelgard has seen the sun again, and she has heard rumor of what happened in Ordelia territory and that their house has as well, one surviving daughter. A few lucky ones escape the Unseelie.

But the Seelie - they sit high above humanity and they are more subtle in the way they steal human hearts, sink their claws into them and wrench them forth and replace them with their own wills. (Faeries do not have hearts and must take those that belong to humans.) No one escapes the Seelie. Convince another generation of the supremacy of the Church of Seiros and those humans will live their lives in fealty to the Seelie whose court sits at the top of the Church, there at Garreg Mach, teaching generation after generation of nobility. Convince another generation of the necessity of Crests that it blinds them to all other aspects of a person’s worth, and they will summon the Unseelie to do their horrific, bloody works.

The flames beneath Edelgard’s skin, the two Crests burning through her blood, stand testament to that.

The Seelie and Unseelie claim to be opposites but they are intertwined. The crimes of the Unseelie are facilitate and encouraged by the unchanging society that the Seelie preside over. And at least the Unseelie went to ground, live away in their faery hills except when they are called upon, but the Seelie stand at the peak of a hill and overlook all of Fodlan and perpetuate its every ugly aspect. The Unseelie claimed the lives and blood of Edelgard’s siblings, but the Seelie have the lives of all Fodlan in their grasp, and they squeeze. They slowly squeeze the life from all of them.

The Seelie and Unseelie are the same and neither court sees it and so they hate each other, but Edelgard can see it and she can use it. The Unseelie made her at the behest of the society that the Seelie made, and so they will reckon with her. She will topple the Seelie, whatever the cost, and once Fodlan has seen them shattered on the ground she will drag the Unseelie into the light and burn them away.

She does not know when this iron dagger fell into her hands, but she clings to the salvation it promises. An iron blade in her hands and the full force of her human heart behind it.

Dimitri sees ghosts through fae-touched eyes, a curse surely laid upon him for having the audacity to survive when no one else did. They fade in and out at the edge of his vision, and he can't move quick enough to leave them behind in the day. And in the night they always find him in his dreams, grabbing at him with hands that are not human hands, hands that have claws protruding out of nails. Their faces are familiar faces, almost, soaked in blood and scorched by flame, with familiar but accusing eyes demanding vengeance for their deaths, a chorus crying out for blood, blood of the ones who did this to them or failing that, any blood at all. They look like people he has known but if they were not human. If his father had not been human but was a creature in a faery-story instead. If Glenn was. They claw at his skin, seeking his own blood in the night, and in the day they continue to whisper their demands.

An uprising sparks in the western Kingdom and Dimitri goes to quell it, to put his own people to the sword because those who command them seek the throne. Dimitri is too young to claim his crown and birthright but he is old enough to stand on a battlefield and fight in a conflict that has emerged because of that void that rests beneath the crown. Dimitri cannot rule but he can kill, and that is enough to sate the ghosts. He can barely hear them over the clamor of the battlefield but their desire is clear; they insist on the blood of anyone whose blade crosses Dimitri's. They drink it up from his lance and the earth that it spills onto and when they are gorged in it they are silent and smile with sharp red-drenched teeth.

For the price of some other lives, Dimitri receives silence, relief so welcome he is almost giddy with it, almost dizzy from it. Two years that they lingered without ceasing in front of his eyes, spoke so often into his ears, and they are gone, have granted him reprieve, if he cannot pray that this is permanent. For a time he has fed them and he is free.

But when the battle is over and Dimitri lingers in the sweet, blessed silent of the aftermath, he is reminded again of the cost of blood. Innumerable dead soldiers on both sides of the battle whose names he'll never know; a corpse of a man clutched a locket as he died, a locket that has spilled open to reveal strands of golden hair. It must have belonged to someone important to him, but what relation, Dimitri cannot say, will never know. It is hair that belonged to someone who may now be haunted by this soldier's ghost, and Dimitri prays that someone will be blind to it the way that all eyes that are not Dimitri's own seem to be blinded to the spirits that surround him. He prays and the goddess will not answer.

Children in Faerghus, soon after their births, are gifted an iron dagger to lie on the edge of their cradles or beneath their pillows, to protect them from faeries when they are not old enough to protect themselves. When they are older, it becomes a tool in hand with which to defend themselves and cut their own paths. But Dimitri gave his dagger away and he wonders if that is why the faeries reached down and sank their claws into his eyes so now that ghosts bleed out of them.

A month after the battle, empty of the glut of blood they devoured, the ghosts of familiar faces but with faery teeth, sharp and stark white, reappear, resuming familiar cries in Dimitri's ears.

#legally i should not speak any more of this au now that i have thrown it into the world EXCEPT i have one joke with claude and dimitri #that i need to wait to say until some people have read this. it's a very stupid joke but i also like to think it's funny #roddy fanfics: fe3h #fe3h chatter tag #do not ask me about the lore i don't know most of the lore i just put words on a page and i shouldn't be encouraged #encouraging me beyond the one joke i have about a conversation in this au between claude and dimitri #is subject to a $200 fine and you permit yourself to be beaten to death by my laptop as well

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elgringo300 · 3 years

Text

The Magic of the World

The world is without color. Everything is Black and White.

Man is just another creature, who sleeps on the ground in the open, hunts animals with their bare hands, and picks berries to eat. They can talk though, which makes them different from the animals.

There are three magical creatures, who are the only things in the world who have color.

One is Unicorn, a magical horse with a horn on the top of her forehead. She is the child of the moon, and the sibling of the stars. The horn contains magic and creativity, so every 4,000 years, when her horn runs out of magic, she sheds it and grows a new one. Unicorn’s favorite activity is to sit and ponder the mysteries of life on top of a high mountain.

Then there is Dragon, a fierce flying monster in the sky. He is the child of the sun, and can breathe fire just as hot. He enjoys flying around and doing stunts in the air, while breathing fire the whole time. Dragon loves to show off his splendor.

Finally, there is the mysterious Turtle, who is larger than anything in existence, even the dragon. He stays under the water and observes the world above him, content to live in simplicity. Unicorn and Dragon both know he has something important to do, but they don't know what it is. They only know he is happy to wait until he has to do it.

One day, Dragon notices the humans, and sees that they can talk, even though they are like animals in every other respect. He figures that this probably means that they should be better than animals somehow. But since he doesn't know about this kind of thing, he goes and tells Unicorn.

Unicorn, as usual, isn't paying attention to the world, preferring to imagine strange situations and possibilities and what-ifs instead. But when Dragon comes and tells her about the humans, she gets an idea. She causes her horn to shed 2,000 years too early, so that it still contains magic and Creativity. Then she tells Dragon to choose a human to give the horn, so that he might show the rest of the humans.

Dragon figures that he should give it to the chieftain of the humans, since he would be able to lead the rest. But on the way, he gets that urge again to fly around and show off his fire and stunts. As he is doing a triple loop-de-loop, the horn slips from his grasp, and falls to the earth below. It is found by a young man named Dekko, who happens to be the son of the chieftain. He is very independent and capable of taking care of himself, so his father doesn't worry very much when he wanders off.

When Dekko picks up the horn, he is suddenly transformed. His eyes are granted magical sensors that can see color, an aspect of Creation he didn't even know existed. His skin gains magic too, so every creature that saw him could also see the color of his skin. Nobody remembers what color it was, only that it was so scary and different from anything they had seen before, that they ran away as fast as they could. His mind gains magic too, and

for the first time, he starts having ideas, and admiring the world around him.

Dragon sees what has happened from high in the sky. He sees that even though Dekko is so infatuated with the world around him, he's not doing anything with the new ideas he's having. So Dragon gives the boy a small flame on a stick, the first candle, although since this one was magical, it would burn forever. Dekko touches the fire, and gains the magic that Dragon had left in it: Motivation. He settles on a project to do, and starts breaking branches in order to make the first shelter.

Finally, the boy's father, Roka, is starting to worry. So he goes in search of his son and finds him glowing with color. He is very frightened since he has never seen color before. But Dekko quickly gives him the Unicorn horn and Dragon fire, so that his father has creativity and motivation too. They then go and show the rest of the tribe what they have found. Within weeks, the whole tribe also has Creativity and Motivation.

They begin cutting down trees to make houses, and killing creatures to make clothes. After a while, they have enough houses and clothes for the whole tribe. Roka, the chieftain, begins to feel a little melancholy. Every day, he seems to have less time for his family. And every day, there are less trees and animals. Roka begins to worry that their way of life might not last forever. Dekko doesn't notice anything wrong though. He's thoroughly enjoying himself.

Dragon notices the humans beginning to destroy their environment and the family unit, but again, he doesn't know what to do. So he goes to Unicorn and explains the situation. Unicorn scoffs at first, but then takes a look and sees that Dragon spoke candidly. Unsure what to do, since her horn hasn't grown back yet, she suggests talking with Turtle.

So Dragon grabs Unicorn in his large claw and they fly miles away to the ocean in the west, where they land on the beach. Little do they know that this is the event that Turtle has been waiting for his whole life. He rises from the depths of the ocean, and without showing his head above the surface, he tells Dragon and Unicorn to find the Chieftain and his son and tell them to visit him on the beach. He takes special care to mention that both of them must go, Dragon and Unicorn, or the humans wouldn't come.

So the duo flies back to the forest, which is starting to look more like a plain, and quickly find Roka and Dekko. First Unicorn walks in and finds Roka and Dekko, and tells them that the mighty Turtle has called them, so they should travel west to the beach. Roka has been thinking that some action needed to be taken, so he immediately agrees. But Dekko thinks he is smarter than his father, and so figures he doesn't need to listen to Unicorn.

Then Dragon flies in, and roars in a mighty voice, "Roka, Dekko, you must travel to the beach to the west, to visit the great Turtle, or your tribe will not survive!" Then Dekko listens to the advice, and he and his father travel west for many days, with Unicorn leading the way while Dragon protects them from danger. First through the forest, then the desert, then the

plains, and finally they arrive at the beach. Turtle rises up from the depths, and without breaking the surface, rumbles in a large voice, "Dekko, Roka, your tribe has been doing bad things by cutting down all the trees and killing all the animals. It is not bad in itself to do these things, but you are doing them too much. So I have a gift to give you. I call it Wisdom. It is a new kind of magic, and it can help you know when to stop changing things and be happy with what you have done."

Then he asks them a very important question. "Do you want it?" Roka immediately nods and says yes, but Dekko is more stubborn. "What do I need Wisdom for?" he says. "My people are happy cutting down trees and killing animals. We are happy staying away from our parents. Why should we stop?"

Then Turtle tells Roka to step into the water. Turtle pokes his head above the surface, revealing it is larger than ten men. The large beast opens his mouth and breathes on Roka, giving him the magic of Wisdom and Self-Control.

Roka turns around, but Dekko has already started on his journey back home, leaving his father behind. When Roka gets back, he finds that the forest has been almost completely destroyed. The tribe, not possessing the new magic, had kept going and cut down all the trees and killed all the animals. Then Roka tells them to come with him, because he had found a new magic that could save them from themselves. But the new magic of Wisdom had Roka tell them one more thing: Only those who were sorry could come with him to the new land.

A lot of them are happy, because they all know that their demise was their own fault, but hadn't known how to stop. But a lot of them are also angry, among them Dekko, because they feel like they should be better than Roka for some reason. They choose to remain in the barren wasteland and live in squalor, where they eventually die of starvation.

Roka and his people leave for the beach, where they are all bathed in the breath of Turtle. Unicorn and Dragon come with them. Together they invent farming and fishing and cities and cars and all sorts of things. Unicorn decides to give up her physical form and plant herself in the mind of man, where she whispers all sorts of ideas about life and the universe. Dragon gives his physical form up too, and plants himself in man’s heart, where his roaring fire still gives us strength to make our dreams come true. But Turtle remains in the ocean, waiting for those who come to seek his gift. This is why Creativity and Motivation are essential parts of every human being, while Wisdom only offers itself to those who ask for it.

#fantasy #creation story #wisdom #creativity #motivation #short story #TalesFromGringolandia

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

the ot4 with the 'Trouble' prompt please

I went with SFW for this one! Barclay’s design is based on a Whale Shark, Indrid’s on a Bat Ray.

Joseph Stern, for servant of her majesty's royal navy, is absolutely and irrevocably fucked.

He’s chained to a sunken tree in a bayou somewhere off the south eastern coast of North America. Its getting dark. And he has identified no fewer than four ways he might perish here.

One: Exposure to searing heat

Two: Dehydration or starvation

Three: Alligators, which he has sight at least one of on the banks of a nearby river.

Four: Sharks, sea monsters, or other horrors of the deep.

He won’t drown; high tide’s come and gone once already and while the waves rose up to his throat, they did not cover his head.

This is all Captain Haye’s fault.

Their ship was transporting a woman, one Madeline Cobb, who Haye’s believed had information on a cache of gold to rival El Dorado. Stern shares his suspicion that the woman is concealing something. But he thinks hauling her from her Inn and holding her prisoner was not the right course of action.

Hayes, unwilling to release Cobb or sail too far form where she may be hiding...whatever she’s hiding, had them going practically in circles, the men increasingly lobbying for a return to port and New Orleans. Worse, Hayes became convinced there were spies on board, working to free Cobb and keep the crew from finding its quarry.

He settled on one of the first culprits being the cook they’d just taken on, Barclay. That Barclay was gentle as an old housecat and showed no signs of being known to Cobb other than delivering her meals, did not matter to Hayes. Stern argued as much, pointed out that there was no evidence of treachery, merely bad luck and incompetence.

(He omitted the part where he’d snuck into the galley more than a few nights; first to talk, or for a safe place to order his thoughts under a kind gaze, and later for a handful of kisses).

Barclay had simply smiled at him, told him it was alright; he’d rather Hayes throw him overboard than some other innocent soul. Then down he’d gone, Stern watching until no trace of him could be seen beneath the water, knuckles white against the wooden rail.

He once again voiced his displeasure to Hayes, who accused him of trying to mutiny. In spite of his protests, none of the men came to his defense. He was not as hated as Hayes, but he was still an officer and therefore not well liked.

So here he stands, marooned at the mouth of a coastal river, stripped down to his trousers, skin burnt and stinging from where salt water found the gashes left by the lash.

Off to his left, he spies two shadows in the water. Large, fast moving shadows. A fin, definitely not that of a dolphin, breaks the water.

It is not his preferred death, by teeth and strong jaws, but in some ways it is preferable to the prolonged suffering of starvation and thirst.

The fin is no more than few feet away, and the front half of the beast breaches the waves.

It has a mans face, of that much he is sure. But it can be nothing other than delirium that explains whose face it is.

“Barclay.” His voice is mournful, cracked.

“Uh huh.” The merman swims to him, spotted grey tail just visible in the dark, hand brushing Stern’s side, “don’t worry, baby, I’ll get you free.”

He humors his imagination, “Of course you would try, but how…” He blinks as the world flickers and then Barclay is standing, tail long gone, modesty preserved only by a wrap of dark fabric. He reaches up, snapping the chains in two and Stern collapses, struggles to steady himself before hitting the water. Bu he doesn’t have to; strong arms pull him against broad chest.

“I..I’m not hallucinating am I?”

“Nope. Joseph, god, I’m so glad I found you.” As the large hand strokes his hair, he spies the second shadow in the water, once again too close from comfort.

“Barclay we, we should make for shore, there’s something coming.”

“Hm? Oh, no, that’s just Indrid.”

“Who’s-”

A second merman emerges, turning smoothly onto his back to regard them. His upper body is lean and angular, his hair pale, and in place of a classic tail he has wide, black wings like those of ray starting at his hips, tapering down to a narrower tail.

“Indrid Cold, a pleasure to meet you, Joseph Stern.” He flaps in a wide circle around them, “You see, Barclay, I told you we would find him here.”

“It’s not that I doubted you, just, god, god I’m glad to see you alive.” The embrace is almost painful against his raw skin, but Stern can’t find the energy or desire to care.

“And I you. That still doesn’t explain how you’re one, not dead and two, a merman.”

“All in good time,” Indrid answers in Barclay’s place, “right now, my dear, we should retreat somewhere safe. Would you prefer to carry him, or shall I retrieve a boat?”

“Do you mind?” Barclay asks gently.

“Not at all. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined it.”

Barclay kisses the top of his head, scoops him up into his arms as if he weighs nothing. It doesn’t take much walking before they reach shallower water and then the shore. Indrid stays in the water as they proceed up-river, his unusual form allowing him to swim alongside them in the shallow portions.

When they arrive at a small, yet well kept, house, Barclay opens the door and sets Stern on a bed.

“You sure he won’t mind?” This he calls out to Indrid, still in the water.

“I am quite certain. This is Duck we’re talking about, remember?”

“A duck?” Stern’s vision is fading, the toll on his body finally registering.

A laugh, “No, ‘Duck’ is the guy who owns this house. You’ll meet him tomorrow. Here, drink this.”

Cool, fresh water passes his lips, and even as he swallows he feels himself slipping into sleep.

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

The first thing Stern sees when he awakes is an unfamiliar man placing ups on a nearby table. He doesn’t see Stern is up, and so is humming to himself, off-key yet charming. His eyes are two different colors, and while he looks as strong as Barclay, he’s shorter and more fat sits atop the muscles. Unbidden, Sterns mind offers up the thought of what it would be like to be pressed between this man and Barclay atop the covers.

Too many nights at sea have made him desperate for the human touch, it seems.

“Mornin’” The man is looking at him, smile friendly, “you must be Joe, er Joseph.”

“Joe is fine.” The casual name is welcome after months of being addressed so formally. And the way it sounds in the other man’s mouth is natural, as if he’s known Stern years.

“You must be Duck?” He sits up carefully, head still light from the ordeal of yesterday.

“Yep. This here’s my place. Or, uh, really our place. Mine and Indrid’s. Barclay stays with us sometimes, sometimes he lives at the Inn nearby, since he’s Mama’s cook aw fuck, I mean uh, he’s, he ain’t ever seen her before, or me, uhhhh. Fuck.” His shoulders sag as he finishes the terrible lie.

“It is alright, my love, I suspect Joseph does not intend on returning to Captain Haye’s.” Indrid walks in from the porch, his human form as lean and angular as his mer one. Red eyeglasses perch on his nose, and he’s more heavily clothed than Duck.

“Not a chance. Captain Hayes is a sadist and a madman and I never wish to see him again.”

Indrid grins wide, “Excellent. Now, let’s have a look at your injuries.” Indrid grabs a tin of salve from a shelf, “Because I see you are about to ask, Barclay will be back shortly with the ingredients for more of this, since it will take some time for you to heal.” Indrid sits down behind him, deft fingers soothing the cuts and sunburned skin.

“He can see the future.” Duck says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, grabbing a kettle from the stove “coffee? Or do you, uh, prefer tea?”

“Coffee is fine. OW!”

“Apologies, that cut is a little deeper. In fact...Duck, my love, I believe he needs stitches.”

Ten minutes later, Stern’s back is still stinging, but is sewn up. Indrid had offered his hand for comfort, and even as Duck finishes cleaning up the cuts, Stern hasn’t released it. Indrid seems in no hurry to do so.

“Morning.” Barclay appears in the door, a basket in either hand, “found what you asked for, Indrid, and some berries and wild garlic too. Figure I can use that for dinner.” As soon as the baskets are set down, Barclay is kneeling in front of Stern, kissing him softly, careful not to set his hands anywhere too burnt.

“Glad to see you awake, handsome. These two treating you okay?”

“Hmph” Indrid crosses his arms in mock indignation, “how dare you impugn my manners, let alone Ducks. He’s a good southern boy, after all.”

“Indrid, I once watched you ignore a guest for an hour solid.”

“I was distracted by some futures! Speaking of which, I ought to be off. There is a fishing vessel that will likely appreciate being warned away from a patch of reef that will tear its hull.” He leans across Stern to kiss Barclay briefly, then stands along with Duck to kiss him. Makes it too the door only for Duck to pull him into a much firmer kiss. Then there’s an elegant splash, and Duck turns back to them with a sigh.

“They were married a few months ago.” Barclay offers as explanation.

“I see….but, Indrid kissed you as well.”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh” Barclay scratches his short beard nervously, “Indrid and I were lovers a long time ago. When he turned up in these parts again after some years away, he only had eyes for Duck.”

“Even if he was shy about it. Had me a little creeped out at the beginnin, especially when he showed me his mer form without warnin.” Duck pours Barclay a mug of tea and hands it to him.

“But eventually Indrid asked if I wanted to be with him again, even if it wasn’t real formal. So that’s what I did.”

“And it didn’t bother you?” He looks at Duck, who shrugs.

“Hey, Barclay’s a big fella; he’s got a lotta love to give. So do I, for that matter, and so does Indrid. Lovin’ one person don’t mean you can’t love another just as much, even if it looks a little different each time.”

“I see.” Stern takes the water Barclay offers him, afraid to meet his eyes.

“If, uh, if it bothers you, Indrid and I can break things off. He told me last night he woudln’t be upset if that was the price for you and me being together. Said he hadn’t seen me as happy as I am when I look at you in a long time.”

That makes him look up, and Barclay is gazing at him with a gentle affection, the kind he thought he’d forfeited years ago.

“I make you that happy.”

“‘Happy’ barely even describes it.” Barclay kisses him again, nuzzles his cheek before pulling back.

“I...I’m alright if you wish to continue that relationship.” He aims for a kiss, misses due to lightheadedness, and lands it on Barclay’s nose.

A deep chuckle, then “We can figure out details later, okay? I gotta go fish.” He stands, grabbing a pail, “back soon.” Then he blows Stern a kiss and is gone. Stern waits for the splash before laying down, being upright too much for his tired frame.

“Here” Duck saunters over, munching on the fruit Barclay brought back, “gotta get some food into you. Be a shame for that body to turn all skin and bones.”

“Thank you.” Stern takes a handful and then, about ten minutes later, discovers he has eaten the entire basket.

“You, uh, you gotta little” Duck is trying not to laugh as he makes a circle around his mouth with a finger. Stern wipes his mouth, succeeds only in smearing purple across his cheek, and Duck breaks, hiccuping giggles escaping him, the sound making Stern laugh in return.

“Good lord, only a day or so out of the navy and I’ve lost all decency.” Stern smirks.

“From what Barclay said, sounds more like tyranny than decency that they run on.”

“He may be right. I was raised to follow orders; no one ever warns you what you are to do if the orders strike you as wrong.”

“Say ‘fuck it,’ in my experience.”

“I was hardly so vulgar and you can see where that landed me. Then again. Seeing the shock on Haye’s face when I argued with him was truly a pleasing sight. I can be stubborn when I wish to; perhaps I should have done so sooner.”

“Here’s to bein’ stubborn” Duck lifts his cup and Stern weakly clinks his water glass against it, “we oughta get you bath, both for the juice and the sand you still probably got in places. I’ll draw it up and help you in it.”

“No interest in keeping me company?” The salacious tone slips out before he can catch it.

“No, uh, fuck, not, not at, fuck, all.”

“Now you see why I ain’t one of the ones they sent on the ship to keep an eye on Mama.”

“What?” Stern sets the glass down with a thunk.

“Barclay and a few others on board really do know her. Not that she can’t get loose herself, but we wanted her to have back-up. This ain’t the first time someone’s come pokin around lookin for fuckin’ El Dorado or some shit and we had to deal with ‘em. Ain’t even all that much worth seekin out; some of the mers got real powerful magic, and there are some piles of lost treasure. But nothin like that Hayes fellas was imagining.”

“Are you all mermaids?”

“Nope. Me, Mama, and few others are human including Ned and Boyd-”

“Chicane and Mosche? The ones who signed on our ship?”

“Yep.”

“I thought they seemed suspicious, though I had not intention of telling Hayes.”

“ I wouldn’t trust either of ‘em further than I could throw ‘em, but sometimes the fact they’re damn good liars comes in real handy. C’mon.” He helps Stern up, leads him to a washtub out back near a pump, “you ain’t the only one of us to fall for a mer neither. I got Indrid, and my friend Aubrey is married to a mermaid called Dani.”

“Fascinating” Stern gingerly undoes his trousers, looks up to see Duck covering his eyes.

“Really?”

“Just bein’ polite. Now” fingers part and a green eye peeks through them, “let’s get you clean.

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

Stern heals little by little, looked after by the three men and the odd visitor. He learns that some mers take it upon themselves to learn how to transform into humans, that Hayes is still sailing aimlessly around the coast, and that sleeping beside Barclay is a thousand times better than he dreamed.

He tidies the house in the mornings, Barclay either working or fishing, Indrid asleep or off on some mysterious errand, and Duck preparing to go to work in town (an arborist by trade, a fact that surprises Stern not at all, given how easily he talks about trees). Reads with his feet in Indrid’s lap in the afternoons, helps Barclay make dinner in the evening.

It doesn’t escape him, they way Duck smiles at him after he tells a horrible joke that the shorter man laughs at anyway. The way Indrid’s fingers linger on his skin when he hands him something, the way he’ll idly run his hands along Sterns arm or leg if they’re sitting side by side.

The two still give Stern and Barclay space and privacy, but he can’t help feeling that there are times he wants them in bed as Barclay eagerly and lovingly fucks him.

Barclay, of course, makes no secret of his feelings. He kisses Stern good morning and goodnight, cooks him elaborate meals, brings him flowers from the banks and bright shells from depths (Duck shows him how to make a box to hold the gifts from the sea, opening his own, one that once held cigars, to reveal all manner of tokens from Indrid).

But as he heals, Barclay asks on several occasions if he intends to stay, the question always nervous and hopeful. Stern keeps demurring. He’s considered dead, will be reported as such to any who knew him back home. But he’s a foreigner here, in more ways than one, fears he has no permanent place in this patch of the world, even though he’s certain Barclay would gladly make a home with him.

Today such worries are far away, the four of them swimming in a clear, well-hidden lake. Duck, droplets still glinting in his dark hair, lays on his belly on a rock in the water. Indrid flaps lazily between them as Barclay gives chase to Stern. He’s asked him to, wanting to build back the strength and speed he lost while healing.

“Gotcha” a smooth tail bumps his legs as Barclay embraces him from behind, “if I were a real shark, you’d be dinner.”

“Good thing you’re tame.” Stern splashes him soundly and he splutters, letting the human go. As he swims away, laughing, black wings envelop his waist and legs as Indrid surfaces, face inches from his own and arms draped over his shoulders

“Indeed. Such a tender creature as yourself would make quite a treat to ones like me.”

“Rays don’t eat people Indrid!” Duck calls from the rock, not even looking up.

“Come now, my sweet, look at him. So enticing” the wings press him closer, “just waiting to be devoured. Wouldn’t you agree?” This he directs at Stern, who nods breathlessly and leans in for what he assumes is a kiss.

Sharp teeth find his neck, nipping and sucking hungrily. He gasps, moans so loudly they can hear him in the city.

“Was that alright?” Indrid pulls back, and Stern can’t tell if the question is meant for him or Barclay, who is watching them with widening pupils.

“Lord, yes.” He whispers.

“Uh huh.” Barclay swims behind Indrid, kissing his neck before gliding over to Stern. Indrid leans in, and this time it’s the expected kiss, briny and sweet. Indrid lets out a soft laugh when Stern whines for another but gives it readily, spreading his fins to guide them through the water, the human finding he feels perfectly safe with his eyes shut. When he blinks them open, Duck is staring down at him. He’s about to open his mouth to ask a question when Indrid darts up to capture Duck’s lips.

“We talked about it this mornin’, Indrid and me.” Duck sighs happily, goofy smile directed Indrid’ way.

“We were going to talk to you both tonight, but I could not resist a moment ago.” Indrid says sheepishly, “I have discovered just why Barclay has been so elated the last few weeks. Duck has as well.”

“You...it’s really alright with all of you?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Barclay’s tail runs up and down his legs, “if you’re all okay with it, I couldn’t be happier.”

“What do you say, Joe? Ready to give up sailin the seven seas and stay with us awhile?”

Stern nestles against Indrid, Barclay’s tail still teasing his ankles, and cups Duck’s cheek.

“You know, Duck, I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

#mermay fills #historical au #indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton

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things2mustdo · 3 years

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“White people are terrible,” “I have white privilege,” and “most of the world’s problems are caused by white people” are three general statements countless social justice warriors and their enablers agree with. Yet they are all based on the severest distortion of reality. You or I should no more apologize for being white than an African-American should for being black.

Just as many blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities are made more pliable by the media and the establishment by being told they are eternal victims, white people are made more pliable by agreeing that they need to always feel guilty. Using an SJW “anti-racism” that feels awfully like the leftist version of a Nazi book about hereditary, white people supposedly inherit the evil deeds of dead dudes who owned slaves prior to the Civil War or arrived on a foreign continent in a year like 1492 or 1788.

The establishment-enforced guilt is even greater for those directly descended from such people, but even culturally and genetically unrelated individuals like Polish- and Italian-Americans, whose ancestors pretty much all arrived after periods like the slavery era, are held accountable, too. Why? Even if we ridiculously assumed we can find descendants “guilty” of their ancestry, the white guilt thesis is like putting all of Harlem’s young black men in 2016 under house arrest because 20 of them were involved in a vicious street brawl… in 1937.

Provided you adhere to our creed, neomasculinity and the Return Of Kings community form the broadest functional church you will find. We do not care where you come from, so long as you support our goal of a return to masculine societies that emphasize community-building and do not apologize for taking pride in their own cultures. ROK readers who are black, white, Asian or something else are all equal in this regard.

Here are just three of many reasons why I will not hate or feel guilty about my skin tone.

1. I’m the descendant of victims myself because many of my ancestors were from oppressed ethnic and religious groups

Look at those privileged starving Irish!

Are you heavily Irish-blooded, like me? Italian? Polish? Ukrainian? Were your ancestors Catholics living in heavily Protestant areas, or perhaps Huguenots who had to flee persecutory France?

It’s funny how SJWs prance on about white privilege when over half of all whites who emigrated to America, Canada or Australia, from the Puritans to Yugoslavian Civil War refugees, came because the civilian government or monarchy representing another ethnicity or religion essentially chased them out, had killed their family members, or wanted them dead, too. Many of the white groups who did take the journey, particularly the Italians or Irish, were then subjected to quotas and mistreatment in places like New York for years.

A great deal of my ancestors were Catholics in Prussia and other Protestant parts of northern Germany. This section of my family tree is replete with persecutions, including one great-great-great-great grandfather who lost sight in one eye and movement in his arm after being brutally assaulted by a Prussian policeman. His crime? Being an ethnic German leaving a Catholic church on Sunday in the 1800s. Catholic churches were only for “subhuman” Poles. Catholic Prussians were seen as traitors who belonged in Bavaria, prison, or dead. He ended up eking out an existence as a tailor with one good arm, after both he and his brother were repeatedly refused admission to the civil service for their faith.

In addition, I had Irish immigrant forebears whose fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters died as a result of the Potato Famine. One of these ancestors, the eldest child in his family, was working in Dublin to make money for the family when, in the space of three months, he received news that his parents, all his sisters, and all but one of his brothers had died from starvation, malnutrition, or diseases related to them.

When my aunt did the genealogy over three years, she counted 37 family members in one corner of an Irish county who died from starvation or starvation-related illness in 13 months. The famine was predicted and even aggravated by the British. Considering the squalor into which the occupiers had driven the Irish Catholics, the whole ordeal was fundamentally caused by them, too. With only an extra mouth to feed, this great-great-great grandfather of mine took his barely school-aged brother with him to Australia two months later. What role did these two have in oppressing others, white or non-white, that I should feel shame about today?

Look further back into my family tree and you find German, Dutch and Swiss Jews, many of whom were shunted around various locations within Europe, depending on what limited patience local authorities had for yarmulke-wearers at the time.

With this lineage, what exactly do I have to apologize for, aside from my supposedly very, very privileged, at best lower middle-class English forebears from drab West London and grim Yorkshire? Most of them never saw a dark person, let alone mistreated one. To boot, the vast majority lived poor, thankless lives without clean sanitation, abundant food, or anything close to job security. And these are the stations in life, through no fault of their own, that 95% of your ancestors reached as well.

2. Minorities and other non-whites frequently treated and still treat each other far worse than white people did

Rwandan genocide, anyone?

From the pre-Columbian Central and South American peoples to the Rwandan genocide, non-whites have very often treated one another even more abysmally than whites have treated them. European technology may have amplified the number of indigenous and other deaths in places like the Americas, but raw hatred, aggression, and the continuity of violence can be found in even greater quantities in non-white historical squabbles.

Europeans have also been incorrectly blamed for things like infectious diseases, despite the scientific work of antiseptic procedure pioneer Ignaz Semmelweiss being years, sometimes even centuries away. Meanwhile, non-whites have been allowed to kill non-whites without serious condemnation from SJWs.

For example, critics of the Iraq War and the attempted rebuilding of post-Saddam Iraq have said that the whole country is based on a fiction that dates back to the European post-World War I mandate systems. In other words, if Kurds, Shia Arabs, and Sunni Arabs inhabit the same country, they kill each other! Whilst it is appetizing for SJWs to blame the big, bad British and French for this, it is far from the truth. Kurds and Arabs have been butchering each other for countless centuries. The greatest Muslim figure of all the Crusades, Saladin, was consistently mistrusted because of his Kurdish origins. Similarly, intra-Arab or Arab-Iranian Sunni-Shia violence is age-old and has little if anything to do with Europeans.

Last year, Rock Thompson wrote a superb piece about the hypocrisy of attacking Columbus Day in the Americas. His work exposed the double standards of many Native American and also Central and South American tribes, who pretend their ancestors were routinely peaceful when, in fact, they regularly engaged in deplorable acts of gratuitous violence, including human sacrifices and the sadistic mutilation of enemies who were not so ethnically different. The conquistadors and Puritans are falsely seen as the harbingers of cultural and racial genocide in the Americas. Local indigenous tribes, however, were already hunting each other down for sport well before the tall ships arrived.

3. White-majority countries make the humanitarian world go round

A tent city the Saudis refused to make available for fellow Arab Syrian refugees.

Whenever you find an aid program for starving Africans, war-torn Arabs, or other suffering people, chances are that a number of white Westerners are behind it. Even if they’re not all white, they invariably come from white-majority and/or white-founded Western countries, or are funded by them. All to assuage the guilt of white people living in 2016 who feel the need to apologize for a European colonial regime that replaced almost always far more brutal indigenous ones.

Western countries also welcome non-whites in droves, both as immigrants and as “refugees.” The recent Syrian crisis is a testament to this (over-)generosity. While Saudi Arabia refused to accommodate fellow Arab Syrians in their already-constructed tent city, used normally for the Haj Priligrimage, Germany and other European states bore the brunt of those fleeing, including through the open door policies of leaders like Angela Merkel.

In general terms, white people care more about the developmental outcomes of non-whites. Wealthy non-white countries like Japan and Korea have perfected a system of meticulously keeping their populations pure and rejecting the asylum claims of over 99% of claimed refugees. This asymmetrical state of affairs is ironic when Japan’s own history of colonisation, notably the Rape of Nanking, is taken into consideration.

White guilt is also very profitable for certain establishment figures and zealous entertainers. It’s why twats like Bono and Bob Geldof get up every morning, after all. And, far from sucking the world dry, white folks have repeatedly tried to make it better. Very often this generosity is taken to an extreme, but the point of white-majority countries acting and non-white countries stalling or ignoring remains valid.

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