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elemit · 3 months

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A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 23: Rescue

Death tastes like blood.

Like hot blood that splatters thick and sticky across your face, coating your closed eyelids and hollow cheeks, filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with a force that makes you choke.

Your eyes snap open. Fresh blood. Lifeblood. Your greed for it almost drives every other thought from your deadened brain. Through a red mist, you see the flash of a silver blade, a headless body collapsing to its knees at your feet, a dark object that could be a man's head thudding to the floor beside you. Shadowy figures crowd in through the doorway, bringing with them mutterings then shouts then screams. A pale, delicate hand gestures in the air in front of you, and with a rush of magic - my magic, rages a whispered voice inside you - the room lights up, every candle and fireplace dancing to life to illuminate the grisly scene before you.

Marshall Bormul’s beheaded corpse is sprawled at your feet. Astarion stands a step behind where the Marshall had stood, one hand still raised from casting the spell, the other clasping a bloodied silver blade by his side. His handsome face is blood-splattered in a way you haven’t seen since you adventured together all those moons ago, and something about it - the desecration of something so flawless and white with something so dark and inherently violent - makes your newly found breath catch in your throat. Beautiful, rich red blood spills from the Fist’s neck, seeping into the carpet. Wasted. The exquisite scent of it drives you wild, and you let out a voiceless keen, falling to your knees, needing to put your lips to the gaping wounds that continue to pour forth the blood that you so desperately crave.

Astarion's arms are around you before you have a chance to press your lips to the still-warm corpse. You writhe in his hold, feral with hunger, until he whispers a command to you:

“Be still.”

Your body goes limp; your thoughts quieten. You settle in his arms.

“Good gods, man, what have you done?” exclaims a man from the crowd by the door.

Astarion whips around with you clutched to his chest.

"I have rescued my wife," he snaps at the man. "You all saw it. The man was all over her like a rabid dog. I had to put him down."

He speaks with such authority that none dare oppose him. Meek murmurs of "Yes, lord," and "Of course, Lord Ancunín," are the only responses he receives. He turns his attention to the scattering of servants in the crowd.

"Someone tidy this up. You, bring the councillors to my receiving room. I'll meet them there shortly. Everyone else, back to the ballroom. Now. This… unfortunate incident is no reason to ruin a perfectly good party."

Having given his orders, Astarion strides out of the room, pushing past guests dressed to the nines, carrying you with him. Behind him people begin to drift slowly back towards the ballroom, buzzing and humming with uncertainty and shock, while the servants among them spring to act on his commands.

“I warned him,” Astarion mutters, seemingly more to himself than you. “I told him that what is mine to share is still mine.”

You are still frozen by his earlier command, but he doesn't seem to notice until he's carried you all the way to your bedchamber and laid you, lolling, on the bed. Suddenly noticing the state you are in, he sighs.

“You may move.”

At his words, a chaos of feeling and movement floods through you. You are wracked by breathless, wordless sobs, though whether they are caused by fear, relief, or disappointment, you do not know. You curl in on yourself, trying to force your shuddering breathing back into order, and slowly the sobs subside into deep, shaking breaths. Astarion, standing by the bedside with a slight frown on his face, gives a nod at your newfound composure.

“I’ll send servants to tend to you. You need cleaning up.”

With that, he turns to leave.

As he walks away towards the door you sense the quiet and the darkness gathering, ready to settle over the room the moment he leaves. While earlier in the night the gloom was a place of solace, the thought of being within it alone now fills you with a deep sense of dread. It is no longer an escape; rather, it is an obscurity filled with strange and unknown terrors that are only waiting for your husband to leave before pouncing.

Unable to call out to him, you let out a panicked hum, pausing him in his tracks. He turns around to look at you questioningly, and you beckon him back over to you.

“What is it, my sweet?”

You beckon again, more forcefully this time, ignoring the confusion and dismay in your chest. Dreadful though he may be, you do not want to be alone. He cannot leave you.

“You want me to stay?”

You give a single reluctant nod, blinking away the hotness in your eyes. A smile twitches at the edges of his mouth, and he walks back to the bed, sits on it, and pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and try to find comfort in his embrace. He brushes the blood-matted hair from your face, hushes you, and whispers soft things into your ear as he rocks you gently.

“You are mine, my treasure. My darling love. You are mine. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to take you from me.”

There is a threat in his comfort, just as there is an edge to all of his kindnesses these days, but you cannot bring yourself to mind it. He is an evil that you chose, not an evil that is being forced upon you, and tonight that somehow feels like it means everything.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #a gift a curse #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #long fic

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cursedvibes · 9 hours

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I know you like tenken, takaken and sukume but what are some other relationships or dynamics do you like in jjk and why? Could be romantic, platonic, familial, antagonistic or just plain toxic and fucked up, anything.

Thanks for the interesting ask! These are my favourites at the moment.

Mahito & Yuuji

I think it's the best antagonistic relationship Yuuji has in the entire manga. I like them both as a ship and platonically for what we get in canon. Although considering the scene in the anime where Mahito tries to murder kiss Yuuji, you could say it's one-sidedly canon.

I miss Mahito a lot lately and come to only appreciate him more and more with time. He was very good at building up a sense of dread and he has a viciousness to him that's lacking in the current Shinjuku fight for me.

He mirrors Yuuji without literally being related to him (so far, who knows what else Gege will reveal to be in Yuuji's gene cocktail). Yuuji learns something from him, reflects upon himself, his actions, who he wants to be and why he fights. They are both still figuring each other and themselves out. Both of them grow during their fights and become more dangerous, desperate and feral any time they meet. I love how Mahito is not only able to break Yuuji, but also to break him. Yuuji's hatred for Sukuna is smouldering, while for Mahito it is a raging fire. Yuuji has nothing to learn from Sukuna and no interest to engage with him anymore, while for Mahito it was raw and personal and resulted in Yuuji embracing the disgusting and ruthless side of himself that makes him so cold against Sukuna.

It's been great to see how even now Mahito still influences Yuuji. He was the first one who really taught him about the soul and what it can be capable of. Any time the soul is brought up, Yuuji's first thought is how Mahito was able to manipulate and contort it. He is able to hurt Sukuna so much because of what he learned from Mahito. As much as I miss Mahito and his personality, it wouldn't make sense to bring him back now, so I'm glad to see his continued impact on Yuuji this way. Overall, what I like about the two is how "juvenile" their conflict is. Cruelty of a child and innocence of a child clashing and both of them improving, growing and maturing through it. I also think it's very fitting that Yuuji never got to exorcise Mahito because the message is that Mahito represents a different side of him and he shouldn't ignore or destroy that side, he has to embrace it to be able to stomach what lies ahead.

Maki & Mai

If done right, I'm always a sucker for twin relationships, especially the codependency in it. I wouldn't say Maki & Mai are my favourite example of them or the best written one, but I still like them for what they are, particularly everything in Perfect Preparation and the Sakurajima colony. It could've been better and more consistently set up, but the payoff is still emotional and impactful and that's what I like them for.

Both of them need each other, wanted to help each other in their own way, but they never saw eye-to-eye or managed to communicate properly until after Mai's death. They were holding each other back through more than just the jujutsu consequences of being born a twin. Mai wanted Maki to give up and live with her at the bottom and Maki thought she had to shoulder all responsibility and could only go on and pave a way for them alone. Even after the have "become one" in a jujutsu sense and Maki unlocked her Heavenly Restriction, they don't immediately work together and have to learn how to communicate with each other and lift each other up, make up for what the other can't do. And through understanding Mai better and learning to hold her and fight together with her, she also begins to understand herself better.

I wish we got a more in-depth look at them, their past and relationship while both were alive before the Perfect Preparation arc. I hope Maki's arc will have a satisfying end and she will find something meaningful to do with her life.

Hakari & Uraume

Every time the leaks come out, I'm hoping for at least a glimpse at these two. There's been setup for some really interesting exploration of the themes of humanity and strength here. They are also just such a funny duo and it gets more and more hilarious the more chapters pass by and we don't see them. While Sukuna plays whac-a-mole with the main group, Hakari and Uraume have been "fighting" for 20 chapters now without seemingly getting anywhere except gossiping about what happens over at the main source of action. Wouldn't be surprised if we skip back to them to see them eating ice cream while watching the others get beaten up.

On a more serious note, I really hope the little speech Uraume gave in ch 245 gets picked up again and explored upon because it was the most interesting commentary we got so far on the source of sorcerers power, what it means to be human when you are so strong and also Uraume's background. Uraume's view of humanity and strength seems to slightly differ from Sukuna's and they also seem to reflect upon it more. They say forming relationships and fear of losing said relationships is what makes you weak and yet they have no problem following Sukuna and worrying about him. They are even open to forming bonds with others like Kenjaku or even Hakari. Hakari is actually the person we have seen them be most relaxed and friendly with so far. With Sukuna there is always a remaining formality and Kenjaku annoys them, but with Hakari they chat like a normal person. They make fun of him, but it's very colloquial. It seems like they actually came to see him as a true equal. There is no binding vow or old history binding them together, they simply want to keep Hakari from interfering with the fight and through that they got to engage with him without any pretence.

I just wish we actually got to see how their relationship developed over that now pretty significant amount of time and to see more of Uraume's worldview and maybe Hakari's too. He broke away from Jujutsu Tech and was left to build up his own independent existence together with Kirara. Very similar to Uraume and Sukuna. Now if we could only explore that connection between them more. On page. Not off-screen. I would've taken that any time over the pointless intervention from Geto's cult members or Kusakabe sacrificing himself.

Kusakabe & Yaga

I think this is Kusakabe's most interesting relationship and what actually gives him some depth beyond Exposition Guy. It's also where we see Yaga's more overtly caring side beyond his interactions with Panda. Unfortunately, it gets overlooked a lot, in part because Gege doesn't linger much on it beyond one or two chapters and Kusakabe's last words before getting cut down. There is literally nothing about this ship in fandom spaces. Probably because for some reason people think Yaga isn't hot enough (he's the literal definition of a dilf what more do you want?)...

Chapter 147 is interesting because it shows us the closest relationships and most hidden secrets both Kusakabe and Yaga have. We learn that Yaga not only makes autonomous puppets, but he actually has a whole Hundred Acre Wood-type of retreat full of the souls of dead people, children in particular. They aren't weapons like Panda, they don't fight, they are just allowed to live there. Protected by Tengen interestingly enough. She probably just doesn't care what he does or thinks it mildly interesting/quirky. This is also where we find out that Kusakabe has a sister (Usami?), who has been severely traumatized to the point of being catatonic and lost her son, Kusakabe's nephew. Despite the taboo, both Kusakabe and Yaga are willing to raise the dead not only to help her, but also to give Kusakabe something of his family back. It's the most vulnerable moment we've gotten of him and it speaks of their deep bond that Yaga was willing to do this. Doubt he would do this for just any jujutsu teacher (who doesn't even work for him). Creating that kind of cursed corpse isn't easy after all. But nothing strengthens a bond like necromancy. Kusakabe's last words about Yaga in ch 254 are also interesting. He fights for Yaga, knowing he wouldn't force him to do this, but reflecting on how they used to be able to fight together. They must have known each other for a long time. Kusakabe tells himself multiple times to not linger on the dead, but any time he does, it's because of Yaga.

A very interesting relationship with much potential that goes underexplored. I would've much preferred for his relationship with Yaga to be highlighted more in his fight against Sukuna than that out of place "interview" where people who barely know Kusakabe explain his character to us. If they could bring Gojo and Nanami back from the dead, they could've shown Yaga too. If you really want me to believe that Kusakabe is a kind person, show me more of how he acts around the people he actually cares about, i.e. Yaga and Miwa. He's a very different person around them, particularly Yaga and that's when he allows himself to be vulnerable.

So yeah, I think they explored each other's bodies to help each other through their grief.

#I thought about including JinKen too but I already talk a bunch about them everywhere else on my blog #plus I wanted to choose some where we already know a substantial amount about their relationship in canon #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #mahito #itamahi #uraume #hakari kinji #kusakabe atsuya #yaga masamichi #jjk spoilers

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flaresanimedump · 1 year

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Ok so. I was gonna make a post that Ranpo technically didn't go to school. So I went to look at the Origins novel and I checked the raw because of all the omissions in the TL (Ranpo was kicked out of the police academy 6 months before the start of the plot not "less than a year ago" it's very explicitly 半年 "half year"). And uh. Well so on that topic they kicked him out when he was 13, but a police academy isn't considered a real school in Japan so while his education in Japanese language continued he didn't have the core subjects from the age of 12 on. But also.

The English line when Ranpo talks about the school is: "The rules were a pain in the ass. Don’t leave the dorm after curfew, no buying sweets, wear these clothes, follow these rules. And the classes bored me to death."

These are all relatively common restrictions for Japanese schools (snacking is only prohibited at stricter ones), though a couple of wording things stood out. One, the "pain in the ass" rules is 規則 (actually rules) and "follow these rules" is 規律 - ominously "discipline" (this line being more like "not to mention X, Y, Z, Z being the discipline). "Discipline" isn't "punishment," it just has a strictness vibe, but it's a creepy thing to say imo. I hear this and think Trunchbull from Matilda.

So I went to check out the Wikipedia page on "Police Academies" and I see "脱走及び逃走の防止" - "escape and escape prevention" which is an immediate red flag for any live-in institution. "Escape" could also be translated as "desertion" but what followed was a short paragraph saying "there's no barbed wire like a prison but coming and going is strictly controlled" so I'm going with "escape." Ranpo attended something like those kiddie marine bootcamps that were all the rage in the 2000s. I don't know about anybody else but growing up nondivergent camps like that were my absolute worst nightmare.

So I'm already Distressed at the thought of this - but thing about "no buying sweets" is it's age-focused. "No buying sweets" is like "no snacking" but it's specifically "[a child] buying and eating sweets [while away from home thus spoiling their appetite]." This is against the rules because "they should eat food prepared by their parents" and the,,, incredibly sad irony isn't lost on me there even though the academy was feeding him. Which begs the question: can you really train a 12 year old to become a detective?

So I went to the Japanese National Police Agency website because I wasn't sure what the age range for attendance at these schools was. And I found it.

Eighteen to thirty.

Ranpo lasted eighteen months in a military academy for eighteen to thirty year olds until they kicked him out.

*I'm not going to claim this is all 100% right since Japanese prefectures set the lower age limit at 18, which could mean Asagiri was just makin' shit up or there's some lesser-known police middle school that calls itself the exact same thing as the one for adults. You're only supposed to stay at them for 10 months so there's already some other suspect things here. But I think it's pretty on-brand for Ranpo to think college-level classes are boring. Also his dad was connected to the principal so he could probably bend the rules a little to get Ranpo admitted.

#ALSO OH MY GOD I totally understand Fukuzawa now #save Ranpo #ranpo edogawa #edogawa ranpo #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs #anaylsis

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razorsharpteeth · 7 months

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TIMING: Last full moon PARTIES: Devi @spice-and-fire and Samir @razorsharpteeth LOCATION: The Grit Pit SUMMARY: Razor doesn't want to go back into his cage post-fight. Devi is here to save the day! CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Worm Row was home to a lot of sketchy places, including the underground fight club called The Grit Pit. Not everyone knows about this place, not everyone wants to be in this place, but rebellious teenagers sometimes sneak in to get a little peek at all the action. Sometimes, some of them just get dragged here by their friends, unable to say no because of peer pressure. Other times, troublemakers need a fall guy to pay for their tickets and get blamed by their parents. Case in point: A familiar face currently surrounded by two of his classmates, both sneering like privileged punks.

Devi heaved a sigh, pushing her way past other audience members to put a hand on one of the bullies, much to their surprise. “Danny, who are your new friends?” Danny was a good kid, but he’s never been lucky making friends. Most of his peers took advantage of him, and despite these new guys’ protests, it was clear as day that not much has changed. Danny mumbled the same thing about them being his friends while one of the buttfaces arrogantly asked who she was. Devi simply shook her head, heaving a sigh. “I’m security,” she stared daggers at the kids, trying to intimidate them both. “You two should scram. There’s nothing here for you. I see you near Danny again… You’ll find out why I was hired to work security in this hellhole.”

As if on cue, a loud scream pierced the room, and other people began running toward the entrance. Danny did the same, following his two other classmates, before Devi could say anything else. When she turned around, she heard another guy scream her name. “Devi! One of the fighters… It’s bad!” He then started running elsewhere, further in. Devi could do nothing else but follow his lead, tsk-ing her way to the cause of all the commotion.

—

The wolf was furious. There had been a time where he had ran free, paws crashing against forest floors or else sandy beaches. There had been attempts to keep him restricted before, of course — with a dog crate, with chains and padlocks, with thick walls, with sedative drugs to keep him down. None had ever taken quite well enough, up until now. These past cycles he kept awaking in a cage that could hold him, leashed by something that could not be scratched or bitten off. These past cycles he had been witnessed, by more eyes than ever before. The applause confused the beast, but he did know one thing.

Fury. Violence. Of course, that was what they wanted, but Razor was not privy to what these humans wanted. He did not even know what the person he was during the day wanted — but he knew part of him wished to rage against the world the same way he did. So he raged. He raged on that podium, all claws and teeth and howling when his opponent was out. Part of him liked the challenge, the way these others fought back unlike so many of the others before this. But there was always this.

Back in the cage where he went to sleep and woke. It was pure, furious instinct that overtook the wolf that belonged to Samir – that was part of him – and he refused, jaw snapping at the employees of the Pit. Razor, they called him, for the sharpness of his teeth and claws. Growling, he intended to prove they’d been right to call him as much.

—

When Devi arrived on the scene, all hell had already broken loose. Or at least some hell had already started. Every damned fight was a little bit of its own hell, sure, but so was getting the fighters out of the ring, sometimes even into the ring. This time shouldn’t have been any different. Until Devi realized who, or what, this fighter was. “Ugh, the heck is this guy’s problem?” the tempered phoenix grimaced, realizing that if this went on for too long, not only was the next fight going to get delayed, but also employees including security could get hurt. Seriously hurt. Not to mention this troublemaker as well.

With that in mind, Devi tried to calm the situation down. With arms outstretched toward the other employees, including security, she had them take a step back and not further agitate the fighter that was clearly still on an adrenaline rush. “Hey, everyone just calm down,” she motioned for them to lower their pitchforks, weapons and tools, and give the wolf some space. “Take a step back! Don’t get too close! He’s just a little wound up from the fight, ain’t that right, champ?” A little flattery there should have gone a long way, if not for an overzealous employee drowning in fear. The little guy, out of Devi’s sight, got too close to the wolf’s backside and ended up shoved off. Devi couldn’t blame the wolf. She wouldn’t have wanted him that close to her backside either.

Unfortunately, that brief physicality worked against Devi’s attempt to de-escalate the situation, with everyone back to screaming and literally poking the figurative bear again. “Just great… Ugh! GUYS, STOP! YOU’RE JUST MAKING THINGS WORSE!” Devi tried again but to no avail. Some of the employees found themselves pushed back after trying to push the wolf into its cage with broom handles and stun batons. When Devi tried to help another guy off the floor, she inadvertently got thrown back as well. “Urgh... We've got ourselves a tough cookie!” She groaned after landing on the hard floor close to a different guy who was already prone and unconscious.

—

It was true, the wolf was a monster — but then what were these others? The humans and others that carried weapons against it. They riled him up. Sticks, whips, batons, electric currents. They did it before the fights, because Corinna liked the wolf at its most feral, like an animal driven in a corner that had to fight through to get to the other side. (Where, of course, there was another corner.) But sometimes the wolf didn’t want to stop fighting when the bell had rung, and sometimes the collar and chain-leash weren’t enough and that was how it was now: a bellowing, blood-hungry monster demanding more, because his hunger had been awakened.

Corinna liked him feral, but only against opponents. Samir would wake with a cut taken out of his pay for the damages done, but the wolf didn’t care about that. He cared about the yelling, which was too much, and his restricted movement. It was almost about to be alright, as a new figure joined the scene who seemed to calm all those prodding and poking. But then there was another one on him, at the back, and the wolf kicked furiously.

He was the monster, but he had no concept of such things. He just knew he was angry, that there was a bloodlust coursing through him and that there was all these people on him, trying to get him back in that small space. The wolf refused, roaring against attempted restraints and using its full body weight to push some of them over, paws finding target after target. It was almost fun to the wolf, to watch them fall. He stepped his paw onto one of the still bodies, still warm under his soft paw-pads. His claws sunk into the flesh and he roared once more, the smell of blood comfortable in his nose, eyes settling on the woman who’d once tried to restore peace.

—

“You asked for it,” Devi snarled as she got herself back to her feet, refusing the help of a faceless employee who sprinted toward her. The sight of the unconscious man on the ground reminded her of a past life, where all she knew was war, all she could do was survive. With furious eyes, Devi stomped her way toward the beast, reloading her biceps, which were obviously smaller than Henry Cavill’s, so the gesture looked less intimidating and more confusing. With a scream akin to a battlecry, she threw herself toward the wolf, and threw a mighty punch! A superman punch! Or in her case, a superwoman punch. “You’re dead meat!”

Unfortunately, despite her determination and rage, the wolf was still the bigger creature. It was more formidable than someone with brittle bones who was tempering their flames. It was more dangerous, with its dagger-like fangs and sharp nails that could easily rip apart her flesh. It was, in every sense of the term, the apex predator between the two of them, maybe even among every living, breathing thing in that room. Devi was determined, yes, but with all these facts and more, the only thing she would actually be able to do was boop the doggo in the snoot and then get flicked back on the ground.

—

The wolf knew hostility. He met it every day on that strange stage, the place surrounded by shouting faces. But it barely ever came in this shape: a small human, lifting a fist. It was strange, even to his simple mentality with lacking philosophy, to be met with this kind of aggression. And though the other moved with all her might and aimed for the face, the wolf barely seemed to feel it — but still, he responded with a look of confusion, as if almost stunned. Not in a way where he would keel over or pass out, but just … confused. As if his instincts were trying to figure out what the best response was to this strange kind of aggression. His head whipped, and he tossed the human onto the ground with it.

But then he let out a noise, head turning the way that of a dog might who’s trying to understand what is being said. Ears turned flat as the wolf exhaled deeply, almost as if assessing if any damage had been done to his nose by the boop it had experienced. But no, there was none. Actually, the wolf found it had felt rather nice to have his snoot booped. Another whine escaped him and he nuzzled closer, nudging his wet nose against the small woman’s hand.

—

I done messed up, was the last thought Devi had before she got (wo)manhandled down onto the ground. Hard. She heard the thud as her flesh and bones collided with the floor, felt the coldness and the firmness of that collision. Like getting slammed in the back by a car, a familiar feeling in itself from her murky past of regrettable decisions, all of which fueled more by adrenaline than brain cells. Oof! Her breathing was staggered. She realized that a few seconds later. She tried to catch up with it, tried to calm herself done, all the sensations rushing into her all at once. Pull…yourself together, Devi…

And then there was the unexpected wetness on her hand. Blood? No, something else, something more solid…and a little more fun. When Devi realized what it was, she couldn’t help but smile, slowly sitting up on that very ground, except with no more urgency in her. “Well, how about that…” When the others tried to rush the distracted wolf, Devi gestured for them to stop. The fight was over. They’d all won. If victory was peace, at least that would be somewhat true. Carefully, warily, she got herself back to her feet, making sure she wouldn’t spook the wolf accidentally. Peace was always fragile. This one was uncertain, too.

“Does someone want some jerky?” Devi gently took some from her back pocket, a cheap product meant to keep her satiated somewhat until the job was done, until she could get a better meal, which in her head was a cold glass of beer and whatever that day’s payment could feed her with. With a warm smile on her face, she gave the wolf a taste and then tried to lure it back to its cage with what remained, eyeing the other employees with a glare that discouraged them from interfering. She’d rather not get tossed around some more. “Pretty good reward for a good boy, huh? Or a good girl. Whatever works for you.”

—

Wolves were pack animals in nature, but Razor had never been so lucky to have fellow wolves to care for. He was a solitary creature, the love his human had encountered not even registering in his animalistic mind. Things like a kind touch were foreign to him, both as deliverer and recipient — and so he was confused, yet intrigued. The sound that left him sounded like something he’d never heard before, but it made sense, instinctually, to make it. Something like satisfaction.

The smell of dried meat was enticing too, of course, perhaps even more so. The wolf followed it, nose wiggling as he sniffed the air for it, paws hitting the ground rhythmically. He might as well be a comic book character, enticed by the smell of a freshly baked pie, floating in the air behind it. Maybe it was the tone of the person holding it that kept him from attacking, ripping it from her hand (and perhaps her hand with it), and in stead following meekly.

Into the cage, that place that he hated. Unrest started stirring in his body and he nipped for the jerky, digging his teeth into that metaphorical carrot on a stick and chewing with furious fervor. It was enough distraction for the employees to push him further in and close the door, locking the wolf in place where there was now nothing left for him to chew on the jerky and wait for the moon to leave the sky.

—

Devi heaved a sigh of relief. This time assured by the sight of the wolf retreating into the cage and finally the cage door being shut closed while it stayed still inside, no longer a threat to anyone and everyone. There was a sense of triumphant pride in what her eyes were seeing for Devi. But that was immediately replaced by a tinge of sadness. Was it fair that the animal was being held inside a steel trap, isolated from the rest of them like a criminal? Based on its uncontrollable actions, maybe, but the situation still didn’t look so far to the tempered phoenix.

Another sigh and Devi approached the cage with a frown, with sadness in her eyes, empathizing with the creature. She had done her fair share of brutality as well, on innocent folks as well, and despite the change she’d mustered for herself, shouldn’t she also be locked up like the wolf? Maybe, but she’d rather not. No one in their right mind would want that fate. Not when they have the option to remain free, no longer the rabid and violent person they once were. “Sorry about all this,” she shook her head, still frowning. “Go get some rest. Soon as I can, I’ll set us up some good grub.”

That meant waiting for the rest of the employees to calm down and cool off. The ones that were knocked unconscious to get carted off to the backroom and checked. And for the boss to not come in scowling and pissed off. Soon as a few minutes passed and all that gets checked off, Devi reckoned she could probably scrounge up a good meal for her and the poor doggo. From her share of course. Just a little better than the usual fare for the fighters. Mostly because she brought it herself.

—

He had once been a free wolf. There had been plenty attempts by Samir to control the beast within, but they had always failed — until now. This cage, the wolf hated this cage. He hated the collar around his neck, the shocks that jolted his body, the prods and pokes before he was dragged out into the pit, the way even after all of that, it wouldn’t cease. People would stare at him through the bars, shout things he couldn’t fathom. He only liked the fights. He only knew the fights, so of course he was snarling at the person across the bars. Even if she was soft-spoken and apologetic.

The wolf didn’t know apology, nor pity, nor kinship. He was a solitary creature made of a rage he didn’t understand the source of. And so he raged, even when left alone. He raged, and it seemed to get louder and louder as the moon sunk away. Bones cracked, changed shape, adjusted placement. Organs moved around, grew in size or shrunk. A fur made place for a scarred human skin, bare and uncovered until Samir properly became himself again.

He ached. He always ached whenever he came to again, and not just because of the transformation. Samir wasn’t sure what happened when he was a wolf, wasn’t sure what measures they used against that part of him, what they’d pit it against — and he didn’t want to. He wanted an advil, a glass of something strong and to go to bed. He got up, yanking the robe from the corner of the cage and throwing it around his body, waiting for whoever was going to come to undo the cage and hand him his winnings of the night.

—

The wolf reacted accordingly. Devi bore the creature no ill will. If she was in its shoes, or paws, she wasn’t sure she’d have reacted differently. Maybe she should be in the cage instead, though. She’d committed more nefarious, treacherous, deathly crimes against loved ones than she believed the wolf had, even though she knew nothing of the wolf’s own past, even though the wolf was an instinctive predator with more animalistic survival instincts than societal burdens of legal and emotional criminality. To her, compared to what she had been in her past lives, everyone else was a saint. This one a Saint Bernard. Nailed it.

But then something happened to the wolf, something that shocked Devi and worried her…to the point of turning to the other employees for help, employees that just shook their heads and shrugged, making her remember that the wolf was one of those guys. The shapeshifters. The people who turned into beasts whenever and wherever. She’d fought some of them before. Never been a blast. As she watched the wolf-man in the cage transform, she winced and grimaced, realizing this must not be a blast for them, too. And then a random thought crossed her mind, something she thought hilarious, inappropriate but hilarious, something that could maybe ease the pain of their terrifying change.

“Hey, you,” Devi began as soon as the man fully resurfaced from all of that wolf, realizing she would never get the same opportunity ever again. At least not in this place. “You’re finally awake… You were trying to cross the border, right?” She shook her head, arms crossed over her chest, as if her entire spiel was real and not just a recently learned meme. “Walked right into that Imperial ambush… Same as us…” To add to her effort, he turned to one of the employees, a grouchy man who immediately scowled at her in confusion. She gave him a nod and ignored his sigh of annoyance. “…and that thief over there.” For the pièce de résistance, she took a deep breath and raised her fist at the ceiling. “Damn you, Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along!” An audible groan from the same grouchy employee was heard nearby.

—

As the string of his robe was tied, one of the employees started talking and it took him a while to catch up to what was happening. Part of him didn’t want to understand, wanted them to just unlock the cage, give him his money and send him on his merry way. He hoped Corinna wasn’t going to call him in — she did that, sometimes, when he was exhausted from the fights and transformation and not as sharp as he usually hoped he was. She did usually supply some coffee, at least. Samir couldn’t fault her for that.

But this guard got under his skin, this woman who was quoting what he thought to recognize as something from a video game. A past life — he had no console any more, nor did he have friends he played with. Back in Florida, he’d play them before shifts at the restaurant with colleagues, but these days the escapism of video games was no longer a luxury he afforded himself. Samir just stared at her, with a tired expression and none of the appreciation he’d be able to muster if this was just another day. But the truth was that he’d just transformed in front of all these people, that they’d seen him go from monstrous wolf to the naked, harmless man he was now. He had some pride left, and his pride demanded he leave.

“Skyrim,” he muttered, signaling that he understood the reference. There was no judgment in his tone, because if there would be, it would be angry — and Samir knew better than to be angry here. Anger was for the fighting pit, not for coworkers. For people not trapped in fighting contracts. “Can you let me out? I’d like to get a coffee.” And a painkiller. Shit, did his body hurt, but in a strange way, one that seemed stuck in his nerves. Must have been stun batons, or something of the sort. “Or … do you want to recite another video game monologue or some shit first?”

—

Devi maintained eye contact with the resurfaced human underneath the wolf that had been, in a way, a fucked-up way, his clothing. Werewolves, were-anything, animal shapeshifters… These were always tricky to the now-tempered phoenix. Were they the human underneath, the animal just a temporary mask or armor? Or were they more the animal their humanity had been repressing until it could no longer? Whatever they were, at the very least, they always put up a good fight. “Ah, good,” she smirked, nodding at the request. “Means you’re human enough again.”

Devi turned to another employee, gave them the eyebrow dance, and took a step back. She could have opened the cage herself and freed the guy, but this was more practical. If one person did all that, the guy in the cage could’ve used the distraction to shove his way out of there and transform again. Happened once before. Never again. This way, though, while the hapless employee gets trampled by an escaping fighter, Devi could pounce on the guy before he could get closer to the Pit’s exit. What did the kids call that again? A big brain move? Devi might not have finished school, but she’s experienced enough of the world to be somewhat useful.

“Coffee’s that away!” Devi didn’t wait for the guy to fully get out of the cage, immediately gesturing for the pantry’s direction with her lips. “And some meds, if you need them, but they might take those out of your paycheck.” They didn’t. Most of the time. But if Corinna gets in one of her moods when she hears about that little backstage kerfuffle, she might take more than the meds out of this guy’s paycheck. “Nah, that was all I got. Can’t afford games these days,” she heaved a sigh, before showing him the remaining jerky in her hand. “Barely even afforded this, which I split with you to calm you down before someone got hurt.” The guy who opened the man’s cage scowled at them: “I got hurt.” Devi just laughed and shooed him away, giving him a mere thumbs up for a job well done and downplaying his battered and bruised left rib with a chuckle, much to the guy’s dismay. “Someone more…expensive, I mean.” She turned to where the higher-ups were. Or at least where they should be.

—

There was a level of trepidation around him that Samir wasn’t used to. He looked from the woman to the other employee, who was looking at him as if he’d done something to him, rubbing his leg. He closed his eyes for a moment, then cast his gaze up and waited for the embarrassing procedure of his cage being unlocked to be done with. He was glad for the bars and the containment they offered, but there was something awfully degrading about being stuck between them as a human.

He remained a pace or two removed from the door before moving out of the cage, glad that it was big enough to house his bestial side and thus, big enough so he wasn’t force to crawl out of there. “Appreciate it,” he said, to both the skittish employee and the chatty woman, who was waving some jerky around. “Uh, I’m sure the wolf appreciated that also.” So something had clearly happened. Maybe a more curious person would want to know, but Samir had embraced ignorance. He gave a quick look to the hurt employee, one he hoped seemed apologetic but he didn’t utter any words of apology. To do so was to acknowledge that what the wolf did was something he did.

He pulled his robe a little tighter. “Right. I’ll just get of you guys’ hair then.” If he was going to stay, he’d be asked, or worse, told whatever had transpired here. Besides, was it just his fault? The Grit Pit wanted a feral werewolf on its roster, which came with consequence. Samir was off the clock now. He just wanted to get out. “Will be back in tonight. Until then, if you’re on the schedule, and otherwise enjoy your night off.” And with that, he disappeared into the direction of the changing rooms, wanting to cover himself in his own, human-smelling clothes and pretend for half a day that he was nothing if not human.

#hey you you're finally awake.#threads.#devi.#teeth tw #for the image

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juvellianovo · 2 years

Note

Hello! I came to give u some sort of an idea of what can happen in part 2 (of the Child!Mc with the imaginary friend). Btw, you can just call me Soggy if u want.

So, I was thinking that maybe (since they can't really help mc when it comes to fighting) they give her about 50%-60% of their power so that she can fight back (it can be something like being able to make objects float with your mind, (I forgot the name of it) kinda like wanda maximoff lol. But u can also change it if u want) And during the night, they teach her how to use and control her powers. And the next time she gets in trouble she kinda attacks/hits the brother who is scolding her (it can be lucifer or anyone else). The brothers where confused because she actually managed to hurt them (and make them pass out due to how hard she hit them) and they didn't know of any spell that could do so.

That's all, you can change it however u want to make it better or to make it fit future parts better.

Hmmm thanks for that. Part 1

Lol lucifer gon be the punching bag

For anyone who only wants to see the reaction and wants to skip the explanation please scroll till the red line appears.

As I have mentioned in the previous part after the attic incident Barbatos basically did and didn't bring mc back to life, a yes and no statement. Since Sneho is binded to Mc's soul. He got free because of the effect Barbies power has.

To put it

See it like this. Mana is the power source to spells and circles and even powers that do not need spells or circles, like the power that supernatural beings use. And now there are demonic, holy and neutral power. Neutral power is the power that Humans originally created, one that does not need any circles or spells. Normally people(can include species that aren't human) are born with neutral power source.

So Barbie uses Demonic powers with a very slight tint of neutral.

Now Sneho despite being a demon can use all of these types of power Neutral being his main.

So the mix of Demonic and neutral power which Barbie used malfunctions with the restriction that was on Sneho causing Sneho to be able to break free from Mc's soul and use his full potential if he wants. But he still stays with Mc becauee you know soft spot and besides Sneho doesn't have any relatives that are alive.

Satan

Scenario: Part 1 reference

A real bookworm so probs knows about kids having imaginary friends

Doesn't give mind to it much

But after seeing this several times decides to tag

this man turns into the ripoff of Sherlock Holmes 0.2

Has a very calm demeanor

Quite unexpected

Will try to take the mirror away

But is patient enough to listen to your explanation

Keeps an eye out

Has sarcastic arguments with Sneho

80% of the time Sneho wins

Sneho doesn't trust Satan at all will try to guide you away from Satan everytime you two get a bit close

Literally hisses at Satan

Satan probs finds Sneho a menace exactly what Sneho wants

Scenario: Lending power reference

Now no one! Throws. This. Boy😤

He'll be anwgy if you do😠

So yeah you threw Lucifer over.

Now the wall is completely broken.

Satan for a moment smirked but was a bit concerned

Cause we know Satan might hate that he was born out of someones rage and being compared

But he doesn't REALLY hate Lucifer

This fluff fury only is a bit broken thats all💔

Already has a doubt that it can be neutral human world magic

Widens his eye in shock

Approaches you even tho in the back of his mind his heart is telling him to look back at lucifer

Now he is the 4th Prince ok?

meaning he is the 4th strongest demon in all hell besides Barbie and Diavolo.

He doesn't know any spells that contain that type of aura.

Already has a grasp that it's neural power

Will investigate later.

For now observe the situation

Asmodeus

Scenario : 1 reference

Now asmo can't resist when he sees a mirror

Freaks out when he see someone else's face

Almost breaks the mirror

He just innocently wanted to admire his face🥺

Not much drama

Listens to you explaining

Probs brothers Sneho to be his experiment doll

Sneho actually runs whenever he sees asmo cause he doesn't want to bear the ridiculous rants of asmo that never seems to stop

Scenario : 2 reference

NOOOOOO LUCIFERS SKIN!!

Literally shrieks

Mc I love you but how could you do this to someones skin

All about skin

Doesn't have a clue that his older brother is unconscious

Beel

Scenario : 1

"Is that a demon inside mc?

Lucifer won't be very pleased abt it...

....

I'll help you hide him

...you should be more cautious of demons"

" "

" *Munch* amh..I see"

Probably doesn't mind it and will keep quite until someone else finds out

Scenario: 2 reference

Goes over to lucifer

Really shocked

"I didn't expect that mc."

Not in a disappointed tone rather in a shocke tone

Never tells anyone except for belphie that he knew abt this before

Belphie

Scenario : 1 reference

Probably noticed it only when you were wriggling a lot making the bed move and by how loud you were talking

Did killing make you insane?

at first couldn't process what he saw

After a good few seconds he realized that there was a demon

Takes the mirror away

Until after a long while and Sneho coming out showing himself aswell as you explaining did that cow get it.

Tells Lucifer abt this later

For now sleep is more important to him

Scenario: 2 reference

Shocked as well

suck that bitch

Satistfied

Doesn't care that much

Just a tiny bit concerned abt you

Maybe someone remind him not to mess with you.

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p0ssumkingdom · 6 months

Text

ok i dont see anyone else talking about the three throwaway classpects mentioned in kgtac so ill talk about it

PART 1: The System of KGTAC

when the john cosplayer asks about god tiers, dave firstly says that everyone and everything is made of aspects. what this implies about sburb itself, i still dont exactly understand. do certain concepts just happen to have a high composition of an aspect than others? like, would the idea of religion/zeal be made of hope? does the wind blow because the little breathlets in it like to do as they please? its surely an interesting idea cole thought to chew on. maybe john can become a zephyr since his god tier allows him to transform into the breath aspect itself, not as in "doing this would make him free from consquence" but more "this guy is now 99% concentrate breath aspect". the kgtac god tier system contrasts homestuck's god tier system, probably because homestuck is meta in a much different way to how kgtac is. ill just refer to them as h!godtiers and kc!godtiers to avoid confusion. Anyways as i was saying, h!godtiers are "assigned" to a person, whereas kc!godtiers ARE the person. i.e, an individual defines their mythological title in homestuck, and an individual is defined by their mythological title in kgtac. especially considering that there are millions of bajillions of class/aspect combos present in kc!dave and kc!karkat's multiverse, it would be entirely possible for that to be the case.

PART 2: The Mu of Pane

now that ive established my perspective on how kc!godtiers work, lets actually dissect some of them. we'll go in the order of kc!dave mentioning them. the mu of pane is only described as "an extremely powerful god tier", but that isnt much to go off of. instead i'll be using some research to perhaps mold it into thw shape of dave's description. "mu", or μ, is the twelfth letter of the greek alphabet, romanized as the letter m. it derives from the egyptian hieroglyph for water, which were modified by the phoenicians and named after their word for water, mem. in academics it can mean a LOT of things, so to save myself a headache ill use it to represent extremely small units, minimization operators, and the cleanliness of an orbital zone. this helps us narrow it down to two things, flow and reduction. "one who allows for flow" or "one who creates flow" is pretty boring, to me at least. sylph and page are already the "creation" classes, so maybe it could be "one who allows flow of aspect from one place to another". if we take the reduction route, "one who minimizes aspect" or "one who reduces aspect". personally, im going to go with the latter. when i think of "mu", i think about microns and shit. if you want to theorize about the guy who lets pane flow, i implore you to. speaking of pane, what is pane? dave says "pane as in window pane" which helps a lot actually. what is the one thing that windows do? they allow for the passage of light, knowledge. pane as an aspect relates to open-mindedness, focus, and transparency the most. on the other hand, pane could be corrupted into blind belief, fragility, and inflexibility. yknow, cus glass. pane is closely connected to light, mind, hope, and rage. pane players can encompass any of these traits to any degree! my first thought is kankri. kankri possesses mostly negative traits of pane, but hes very clearly focused and inflexible in what he believes in, whether it be for the best or worst. theres also probably a pun to be made for him being a pain. the Mu of Pane would not at all be like kankri though. a Mu of Pane, or one who restricts, reduces, and overall diminishes Pane, is an underminer. at their full potential, the Mu of Pane can blur the line between reality and surreality to the point where one cannot tell the difference. they can create distrust, doubt, and infighting among their enemies, and be hiding in plain sight. this is why the Mu of Pane is such a powerful god tier. despite their disruptive abilities, they can still be a positive asset to a team. simply being around a Mu of Pane will make you constitute. mind reading and control is near useless, as if the mu's skull was made of lead. perhaps an archetype for this god tier are tinfoil conspiracists! distrusting of authority and willing to convert anyone by any means.

PART 3: The Tide of Yon

the next two god tiers are tricky, as dave spends little time on them. my first thought when i hear "tide" is a bringer of something, like how the tide brings water to higher onto the beach. the definition of tide specifies the rising and falling of the sea levels. theres also a verb; to tide is to drift and fluctuate with something or someone. the tide would be "one who fluctuates aspect", or "one who drifts with aspect", which are pretty vague roles? im sure it will work out though. a Tide of Blood could be the one who brings a team together, but as their title suggests, it wont last long. an archaic definition for tide is "a space of time" which i found to be kinda funny, both because that would be a valid mythological title and how it segues into the yon aspect. yon literally means "that over there", which i interperet to be something upcoming. yon can be the speculation of the future, or the dread of an unstoppable force. yon would associate with the passage of time, movement across space, dread, sight, and patience. this makes yon closely connected to the cardinal aspects, not unlike life and doom. the Tide of Yon fluctuates and fluctuates with Yon. this means that the Tide's action are influence by the future, and the future is influenced by the Tide's actions, creating a loop. it could also be interpereted as the Tide fluctuating between different facets of Yon, such as the hope or dread that comes from it. perhaps the Tide creates conflicting predictions or even truths about what is on the horizon. im not able to pinpoint any specific abilities relating to this title, but i think thats reflective of the Tide's passive nature. their influence IS the power.

PART 4: The Fling of Rime

for this one, i'll start with the aspect rather than the class. theres much more i can draw from rime than i can with fling so. yeah. rime by definition is the frost that forms on things when water vapor or fog crystallizes. its like dew but frozen. to rime means to cover things in said frost. rime then could be the "ice aspect", in a similar way to how breath is the wind aspect or how life is the plant aspect. rime is all about lethargy, abandonment, and the weight of your actions, not unlike the weight of rime on the branches of winter trees. while these sound pretty bad, they're important themes in the context of sburb! a Sylph of Rime could be a teacher, while a Rogue of Rime can be a deadweight. in this sense, rime is a close relative of doom. the fling class on the other hand couldnt be more different. a fling is a short period of enjoyment or wild behavior, and to fling is to throw or hurl forcefully, typically without care. using this, the fling would be described as "one who discards aspect" or "one who is frivolous with aspect". the best way i can describe this would be someone who doesnt really understand their aspect, and therefore either wastes their potential or ends up being a liability to everyone around them. a fling could be an inversion of the mage class then; mages understand aspect, whereas flings misunderstand aspect. the Fling of Rime is "one who is frivolous with Rime", they dont know the weight of their own actions. this person may live in their own world, not paying attention to the events surrounding them. they may also have poor judgement, not knowing to look before they leap. there isnt much to salvage from this title, honestly. they could get cool ice powers? i guess? but theyre bound by fate for their fall to be by the Fling's own hands.

PART 5: The End of Post

hopefully ypu enjoyed this god tier analysis! ill definitely do more of these if i get requested to, cus its a lot of fun speculating. it did take me a while to write this all out, but thats cus i was basing this post off of three pages from an mspfa. like i said though, feel free to add anything youd like to this, whether you agree or disagree!

#homestuck analysis #homestuck #classpect #classpect analysis #kgtac #mu of pane #tide of yon #fling of rime

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sirowsky · 2 years

Text

Chapter 6 - A Broken Contract

Description: Both you and the Mandalorian are at the mercy of your captors, but neither of you can foresee the horror that's about to happen. (Dual perspectives)

OBSERVE! Creator chooses NOT to include warnings on this series. Read at your own risk! Be aware that this story will include violence and is not suitable for minors! 18+ONLY.

Word Count: 4043 Masterlist (This Story) Author’s Masterlist

Link to Chapter 7

–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–

Din sits cuffed to a metal chair in a small room. It’s far from the worst situation he’s ever been in, but it certainly has the potential to be become as much. And yet, his mind is only on you. Where did they take you, what are they doing to you, are you even alive? The questions keep circling his mind, not a single thought spared to his own predicament.

The guard had only knocked you out. Easy enough to do when you were already so weak. But that would suggest that the King wanted to understand, rather than just end you, so there was reason to hope that you still drew breath. Somewhere in the depths of the palace, there is a keep like the ones used to protect the Royals of old, and he’s certain that you’re being held there.

The door opens and Bakol himself walks in, but he’s a very different man now than the one Din met early that morning. That man was tired and sad, whereas this one is pacing around the room with anger and spite marring his aging eyes, giving a hint of what a fierce opponent he would’ve been in his younger days.

“Explain this to me, Mandalorian,” he all but spits at his prisoner. “How can you… you, of all people and all species, decide to aid this monster, rather than destroy it?”

He takes a moment to consider how to answer the King, but in truth, there is only one real answer.

“Because I don’t understand, Your Highness,” he says, and Bakol stops to stare at him. “How is she possible? How is she still human? How has she managed to hold back the Burn all this time?”

“It doesn’t matter!” his captor screams at him, no longer able to control the rage that eats away at his insides like acid. “All that matters is that these cursed demons are eradicated!”

“Then why didn’t your guards kill her?” the hunter presses, already knowing the answer, but wanting the man to own to it.

He doesn’t though. The King is reluctant to admit that he knows exactly why the Mandalorian was right not to end you, so Din answers the question himself.

“Because if she is possible, then it’s conceivable that there could be more. More monsters hiding in plain sight, no longer confined to the same restrictions that history has taught us.”

But Bakol is lost in grief along with his anger, and even though he knows that what his prisoner is saying is correct, his focus is locked in a different direction.

“You helped her…” he whispers now, staring at the floor but with accusation dripping from every syllable. “She killed my son… melted him… and you helped her.” His eyes seek Din’s, and when he finds them, hatred floods the air between them. “Am I to believe that this was also in the service of learning more about their evolution?”

The Mandalorian will have to tread very carefully not to say the wrong thing, not to provoke, or the King will undoubtedly kill him right here. However, it is also vitally important that the father learns just what a man his son was.

“No, sir. But when I realized that your son was responsible for the kidnapped children that I was investigating, I lost all will to aid him,” he says, and the older man loses his bearings for a moment.

“What are you talking about? My son did no such thing.”

“I came here voluntarily tonight, Your Highness. To tell your son about a network of tunnels beneath the city, used to smuggle people and stars only knows what else. But what I learned was that your son was the one that created those tunnels.”

The King doesn’t want to hear that, let alone believe it, but Din can see that a part of him already knew that something was wrong. That part of his anger isn’t directed at the prisoner, but at his own child, for failing to be what his father, and society, demanded of the prince.

“Sir… Before he even knew what she is, Tonolju tried to kill Pan right in front of me,” he explains to the older man, keeping his voice low but his tone sharp. “He told her that he enjoyed seeing people die at his hands, then he tried to strangle her.”

“No… no… that’s not my boy, he would never-…” he tries to deflect, but Din cuts him off.

“I have lied to you, and I apologize for that. But this is the truth. Pan was in control of herself until your son tried to kill her. That doesn’t excuse what she is or the damage that she can do, I understand that. But it does complicate things. At the very least, she is a witness to a terrible evil that lived within your own walls.”

He’s back to pacing, and wringing his hands now too, while sweat beads on his wrinkled forehead. Because he can’t make this go away. It’s no longer as easy as killing a demon and a traitor.

“These tunnels you speak of, where are they?” he finally asks, and the hunter is quietly relieved, because if he’s willing to investigate then his mind has shifted from wanting vengeance to seeking the truth.

“The merchant Gyljen, sir. In his garden you’ll find a hidden door underneath a stone slab, where three paths converge. The one to the left leads out near the badlands.”

“Alright, I’ll send a unit to look into it, and if they find what you’ve described, then I will consider trusting your word once more.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says, hesitating before he adds, “And what about Pan?”

The King is about to leave, but turns back at the question, and he looks somewhat befuddled.

“Why in all the galaxy would you care what happens to that thing?” he questions, but the Mandalorian has no answer for him.

Why does he care? Why do you matter to him at all? He can try and tell himself that it’s merely curiosity, or that he’s fascinated, but neither is the whole truth. That… is much more complicated.

<><><><><><><>

You wake up, being surprised that you do, when a large bucket of cold water is thrown over you, to find yourself tied to a giant metal pole in what looks like the bottom of a very deep well. So deep that the light at the top looks like little more than a single star on a dark night sky, hundreds of lightyears away.

You’ve heard of places like these. Cages fit for monsters like you, with several hundred metres of stone between you and the rest of the world. The only way out is via a lift that hangs freely in the middle of the well, not travelling along a wall, since that would weaken the construction. This is probably the only one that still exists. A fitting place for the last of your kind to end.

“How are you still human?” a voice says to your right, and you try turning your head to locate its source.

Your body is stiff but cooperates, and you find the King’s Head Guard standing there. You don’t know his name, but you’ve seen him before, at Bakol’s side whenever he leaves the palace.

“How have you resisted the Burn?” he presses when you don’t answer.

But how can you? You don’t know these answers, as much as you want to. Although, you suspect telling him that will earn you the same treatment as lying or remaining silent, so why bother your already sore throat to speak. Unless it’s to seek answers of your own.

“Why am I still alive?” you ask, and he huffs.

“Because you present a bigger problem than you realize.”

“You fear that there might be more like me?” you conclude, and he nods. “Well, I’m sorry but I can’t help you there. As far as I know, I’m the last one.”

“How did you infiltrate the city?” he demands, and you sigh.

“I’ve lived here all my life. Ask the homeless by the west wall.”

“See, that’s impossible,” he says, before stepping around so that he’s facing you, “because that would mean that your mother infiltrated the city as recently as thirty years ago, but the last demon sighting was over three hundred years ago. And it’s not like an adult demon can easily hide.”

“No that… that can’t be right,” you whisper, working to piece together your own memories.

“They started hiding their young when we started killing them,” he carries on, either oblivious to your confused rambling or ignoring it. “But never anywhere close to us, despite the babies being indistinguishable from humans, which would’ve given them quite the advantage.”

“They could’ve infiltrated entire cities,” you follow his train of thought.

“Indeed. So, why did that never once happen?” he asks, and when you don’t offer any suggestions, he gives you the answer. “Because how would we not have noticed a bunch of unclaimed babies popping up everywhere? Homeless children are common because parents die, and no one here leaves any fortunes behind. But babies being left in the streets?”

He’s right, that wouldn’t happen, and if it did, it would be the talk of the town. So… how had your baby-self managed to avoid becoming a topic of gossip?

“See where I’m going with this?” the guard presses, and there’s a kind of genuine interest in his eyes. As though learning more about your kind is a passion of his.

“You want to know how I wasn’t discovered back then,” you try, and he nods once. “Well then, you’re out of luck, because I’m not sure if I’d know my fingers from my knees right now.”

“You know more than you think,” he persists. “Think back to your childhood. Who raised you?”

“An older woman, her name was Alio.”

“And where did she say that you came from?”

You hesitate, because this is where your memory gets foggy. You want to say that you were a relative of hers, something she used to tell you until you were old enough to know the truth. But you’ve forgotten most of the conversation from when she told you what you really are. You heard fire-demon and stopped listening to much else.

“I don’t remember,” you say honestly, but then something occurs to you, and you suddenly wonder why it’s never seemed relevant before. “But she knew… All along, she knew what I was. She told me about it long before I ever felt the first flames.”

That halts him in his tracks, stopping to stare at you with raised eyebrows for a moment while he processes this information.

“You’re certain of this?” he questions, and you nod sharply.

“She knew. She told me that I would change and that once I did, everyone would want to kill me. I had nightmares about it for years. But only the Royals know how to spot it in children, right?“

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he turns away and you can see tension build in his shoulders as he ponders something.

“Wait… do you know who she was?” you ask, when the realization hits you. “Was Alio a Royal?”

“No,” he says with a heavy exhale. “But I believe that she might have been the governess that worked here when the prince and princess were young. She was with them through every stage of their education, including when they learned the spotting. She supposedly died in a riot…” he trails off, but you can hear the unspoken end to that sentence anyway.

“Let me guess: around thirty years ago?”

The guard turns back towards you and nods again, and your head starts doing hula hoops, trying to put the pieces in place.

“So, a former Royal nanny fakes her death, somehow comes across a demon baby, even though no demons have been around for centuries, which she for some inexplicable reason decides to raise on her own, despite being over 70 years old at the time. She then teaches the child all about her terrible self, creating a person so desperate not be a monster that she forces herself to resist her own metamorphosis. Did I miss anything?”

He huffs a humourless laugh at that.

“No, that about sums it up. Except it still doesn’t explain how you got here.”

“If I knew, I would tell you. Believe me, I wish that I understood even a fraction of what I am.”

He starts pacing then, looking deep in thought, as though he’s pondering whether sharing what’s on his mind can somehow backfire.

“We don’t know nearly enough about you creatures, but do you really think that we haven’t studied you? There have been entire labs devoted to the dissection of demons for millennia. Anything to better understand how to defeat you.”

That doesn’t surprise you, and you should’ve thought as much. But it does spark your curiosity. You know almost nothing about your own species. You give him your full attention, and he seems to like that.

“It took a long time before humans even managed to get hold of a dead demon,” he starts slowly. “Your bodies are extremely tough, but when beskar rips your skin open and your blood pours out, you sort of… decay. All that’s left is a half-melted pile of meat and bone.”

This you do know, which is also odd, because you remember witnessing it as a child. But if this guard is telling the truth and no demon has been killed around here for that long, then how can you have seen it?

“It wasn’t until a carcass was found by accident, not killed by people, that we finally had the opportunity to take a closer look. It might’ve died of old age or sickness; the cause was never determined. But what was learned was that it’s impossible to tell how old any demon is. After the Burn, your bodies never change.”

“So, it’s possible that we actually stop aging completely?” you ask, and he agrees.

“It is. But we know that you do die of natural causes sometimes. That is, you die without any trauma caused to your body. We have no idea why it happens, so it could be age, there’s just no way to determine that.”

“Is beskar the only thing that can hurt us?”

“No,” he says, and stops pacing to look at you. “You can… melt yourselves. If your rage gets to a certain point, your hearts can burn right through your own chests.”

That must be what happened at the badlands. You don’t know the details, but you know that it was something of a last stand by the remaining demons of that time.

“One of the things we’ve never understood, though, is the Burn,” he continues after a brief pause, letting you absorb what you’re learning. “It’s something we’ve never been able to study, and yet it is the single most astonishing metamorphosis known. Demon children are born as humans. Genetically speaking, there’s no difference, and yet one can transform into a monster, while the other can’t.”

“You sound almost impressed,” you observe, and he shrugs.

“In a way I am. It’s an astonishing evolution, but one that has to be stopped. And the only way to achieve that, is to understand it to such an extent that we can destroy every last trace of it.”

He’s a soldier, and one who’s entire life has been devoted to protecting human life, so you can’t fault him for his perspective. In the pursuit of helping mankind, he’s become an instrument of destruction, using all the knowledge available to him so that he may constantly improve his efficiency. You are both the products of thousands of years of war and anger, both of you the perfect warriors of your time, built and shaped by a divided world.

But still, you don’t look at this man and see an enemy. Just a person. He might be your executioner, but that’s just how the cards were dealt.

“How do you stop it?” he asks, looking at you with only curiosity. “How do you hold back so much fire?”

“Because if I don’t… innocent people die,” you say, feeling a tremendous sadness spread through your chest. “The rage and violence that all the old stories speak of are unknown to me. I don’t want to kill anyone or destroy anything; I just want to live.”

A metal clanging above you signals that the lift is on its way down, meaning your time is up, and the guard seems to suddenly remember that he’s not a scientist on a quest for new discoveries. He straightens up and adapts a less emotionally readable expression, as if he’s somehow gotten lost as the conversation progressed, forgetting that it was supposed to be an interrogation.

“Thank you,” you tell him, before the lift reaches the bottom.

He looks a bit surprised to hear you say that. But he’s apparently decided not to show you any more of his curious side, refraining from asking why you said it, although you suspect that he wants to.

“For treating me like a person,” you explain, despite his restraint. “I didn’t expect that.”

The metal box hits the bottom then, giving him an excuse to look away, so you don’t see if he reacts to your words. It doesn’t matter, though. In a moment, he’ll step into the lift and disappear, and the well will either be collapsed by means of explosives or filled up with rubble from above. Whichever way they choose, you’ll die, and there’s a part of you that is relieved at the thought.

But when the box opens, your inquisitor’s entire body language shifts into a strict and formal discipline, as the King himself steps out into the bottom of the well. And behind him, the Mandalorian is dragged out, cuffed at the wrists but seemingly unharmed. Still, your pulse quickens, because whatever this is, you can’t think of any good reason why they would come down here.

Bakol positions himself a few feet to your right but doesn’t address you. Instead, he focuses on the hunter, who appears to be every bit as puzzled as you feel.

“I sent people to find the tunnels you described, traveller,” the King says, and there’s something in the undertone of his voice that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “They found the stone slab you mentioned, and it did reveal a hidden compartment. But no tunnels. Just shelves filled with merchandise waiting to be shipped off.”

You and the Mando are both stunned by this, staring wordlessly at each other for a moment, before he finds his voice.

“No, it was there, I swear it.”

“Your word no longer has any value here, hunter,” the older man almost spits at him.

“Then talk to the children!” the Mandalorian practically orders, which is a mistake.

The King has reached his limit. His voice is cold when he answers, and you feel like you can glimpse where the prince’s cruelty was born, within the darker notes of his father’s words.

“What children? Hm? Where are these supposed victims?”

The hunter doesn’t answer. There’s no point. Nothing he says will change the old man’s mind. And you suspect that if you even open your mouth, the King will only be enraged.

“Now, if we’re done playing games, it’s time for you to do your job, Mandalorian,” Bakol says, before nodding at his Head Guard.

Your interrogator reaches over and removes the hunter’s cuffs, before a second guard on the Mando’s other side hands him a knife. Both guards then draw their blasters and aim them at him, while he stands there, his head inclined at the knife first, and then slowly rising towards you as he realizes what’s happening.

The King is demanding that he upholds the contract. That knife was given to King Dauil by the Mandalorian that first signed the contract, over three thousand years ago. It’s been passed down through the generations since and has spilled the blood of hundreds of your kin. And now, it will kill you.

It’s not his fault. You don’t blame him for any of this, you were the one that followed him, interfered with his plans, inserted yourself into his work. You only have yourself to blame for how this turned out. So, you don’t cry or beg or plead for him to show mercy. You smile at him. To thank him for trying to save you, even though he must’ve known that it was a hopeless endeavour.

The flame is trying to build inside of your heart, but you hold it back, refusing to defend yourself when it would mean destroying this good man before you.

<><><><><><><>

Without taking a single step closer to you, he throws the knife on the ground in front of the King, who is immediately enraged.

“You spineless piece of shit! You will uphold the contract, I demand it!” he screams at the hunter, but it’s no use, because Din has no intention of becoming your executioner.

You’ve committed no crime in his eyes, done nothing wrong your entire life, as far as he knows. And yes, he is aware that the contract exists specifically because these creatures are the deadliest the galaxy has ever known and that you’re still capable of becoming such a thing. But you haven’t. And he is so immeasurably impressed by that.

You deserve a chance to prove everyone wrong. To prove that perhaps under different circumstances, your kind aren’t only monsters. That if you’re allowed to grow up as people, you’ll want to remain one of them and with time, perhaps learn how to do that. You are proof that it’s possible, and if you really are the last one, then you should get to try.

“Fine,” the King sneers at him. “If this is your decision, then I hereby declare the contract broken. You are a disgrace to your people, Mandalorian.”

The older man steps closer to him, until he’s no more than a foot away, staring at the visor before him with the flush of hate distorting his features. A sharp pain in his side makes Din twitch, and when he looks down, Bakol is slowly drawing a small dagger out from between his lowest ribs.

“I’ll send them your head along with the news,” the King growls between his teeth, before stabbing him again, a little higher this time.

His lung collapses and he drops to his knees, struggling to breathe as the Royal steps aside to watch while his enemy slowly dies.

Taking shallow breaths, Din looks up at you, wanting the last thing he sees to be something other than hate or anger. But what meets his eyes is somehow worse. Because the pain that fills your beautiful features, is something he instantly wishes that he’d never seen.

Tears are falling down your cheeks, creating a wet patch on the ground before your feet, while you thrash against the metal that binds you. He can see that you’re screaming something, but he can’t hear it over the thumping of his own pulse. For a moment, time seems to slow down as he looks at you. He wants to tell you not to cry but let him see you smile again.

Instead, what he sees is how another drop falls from your chin but disappears on its way to the ground. Confused, he tries to focus better, not sure why it matters since he’s about to die anyway but needing to understand all the same. And when the next drop falls, he does. Because it doesn’t disappear, it vaporizes.

Somehow, the heat supersedes the visible flame as it takes a hold of you, scorching the air around you before a single vein has started glowing. But once it starts, it happens so fast. In a single moment, all of you is suddenly shining like a star, burning so hot that you disappear inside a white beam.

Then the flames engulf him, overpowering all of his senses, and it’s over.

–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–

Link to Chapter 7

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, I’d greatly appreciate it <3

@idreamofboobear @tanzthompson @winter-fox-queen @tiffanyleen @shsoba05 @toomanystoriessolittletime @nolanell @myfavpedrothings @harriedandharassed @bruxasolta @tintinn16 @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @sj-draws00 @gallowsjoker @spishsstuff @little-mrs-morales @bilibiche @gallowsjoker @insomniamamma @thelion-sroar

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin series #din djarin x female reader #din x monster!reader #the mandalorian fanfic #mando x reader #sirowsky stories #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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larjb3 · 7 months

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Okay so something that is really important that a lot of able-bodied individuals don't realize, is that when you live with any sort of chronic illness, whether it be physical or mental, you often have to do your own research on your symptoms. If you don't, doctors are going to dismiss you. If you're lucky you'll get maybe a CBC panel ran. If you're like me (and from what I see online, many other spoonies), your chronic illness (fibro) will be blamed for your symptoms and you'll be forced to move on. That could be in the form of finding a different doctor (which is SUPER hard to do in the US because of insurance restrictions, and that's assuming you're lucky enough to have insurance) or by accepting their answer and just coping with the new symptoms.

I write this because I have had abnormal blood counts for the past almost 2 years, and abnormal body feelings (clearly swollen and painful knees to the point where I have seriously debated on if I needed a mobility aid like a cane, Baker's cyst, yadda yadda yadda) for roughly 1.5 years.

Anyways, at my last doctor's appointment in...May? June? Something like that, I had to go in to the doctor with my previous abnormal blood counts, dating back to when I was living in a different state, even though they had the records from that state because EHRs are a thing, because they weren't helping me. I had to go in with possible explanations and explain why I was considering them, and why I ruled them out. I had to go in to a doctor who was ADAMANT that all I needed was physical therapy and then I wouldn't be in so much pain. Keep in mind here, that I experienced pain when sitting. I experienced pain when lying down. I experienced pain when standing or walking. I experienced a TREMENDOUS amount of pain going from sitting to standing or standing to sitting. It was to the point where, on the pain scale, I was at maybe a 7 or 8 on a daily basis? And that's going off of my pain scale, which is drastically different from the "average person" pain scale because, surprise, I live with chronic pain. So in general my pain (prior to all of this) is at maybe a 1 or 2 on my pain scale? That translates to maybe a 3 or 4 on the average person pain scale? So now instead of downplaying how much pain I'm in (I mean, I still probably downplay it just because of internal feelings about needing to not be a burden on others and not make my needs so prevalent that it inconveniences anyone else), I have started adapting my answers to what I think an able-bodied individual's pain scale is (never been fully able-bodied, so who even knows how accurate that is).

So back to the point:

Yes, it may have been the fact that I started crying in the doctor's office because I wasn't feeling heard or taken seriously, or it may have been that I did my own research, came in with possible answers (through reputable sites - so not fricken WebMD), and came in with all of my abnormal blood levels since they started almost 2 years ago.

BUT, with all of that said, that was the only way I was able to get any sort of medical intervention. Sure, I could've upped my meds more, but that's not looking at WHY I'm in so much (non-fibro) pain. That's not explaining WHY my joints are swollen to the point where it hurts to walk. That was the only way I was able to get an order for a CT of one of my knees and new bloodwork ran. And - surprise, surprise - they found things. They found a possible reason for why one of my knees was acting up (still had the problem of the other knee, but whatever. One knee taken care of is helpful). They found inflammation in my blood (and if you tell me fibro is a fricken inflammatory disorder I will probably rage quit your comment, because that's what a hematologist decided to say, clearly knowing nothing about the disorder and instead telling me that "fibro" meant "inflammation". No, "fibro-" means "relating to or characterized by fibers" and "-myalgia" means "pain in a muscle, or group of muscles". So don't come at me with that).

Anyways, what I'm really trying to say, is that if you or someone you know is not fully able-bodied, we often have to do our own research. Why? Because 1) medical doctors often don't take us seriously, 2) we know our bodies better than anyone else regardless of degree status, 3) medical providers seem to not like actually looking deeply at a case and let's face it, if you just went through however many years of medical school and had to conceptualize endless cases, you wouldn't want to do in-depth analyses of cases either, and 4) how else are we going to know what questions to ask if we haven't looked up possible reasons for our symptoms or bloodwork or whatever it may be?

Believe your non-able-bodied friends. Believe your spoonie people. We know how to research conditions and rarely stop at just one website (just because conditions are usually more complex than just a common cold or something). We are doing the best we can in a broken system where no one wants to believe us.

And for those spoonies/disabled folx, if your doctor refuses to run blood tests or imaging or whatever it may be, make a FIRM request (more like a demand) that they write IN YOUR CHART that they declined to do whatever it is you are asking them to do, so that there's documentation and they can be held accountable. I have yet to do this, but from what I've seen from other people, medical professionals don't like writing that they denied something, so they tend to then send in the order.

#larjb3 #spoonie #spoonies #fibro #fibromyalgia #mystery diagnosis #mystery diagnoses #chronic illness #unknown illness #medical problems #abnormal blood work

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zooone · 1 year

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and i would actually like to be added to rivals with benefits . i want to be in there and tell wilbur how big his forehead is . /J (don’t actually do it pls 😥😥 i’d cry)

all of a sudden, all in a flash, rev bursts into the room with a loud thud. the door hinges swing open so quickly that the screws threaten to fall to the ground. though, if they did, tommy probably wouldn't be able to hear it.- judging by the fact that he's cold sweat startled by the noise. he lets out a large yelp that anyone within a five mile radius of the house would hear, inside or out.

"where is rwb wilbur?!" rev lets out a scream, chest heaving up and down like they just won a war.

tommy lets out a disgruntled noise of pure confusion. he throws his hands up in the air as if he had so much perplexity stored within him that he didn't have anywhere else to discard it.

"what the fuck is a rwb?" tommy's voice is raspy, yet it still finds its way to higher its pitch at the end, punctuation his genuine question.

"ignore that!" rev yells, stomping towards the blonde boy. evidently making the whole house shake with them. they grab tommy's shoulders with such grip like its their last night to be alive. their palm digs into his shoulder blade. "where is wilbur?"

tommy's face scrunches in itself. "who even-" but before he could finish the question, he's eye level with rev. he stares into their gaze, but he could only feel rage staring back. he lets out a nervous, loud gulp before motioning to the bedroom. "they're in there."

rev nods their head, not taking an extra millisecond to dart towards the room's door. the movement happens so fast, tommy is left dazed at the entire interaction.

the door swings open yet again, this time not as harsh, and rev's eyes scan the room before landing on their target. wilbur.

but, wilbur's in a bit of a predicament. because not only is wilbur in the room, but Y/N is too. on top of him. their faces grow a deep shade of red before Y/N scrambles herself off of him. her figure hits the bedframe with a loud knock and she winces at the sudden pain striking her back. though, she's too busy trying to wipe her face off with the back of her sleeve. wilbur gathers himself up in this interaction too, cramming into the opposite side of the bed. he tries to button his shirt back up, but not much more than usual. the two are both too out of breath to even form a sentence. not even to think of where rev came from.

"this is like rwb one all over again," rev sighs before bolting themselves from across the room and towards wilbur. he lets out a shriek, gauging himself for whatever's about to happen. he flinches as he feels a touch to his forehead.

"oh my god!" rev yelps out in laughter. wilbur peels his eyes open to see them hurdling around with laughter shading their face. its almost the same red-ish as Y/N and wilbur's, but this time it's because they're wheezing so hard it restricts air flow to their brain. the whole feeling makes them light headed, veins feeling stuffed with shaving cream. but that doesn't stop them from laughing even harder. "you really do have a big ass forehead! is that why you cover it up with that hat?"

wilbur stays still, trying to blink himself awake as if it were all a dream. he glances over to Y/N for good measure. he sees her face contort, eyebrows scrunching together and mouth hung wide open. "who even are you?"

#asks #mutuals!#rev! <3 #no comment

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frostbite-yinny · 1 year

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What Pokémon are there left to adopt? I'd like a new friend for the garden :D

@fuji-pkmn-shelter

When I recommend Pokemon, I tend to recommend a few that seem suitable for the person. We are a REAL big shelter so I only give a few along with shout outs XD I see that you more lean on grass and bug types, so, I'm gonna try to pick out from them;

SPEED the yanma (I don't know why so many people nickname their pokemon with full caps); He was a rescue pokemon, working with rangers. He used to be quite a battler but losing one of the little 'wings' at the end of his tail took a toll on his balance. He is a good pokemon, he just tends to bump into., well, everything XD

Star the Tsareena; The same old sad story, contest pokemon that 'lost her vaşue' due to something, in Star's case, her 'hair' that was left in pieces after a badly trained Quaquaval attack. Her 'hair's much shorter and rugged at the tips. She is quite a nervous pokemon despite her bravado on stage.

Snappy the scovillain; He was a catch and dump due to low IVs. Please take him. He just hates me, I don't know why but I can't even walk through the shelter without the fear of getting mauled. He doesn't respond to getting called Snappy, thats just how I refer to him. (he squats down just so he can bite my ankles. I don't know why he does it just pls take him)

Rage the Heliolisk; I just wanted to give you an option outside of grass/bug types. Rage used to be a service pokemon until her owner passed away. She is very level-headed and soft. He has a few dietary restrictions due to her health but they are not very hard to follow.

A few honorable mentions that could be fitting for you; A Tropius, Jack the Trevenant, Messenger the ribombee (only has one leg), Mech the Nymble, a VERY aggressive Lotad, and a Victreebel that might have belonged to a rocket grunt (Like, seriously, she was dropped in weirdly RIGHT AFTER a rocket sighting of only one while they tend to go around in duos. Maybe he felt bad idk)

If you are in for it, we have a few 'mystery' eggs dropped in tomorrow. They couldn't figure out what was in them, so, you can take the gamble if you want.

(Again, anyone else can adopt these pokemon too)

#pokémon irl #irl pkmn #irl pokemon #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #real pokemon #pokemon in real life #pokemon rp #pokemon #pokeblogging #pokeblogging rp #pokeblog #pokeblogger #pokeblog rp #pokemon adoption

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beautifulpersonpeach · 1 year

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“Or you know, one could actually lay responsibility for actual crimes committed at the feet of those who commit said crimes. ” Can we come back to this pls? Can we pls talk about it cos the way kpoppies choose when to be righteous and not doesn’t even make sense? I’m a different anon but am I the only person who doesn’t understand why people hate Jungkook for dancing in Qatar when he and the whole K-pop industry had danced in Saudi Arabia some years before? What does BTS ‘represent’ now?

Ask 2: … that it didn’t represent when they performed in Saudi Arabia? Is Beyoncé who went also to the Middle East now an evil person who doesn’t care about queer people? Don’t the people who talk like this realize they sound like hyper religious nut jobs who apply weird purity tests to artists doing their jobs in complicated systems? Why is special hate reserved for Jungkook when other BTS members (including Jimin who that person obviously likes) have performed in countries with worse human rights records? And didn’t Jungkook say he thought the whole band would perform but they were busy with other things so it fell to him? Can we pls talk about this BPP bc something about that self righteous BS doesn’t sit right with me at all. Like who camps in BTS spaces with barely restrained vitriol just to hate on them regardless of whether they’re making sense or not??

***

Hi Anon,

I too wonder what exactly “BTS represents” but I honestly didn’t care enough to ask lmao. Whatever it is is news to me, that’s for sure. Anyway, like I’ve said before, criticism is always welcome. Neither BTS nor HYBE are infallible and that’s just expected. But we can all tell when someone is offering criticism and when someone is simply being hateful. We can recognize what is what because we all have that emotion, and usually a dead giveaway is when they’re so blinded by hate that they say something completely irrational and then think it’s justified or that they’re making sense.

A couple examples:

- I recall when I first opened this blog, maybe two years ago now, and saw an Anon raging at BTS for (1) going to the UN during Fall 2021 (after being invited and getting vaccinated and several countries were relaxing restrictions), for (2) having Diplomatic passports (that their government unilaterally awarded them), and, wait for it, (3) talking about their dreams and desire to perform (just as several artists were doing at the time, and just as many others in people-facing jobs were doing). This person was apoplectic nearly six months after BTS had gone to the UN and come back. I saw that and pointed out how insane it looked to think this was reasonable criticism, and left it at that.

- I’ve seen k-pop stans claim several times that every BTS member cannot possibly like or support women’s rights because HYBE has a business agreement with Scooter Braun. You read that right. In terms of talking points you see from k-pop stans, this is right up there with ‘BTS have no female friends’, ‘BTS’ Love Yourself series was because of a mental health survey’, and ‘Yoongi probably sexually assaulted women after Jimin sexually assaulted him during Burn the Stage’. It doesn’t matter that none of these things, simply at face value, make any sense at all because they aren’t rooted in fact. That doesn’t matter enough to dull the righteous outrage some k-pop stans feel about these topics. They’re as prevalent as anything else you see in spaces where animosity towards BTS and ARMYs is the norm, not the exception.

Criticism should be first and foremost, rational. In my opinion at least, and all of the above fall woefully short. So when I see these talking points I usually just note it and move on.

And then there’s a wider generational trend in applying moral absolutes in situations that simply do not call for it. And applying what is essentially guilt by association. While it was fashionable in the 1600s during the Salem Witch trials, it’s recently had a resurgence as more people misguidedly try to compensate for crumbling civic/liberal institutions with absolutist moral charges at other people. You’re right too that it has a religious bent, and several studies have already concluded that much. Some people absorb those narratives in spaces that offer no alternative, and so when confronted with the holes in their argument, revert to moral absolutism. It’s weird but just par for the course on the internet these days.

My personality is one that allows me to just laugh and unlook lmao. Maybe I’d feel more hurt or concerned if I cared more, but I don’t.

Anon, just as I was writing this response I got another ask on the topic (I’m assuming it’s from you), so I’ll say now I have a train to catch and will close this topic here for now.

#K-pop #fandom behaviour #BTS #bts army #bts fandom #K-pop fandom

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dumbbitchfrommars · 2 months

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"princess diana"

why is my making an effort to look and feel pretty, when i am in a low place, trying to break away and distract myself from the seemingly endless stress and turmoil my life is right now, exactly WHY is that such a fucking crime?

why is it that i feel like such a caricature of a woman when i make an effort to feel in touch with my feminine side? why does it feel like an overcompensation, an oversaturated and overdone attempt at hiding behind a costume? why when i look at my sisters in their many different states of being, does it all seem so effortless, when all i want is to feel like myself, like my best, like im beautiful too.

why is it such a crime to want that feeling of security and safety for myself?

i am completely afraid of going on this trip and having to face my true self, to be vulnerable with a person i dont trust and avoid completely, to know that everyone sees the block that i have in me and how pathetic it is that i can barely break through. like they all clearly have. because theyre all so fucking emotionally grown.

apparently i hide behind my maturity to avoid my wounded inner child.

all of the sudden im walking around with a target on my back.

maybe i was too quick to stop seeing my psychologist?

cause right now all i feel is rage and frustration and pain. because i really do feel like im alone, and no one including myself can make me feel safe. yet all i have ever done is try to make everyone else feel safe in my presence. when will this energy be returned to me?

why is it such a crime to ask for these things for myself? why am i so unworthy? because i dont have a fucking second to be alone when its all i fucking crave from life? for the past month all i have wanted was a second to return to myself. to workout again, to do yoga again, to go for a walk with myself again, to appreciate the lovely little beauties in life that only i can share with myself because there is no one else like me. to see from the perspective that i lost and quickly became more and more restricted the more i felt in survival mode. trying to rush to get every task done. every task that no one else would ever do.

right now it feels like no one truly appreciates the uniqueness of who i am. they just see all my flaws and weaknesses. i guess trying is not good enough, i guess something has to change.

somethings gotta give.

my best change comes from distancing myself from external energies when i come to these roadblocks and uncomfortable feelings within me, but it seems like distance could be a hard thing to reach at the moment.

even the fucking cat doesn't like me.

nobody likes me when im miserable.

its the cold hard truth.

nobody likes you when youre miserable.

sorry! dont like you. good luck with your depression and anxiety. youre on your own now.

i understand in a sense, not having the time or patience for it. i feel like maybe when you reach that plateau of spiritual growth you do tend to step up on the pedestal above all the puny, pathetic undeveloped non-spiritual folk.

what makes them any different to me in this scenario?

not nice being the one below looking up huh.

the difference between me and the people who i cut off - people i slowly distanced myself away from and never once was hurtful or bullied, just genuinely stop resonating with and took the step back from - is that i am making an active effort to try become better.

but apparently my own timing doesnt work for you. apparently my process doesnt look like yours and therefore is not valid. and so i become the butt of a joke that im not laughing at. or i am... because im a people pleaser.

fuck my life.

am i not allowed this one moment? this one reprieve from the shittiness of my situation at the moment to be completely and annoyingly drained, pathetic and enraged? is that not allowed anymore????? let me fucking live my life! this was my first day off in god knows how long, and i still ended up with a schedule jammed full of plans to run around doing things for other people!

im supposed to be writing my FUCKING THESIS!!!

my fucking fucking fuckoubgrafubnbge thesis .

AND OF COURSE TO TOP IT ALL OFF MY DUMBASS COWORKER OVERCHARGED ME WHEN I CAME IN SPECIFICALLY BUYING A PRODUCT FOR THE FUCKING DISCOUNT HE WAS SUPPOSED TO FUCKING APPLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ugh.

its so exhausting to carry all these pent up emotions around with me. like a child. a child who doesnt know what to do with it all because its too big.

the most hurtful thing to me is that no one shares my unconditional love and adoration for all small humans and animals. especially dogs. even the ones who claim to be the closest to me, my best friend, sisters. to not share it, to not even acknowledge it in me, to reject that part of me. to judge that part of me. who the fuck do you think you are? claiming to love me and not see that side of me. to not want to see it. to ignore it. to reject it...

some part of me... i think its my inner child. its a part of my inner child. but not me when i was little... me when i was bigger, but still little. she wants me to sit it out tomorrow. to leave myself out to send the message that im hurt, and im angry, and i dont want anything to do with people who hurt me. that they have done something wrong, and should know that something is wrong, but i wont tell them why.

then theyll ask me what happened, and ill say nothing even though its something. and hold onto that pent up resentment until the next thing goes wrong.

or i tell them, and its explosive, and messy, and poorly executed, and very well mean the end of the relationship in its entirety. all for a small moment that triggered an insecurity in me.

god im so sensitive. im so sensitive but no one wants to see it. no one wants to acknowledge it. because my walls are so far up that i wont let them. and when they notice... well. i guess it doesnt matter.. because ive been hiding so long. im always hiding. whenever it shows, its rejected. i keep feeling so rejected. what the fuck is going on with me...

i feel like a pathetic child.

im hurt.

im tired, im exhausted, im burnt out, ive overextended myself, all i want is for things to be light and fun again but it feels like it never will be. it feels like it wont get better in time for the trip or the festival. it feels like im gonna let everyone down. it feels like im just one huge disappointment.

what happened to not taking things personally?

i keep thinking that to myself. but thinking it and embodying it are two different things. im repeating the words to myself like a whisper in the background, as i watch myself continue to fall deeper into this despair of "why me?" like a viewer behind a TV screen.

i actually have noticed ive been disassociating a lot more than usual lately. im just mentally checked out. i wish i could just... disappear somewhere. somewhere totally isolated where i could be by myself. maybe ill get that at the festival. maybe what i feared, being abandoned, will be exactly what i need. to just float in the water and stare at the sky for as long as i need to forget all my problems.

i dont know whats going on with me now but i just hope its over soon. i hope its over before it gets bad enough for me to revert to my old ways. i just want to be okay again. i just want to feel safe again, and to not be afraid, and to not be angry, and to be in love with life again. to be in love with myself, to accept myself, to not hate myself, to not be angry with myself, to not feel like its all coming apart, to not feel like im doing it all wrong when im giving it my all.

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rosanna-writer · 1 year

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to make them love me and make it seem effortless (chapter 2)

Summary: When the High Lord of the Spring Court whisks her off to Prythian, it's exactly what Feyre Archeron wants. Her plan: let Tamlin romance her to break the curse and use her proximity to him to pass military secrets back to the mortals. And it works— until a certain other High Lord tries to steal documents she's after.

Pairing: Feysand

A/N: In this AU, Spring is cursed during the War, Feyre is born much earlier, and Hybern reins Amarantha in when she goes rogue.

Switching to Feyre's POV for this chapter

Second chapter is below, and you can also find it here (along with the rest) on AO3 :)

At first, I think I'm left alone in the war room after everyone else winnows away. But two fae are standing in the doorway, and I can only assume they're the two Rhysand mentioned.

"You can come with us," one of them says softly, and she gives me a smile that I think is meant to be reassuring.

My mind is reeling, but there's nothing else to do but follow them. As we walk through the halls of pale stone, I memorize the path we take. I doubt I'm in danger here, but I'm still among strangers and old habits die hard.

After telling me to let them know if I need anything, they leave me alone in a bedroom fit for a queen. I stand at the open window for a long time and breathe, letting the breeze caress my face. It's still late, but there's no way I can sleep. Not after everything changed so quickly.

Rhysand had been in my head. In my head. It had only been a moment, but from the look he'd given me, he seemed just as shocked by it as I was. I don't know what that means. I don't see a reason to distrust him, but I can't bring myself to let my guard down, at least not until I get answers.

The hours tick by slowly. I'm too wound up to sleep, and I'm not sure Rhysand would appreciate me wandering his palace. After all the restrictions Tamlin placed on me in the Spring Court, the freedom that I have here seems impossible.

I wish there were a way to get a message to my sisters. I'm sure Nuala or Cerridwen would get me a pen and paper if I asked, but I have no idea where Elain and Nesta are. It's prudent, of course, considering the possibility that someone could just root around in my head for information, but I miss them so much it's like a physical ache. And that's assuming they're even still alive.

I change out of my nightgown and into some of the clothes folded in the dresser. I'm not sure where they came from, and they're a size too big for me. But I feel more myself in the leggings and soft sweater. If I need to, I can run and fight in them.

I drag a chair over to the window to watch the sun rise, lost in my thoughts. I'd been so focused on just surviving each day in the Spring Court, but now, I have to consider my next steps.

The sun is nearly up when there's a knock at the door. I open it to find Rhysand, looking just as drained as I feel. He's changed into fighting leathers and there's a smear of dried blood on his cheek. I hope it isn't his.

"It's done," he says, his voice flat. "Hybern, Spring, and their allies agreed to a ceasefire. We'll negotiate the terms of their surrender soon."

And just like that, the war that has been raging my entire life is over. I shake my head in disbelief.

"That's it?" I say.

"Our work is cut out for us, but we cornered them thanks to you. The battle didn't last long."

"Is that all?" I say. It's certainly the biggest news of my life, but I doubt a High Lord took the time just to deliver it personally.

"We should talk. I'm sure you have questions."

I step aside to let him in. He sinks into the chair, and I sit on the bed, tucking my legs underneath me. I hardly know where to start, but I say, "You felt it too, didn't you? When you were in my head before you left?"

Rhysand nods. "Are you familiar with the term 'daemati'?"

I'm not, so he explains, and I'm struck again by how much I still don't know about Prythian. I feel smaller and farther from home than ever.

When he finishes, he takes a breath, as if he's bracing himself for something. "And what do you know about mating bonds?"

"They're a match chosen by the Cauldron," I say slowly. I can't imagine where he's going with this.

"When I first saw you in Tamlin's manor, I recognized you immediately. From my dreams. I've been dreaming about you for years, Feyre. I suspect that may be because you're my mate."

I want to believe him. It sounds right to me, it would explain why he's been so easy to trust, and I can't see what he gains from lying. "But I'm not fae."

"I know. The bond doesn't feel as clear as it should, like trying to talk underwater. But it's there."

This is all too much. A mate. I just sit there, considering everything he's just said, but I can't make sense of it. Mates are supposed to be equals, but he's a High Lord and I'm just a mortal.

After a long moment, he says, "I won't pressure you into anything you don't want, Feyre. You're under no obligation to stay here, and I'll return you to the mortal lands if that's what you'd prefer. But it seemed unfair not to tell you, especially if you decide to join us for breakfast."

He stands up and turns to go, and I realize he must think I don't want any of this or maybe that I’m about to bolt. I grab his wrist. "Rhysand."

"Rhys. Please. Only my enemies call me by my full name." He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Rhys," I amend. I don't drop my hand. "I don't want to go, at least not yet. It's just...been a long night. But breakfast sounds wonderful."

I'd been too overwhelmed to think about food, but I need to eat. I stand and slide my hand down from his wrist and interlace our fingers, needing an anchor. The look he gives me is reverent.

I take a deep breath to steady myself. Everything has changed, but I can get through it if I just put one foot in front of the other.

"I'm glad you're eating with us. Unfortunately, circumstances call for this to be more business and less social than I'd like."

I don't actually mind; after sitting here for so long, I'm eager to be useful in any way I can. And if we're busy, I won't have time to ruminate on everything this mating bond means.

He leads me to a small dining room where the food is already laid out. The blonde female from last night is already there, nursing a cup of tea. She has the same wrung-out look as Rhys did when he knocked on the door, but her face brightens when she sees us.

"Feyre, this is Morrigan. My cousin and third-in-command," Rhys says.

She walks over to us and says, "Sorry I didn't introduce myself last night. Just call me Mor. It's so good to meet you."

To my shock, she immediately pulls me into a hug. Her warmth sounds completely genuine, no hidden meaning behind her words for me to decipher. I can't remember the last time someone spoke to me like that. I hug her back, and something inside me unclenches.

"You too," I say.

The rest of the group from the night before alights on the balcony, the two massive winged soldiers and the other fae female. Rhys introduces them as Cassian, Azriel, and Amren, his general, spymaster, and second-in-command. I slide into the empty seat next to Mor, and Rhys takes the one on my other side.

"So Feyre, Rhys never actually explained what boneheaded thing he did yesterday that made you hit him with a rock," Cassian says, grabbing a muffin.

It's blunt, but after so many months of pretending, it's more refreshing than obnoxious. Tamlin would never have allowed a courtier to speak like that.

"Did he explain that my original intention was to stab him with a knife?" I say. The looks of surprise I get in response are enough to tell me that no, he didn't. I turn to Rhys and ask, "So what did you tell them?"

"Not as much as they’d like, but they know about the bond, if that’s what you’re wondering," Rhys says.

At least he has the grace to look sheepish. I should be upset that I’m the last one in this room to know, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s one less secret I have to keep.

"I was in the middle of gathering intelligence on my own when he interrupted me. So I pulled a knife. The crystal was just to break the cuff that was binding his magic, not because he pissed me off," I say.

Cassian laughs at that, but I notice a few of Azriel's shadows come closer to me. I don't know what to make of it, but it's unsettling all the same.

"Could you tell us a little more about the intelligence you mentioned?" Azriel says.

I hesitate, not sure how much I should reveal. There may be a good reason we kept Night out of the loop regarding my mission. It seems prudent to play my cards close to my chest until I can get in contact with my family or other mortals who might know what's going on.

But Tamlin won't be able to keep the curse a secret much longer, so it seems safe enough to tell them about that. I'm relieved no one asks for more details about who sent me to the Spring Court or where I was sending the information back to.

“At least now we know where the humans were getting all that information they were sharing with us,” Azriel says. “I can see why they kept you a secret.”

Amren steeples her fingers and gives me a penetrating stare. I don't like being examined, so I pour myself a cup of tea to avoid making eye contact.

"This is going to complicate negotiations. Tamlin won't believe Feyre came here of her free will," she says.

"He'll be angry when he finds out I manipulated him, but shouldn't that be enough to convince him?" I say.

Rhys shakes his head. "It's difficult to prove a negative. There's no way he can be sure you weren't under the influence of a daemati."

I sip my tea and mull that over. Amren's right that this will throw a wrench in the works, and if my actions last night ruined our chances at getting a peace treaty signed, I don't know if I'll be able to live with myself.

But there is one piece of evidence that's irrefutable. I grab a plate and start to spread some jam on toast. Rhys must either sense or guess what I'm thinking because his eyes go wide with horror.

"If there's no convincing Tamlin, then I should just accept the mating bond. No one will support him if he tries to get me back after that," I say.

"Feyre, you don't have to do that," Rhys says.

"Don't be stupid, girl. We can't have our High Lord in a mating frenzy during negotiations," Amren snaps.

I freeze, and my face goes hot. "Mating frenzy?" I say in a choked voice.

They explain, and I listen in shocked silence. I've never known someone with a mate before, and now I'm worried about what other consequences there could be that I don't know about.

I take a bite of the toast I'd almost given Rhys, and he visibly relaxes. While I chew, I consider what other options might be available. The tension in the room is thick, and no one speaks.

Eventually, I say, "Tamlin loves me more than anything. He'll do whatever it takes to get me back. So use that to wring as many concessions from him as you can."

Rhys looks stricken. "Feyre no—"

I cut him off before he can continue. "It'll give everyone time to tend to the wounded and bury the dead."

"I won't treat you like a bargaining chip."

I fix Rhys with a hard stare and hate how much I sound like Nesta. "You should. After everything he did, I want you to make him squirm. And then when we have time to breathe, I'll accept the bond, and Tamlin will fall in line."

"You deserve better than this," Rhys says.

"I don't know you well enough to love you, but I trust you implicitly. That's a rare thing, and for that reason alone, I'd be honored to accept the bond."

I mean every word of it, and Rhys looks like he might be on the verge of tears. I'm suddenly too keenly aware of everyone else at the table staring pointedly at their plates. I should have discussed this in private first, and I shudder to think what kind of first impression I've just made on his family. I finish the rest of the toast and wish I could just disappear.

I hear Rhys's voice in my head. They've all seen much worse. I shoot him a questioning look. They have, trust me on this one. You haven’t ruined anything. I give him a tentative smile back.

"Get out of each other's heads you two," Cassian says with mock disgust.

Rhys and I both jump like we've been walked in on, and it breaks any remaining tension. The conversation turns to less heated subjects, and I mostly just listen. Rhys pushes a plate of eggs towards me, a silent nudge to eat more than just a cup of tea and a single piece of toast. I eat some but don't finish.

There isn't time to linger, and before long, everyone gets up to leave. Rhys says something about needing to get something from his study, and I follow him there.

"What can I do to help today?" I say, bracing for the answer to be "stay out of it." As much as I want to go with, I know that my presence will just inflame tensions.

"Rest while you can. There's a small chance Tamlin will insist on some sort of confirmation you're alive and unharmed. I'll keep you updated on everything," Rhys says.

Maybe it's all the time I spent begging Tamlin to include me, but I had expected more pushback. "Is that all?" I say.

"You're safest here, so I suggest you stay. There's nowhere you aren't allowed to go, and if you need to send a note, my study and the library are open."

I should tell him that won’t do me much good, but I'm embarrassed to admit I still struggle to read and write. Nesta had attempted to teach me in preparation for leaving for the Spring Court, and she wasn't exactly patient. I can manage, but it's painfully slow.

"Thank you," I say.

“Anything for you.” He gives me a soft smile, then adds, “Depending on how this goes, I may need to consult with you. The mortal queens will be there, but they have their own agendas. Your perspective will be invaluable."

I'm not really sure how much I have to offer, but just the prospect of having something to do makes me feel better, more focused. It gives me the confidence to say, "I'm not sorry for what I said earlier, but I apologize for twisting your arm in front of everyone."

"It's fine. You didn't say anything untrue."

His face and tone don't give much away, and I don't know him well enough yet to read him. It's frustrating when he can hear my thoughts and feel everything through the bond.

And he must have heard me think that because he says, "I promise I'm not brushing you off, Feyre, but I'd rather continue this conversation when I don't have to leave in a few minutes."

That's reasonable enough. We reach his study, and I watch as he pulls a pen and paper from the drawer.

I know I should drop it and wait, but it's uncomfortable letting the matter sit unsettled between us. "When I said I didn't know you well enough to love you, that doesn't mean I don't want to. It's just….it's been less than a day."

"I'm overwhelmed, too," he says quietly.

It's a little fearful, and even without the bond or daemati powers, I know he's just given me a glimpse of something he's trying not to show. It makes my heart ache.

He steps back around the desk, towards me, and for half a second, I think he might kiss me goodbye. But he just says, "I'll see you soon," and winnows away.

Not quite sure what to do with myself, I start to head for the guest room. I turn the corner and find Mor standing there, as if she’s been waiting for me.

"I thought you would have left by now," I say.

"Not yet. Do you have a moment?" she says.

"Of course." She looks hesitant, and I'm not quite sure what this could be about.

"I just want you to know, if you want to leave and don't want to tell Rhys, you can always come to me."

My hand curls into a fist. Perhaps I'd misjudged, and there really was just as much politicking in Rhysand's court as there had been in Tamlin's. The thought that I might have been too quick to drop my guard makes my blood run cold.

"Are you trying to give me a warning?"

"Not at all," Mor says, shaking her head. "I love Rhys like a brother, and he's the very best of us. I'm sure he's told you you're not obligated to stay, and he meant it. But for you, actually saying that to his face might be…difficult. Or even just awkward. So I wanted you to know, I'm here for you, too."

I relax. It's the kindest thing anyone's done for me in a long while, and I can see why Rhys trusts her with so much authority. "Thank you."

"I'll tell you the full story some day, but I know what it's like to have to do something drastic because there’s no safe choice. I won't let that happen to someone else if I can help it."

We lock eyes, and I nod. There's still so much I'm not sure about, but Mor and I are cut from the same cloth. I couldn't be more grateful for that.

"I'm going to stay here, at least for now. There's no home for me to go back to."

"I get that, too. I can't go back to my family, so I stay here sometimes," Mor says. Her serious look cracks into a smile and she adds, "Glad you're getting some use out of the spare clothes I left in the guest room. They look better on you anyway."

I smile back, glad to have solved the mystery of what Rhys was doing with a drawer full of women's clothes in his guest room. "Much better than being stuck in that hideous nightgown."

"Glad I can help. I'll see about getting you some shoes. You shouldn't be going barefoot in a palace with all stone floors."

I hadn't wanted for anything back in the Spring Court— Tamlin had been too intent on sweeping me off my feet for that. But I'd always had to ask. It's nice to have someone just notice and offer, especially for something so small.

"Thanks. Good luck today."

"We'll need it," Mor says, then winnows away.

I consider going to find the library that Rhys mentioned, but after meeting everyone, the last of my energy is sapped. I don't know how the rest of them are going to make it through a full day of negotiations with how little rest we've all gotten. I manage to find my way back to the bedroom and collapse into the bed. I pass out in an instant.

#acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #to make them love me and make it seem effortless

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eristic-kaleidoscope · 1 year

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Glass Onion | Erik Azrael | Trial 1.4 | Re: Ae-ra, AIRika, Eureka, Eri

This marks the third time from the third separate person in the last twenty-four hours that Erik and AIRika are simultaneously accused for being closer than friends, apparently. Frankly, if it wasn't for the fact this was getting really tiresome, the thespian might have laughed at the literary significance of the rule of threes, especially given how hypocritical it all was that every single one of those people had someone they probably cared about just as much and would chomp at the bit to defend just as well. But he is really sick and tired of people accusing AIRika for simply existing, and also harping on him for wanting to defend people he cared about. What made him so separate from them? Just the fact he could articulate things politely without resorting to shouting and petty insults? Manipulating people with pretty words? Was that what made the fucking difference?

Sigh. Right now, he was just severely annoyed at the pinkette two podiums to the right. Both Eureka and Eri had gotten the point of his argument against accusing blindly across, at least, so he'd simmered down from boiling point a bit ago.

"If accusations based on assumptions are what you prefer, never mind the fact that you are, to put it, simping just as hard for Mx. Lapis and gutting me about it, then it stands to reason you will have no objection to us dropping the subject now that neither has panned out." And as much as the first source of anger had all the destruction and rage of a hurricane, the second source was the eye of the storm. Perfectly calm and placid on the surface, but bottomless in its depth. "Woe betide me to admit it, Eureka has gotten my implication that I honestly could not think of why Mx. Lapis would go through so much trouble to try and circumvent their restriction, only to be shocked if they knew something had a good chance of undoing everything they had worked for. And as I knew, and as Ae-ra has helpfully pointed out, Mx. Lapis has decent knife skills, which makes them going through this whole song-and-dance routine of sandwich-making even more suspicious in hindsight. They undercooked their fish, grated their cheese, and ate that with lettuce on bread. That is an observation, not any indication of guilt unless it means something to someone else here."

He sighs. "I am not directly accusing Mx. Lapis because those are circumstantial evidence pieces, and therefore they should be allowed to explain for themselves before we settle on anything. I do not intend to accuse them further until they have clarified Eureka's point." And Erik will magnanimously drop the matter at that.

"In the interest of transparency about the knife situation, you all saw me with the cake knife last night. I returned that to its stand after cleaning, and it was present this morning while I was cooking. When our group re-entered the Eatery to look around, all but the one knife was still present, so I imagine it was taken sometime during the investigation." He glances at the fallen plate. "Presumably, by Eureka to make her French Toast. If it is still missing, I can at least say that I am currently not in possession of any knives from the Eatery myself."

Erik pulls out his tablet. "I cannot comment on why her purse had blood over it, but I did want to bring up the fact that Miss Murphy's final letter in the Trampoline Room had been written and rewritten with some length, and the apples had been cut into but not eaten, perhaps because she was busy writing.. I may not have known her long, but I do not suspect in this environment that Miss Murphy would willingly enter a room with someone in it to write her letter since it was not meant for anyone else to see at that point. The only two people that I think she might have been comfortable with were asleep or engaged with Erik A at the time." He means Kaguya and Byrne. "With all sincerity, I do believe she was the one who brought the cutting board and fruits to the Trampoline Room a lot earlier, which matches up with the last time Miss Danger and Ae-ra saw her depart, the knife having already disappeared by then because she took it. Whoever entered next then sparked the chain of events that led us here."

#Azr #chapter1 #trial1 #submission

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harrison-abbott · 1 year

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GORDO

Gordo had sleep problems all his life. Which was a short life: he lived for sixteen years. When he was young his parents took him to the doctor to talk about how he couldn’t rest. They did tests on him. With paper and they tried medication too. He ‘failed’ the paper tests. And the medication gave him these erratic side effects. So they stopped on those fronts.

At the age of ten, Gordo’s parents split up. The father left. Within the next six years Gordo saw his Dad four times.

Gordo got heavily into videogames. And because he could never sleep he explored the internet, at night, on his own, in his silent room. (This was the golden age of the internet; before any restrictions, before anything.) For limitless time he would sail the glorious prickly lights of the web.

His mates liked the net, too. And there were nerds, with it, too: and taught Gordo tricks and secrets; they had a forum where they sent each other goofy stuff. And they had a group game on the military videogame too. Shooting other people.

The famous shoot em up game. Gordo was the best at it. He got the most kills.

He was the best because he just had such an amount of time in which to practise.

There was one night, when the lads were playing games.

When they had the forum up and were chatting whilst they killed the men on the screen. Gordo posted up this photo. To the forum – and it wasn’t a meme or meant to be funny – it was real. And the image changed the mood in the group.

“What’s that, Gordo?” one of the boys typed.

“It’s something I found. What do you think of it?” Gordo said.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to show you this. To see what you thought.”

“That’s not cool, Gordo. Could you take that down please?”

None of the boys said anything apart from the one guy who challenged the image.

Gordo got angry. And left the forum. Stopped playing the game also, mid-war.

And stewed, in his room, embarrassed and ashamed, for days, because they hadn’t liked what he’d shown them. Then he thought up some apology to tell the buddies. He aimed to explain that what he’d posted had just been a joke, and he hadn’t meant to offend them.

But when he tried to log back into the forum, the friends had blocked him from it. And he was no longer in the videogame group.

Gordo wondered what to do. At first, the betrayal from his mates seemed the worst possible thing.

Then he began to fret that they might snitch him out – to someone else (who? who!) – who might place him in serious trouble.

There was nobody to speak to. Gordo only ever talked to his friends about things which bothered him [even if it were just mundane shit at school; the teachers who were mean, the girls who were meaner, that sort of thing]. He could not go and tell his mother about it. She would not understand. And would probably freak out more than he was, would most likely tell him to fuck off, get out, which she’d already done several times, after he woke her up accidentally at night. (“Fuck off! You insomniac bastard!”)

Gordo couldn’t go to school.

One morning he just didn’t check in.

Went into town with his laptop instead. He hung about in a coffeeshop, using the WIFI. He wanted to quit the city. Had a little bit of Christmas in his wallet. Just wanted to bail from this town, which had come to suffocate him.

Gordo looked up where to get a bus, heading north.

Then bounced down to the bus station and got on this bus with a nice blue 500 number atop it. And it was twilight when he left the city.

He stayed on the bus for two hours. With the vehicle rolling in dark countryside. Gordo was only one of three passengers on the bus, and he’d never been in this part of the country before.

And for almost no reason he could pinpoint, he started to feel sick. Put his bag on. And headed to the front of the bus, where the driver was, with that awful raging threat of bile. Assured he was gonna puke up.

“I have to get off,” he said to the driver.

“Huh?”

“I need to get off the bus.”

“Why?”

“Let me off!”

The driver was a bit scared of him. This looming, demented looking teen behind him. So he pulled over on the motorway.

And opened the doors and Gordo went out of them. He dry retched on the cold black road. Nothing came out. Was nought in his stomach.

“You all right, there, kid?” the driver called.

Gordo didn’t answer.

He just quit trying to vomit.

And got up straight, and walked away from the bus.

The driver got out of the booth and hovered in the air and called to him: asked if he wasn’t getting back onboard?

Gordo walked and walked. Then stepped off the road and went into the fields.

The driver stopped trying and drove on.

Nobody ever saw Gordo again. There was a police inquest into where he vanished, why he did so.

Suicide was the most probable explanation. They searched the forest where the boy got off the coach to see if he was in there somewhere, but nothing turned up.

Gordo’s mother died of cancer half a decade later.

She was his only relative.

Gordo’s old videogame buddies from school found solace in never mentioning him ever again. Was better to pretend he’d never existed.

#short story #prose #stories #creative writing

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