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#because drawing on it induces more effort from me

unhelpfulfemme · 10 months

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Thalias from the Thrawn Ascendancy trilogy is how you do a female character with "traditionally feminine" virtues correctly.

The culture of the Ascendancy involves using young girls - the only Force sensitives their race has, since they all lose their Force sensitivity when they enter puberty - as ship navigators necessary to navigating the chaotic part of space that they live in. These girls are taken from their families at a young age and raised by a series of caregivers, and just like a bunch of plenty of carers IRL a lot of them are dogshit at their job. As someone who's worked similar jobs and watched other people work similar jobs, Timothy Zahn is BRILLIANT at portraying all of this - it gives me feelings like I can't describe. If you've ever seen a mean preschool teacher harranguing their charges or a shitty foster parent who doesn't treat their foster kids as individuals or anyone of the sort, you will feel this in your bones. Zahn goes hard on the "children are people" themes in this trilogy and I love love love this - it really means a lot to me to see a man known for his military and engineering competence porn stuff put so much thought and care into portraying caregiving as the important and complicated task that it is without coming off as sexist or patronizing towards it.

Anyway, Thalias is one such navigator, but even though most of them want nothing to do with the whole trauma-inducing system once they grow out of it, Thalias ends up returning as a caregiver and puts so much effort, compassion and logical thought into it that it makes me cry tears of joy. She draws on her own experiences but is quick to course correct when she realizes that Che'ri's experiences are different from her own (Thalias loved to read as a kid and still finds it comforting, Che'ri hates reading), she treats Che'ri with empathy and gives her as much autonomy and independence as she is allowed to. She uses a scientific method to figure out how the navigator powers work and adjust Che'ri's work routine accordingly - something no one has ever thought to do. She advocates for Che'ri with the rest of the ship's crew. She's amazing, and Zahn also makes sure to show how HARD it can be at times rather than just make her a perfect mind reader who always knows what her charge is thinking and what to say or do.

She's also kinda flawed - she seems to have an unhealthy obsession with Thrawn because he was once nice to her when she was a miserable kid in the throes of the shitty navigator system, and it comes off as kind of weird or cringe at times, and that's a GOOD thing in my book because it makes her character more 3D.

ALSO, the really nice part of it is that these books are filled to the brim with cool female characters that all feel really really different from each other, so Thalias being the nurturing, diplomatic type doesn't feel like Zahn sending some kind of message - the other prominent character is Ar'alani, a clever military woman who's a natural leader, excellent at handling her subordinates and recognizing their talents, excellent at handling politics even though she hates it, excellent at improvising on the fly, and also a kind and loyal friend. A lot of the other soldier or officer types are also women, and Zahn's other works also have a shitton of varied and cool women, so you feel safe in the knowledge that anything Thalias says or does is indicative of Thalias as an individual and not some vague idea of what women are like that the author has.

I also love how her character provides a contrast to all the "necessary evil" and "people are assets"-type thinking that a lot of the Ascendancy's more military types endorse (which make up a large percentage of the main cast, since this is mil scifi after all) - her conversation with Samakro about this is just chef's kiss to me. I feel like it's cool that we get this kind of POV because to me it serves as confirmation that Zahn knows what he's doing here - he's not being a stupid edgelord fanboy in love with the concept of doing shitty things for the greater good, he's just keenly observing how different people approach life and how all of these sorts of thinking are very useful in certain situations and deeply stupid in others. And the topic is treated with zero smugness - I've read things where similar arguments are used as a way of showing how wise and perfect one of the characters is and how stupid the other one is (coughvorkosigansagacough), but here everyone is treated with respect and empathy and consideration.

THALIAS SUPREMACY!!!

#Mitth'ali'astov #Thalias #Thrawn Ascendancy #Timothy Zahn #THALIAS SUPREMACY

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cowboy-robooty · 1 year

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Have you ever drawn a South Park and Hetalia crossover??? Also I love your stuff so much!!! I go kyaaaa and squeal whenever you post!!!

YOU. LISTEN. I HAVENT RESPONDED TO YOU IN TWO MONTHS. AND ITS BC I WANTED TO MAKE A BIG DRAWING FOR U BUT FAILED ANYWAYS. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST SO I HAVE A FUNNY STORY TO TELL. so basically this ask is so aids inducing that i completely genuinely thought you were LMV (lucianoirlmurdervictim) and i was going to answer you as if you were him but then i showed him a doodle i made in class to warm up for a drawing in response to this and he went "?? thats not me." and i asked out entire friend group and all of us reference this ask now in conversation because i genuinely thought literally nobody would type shit like this unless they were someone in my friend group trying to harass me.

i love this ask btw pls send more like this. i love this idea i think theyd be great in south park because they already live like they do. now if you mean the characters interacting together well hmmm. i think that they would just go "oh. okay" and leave. actually no i think that theyd only find out england exists and find out he fucks men so (pip is alive for this to work okay) everyone says pip is gay because his country is gay and then makes a rumor that the entirity of england is gay and has aids and then the whole episode hinges upon like cartman trying to become a citizen of england because theres a side plot where he gets fucked in the ass or something for saying the f slur and is like FUCKING WHAT?!?!? and all his efforts to be like thats fucking stupid only digs him in his hole deeper until he finds out the hetalia england gay = all of england gay thing that is spreading across the world and realizes if he becomes a british citizen then he can say faggot without having to blow anybody! and also this plot will evolve into becoming a citizen of england being really really convolutedly bad and hard (probably including having to allow the queen to put a finger in your butthole). maybe cartman does a bunch of evil bidding for the queen as a classic trey and matt commentary on how the british family fucking Sucks (true). anyways the whole episode ends with evereyone finding out that all the hetalia countries are gay so everyone is gay since theyre all from countries. also there would be a scene where they reference how the japanese choose whos gay and whos not (tweek x craig) and be like THAT DAMN YAOI. actually the way they find out abt all the other countries is bc one character has a epiphany where they remember creek and look up "country yaoi" and go "oh my god. Holy Shit." thats how we get our big end reveal twist. so yeah hetalia south park sounds great! heres a romano sp i drew for LMV that made me find out that your ask was in fact not from LMV

#ask #draws #hetalia #aph romano #hws romano #south park #lol

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nokingsonlyfooles · 3 months

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Finish the Feed and Plug the Thing! (And Play the Music!)

Today, under the cut, I shall demonstrate my new ability to create original music that might be recordable! (Guest Starring the Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel!)

My web serial! My brainchild! My empire of dirt! I write this, I'm only on social media because I want people to look at it, and they're not. I suspect I've sold my cow for some magic beans and it turns out they're not even regular beans, they're foam peanuts. Nevertheless, the people in my orbit seem decent in general SO I WILL CONTINUE TO BROWBEAT YOU WITH GUILT-INDUCING REMINDERS UNTIL MY READERSHIP IMPROVES! No need to thank me! It's a service I provide!

Current known readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10?

Current supporters: 2 (hi Kith and 5th!), 1st Goalpost: 5?

So! I am doing a Hazbin Hotel fic, while working sporadically on the serial. It involves David and I have a lot to say about mental health, fictional universes and massive multiversal crossovers, so it's still technically serial content, even if you may not want to read it.

But, I like to use side projects to experiment. I have to have something I like enough to put a lot of effort in, but I don't want to feel terrible if that effort comes to nothing. The fic happened because I drew David Vivzie-style to test my drawing ability and stamina. (It's improving! I can draw! Slowly!)

I am writing MUSIC with STAGE DIRECTIONS for David's stay at the Hotel, both reprises of Hazbin Hotel tunes with new lyrics, and new songs with public domain melodies. There is a LOT of music in the public domain. I've been filking pop songs, but that's still legally grey. When I filk this stuff, there's no limits!

...but that's not true, because a lot of it doesn't have lyrics. My process up until now has involved rewriting music with existing lyrics. Never before did I tackle an instrumental. Now I have!

I would call it a 75% success. It scans, fairly well, but I think I made an error in choice of melody. I LOVE this raggy 1925 arrangement of Hungarian Rhapsody - I listened to it a million times to do this and I STILL love it - but if you actually had to sing it at speed, I think your tongue would fly off. Hamilton has unsingable music like that, too, but I think this came out too complex to be catchy. I can barely sing it and I WROTE it!

Nevertheless, here it is (stage directions omitted for ease of reading along fast enough to keep up), with some background on the fic for context: David has, at this point, convinced Alastor they were best friends in the 20s, and made friends with Angel Dust in a more conventional way. Alastor does not wish to be second-best at anything (we've already got a canon song about that!) and is registering an objection from the piano.

...That's probably still incomprehensible, but the point is, it scans. You gotta ignore the intro and start reading when the treble kicks in, but I do think it scans.

youtube

ALASTOR: Funnily, we’re both used to dining with refinement Trust two chefs to know I thought our dinner was almost perfect When the waiter served it But then you fondle The ketchup bottle! There’s bearnaise right there on the platter, what’s the matter? Must you stoop so low? Horrors! It’s just as if you called the sous-chef over — “This needs salting!” So insulting! DAVID: Darling! The sauce is no improvement If the meat is poor With ketchup, there’s no dressing there to dress up No one loves a pompous bore, Bestie! A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? Formal wear is not required Friendship outshines one’s attire And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete, it’s not a test I can’t be beat, I’m always best D: Although your doubtful dedication’s Quite despicable I don’t envy your situation That’s forgivable A: I’m dedicated when it’s worth it Is that true for you? And of course my friends deserve it What I’d do for you! D: Oh, I forgot, my poor coat is soaking Might you mop up my reckless joking? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: And one more thing, I’m a little squeamish You think we could keep the murders cleanish? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: You’re so competitive Do you just want to win? A (counterpoint) : (If that’s better, I’ll do better) D: Hey, I need devotion, too, if you’ve a notion to! You can’t be listening Might you do anything? A: (If that’s better, I’ll do better) D: A fur coat, a fancy car, how ‘bout a chocolate bar? A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: For the salt lick, I hope I’m forgiven? I show respect with little gifts given A: If that’s better, I’ll do better Don’t we both play well together? D: If I’ve annoyed, I think I should mention I just enjoy all kinds of attention A: And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete, it’s not a test I can’t be beat, I’m always best And I won’t mind, I won’t pretend Remember I’m your dearest friend I won’t compete… D: Can we have sex? A: I ca… [spoken] Old friend, if you were a woman… I’d turn lavender [note: 20s slang for gay] with shame. D: Ah. Tant pis! Shave and a haircut, no sale!

It diverges at the end, they need time to talk to each other, but it's very close!

And I should add how I "transcribed" the music to write that, because it almost broke me. It was so silly I started cackling and had to confess what I was doing and show the spouse the placeholder lyrics. You see, transcribing the beats and stresses as dashes and numbers wasn't working, so I decided to use words. I decided to listen to this music over and over, trying to find words that had a matching rhythm, and place them into stanzas with a rhyming scheme. THIS is what THAT looks like:

It’s okay it’s not even ready it’s a steady It’s an onion bowl Oh but it’s not a begonia-bopper It’s a hot dog topper It’s a taco And it’s a tico It’s okay it’s not even ready it’s a steady It’s an onion bowl Oh ba-by but it’s not a holy hanger it’s a radio And it’s okay but it’s just a Samples! It’s not a rosy robber It’s an onion bowl It’s not a motherfucking compsognathus It is just an onion bowl But it’s Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s no pony in a pickup It’s a tuesday hiccup coat And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polka dots and polka dots It isn’t very much to listen It’s okay but it’s Not much of a good decision It’s okay but it’s It isn’t very much to listen It’s okay but it’s Not much of a good decision It’s okay but it’s Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a dog, it’s okay but it isn’t Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s a blue doughnut boy he’s got a taco truck (not a pony in a pickup) And it’s a tree it’s a tree it’s a tree but it’s not It’s a blue doughnut boy he’s got a taco truck (not a pony in a pickup) And it’s a tree it’s a tree it’s a tree but it’s not Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s not a puddle puck in a piston It’s just a whiny duck who won’t listen Not a pony in a pickup It’s a doughnut in a slicker It’s not a puddle puck in a piston It’s just a whiny duck who won’t listen And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polka dots and polka dots And scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs And applesauce, and applesauce And jellybeans and jellybeans And polk— It’s not anybody it is just a Camaro cap!

I can't sing that version either ("It's not a motherfucking compsognathus!" I'm dying! 😵I'm dead!) but I'm still fond of it. And look, it worked! Kinda!

If I want to do this for the actual serial, I may have to pick simpler music, or simplify it by choosing PART of the melody to use and repeat. I can't write or read musical notation, but most people can't either, so if I can link you to a piano roll or someone's recording of an old record, we can both sing along on the internet. And maaaybe some day I'll be able to record something. I wouldn't be good at playing or singing, but if you throw enough money at me, I can pay someone!

SO PLEASE GO BEG PEOPLE TO READ ME AND GIVE ME MONEY! THANK YOU!

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kradogsrats · 11 months

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anyway I entered some kind of MILF-induced fugue state and when I came to, I'd written this???

1500-ish words, rated M for suggestiveness and predatory behavior toward a minor (but no actual sexual content, implied or otherwise), TL;DR Rayla arrives in Scumport and Redfeather sees opportunity. To seduce her. Just to be clear, Redfeather wants to seduce Rayla. That's the fic.

—

The girl is young and pale and soft, sweet as moonberries and more naive than an orphan adoraburr. She and the weird little pet perched on her shoulder enter Scumport like newborn deer wandering into a cave of banthers, and Redfeather knows she'll have her wrapped around her fingers in minutes.

Rayla, as she's called, turns out to not have the sense to leave her name or the distinctive indigo slashes on her face behind with the ship that brought her. She's after information on a human, a dark mage, which Redfeather already knew from her clumsy performance in the market. Her chase seems to be personal—always the best kind—but she has nothing to offer in her search for leads. Everything in Scumport costs, usually more than the buyer expects.

She also carries her Ghosting like a wound, open and festering. Redfeather picks at it delicately, drawing out enough pain to make the girl seek comfort, then dangling enough familiarity to have her reaching instinctively toward a friend.

It's almost a shame, what Scumport will do to her—this sweet little Rayla. She'll come out better for it, though. She'll learn.

Maybe Redfeather will get to teach her.

Either way, it's an opportunity she can't pass up. She drops the hints that she may know something—which maybe she does, maybe she doesn't—and that she's willing to trade some kind of work for it. A favor.

"I'll do it," Rayla says, barely hesitating. Her pet chitters unhappily. "Tell me what you want."

"Just a little job," Redfeather replies dismissively. "I'm hungry, and I bet you are, too—come on, I'll fill you in on the details while we eat." She doesn't wait for Rayla to agree, just saunters out into the street in the direction of the nearest tavern and expects her to follow. She does, of course.

The tavern is just starting to fill up for dinner, and Redfeather elbows her way to the counter to buy a bowl of fish chowder for Rayla and tankards of ale for both of them before claiming a secluded corner table. Slowly, bit by bit, Rayla relaxes and eats, feeding the occasional tidbit to her pet. She listens and nods while Redfeather amiably runs her mouth about anything and nothing, somehow never quite getting around to talking about the job.

Long after the meal is finished, and the little four-armed fuzzball has curled up to sleep in the hood of Rayla's cloak, Redfeather finally falls silent. She raises her tankard to drink, gazing over the rim with half-lidded eyes unabashedly focused on Rayla's soft mouth. Rayla sees her looking and glances quickly away, eyes wide. Redfeather watches her swallow and smiles into her tankard.

"So who are they?" she asks casually, sensing that the time is right. "The person you left behind?"

Caught by surprise, Rayla pales, then blushes like roses blossoming under the shadow of knifeblades. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says, thoroughly unconvincing.

"Come on," Redfeather teases, as if they've been friends from girlhood. "It's all over you. Who turned your pretty head so far you can't look forward for looking back? A girl? A boy?"

Rayla's blush deepens, and she actually lifts her own tankard and drinks deeply from it in an effort to hide her face. It's certainly not because she wants the drink—Redfeather pretended not to see the face she made earlier, when she took a first, tentative sip. "It's not like that," she grumbles into tankard's depths.

"Not like what?" Redfeather pushes—still playful, still light, but always poking, poking, poking at the edges of that wound. "Are they a childhood sweetheart? Ooh, or maybe a forbidden lover? An assassination target whose charms compelled you to spare them?"

"I said it's not like that!" Rayla snaps, abruptly bristling. She sets her tankard down a little too hard. "Anyway, he's—he's behind me, now. Like you said. I can't stay hung up on looking back."

Redfeather drops her teasing facade, becoming serious. Wistful, even. "I'll drink to that," she says solemnly, clinking her tankard lightly against Rayla's. She manages not to smile when Rayla visibly softens, those big, lavender eyes drawn to her by the tiny hint of vulnerability.

She doesn't say any more, and Rayla doesn't ask. The silence stretches, thick with longing, and she finds herself almost reluctant to break it.

Then, as if on cue, a fight breaks out at the bar—a pair of the burly Tidebound elf dockworkers shoving each other while their friends circle loosely around them, reaching surreptitiously for bottles or knives. Redfeather leans closer to Rayla, jerking her head in their direction. "Let's get out of here before that little party spreads too far. It's not the kind you want to wind up involved in."

Rayla agrees quickly, and her eyes stay warily on the developing fight as they move toward the door—she doesn't even notice when Redfeather lifts the two pretty little blades from her back and tucks them away beneath her own sash, nor does her sleeping pet offer any warning. All too easy.

Outside, it's already dark. The moon has risen, its light prickling on Redfeather's bare skin, and she stretches languidly, hands linked high over her head as she bends side to side with a satisfied groan. Rayla's gaze stutters over the planes of her naked abdomen, and she doesn't stop the smile that curls onto her face at the obvious attention.

"So, I'm betting you also don't have anywhere to stay," she says, still casual. "Am I right?"

"I can camp—"

Redfeather laughs in true disbelief. "What, on the streets? No way—the little job I have for you isn't hard, but it can't be done by a corpse. You can bunk down at my place. I'll even let you have the hammock."

She can't resist punctuating the statement with a wink. Rayla's eyes dart away, ears pinking. "Okay," she says, a hint of a smile showing on her face. "I—thanks."

They walk the rest of the way back to Redfeather's hideout—one of many—in companionable silence. When they're close, Redfeather slows, falling a few steps behind.

"Hey, Rayla," she says, gentling her mouth around the name like the sound is precious. "Hang on just a tick."

Rayla turns, and Redfeather steps forward into her space, crowding her against the wall beside them. Her eyes flick rapidly to meet Redfeather's steady gaze and then away, jittering back and forth. "What?" she says after a long moment of silence, voice wavering slightly. "What is it?"

"The moon's beautiful, tonight," Redfeather says, still looking only at her. "I thought I'd stop a moment to get a better look."

Rayla shivers wonderfully when Redfeather finally touches her, just the ghost of fingertips over the dark slash on her cheek, tracing its curve down to her delicate chin. Her eyes slide closed as her face slowly tilts up, soft, pink mouth parting in trembling anticipation.

Redfeather's smile spreads as she bends to claim the first of what will be many, many tastes of that moonberry sweetness. It's almost disappointing, how easy it all was. Almost.

Then their places are suddenly reversed, and she's pinned—one arm twisted behind her back, the other trapped against the wall by a blade stabbed through her glove just beside her wrist. And, of course, the second blade is creasing her bared throat, just below her jaw.

She laughs, genuinely delighted. That this slim, soft girl managed to lift the blades back from her, somehow—oh, this will be fun. "I thought you were cute, before," she says, her grin as sharp a slash as the steel biting into her skin. "Now, I like you."

"Enough games," Rayla spits. "The dark mage." Her pet, once again perched on her shoulder, screeches as if adding its own angry emphasis.

"I thought you were going to do me a favor?"

Her pale face twists in rosy fury, and the blade presses deeper into Redfeather's throat. "That kind of favor is not on the table. Or on the bed. Hammock. Whatever."

"Believe me, you'd feel differently about tables if you'd ever tried doing it in a hammock." Redfeather laughs again, wiggling the fingers of her pinned hand suggestively. "But no, this was just a bit of fun—a job is a job. If you don't want to play with me, we can go back to strictly business."

"I'm not here to play." Rayla's lavender glare is matched by the violet one of her pet. It hisses indignantly, fur standing on end.

Redfeather shrugs, nonchalant. "Fine, then. No harm, no foul."

Rayla hesitates, the blade still pressed to her throat, then releases her wrist and yanks the other out of the wall to free her glove. She steps back several paces, both blades leveled threateningly at Redfeather until she's well out of reach.

Redfeather raises her hands in a placating gesture. "Hammock offer is still open, by the way," she says. "You'll need to sleep, sometime—Scumport's not kind to those not alert enough to stay one step ahead."

Rayla barks a laugh. "You're crazy if you think it'll be anywhere near you, after that. I'll manage."

"Suit yourself."

Moonlight flashes off the blades as they twirl closed, and Rayla's eyes stay on Redfeather as she backs away. Then she turns, and vanishes into the dark.

Redfeather chuckles, stretching again—though this time it's to work the pain out of her twisted shoulder, rolling it in various directions to loosen it again. She runs her thumb idly along the fine line Rayla's blade left in her throat, then licks the gathered blood from it, still grinning.

She'll learn.

#genuinely don't know what this is #r-raylafeather?#raylafeather #kradogsfic

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sabaramonds · 1 year

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the thing about mikoto of milgram fame is that hes like. okay. so theres a lot that cant be said about him yet because his 2nd trial hasnt released and wont be for quite a while and his music video and interrogation only tell us so much. but what they DO tell us is um. enough to say some things if he answered his interrogation questions honestly, we know he has a younger sister he brags about, his parents are divorced and his father isnt involved in their lives. in regards to his mother, he says that “she raised me. i cant let her worry.” he downplays his own interests/hobbies a lot. he said he played baseball in high school but that he wasnt good at it; he went to an art school but did so in order to go into business (though design was related to his chosen company) and says that he likes drawing but, again, isnt good at it. he says he hates working late nights but we see him pulling an all nighter at work in ‘undercover’. when asked why hes working his current job, he says he worked incredibly hard to even get hired, so its something to be proud of. finally, when asked if he ever gets angry, he says he doesnt. he says, “i dont think ive ever gotten angry before. isnt it disgraceful to get angry?” theres also the following milgram portal conversation (src):

Yuno: Hey, Mikoto-san. Don’t you get tired being so conscious of others all the time? I mean, you’re free to do what you want though.

Mikoto: Eh…… Aha, what are you talking about? I’m not being conscious or anything. It’s normal to make sure to get along with everyone, right?

I mean, when you put it like that, aren’t you the same, Yun-chan? You’re always smiling and getting on with everyone too.

Yuno: I don’t smile unless I actually want to. But with you, when you’re talking with other people it’s more like you only smile deliberately. So I kept thinking, don’t your cheeks get tired?

Ah, is this just what happens when you become a working adult? ……you see people like that sometimes.

Mikoto: Haha, you don’t mince your words do you.

…….that was never my intention, but now that you mention it, yeah, I guess I do. This might’ve been since I started my job too…… But like, if I was rude to everyone I met, all my efforts would come to nothing, right?

all these little things add up to paint a picture of a stressed and deeply repressed guy working a job he doesnt actually like (but he has to have a successful job he can brag about or his mother will worry) he thinks little of his own interests and hobbies and socializes more out of obligation than out of genuine desire. all of this culminates to um...his present situation... basically what i want to say is that i think its fine. also i think he killed someone and immediately repressed it but that incident is entirely unrelated to his anime brand DID and his alter. who aside from trying to whale on es that one time has only ever really showed up to be like “can you shut the fuck up. and get away from me. im trying to be normal over here and you are RUINING my life” or to pace around in mikotos cell in the middle of the night like a creature. i think mikoto 2 was entirely unrelated to mikotos repression stress induced rage murder but they might have cleaned up after him idk. we will see. mikoto wants to be a normal guy having a normal time and not worrying his family at all ever and never experiencing anything like anger or frustration at all EVER EVER!! because he has to set a good example for his sister and be the perfect son for his mom so she can relax. and he doesnt think he can do the things he enjoys for the sake of doing them. so what im saying is if he killed someone who cares. whatever. also we should all mass vote him forgiven/innocent just to spite kotoko after last nights birthday timeline post. AND because it would be funny as hell and the fandom flopped HARD voting haruka guilty/unforgiven. like god forbid girls have a little fun 🙄 btw its my firm belief that the tarot set we see in his mv (and i could talk a lot about the rest of the imagery used in that video but its almost 2am and ive rambled long enough) was designed by him during college. really funny to think about it like that. he does have one of the card designs (the. hangman, actually. i think) visible on a canvas in his apartment, partially obscured behind his couch at one point. so. lol

#milgram #guys named mikoto be like. normal with something wrong with them #my ramblings

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fragilecapric0rnn · 10 months

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ive gotta ask for 🔀 & steddie please!

hi Mj! thanks for the ask!

as it seems, the writing gods want to keep the angst theme going...

because CHRIST is this a sad ass song.

I've toyed with the idea in my head of a steddie fic that is more on the sad side, something where they just can't make it work, but good god do they try really hard to make it work. But at the end of the day, they're just two traumatized boys, carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. So, for one reason or another, they're perpetually on-again off-again.

This line in particular —

Oh so kiss him again Just to prove to me that you can I will stand here And burn in my skin

— is particularly gut wrenching to me.

I can see it as them seeing each other after their last failed attempt at being together. They're in their mid to late twenties.

Steve moved to Chicago to live with Robin after their break-up, caused by their inability to communicate, both of them bottling up their feelings, only for said feelings to be released in an alcohol induced blow-up that ended in Eddie storming out of Steve's apartment, coming back in the morning to get his belongings and say his goodbyes.

Eddie, thinking that they just need some space, that he can go back to the apartment in a few weeks and try again. Try and make it work again. This time he'll stop drinking. This time he'll try harder. Only this time was the last time, as he goes back to the apartment in Hawkins and sees that it's vacant.

But now, it's years later. Steve didn't think he'd be seeing Eddie tonight. Eddie never made an effort to show up to anything that anyone invited him to in the past. Eddie is the furthest thing from his mind as he makes his way into the bar, the entire place rented out for Max and Lucas' engagement party. Steve showed up with Robin on one side and his newest (and most serious) boyfriend, Nick, on his other side. He was feeling good. Two of his closest friends, celebrating a huge milestone, his heart filled to the brim with excitement.

The night progressed, champagne flowing, Nick chomping it up with his friends and being the charming beacon of sunshine he always was, in every setting, in private and in public. Steve beamed with joy, it was oozing out of every pore of his body. He is happy.

Robin stiffens beside him, grabs onto his bicep, stealing his attention away from the story that Nick was telling Dustin and El about their trip to the coast. As soon as Steve turns his head, sees what made Robin react in such a way, he is hit with every emotion humanly possible.

Standing on the other side of the room, staring at them with a blank expression, was Eddie. His hair was still long, the bangs gone, grown into the rest of his hair. Steve wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, but there he was. Like a ghost come back to haunt him. He felt 19 again, heart ready to burst outside of his chest, sprout legs and sprint toward him. Not a single day had passed, but the five years felt like fifty. Hard blinks to make sure he's not dreaming, prickles of anxiety draw up his spine. He can't breathe

Meanwhile, Eddie had stayed on the other side of the room on purpose. He had been there all of thirty seconds, knowing damn well that Steve was going to be there, but never expecting to see him here like this, with someone other than Robin.

After the breakup, Eddie spiraled. He didn't leave the house for over a month. Wayne had to coax him into stepping out onto the porch every once in a while to feel fresh air, to remind him he was alive. He never left Indiana. Worked as a mechanic and never dated anyone seriously after Steve. It had hurt to bad. Too much. Kept a safe distance from everyone, well, except Dustin and Max. They wouldn't let him hide for too long. Ironic as it is, considering they were also closest with Steve. But, when they were around Eddie, his name never entered the conversation, never entered the vicinity, who's Steve, type of reaction. Yet, he still spent years rejecting invitations to celebrations, deciding to be a shut in, a recluse, celebrate the wins of life with two of his oldest friends in private.

Until Max and Lucas got engaged. Knowing, this would be the only wedding for either of them. Knowing, Max would be upset if he missed out on these moments. Knowing, he'd see him. He still agreed to show up to the first celebration of many.

And immediately regretted it.

Why didn't they tell him that Steve was with somebody? Why, even if they never spoke his name in Eddie's presence, did neither of them feel the need to tell him how fucking happy he looked?

This was a mistake. He needed to leave before he was seen by Steve.

He really should've guessed that Robin was the one he truly needed to avoid. Steve's second set of eyes. He froze when his eyes met hers. Stood there in the walkway, only a few feet from exiting. In his line of sight, there was Steve right behind her. Looking at his boyfriend like the sun was shining out of his ass.

He couldn't move. Feet further cemented to the ground when Steve's eyes locked onto him.

Kick in the stomach, punch to the neck, air stolen right from his body by the sight of the man who broke his heart all those years ago. The man who's heart he broke right back.

His legs, suddenly uncemented, start moving. But not in the direction of the door. No. For some god forsaken reason, they take him right into the direct line of fire.

As usual, his body and brain never chose the right moments to lean into cowardice.

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

#fic ideas #ask game #steddie sweetie i am so sorry #sen writes #lets all hope and pray that some happy songs come on shuffle this time jfc

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2af-afterdark · 5 months

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Oof, it's been a hot minute since I've sent you an ask... Sorry 'bout that and also for not sending you any New Year's wishes, irl stuff kept me pretty busy lately. I hope you had fun celebrating! <3

...Admittedly, part of the reason for my absence was that I've also been feeling unpleasantly drained by the Nightmare Pass missions, on top of everything else. I feel a little bad about pretty much coming here and complaining, but I'd like to hear your opinion since you have the Pass activated and I'm f2p, so I wonder how our experiences differ.

I feel like the rewards are.. lackluster, in all honesty. The yellow keys are nice, the frame is pretty... And that's about it. Aside from a small bonus of getting some gems after completing the daily missions, there's really not much to look forward to. It feels like there's far too much effort required and not enough rewards.

Not to mention the missions themselves. God, the missions. I hate the way they work with a passion. The fact that you need to log in daily is fine, the fact that you need to grind a bit is also fine... But then there's shit like "claim a likeability reward" which I'd love to do, except I only have one left over from Andrealphus and still half a Pass to get through. I remember you writing that it feels like being punished for unlocking content, and I completely agree. That's exactly how it feels. I am not going to waste all of my red keys in an attempt to get a new L-grade card since I have all S-grade devils maxed out already.

And speaking of wasting red keys! The "special draw" missions also leave a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. I remember making those single-pulls while sighing deeply because, well, it just doesn't feel like all of the resources I'm consuming are going to be compensated. I spend Solomon's tears, both types of keys, a lot of energy (in-game and irl) and most of the time I get... A few boxes of randomised jellies? That I can get extremely easily through other means? At least make them select-type like the ones in event shops, damn it!

Basically, I'm salty and kind of sad. I love the game dearly, but I think I'm going to give up on the Nightmare Pass. Once I hit a likeability reward mission that I cannot complete, I'm out. The frame is pretty, but getting one from an event shop is going to be way easier and less stress-inducing. I don't want to burn myself out (any more than I already did) by trying to complete it.

So sorry for such a long rant, I ended up getting a bit carried away... I'm really interested in how the effort/reward ratio feels like with a purchased Pass. I'm not really active in the fandom (I pretty much only follow you and the official acc, lol) so I haven't seen people speak about it yet. Hopefully, at least some people have a better time with that hell of an event.

— 💛

So, I used my premium pass from the pre-order rewards on the Nightmare Pass so I could study the way it works from a p2p perspective. I must say, the reward you get in p2p are much better. I received many yellow and red keys, Solomon's Tears, Puddings, Books, Coins, etc. I had unlimited auto-fights in the nightmare dungeon so I can grind coins for the shop easily. Over all, the amount of rewards you get may justify the $60 price tag IF you can afford it and you want the card at the end. Also, this assumes they do this within limited quantities. Like, I would say once every few months at most. Maybe very 2-3 months at most. Still sucks you can only get the card if you're willing to pay out the nose for the rewards. I did look at the f2p rewards and... yeah, not worth it. That is a lot of grinding for very little payoff. I was getting 2-4 reward every day because I was getting the rewards for every tier so it felt more worthwhile.

Also, yeah. I have been playing the game less since the Nightmare Pass started because I was afraid of locking myself out of future requirements for the missions. I had trouble with likability (something I usually max out within 2-3 days of getting a new unit), I was afraid to level up characters and their skills, I wasn't promoting anyone, I wasn't doing anything because I was so afraid I would screw myself by playing the game.

That's why I think Nightmare Pass kind of sucks the most. I felt like I was being punished for having played the game up until this point. Some missions were, as you said, fine. Any missions involving pleasing someone in the Secret Club were fine (not the unholy board because some of those I had maxed out already and it was pain to advance them more). Any missions where I had to fight were good. That I can always do. But missions that have finite end points are terrible (there is a max number of levels characters can have, a max amount of promotions I can do, only so far I can go on an unholy board, likability stops at 100%, characters can only evolve 5 times before they are maxed). Those missions suck because I can screw myself by actually having invested the time into the game before the Nightmare Pass is even out. It actually sucked to basically stop playing this game because I was afraid to play and screw myself out of getting Gabriel.

And the missions are kind of sucky too. Because each stage only unlocks after the previous one is completed, it's hard to know what is coming up and easy to screw yourself. Not everyone has 20ST available multiple times. Not everyone hoards their keys to do the multiple draws over and over again. And having 25 stages that can only be unlocked once daily rather than continuously (since the one mission on each day is to login) it means that if you miss a few days, you are screwed. You can pay to unlock the path with Nightmare Coins, but that assumes you have enough (and each reward gets more expensive as you go).

Overall, Nightmare Pass feels like the kind of event that is aimed toward people who dedicate time to the game to complete the rewards, but those same people can easily get screwed if they put in all that effort too early. The nightmare Pass isn't terrible, but it definitely needs some tweaking. It's the kind of event I would only continue in the future if I really want the card/haven't invested so much I screw myself. Honestly, it feels like the kind of event you finish and only debate purchasing the other rewards after you see how far you've managed to get to see if you can justify the expense.

Also, never feel like you can't rant to me. I rant all the time. Goodness knows I rant all the time... I don't do it because I hate the game. It's me trying to point out issues for others and because I want to see things changed for the better.

#❖ 💛 anon #love letters ❤️#talkin' whb

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sugarplanet · 1 year

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"Did I Draw That?" Critiquing Your Old Art and Tracking Your Growth

You’ve probably had that feeling before where nothing you’re drawing is quite up to snuff or you can’t seem to make anything you’re particularly proud of. Art blocks and creative ruts are a plague to most artists and sometimes it feels like you’ll be sick with them forever. As someone who can find it hard to draw or post when I’ve lost any sense of motivation because “my art isn’t good enough, I don’t have any followers,” I’ve made myself work harder on redirecting towards more productive means of self-critique and analysis to keep me from self-destructing over my craft. One way I go about self-analysis or finding inspiration again is by comparing myself to myself instead of to artists that are years ahead or behind me so I can see how I’ve been taking to the efforts I’ve made to improve while, where I want to improve more, and get reacquainted with my art in a more personal sense instead of looking at numbers of likes or views on post next to other people’s art.

I found an exercise I did back in 2021 where I was practicing some lighting and paint stoke techniques free hand, really experimenting with the most innocuous thing I could think of at the time; a lady holding a cat. I did the first piece on a whim, making things a little flat, and then actively revisited the piece a couple months later with some sharper brushes, a more expressive subject, and greater contrast in color and value. I even added a simple background to make things a little more interesting. I did like some things in both pieces (the color palate and understated texture I got in the first piece and the greater energy in the later piece) but I know there was plenty of room for improvement (mainly the anatomy and the blobbiness of the cats). Looking at the pieces, I tried to find the mindset I had when I worked on them and think about my approach; as flawed as they were, I liked them a little still and wanted to try one more time to see if I could make something out of it.

This piece feels more disciplined than the others with a background and stronger anatomy but does employ some of the spirit of the first two in the painterly approach.

It’s nice being able to look fondly back on your own art, but it can be a little worrying at times liking your old art while also combating feelings of dissatisfaction with your current output. There’s a belief that one mark of improvement is being able to look back on your own work and reflexively gag over how wonky the quality is. With that logic, you liking your old work at all must mean that you either haven’t improved at all or you can’t see how you’ve improved. To counteract that kind of downward spiral-inducing line of thought, understand that part of becoming a better (and happier) artist is being able to see your skill and improvement while also being able to spot your shortcomings and improving them without fixating them. I wasn’t always able to look at my own art objectively and redo an older concept or update a piece so easily but understanding the value in all of your work, even the super dated and wonky stuff, does a service to your craft (not to mention your self-esteem.)

If you feel like your work isn’t up to snuff or if the dredges of stagnation are biting at your toes, try sifting through your portfolio or sketches or psd files of over stuffed canvases with hundreds of layers (I’m not the only one that does that, right?) and see what you’ve found since before you first discovered that new brush set or around a time when you were last energetic in your work or even something from this time last year. It’s best to see if you have any files separate from social media like twitter or instagrams so you aren’t judging your work based on arbitrary popularity or clickability; look at it without bias and be fair to yourself. Is there something you found that you liked or really don’t like at all anymore? Could you see how to improve on it if you’re sure you can do better? I’d suggest a character design or portrait that you like in a way but can instantly think up a few ideas on how to make it a lot better. All the progress you’ve made is going to shine through each new detail and correction; you’ll take good care to treat something so important well!

#journal #my art #self help #self improvement #redraw #art critique #cats #cat portrairs #digital art #clip studio paint #art tips #brblog

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hallowedmuses · 1 year

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discord chat: breath taking and life saving

SUMMARY: Much to Aamon’s dismay, Dagon and Beel try something dramatic in an attempt to remedy the discomfort of their children. Belgirel proposes a plan to help cure the rest of angel kind, but they’ll have to draw alliances with an unexpected new friend. TRIGGERS: Body Horror, Torture, Illness, Death Mentions, PTSD, Depression WRITTEN WITH: @hallowedmuses (Dagon, Nadia), @offallenfeathers (Belgirel, Beelzebub, Murmur, Echo) @ofbrokenhalos (Aamon, Devour)

DAGON & NADIA: After arriving back to her room with Belgirel, Dagon changed her clothes with great effort and crawled back into bed. She watched the kids take the cocktail of fever medications but she couldn’t stomach it herself and passed on the offer. She was grateful when they laid back down beside her. Dagon wrapped her arms around them and pulled them close. Gods, they were so warm. Had they been this warm when she left?

“You made me snuggle Murmur,” Nadia muttered sleepily as she settled beside her. “I’m never going to live that down.”

“We can pretend it was a fever dream then,” Dagon chuckled. She kissed their foreheads and held them close. She was too tired to do much else. Fuck. She wished she’d done more with them before this. Why hadn’t she done more? Exhaustion and achiness had her pushing that thought away. She began humming the melody to the song that Beel had been singing earlier. Toward the end, as she drifted off to sleep, the kids fell asleep too.

Throughout the night, she and the kids were tended to by the Archangels. From time to time, Dagon could hear bits and pieces of their conversations as Belgirel described to them what had happened at the river and they all quietly voiced their concerns about the sick. Several times in the night, she awoke and frantically called to the nearest person because the kids breathing was becoming more erratic and their fevers were becoming more severe. Murmur’s rash wasn’t going away, and it was now accompanied with violent coughing fits that left him struggling to breathe as well as bouts of delirium. And Nadia…she was tanking faster than the full born angels and fallen. It was so sudden. Just hours ago, she’d been complaining about having cuddled Murmur. She’d gone to bed just fine. And then four hours in, Dagon was screaming for help because Nadia was having a fever induced seizure. Although the seizure had passed and Nadia was given an ice bath to cool her down, her breathing was still unstable.

Dagon tried to help in administering the breathing treatments and cocktails, but she was asked several times to take it easy. She didn’t want to take it easy. She felt…she felt, well, she didn’t feel sick. At first, she thought it was just a second wind of energy from all the panic she was feeling about the kids declining. She was sure she would crash and with the crash would come her death, but as time went on, it didn’t seem like that. They took Dagon’s temperature every time they took the kid’s temperature. Hers was going down as theirs was climbing up and up. Her coughing fits were further apart, and her breathing sounded much better. By some miracle, she was getting better…and they were getting worse.

She paced around her room as the sun began to rise. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. Why was she getting better? She of all people. A depression demon. Someone who at times spent more time longing for death than she did living. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. She rubbed at her chest. The guilt was eating away at her. Dagon glanced at the kids who were now asleep, but their breathing was ragged and wheezy. Her chest hurt just watching them try to inhale. “It’s getting worse,” she tried to keep her tone even, but she felt like she was going to vomit again. Not because she was sick but because she was so fucking anxious. “There’s a healing spell for the breathing.” She stopped pacing and faced Beel. “It takes breath from one source and gives it to another.” And what better source was there than an Archangel. “I’ve never tried it before,” she forewarned. “But I’ve read about it. I think I can do it.”

BEELZEBUB & MURMUR: While Belgirel and Dagon went out, Beel just sat with the kids for a while. There wasn't much he could do. They were already asleep. Singing a lullaby to them didn't do much when they were already asleep, and it didn't help his nerves any. He didn't know how he was going to get through this. He'd lost his best friend, and sometimes, it felt like Nadia was all he had left of him. She was everything he felt like he had left of anything. She became his world the day she became his daughter, and fathers weren't supposed to lose their daughters. He braided her hair while she slept, cuddled up with Murmur. He wished that would've made her upset enough to show some life, but it didn't. He cried next to her, pleading, and praying that she'd get better. "If this is my curse, father, let it be mine and not hers," he begged. "I'll do anything, just stop this. Please. I'll kneel at your feet. I'll sing your praises. I'll be quiet. I'll be good. Just don't do this to her." He sobbed. For once, it didn't feel good knowing his father wasn't out there listening. Or if he was, he didn't care. He wouldn't stop this just for Beel's sake. What was his obedience worth anyways to a god who had the power to strip away all free will? He continued to beg and pray to his father until he heard someone walking down the hall towards their room.

He left the room when Belgirel and Dagon came back in. They looked rough, but everyone was feeling that way, sick or not. The vomit that was covering her was concerning, but he didn't want her wasting her energy on his questions. He left the room so Dagon could have some privacy while she changed her clothes. Once she was done, he came right back in. He brought them all their medicine. He didn't like the idea of not giving Dagon the medicine, and neither did Belgirel, but they both respected her decision. It helped the kids a little. They weren't fully awake, but they were awake enough to mutter a few words.

"You chose to snuggle me," Murmur murmured, reminding Beel of why his original parents had given him that nickname. "But on the bright side, if we die we don't have to not live it down."

Beel's chest tightened at the joke. Normally, he might've scolded Murmur for making it, but it didn't feel right at the present moment. "You're not going to die," Beel assured all of them. He needed to believe that.

"Damn, guess we do have to not live it down," Murmur sighed. His hand reached up to rub the rash on his face, but his arm didn't have the strength to move there. "Hurts," he groaned.

Beel squeezed Murmur's hand, pulling it back to his side. "I know, kiddo. I'm sorry."

The rest of the night didn't get any easier. Belgirel told them about the creature he'd come across. Devour had told him and Dagon about his siblings. There had been one he had called the Silence. From the fact that Devour could only taste food from the living realm and the creature they'd met could only repeat Dagon's words and not Belgirel's, it seemed like they fit the description of the Silence. Under normal circumstances, Beel might've been more intrigued, but as more time went on and his daughter's condition worsened, Beel didn't stay to listen to them anymore. He needed to be with his daughter. He couldn't sleep, especially after she had her seizure. He'd nearly died from a heart attack himself just from worrying about her so much. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He knew that if she died, she would just end up in the Empty, but it was torture watching her go through this.

At the same time, Dagon was getting better. He felt hopeful about it at first. Maybe they just needed to wait this out, and the kids would get better too, but they didn't. She got better and they got worse. He was too worried about Nadia to think about how that might've made her feel. "It is . . ." he said lowly, when Dagon spoke up to him. He didn't like it being pointed out how bad this was, but her tone implied she had more to say. "Okay, do it then," he answered, no hesitation in his voice. He was willing to do anything at this point. He didn't care what he had to sacrifice as long as he could help her even a little.

DAGON: She was relived when he said yes. She needed to do something, anything. She felt so useless. What good was her knowledge if she was too weak or sick to do anything? But she was getting better and she could do this. She nodded and rolled up her sleeves. "I need access to your lungs so unbutton your shirt for me," she instructed him before she turned to the children. She undid the first few buttons on their shirts to give her access to their lungs as well. Nadia wheezed and tried to mouth something that looked like mom in her sleep but she couldn't get the words out. "I know, baby," Dagon's voice cracked. She leaned down and kissed Nadia's forehead. "We'll make it better."

Dagon wiped away her tears before turning back to Beel. She guided him to stand against the wall near the bed. The spell was pretty physical so she needed him up against a sturdy base. "Before we get on with this, you need to know the risks. I know it doesn't change your answer, but I still need to tell you." For her own sanity, she needed him to know what he was getting involved in so he could give her informed consent to do what needed to be done. The lines between torture and healing were blurry and this was very much a gray area of magic that she did not like doing.

Dagon managed to manifest one of her snakes. She had it prick her finger and draw blood. The demon began to draw a sigil on Beel's chest with her blood. "The sigil I'm drawing will open your chest up in a metaphysical sense. You will remain whole throughout this procedure, but it won't feel that way. I'll need your blood to fully activate it. It's a palm to chest activation." Meaning she needed to press her bloodied palm to his chest to activate it.

"Once it's active, the clock starts. You'll feel hands, metaphysical ones, mine, enter your chest cavity. They will travel down to your lungs. From that point, you'll feel pressure on your lungs as the hands wrap around them and squeeze upward to harness the energy and breath within. It will hurt. Common risks for the patient, which is you in this case, are that the physician takes too much energy, collapses a lung, loses their way and hits a major organ, or gets stuck. Common risks for the recipient are low and limited to a physician's error of giving them too much of your energy causing their lung to collapse. Given that you are the Prince of Gluttony, they will also leave this procedure feeling hungry for a while. Common risks for the physician include time running out. I have until the sigil fades away and then your body will recognize my meta form as a threat and it will act accordingly." Her meta form did not stand a chance against his body's defenses, but she was quick and good at her job. She could avoid the physicians errors she read about in journals. She would find the lungs, she wouldn't be greedy with harnessing what she needed, and she would get out in time. "Do you consent to this procedure?"

BEELZEBUB: Beel followed her instructions without question, unbuttoning and removing his shirt. He was glad Belgirel wasn't in here at the moment. He didn't think he would've looked too happy about this, but Beel didn't care about his jealousy right now. There were more important things, and Belgirel was still working on other things anyways. He couldn't exactly avoid his responsibilities as the fill in leader of the empty just to stay with his girlfriend. She was doing better anyways, so Belgirel was starting to look less worried. Beel didn't have that luxury. That's why he was doing this.

He stood against the wall. Although he would've done this with or without the explanation, he listened to Dagon, so she could feel better about him doing it. Her hands didn't feel overwhelmingly hot anymore, and the blood actually felt a little cool on his skin. He didn't care about feeling ripped open. He'd just offered for his father to rearrange his guts last night. He was open to any amount of pain as long as it helped his kids. He waited for Dagon to finish before nodding. "Yes, I consent. Just do it."

DAGON: She knew Gears wouldn’t be thrilled with any of this both because Beelzebub was shirtless in front of her and because the spell was risky. But there was nothing romantic about any of this. They were two desperate parents just trying to ease the suffering of their kids and that was really the only thing on their minds right now. She would pull this procedure off as safely as she could. She nodded and took Beel’s hand in hers when he gave his consent. She needed to slice into his palm, but she relinquished her blade to Belgirel a few hours ago when the thoughts started getting particularly dark. So, she took the utility blade that was sticking out of Beel’s pocket and cut into his palm. Dagon used his blood to draw a sigil on her own palm that acted like a key to the one she’d drawn on his chest earlier. When she was done, she closed up the wound on his palm.

“Okay.” She planted her feet firmly on the ground in front of him and tried to steady herself. “I need you to take a deep breath for me and hold it.” She inhaled with him as he took a deep breath. While he held it, she exhaled slowly and pressed her bloodied palm against the sigil on his chest. The sigil began to glow as did both their eyes, and a wave of magic billowed around them as Dagon’s metaphysical hands entered his chest cavity. She could feel the warmth of his body, the flow of his blood, and texture of his organs. She needed to do this fast. The sigil was already starting to disappear little by little around the edges and she could tell that she was hurting Beel. She navigated her meta form expertly to his lungs. She didn’t need to tell Beel she found them. She could feel him tense around her as her hands wrapped around each lung.

“I’m sorry, cariño,” she apologized in a voice that seemed all too distant as she began moving her metaphysical hands in an upward motion to harness the power from his lungs. The hands of her physical form dug their nails into his chest as they tried to help her meta form hold the energy. Air did not want to be held, it wanted to be free. She was going against nature. He couldn’t scream for she was taking the literal air out of his lungs but she knew she was hurting him, she could feel his pain. She was crying for the both of them. “Almost,” she promised. “Almost.” The energy felt raw and heavy. It burned at her fingertips. The sigil was disappearing quickly now. She had to get out of there. She harnessed all that her form could handle and withdrew from his body. Both she and Beel took gasping breaths as he slumped against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized through tears. She needed to get this energy into the kids before it slipped from her fingers. She wished she hadn’t done this procedure by herself. She needed someone to monitor Beel, but she knew he’d want her to help the kids before helping him. So she walked to the bedside and placed a hand on each child’s chest. She recited a spell in Enochian and the energy from her hands, Beel’s energy, receded into the children’s lungs. Nadia and Murmur arched their backs and let out a gasp in unison as the air entered their lungs. Their bodies settled back down on the bed and their breathing calmed. For the first time since they’d gotten sick, Dagon didn’t hear any rattling in their chest. The wheezing was gone and they were breathing normal again. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” she kissed their foreheads quickly before going to administer aid to Beel. She grabbed one of the oxygen masks off the counter and secured it to his face. “They’re okay,” she replied as she kneeled down beside him. “You did good." She ran a soothing hand down his back as she continued to administer the oxygen. "It worked. They’re okay.”

BEELZEBUB: Beelzebub watched as Dagon's hand slipped into his pocket to pull out his archangel blade. Belgirel really wouldn't have liked that. Normally Beel might've said something jokingly about how he would've handed it to her if she asked, but now wasn't really the time for jokes. He didn't feel particularly humorous when his daughter's life was on the line. He appreciated her instructions, not for the warning they gave him, but for the fact that it allowed him to make sure Dagon wasn't in too much danger herself while doing this. She'd told him the risks already, but they were both willing and ready to sacrifice anything if it meant keeping their kids alive.

He took a deep breath as she instructed. Although his body wasn't at the point where it needed to breathe in order to survive, he still could do it when he wanted to. Her palm was cold on his skin, a stark contrast to how she'd been up until now. As the sigil glowed, he could feel it tapping into his energy. It tingled at first, but didn't hurt until her metaphysical hands went into his chest. His hands gripped the wall she had him leaned against as he tried to steady himself. It wasn't a comfortable experience with her going through his chest, but he was managing alright. It wasn't the worst thing he'd been through. He'd had a few injuries during the war that were pretty bad. When he was really young, he'd gotten injured more than a few times too.

He felt her hands on his lungs. His body instinctively wanted to fight and push her away, but he held it back. His fingers dug into the wall, and his mouth opened, trying to scream or reclaim his air or both. Neither happened. Instead of a scream, he made breathless clicking sounds. It wasn't just breath she was taking but his actual energy with it. He could hear her distantly, but his body felt like it was panicking without him, trying to fight back what it considered an infection. If she took too much time, it would've struck at her, but she must've gotten out in time. He couldn't really process it as his body collapsed on the ground without her, gasping for air it shouldn't have normally needed. His body was already trying to heal itself, and he shook as it did so painfully. His insides felt like they were burning as he sucked in the air around him.

Dagon was beside him suddenly. He sat back up, leaning back against the wall as she pressed the oxygen mask to his face. He couldn't respond to what she was saying, but his body relaxed a little hearing that the kids were okay. It slowly got a little easier to breathe, though his body felt completely exhausted. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dagon. "Thank you."

AAMON: He was looking for Belgirel to check in on the kid. The reports he was getting were that Dagon was improving but it hadn't been a good night all around. The kids were declining rapidly. Belgirel's texts were suggesting that they might not make it through the night. He knew that would be hard on all of them, but Dagon and Beel most of all. As he made his way down the hallway to Dagon's room, he felt a wave of magic. The signature was familiar, hunger with a hint of depression. "Oh for fucks sake," he muttered. Had someone been dumb enough to leave those two by themselves in under these circumstances? He hurried down the hall and much to his dismay but not to his surprise, the energy signature was getting stronger.

He opened the door to Dagon's room without knocking. The sight was confusing to say the least. Dagon and Beel were on the ground holding each other. Beel's shirt was off and he had blood on his chest, but no visible wounds. Aamon's eyes traveled and he spotted the blood on Dagon's hands. Concerning. Then he spotted the breathing mask around Beel's face. He cocked an eyebrow and stared at his brother, both questioning and accusing. "Explain."

DAGON: She held on as she wrapped his arms around her and the reality of everything started to settle in. "That was so many levels of dumb and reckless," she replied as she listened to the rattling of his lungs. She didn't sound like she regretted the spell though. The kids were breathing normal again. She bought them some time and that would always be worth it. "Maybe I can just blame plague brain and they won't be so pissed off at us about it." The adrenaline was wearing off now and she was shivering again, not because she felt ill but because the stress and anxiety. She just wanted this nightmare to end. Unfortunately, there would be no end until there was a cure. All she could do was put bandaids on the problem and she was running low on supplies as it was.

Dagon startled and let out a small yelp when Aamon entered the room. She covered her mouth and glanced at the kids to make sure she hadn't awoken them. They did not stir. She eyed the older Archangel as he took in the scene. Fuck fuck fuck. She wasn't oblivious. She knew there were multiple ways to interpret this and not all of them were exactly great--not that the reality of it was great either. Aamon's eyes took in the blood and then the mask before fixating on Beel. He always had an easier time blaming his brothers than he did her. "It was me," she began. "He can't explain even if he wanted to...I convinced him," and by convinced she meant asked, "to let me do a healing spell that would let me transfer air from his lungs to the kids." She bit her bottom lip. "It, uh, worked," she added in, hoping to soften the blow though she knew she hadn't. She could feel how annoyed he was with them both.

BEELZEBUB: He didn't fully disagree that what they did was a little dumb and reckless, but he didn't really care if it was either. They knew what they were getting into, and they chose to go through with it knowing the risks, of which there weren't really that many. They risked more by not doing it and losing their kids. If anyone was pissed at them. That was their problem. The only thing he was concerned about was how long this would actually last for Nadia and Murmur and if he would have enough time to recover enough energy to do this for them again when they needed it. However, he couldn't ask Dagon that right now. He'd only barely managed to get the words 'thank you' out to her before, and that expelled more oxygen that his body needed to recover.

He slipped off of Dagon when she yelped. He coughed and wheezed as he sat up, leaning back against the wall to see what had startled her. He thought it might've been Belgirel coming back. He was probably getting jealous of seeing them like this but Beelzebub just really did not care. It took too much energy to worry about that kind of thing. It turned out to be Aamon and not Belgirel, but he didn't look happy either. Beel didn't bother trying to explain. Like Dagon said, he couldn't even if he wanted to. He had neither the breath nor the energy to speak, but his hand in his lap flipped up his middle finger just a little. He recognized that Dagon was trying to take the brunt of the blame, which he didn't think really made a difference. Aamon knew him well enough to know it wouldn't take much convincing to get Beel to do something for his daughter, especially if it gave her more time to live like this. He pulled the oxygen mask down a little just to utter two words. "How long?"

AAMON: His sharp eyes turned away from his brother to look at Dagon when she claimed that this was her doing. He had no doubt that the idea originated from her. The magic was a little over Beel's head and level of skill, but not hers. He gave her a disappointed look. Still, he also knew that it didn't take much to convince Beel to do something, especially where his kids were concerned. Whoever left these two unsupervised was asking for trouble. "I'm sure he made that very hard for you," Aamon replied drily while he tossed her a pack of sanitary wipes. His gaze turned back to Beel. "Must've taken hours." He noticed the subtle middle finger that Beel gave him so he tossed his brother's shirt back at him with a little more force.

Aamon glanced toward the kids when Dagon replied that the spell worked. Their breathing did seem less labored than the last time Aamon was here, but their fevers were still unchecked. Whatever work Dagon had done to help them, this disease would undo it sooner rather than later. He rubbed his temples. "Twelve hours ago, you were barely able to breathe yourself," he lectured her. Better or not, she was in no condition to be performing that kind of magic. "Do you want to end up there again?" He looked at Beel. "And were you just going to let her?"

DAGON: She caught the sanitary wipes when Aamon threw them to her. She took out a few and handed them to Beel so he could clean the blood off of his chest. Then she took a few more to clean the blood off of her hands. It wasn't often that she elicited this kind of tone from Aamon but she tried to keep her head high regardless. Of course, that was easier said than done. "It was fourteen hours ago, actually," she replied though her shoulders deflated a little.

She blinked, tears forming in her eyes when he asked her if she wanted to end up there again. "I..." her voice cracked. "It's not fair, okay! It's not! I should be like that," She pointed to her children's unconscious forms. "And I'm not. And I don't know why I'm getting better and they're getting worse. It's not fair and it's not okay and it shouldn't be me." She was crying now. "If easing their pain and suffering means I end up right back where I was then fine. I'd rather be there than watch them deteriorate from the sidelines. I can't do that and you can't ask me to." She held her head up higher and a little more defiantly toward the end though that was offset by the fact that she was trying to wipe angry and sad tears from her face.

She turned her attention away from Aamon when Beel asked her how long the kids had before their breathing deteriorated back to its original state. She looked over at their sleeping forms and shook her head. "Anywhere from 12 to 24 if we're lucky." There was so much she didn't know about this illness. It was hard to predict. "Your body will recognize me faster and faster each time I do the spell so I can only perform that spell one more time on you. After the second time studies show that..." she trailed off because Aamon was still there and he didn't need to know that the third repetition was always fatal to the physician. "I'll tell you later."

She turned to look at Aamon again now that she was a little calmer. "Where is Raphael?" she asked. "You need to call them here. They need to start running test and take blood samples from me. I'm feeling better which has to mean my body is producing antibodies for whatever this is. We can use that as a stepping stone to try to create a vaccine."

BEELZEBUB: Aamon's sarcasm was pretty obvious, but he didn't see a point in arguing about it. It didn't make a difference whether it took a second or hours to convince him. It was always going to lead to the same thing. The shirt Aamon threw at him hit him in this face. Beel set it on the ground, so he could take the wipes from Dagon instead. A lot of the blood had already disappeared from the spell, so it didn't take much to clean it off. He felt sympathetic to Dagon when she broke down over Aamon's lecture. Although he hadn't even started being sick, he'd constantly wished that he could just trade places with his child, so it could be him that was sick instead of her. He wished he could've comforted her more, but he didn't have the energy to do so. He glared at Aamon instead for making her cry. The poor girl was already going through enough as it was without him lecturing her.

Twelve hours was such little time, and he didn't like what her voice seemed to be implying. He didn't think he could ask her to do something like this again. More than that, he didn't think Aamon would let them be alone in this room together after this. Whoever was here wasn't going to let them try it again. "Raph?" he asked as he buttoned his shirt back on. They weren't sick, so maybe they could do it the next time, and they'd be safer than she was. The problem was just that they were the main one looking for a cure. He didn't know if they'd stop what they were doing just to give his children more time. It was worth asking. Dagon seemed to have more reason to call for them at least. He could've asked them to do it when they showed up, but he worried that what Dagon wanted might've been too soon. She might've been getting better, but the plague still weighed on her body, trying to experiment on her blood might've taken too much for her.

BELGIREL: Belgirel had been trying to manage both the duties of leading the Empty and also trying to plan for what they were going to do about this plague. As it turned out, there was a lot to leading the Empty, especially during times like this. People were looking to him for guidance, and some of the people of the Empty just needed a voice to tell them when they were doing too much. There was a fine line between someone helping and that same person over extending themselves. The good thing was that he was starting to get better at recognizing those lines. He wasn't overly lenient, but he also wasn't just telling everyone no. He wasn't perfect at it by any means. There was a lot going on, and he couldn't keep track of everything. He designated a few people to handle looking out for that for him, and he just kept an eye on it as he walked around. The more serious part of his leadership was just deciding what they were going to do going forward.

He'd told his siblings about the interaction he and Dagon had with the creature at the river. The group as a whole started to call her Echo on account of the fact that she repeated Dagon's voice. At first, he thought that Echo had just relieved the symptoms of Dagon's coughing for a little while, but then as Dagon started getting better, he came to the conclusion that whatever Echo had done was a cure for this disease. Along with Raphael's help and the powers that Belgirel had gotten from Belphegor, they'd been able to determine that the plague Pestilence made was rooted in the Empty, which was why Echo had been able to heal it while their healers couldn't. She was a part of the Empty just like the plague, and just like Belgirel currently was with Belphegor's powers. Of course, those powers didn't give him any sort of idea of how to fix something like this. It seemed like only Echo knew, and it had something to do with that potion she'd given Dagon. Asking Echo for more seemed like the fastest solution.

He didn't know what to expect from Echo though. There were a lot of people who needed to be healed, and he didn't know how willing she would be to help him. Her behaviors were odd the last time he'd seen her, threatening even, and after what he'd seen of the Void. he wanted to be prepared. He donned his armor, only recently crafted by Angus with beautiful silver craftsmanship, and a dark green cloak pinned to the shoulders. A matching hood inlaid with chainmail covered the top of his head. Maybe it was unnecessary just to talk to someone, but if things went south, he wanted to be able to defend himself.

He knew he couldn't go by himself though. Echo had only seemed to be able to use the words Dagon said, so he determined that she simply couldn't use his words. He trusted Dagon most. She also knew the way to contact Devour, who he thought would be their best shot at finding Echo again to talk to her. Besides, Echo had met the two of them already. He felt like it was best to only talk to her as a small duo instead of a large group. It'd be less threatening that way. He walked back to Dagon's room to ask her if she was up for it. He didn't expect for Aamon to be there, but he was glad for it, so he could let Aamon know what he was doing. He heard only the tail end of the conversation as he approached. "They're busy helping some other people right now," he said as he stepped around from behind Aamon into the full view of the room. His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, making it swing up and down in its sheath. "but I think I have a more immediate solution if you're up for it?"

AAMON: "Hmm, yes, the additional two hours really makes all the difference," he replied dryly while Dagon and Beel cleaned up after themselves. His features softened slightly at her outburst. Survivor's guilt. She felt guilty for feeling better, but still that was no reason to martyr herself. "I never said it was fair," he replied calmly. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away a bit of blood from her cheeks where her bloodied hands had previously touched her face. "But you cannot fight injustice with stupidity and recklessness. If anything happened to you, either of you," he glanced at Beel who was staring daggers at him. "These kids will bottom out." He smoothed out her hair. "Sometimes the road to hell was paved with good intentions. And even the most well meaning of spells will have repercussions that you didn't plan for." She was smart, probably too smart sometimes, but she was not invincible. "You two will not be performing that one again," he replied in a voice that did not leave room for arguing.

He raised an eyebrow when both of them asked for Raphael. Dagon was barely feeling better and already wanted to start having tests done on her. "It hasn't even been a full 24 hours, Dagon. We aren't starting shit until you've at least made it through a full day." He turned when he heard Belgirel's voice. What was with these three today? Two of them were out here playing doctor and patient and the other was dressed in armor like he was ready to fight someone. While Aamon wasn't opposed to fighting, you couldn't very well fight a disease like that. The other part of him didn't wish to see Belgirel don armor ever. It hadn't done him any good on the battlefield and he really didn't want to think about that. "It can't be any more insane than what's already transpired. What are you planning?"

DAGON: His cold sarcasm was exhausting and she found she preferred his rage more when it was just yelling, but he seemed to let up a bit once she started crying. It wasn't her intention to cry, she was just overwhelmed and scared and sad. She wanted the pain and suffering to stop. Not just her kids, but everyone elses too. Sure, there were more terrible ways to die than this, but this was still prolonged torture and she hated it. She sniffled as he wiped the blood and tears off of her face. She wanted to argue that it wasn't recklessness, it was a calculated risk. She knew what she was doing and Beel knew what he was signing up for, she made sure of it. While a part of that was true, he wasn't wrong in his assessment that if anything happened to her or Beel, the kids would deteriorate more rapidly than if they hadn't intervened at all. Still, she didn't think that was reason enough to sit on the sidelines. For now though, she knew that she and Beel would be heavily monitored to make sure they didn't try the spell or something like it again.

She took a step back from Aamon, her anger boiling over just a little when he remarked that he was not going to contact Raphael until she was better for at least a day. 24 hours. That time was crucial. It could make a difference between whether her kids lived or died. She couldn't wait a day. She was about to push back at the notion when Belgirel walked into the room. He was wearing a suit of armor that she hadn't seen before. Had her emotions not been running on high, she would've taken the time to admire every bit of the craftsmanship and the way he looked in it but right now she was feeling too strongly and all at once to really take it in. She was confused when he spoke. If he was dressed for a fight, he had to be talking to Aamon. Dagon wasn't much of a fighter. Most of her combat skill came from a magic that was too dangerous to unleash in a realm like the Empty. "What do you mean, baby?"

BEELZEBUB: Beel understood what Aamon was saying. If he died, he knew it would make his kids get worse, and the same went for Dagon, but his death hadn't really been a risk, and they had been careful to make sure Dagon's death wasn't a risk either. They knew what they were doing. If they hadn't done something, the kids would've bottomed out anyways. While he agreed that Dagon shouldn't have been the one to perform this procedure, he didn't agree that he should be disallowed from doing it himself. For Dagon, there was risk, for him there wasn't. He would've sought out Raphael before asking Dagon to do this again, but if he had to, he'd find a way to do it himself.

He looked up when Belgirel walked into the room. He'd been a little worried before about Belgirel reading into how he and Dagon looked together, but that wasn't a concern now. Now the concern was how this looked with Aamon scolding both him and Dagon and him sitting on the floor with an oxygen mask on his face. He pushed himself to stand up, taking in the fact that Belgirel was dressed in armor now. He wasn't worried about his recklessness as much as Belgirel's now. "What's with the armor?"

BELGIREL: Belgirel might not have been an empath, but he could feel the tension in the room, specifically between Dagon and Aamon. It was weird and uncomfortable. They usually got along so well, and Dagon tended to receive a lot of support from him, but she looked like she was ready to fight him. He looked at her and then Aamon and then at Beel, trying to connect the dots. Beelzebub was wearing some sort of oxygen mask and looked like he barely had enough energy to stand. There were wipes that were covered in blood, and Dagon's hands, despite being cleaned, seemed stained a little redder. "Wait, what do you mean? What "transpired"? What happened?" His own explanation could wait until he understood what was going on. He took a step towards Dagon. "Are you okay? Did something happen with the kids?" He looked over at the kids, but they seemed relatively okay. They actually looked like they were breathing better. "Oh, are they getting better too?" he asked hopefully.

DAGON: "I'm fine," she exhaled to release some of the tension in her shoulders and took a few more steps away from Aamon. "Physically, anyway." Emotionally, was definitely not fine. "They're not," her voice cracked and she shook head. "I just put a bandaid on the issue for now." She wasn't afraid to tell Belgirel what happened. He'd always know the truth of her even if the truth wasn't a pretty thing to see. She wasn't always pretty to look at and that was something he could take or leave. "I read about a spell that takes breath from one source and gives it to another and Beel agreed to let me take his. It required a little blood magic hence..." she gestured to the sanitary wipes. "So, that's why Beel sounds like a squeaky toy right now and why Aamon looks like he wants to use us both a chew toys."

BELGIREL: Belgirel didn't entirely believe her that she was fine until she clarified that she only meant physically. He wrapped his arms around her as her voice cracked talking about the kids. She'd been worried about them for a while, and he knew it hurt her that she was getting better while they were getting worse. He rubbed her back as she explained what exactly had happened. He wasn't really happy about it, not in the sense that he was upset with her, but he wished things didn't get to a point where she felt like she needed to do something like this. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you with this." He kissed the top of her head. Maybe if it wasn't just Beel and Dagon doing this, Aamon wouldn't have seemed so upset either, but Dagon usually knew what she was doing when it came to this healer stuff. While he knew Dagon probably should've been resting still, he assumed she'd know her limits better than he did. "But in the future can you text me to let me know when you're going to do something like this, so I can come help. No one should be subjected to dealing with my brothers alone." Beel shot him a middle finger too, but Gears ignored it. "Actually I wanted to ask your help with something if you think you don't need to rest more. That bog witch, I think she has the key to curing the kids and everyone else. I just need some help finding her and convincing her to help us."

DAGON: She eased into him, or rather into his armor, as he hugged her. "It's okay." It was probably for the better that he hadn't been here. The line between healing and torture was not always clear and that spell definitely weaved in and out of the line. She nodded when he told her to text him next time. "I will, but you have to promise you'll know your limits and bow out if the spells sound like too much." Belgirel had a hard time saying no to her requests for help, as did Beel. But in instances like this, she needed him to know himself and his limits because she could not manage the task at hand and a panic attack if one arose. She snorted when he replied that no one should be subjected to his brothers and Beel flipped him off. That was honestly preferred over the awkward tension that sometimes filled the room when those two were together. She was surprised when he said that he needed her help. So, they weren't going to battle. Or maybe they were. You generally didn't bring a sword to a friendly chat. "Who's definition of convince are we using in this case? The dictionaries or Aamon's?"

BELGIREL: He nodded. He'd had similar conversations with the inhabitants of the Empty. They were allowed to help with this plague on the grounds that they'd back out if it got too much for them. They hadn't had too many problems with that, and he'd been getting better at recognizing his own limits. "I will, but I don't think something like this would've been too much for me. It was just a little blood magic, right?" He could handle seeing blood, and if it just made Beel tired and a little breathless, it couldn't have been that bad. He was glad when his joke made her snort. As a depression demon, he knew she'd be sad often, but he liked when he could pull her out of her sadness even for a moment. He looked at Aamon when she asked what definition of convince he was using. In his eyes, Aamon was generally perfectly reasonable. He was stern sometimes, and he had a look that commanded authority and instilled obedience. Belgirel felt like that wasn't a bad way to convince someone. He shrugged. "Both? I don't plan to go in swinging a sword, if that's what you're asking. This is just in case things go south. I want to just talk, but if things get hostile, I want to be ready for anything."

AAMON: He leaned back against the wall and allowed Dagon both distance from him as well as the space to explain herself. He snorted when she remarked that the spell required a bit of blood magic. “Sure. Just a bit of blood magic to open up his chest cavity and allow your metaphysical form to enter through his sternum so you could dig your way past vital organs to his lungs, grip them, and then squeeze and harness the air and energy out of them.” He paused and glanced at her. “Malachiae Studium Torturae et Vis Medica, Page 622. I’ve read it too.” Under normal circumstances, he would’ve been proud of her use of torture, but these were not normal circumstances and her subject wasn’t a normal fallen angel.

He listened to Belgirel describe his plan. He wanted to go talk to the creature they’d named Echo. Aamon knew she was a Void sibling and from the way Belgirel spoke about her, he knew his brother thought there was something threatening about her. Dagon didn’t seem to feel the same way, but she tended to empathize with the strange and other worldly. It didn’t help that this being was a healer which seemed to endear Dagon more to her. He also simply did not like the idea of Belgirel having to use force on anything. Beel and Dagon had been meeting with the other Void sibling, Devour, for some time now but they still didn’t have a full grasp on what each sibling was capable of doing. The armor might give Gears the false self-confidence to think he could fight his way out of anything this creature threw at him. “I’ll come with you and we can convince her together.”

DAGON: She bit her bottom lip and shot Aamon a glare when he cut in to explain the spell. She was getting to that. Her eyes conveyed that he could have been a little less graphic about with his delivery. "I threw in an energy transfer spell in there that wasn't part of Malachi's original work." That was what made it a healing spell instead of torture. The original intent of the spell was essentially to choke your subject to death very slowly. She just...modified it a little. "And I had informed consent." She looked at Beel as if to say back me up here; I was pretty thorough.

She was relieved when Gears remarked that his intent was to just talk to Echo. The creature scared Gears, but Dagon didn't think there was anything melicious about her. Besides, you really couldn't force a healer to heal you with threats of violence. It just didn't work that way. She wouldn't have trusted Echo's potions if they were given over under duress. The line between potions and poisons was just as thin as the line between torture and healing. "I think she'll be amiable to--" Dagon was cut off when Aamon remarked that he would go with them. There was nothing about Aamon's presence that said I just want to talk. If anything, his presence usually said I'm here to make you scream. With Gears anxiousness and Aamon's predication for violence, the chance that this would escalate were pretty high. Dagon glanced at Beel and then back at Aamon. "You can't. Someone has to stay here and watch Beel. Did you want me to do that?"

BELGIREL & BEELZEBUB: It caught him off guard when Aamon snorted at Dagon's explanation. They didn't usually talk to each other like this, but then again, he'd missed a lot of time. Maybe this was how they usually talked to each other when he wasn't around. His confusion was only offset as Aamon's words registered to him, and he pictured that same thing happening to himself. His breathing slowed, and his gaze singled in on a fixed point as his mind wandered back to his past. He stayed frozen as the room fell away to darkness. He could faintly hear the others still talking, but all he could see was the Void, tearing out every piece of him. He didn't cry or scream or even move, but his eyes were miles away from the conversation.

"She did," Beel agreed. His breath was mostly back, though his energy wasn't. "I was going to do it either way as long as it helped, but she did tell me all the risks and asked me for consent." He didn't think his consent was all that important to Belgirel and Aamon, especially not Aamon, but it was better than just thinking Dagon just forced him into this.

Belgirel pulled himself back out of the memory and into the conversation when Aamon suggested that he come too. Beel was doing his best to look immature and too irresponsible to be left alone, not that Gears thought he needed to do much to convince Aamon of that. "I'm perfectly fine staying here by myself," Beel assured Aamon. My kids lives are in danger, but I know where to draw the line."

"I want to handle this without your help too," said Gears. "I don't want to overwhelm them with our numbers, not unless we have to. And while Echo has already met Dagon and I, she hasn't met you. I'm sure she's heard from Devour how great Dagon is, but she might not be as open if you're there."

AAMON: Normally, Aamon did not talk to Dagon like this. Then again, normally Dagon wasn’t this reckless. His anger with her and Beel did not come from a place of hate. On the contrary, if he hated either of them he would’ve been ambivalent about what they’d done. What was a little torture to him anyway? No, his anger did not from a dark place. It came from the fact that he loved them and they were being reckless with their bodies. Of course, he was never good at expressing those emotions so what showed on his face and in his tone was annoyance. “Oh good. She informed you of all the risks and you still said yes. That makes it all the better,” he deadpanned.

He glanced at Dagon and then back at Beel when she remarked that he could not come with for someone had to watch this dumbass. He knew what they were doing, but it didn’t mean she was wrong. The motherfucker would do something like this again. Maybe stupider. Maybe with the help of Asmodeus. With their lack of skill in this field, they might actually get themselves killed. “Somehow I doubt that,” he replied when Beel said that he knew where to draw the line.

He glanced at Belgirel when Gears remarked that he also did not want Aamon to go with him. He wanted to handle this himself. It hadn’t escaped Aamon’s notice how the kid’s eyes glazed over when he described the procedure Dagon had done. Gears did not have in him to torture which was fair. No one in this room expected or wanted him to do something like that. But did have have the capacity to fight? Or would he freeze if this Void creature came at him? Swords and armor couldn’t fight for you. “And if it comes to using force, what then?” Aamon asked.

DAGON: She sighed and dropped any pretense of continuing the argument. Aamon was going to be mad regardless because he wasn't happy with the fact that they'd put themselves in harms way, but she didn't regret it. And with neither of them really backing down on that, it wasn't going to go anywhere. So, she dropped it and let the Archangel stay mad. He would get over it in his own time and they'd be back to where they were before. That was how things worked with them.

What was more concerning right now to her was the way that Belgirel seemed to disappear from the conversation after the description that Aamon gave of the spell. While Beel and Aamon argued Beel's ability to understand where to draw the line, Dagon squeezed Belgirel's hand in an attempt to ground him back in the present. He seemed to snap out of it when Aamon insisted he come with them.

"There will not be any use of force." She was speaking to both Aamon and Belgirel now. "There are a lot of things that violence can solve, but it cannot force a healer to heal. If my kingdom was forced to do something like that at sword point, they'd poison your waters on principle alone. You cannot trust what a healer gives you when it's given under threat of violence. I barely survived what she gave me as is. If Echo declines to help, we won't force her but we will try to talk to her again in a few hours. Until then..." She grabbed a syringe and vile off the counter and went behind a small privacy partition. She drew a few viles of her own blood before appearing from behind the partition. She handed the viles off to Beelzebub. "I need you to get those to Raph. If Echo doesn't want to help us, then we need to help ourselves. Raph will know where to start, they just need the stepping stones." She knew none of them wanted to start a war or use force. Even Aamon was hesitant about it. "It's just a talk and it will stay as just a talk. Can we all agree to that for now?"

BEELZEBUB & BELGIREL: Beelzebub didn't drop the argument as easily. He actually found it a little humorous how Aamon was lecturing them about this after what he'd done last year. Now that Beelzebub thought about it, it must've been close to the anniversary of that day. "Yeah, you know," he took a deep breath with the oxygen mask. Talking took a lot of oxygen. "When she gave me all the details and all the risks, I thought 'What would Aamon do?' Clearly, I learned from the best." He didn't actually think ill of Aamon, both for what happened back then and for his anger with them now. They were all just scared individuals trying to protect their loved ones. They were all willing to cross certain lines if it meant it kept their people safe. It wasn't just the two of them and Aamon either. Even Gabriel most recently had pushed Andromeda away in the name of saving her and had only put her in more turmoil by doing so, but she was safe at least. For people like them that faced so little danger to themselves, that's all that really mattered was protecting those around them. It didn't mean they couldn't give each other a hard time about it. "It takes one to know one, huh?"

Belgirel didn't really understand the conversation that was happening between Beel and Aamon. He looked between them quizzically, trying to figure it out, but he got nowhere. He assumed it must've just been some inside joke between the two for something that happened while he was dead. Did Aamon go through a rebellious streak? (Aside from the actual rebellion of course.) The thought excited him. He pictured Aamon in the kind of clothes Andras wore, sledding down a mountain with no care to his safety on the shell of a tortoise going down towards the edge of a cliff. Maybe he was fighting a bear that was also sledding. They were weaving around rocks until Aamon used one rock as a ramp to jump up and over the bear, landing in front of it and knocking it off, making it stop and putting his foot over it to keep it from falling off the cliff.

Belgirel bit his lip when Aamon asked him what he'd do if it came to using force. He didn't want to fight. He'd had enough of it for a lifetime. Part of the reason for the armor was to intimidate Echo into thinking she didn't want to fight him either, but if he had to fight, he would. He felt only a little relieved when Dagon said that there wouldn't be any use of force. "She seemed to understand my threats pretty well the last time," Belgirel pointed out. Of course, her understanding of them was also to hold him down against his will to make sure he didn't intervene in her procedure of healing Dagon. He still wasn't really sure how to take that. He grimaced when Dagon went behind the partition and came out with her blood. He didn't know enough about medicine and healing to know how that would actually help, but he assumed Raphael did. "I can agree to that on our end, but I can't promise it from hers." He was still going to be wary of her at least.

Beel took the vials from Dagon. He didn't plan to leave the room, even if they were with Aamon, he wasn't going to just leave his kids. "I'll get Gabe to take it to them." His brother probably needed a reason to get out of the Avani's room anyways.

AAMON: His piercing stare continued to look through Beelzebub. He knew what his brother was referring to. They'd been upset with Aamon just as much as Aamon was with them right now. "You learn from no one and you take direction poorly," he replied in a bored tone. Had he learned anything, he wouldn't have done as Aamon did. It was always better to do as the Archangel said than as he did.

He directed his attention back to Dagon when she spoke up and said there would be no violence or force. He didn't doubt her assertion that you couldn't trust a healer who was coerced to help but if it came to that he didn't plan to test Echo's potions on anyone valuable. Still, he trusted Dagon enough when she remarked that this would simply be a discussion between themselves and the creature. Dagon was much more diplomatic than he was and negotiation tended to be one of her stronger skills. It was also just very easy to fall prey to her endearing nature and maternal instinct. "Very well, Your Highness," he replied, bowing slightly as he tipped himself into a recliner near the children's bed. "Let it be a discussion. For now."

DAGON: She tensed a little when Beel prodded further. She knew what he was hinting at. The irony of Aamon yelling at them for protecting their kids while also having nearly killed himself last year in an attempt to trade places with Gears hadn't escaped her either. But Belgirel didn't know about Aamon's suicidal streak and honestly they didn't have time to unpack that here. Thankfully, Beel only hinted at it and Aamon didn't take much of the bait that was being thrown his way. Dagon gave Beel a look that said please just drop it when Aamon started giving him a performance review. They could go on like this forever and honestly after what she just did to Beel he needed to reserve his strength. She didn't know what the next 24 hours would hold for them.

The sarcasm remained in Aamon's voice as he bowed to her, but she didn't take the bait. He was letting them go and he was going to let them do this their way. No violence, just a talk with a being who struggled to talk. She could do this. She nodded when Beel said he'd get the vials to Gabe. As long as they made their way to Raph, that was all that mattered. She collected a few more of her things and paused by the beside. The healer brushed aside Murmur and Nadia's hair and kissed their foreheads. "I'll be back," she promised. "Call me if anything changes." She told Beel before she left the room with Belgirel. On her way out, she pulled out her phone and texted Beel a message that said and can you also order room service or something? I'm starving but I really didn't want to deal with your brother's 'well, well if it isn't the consequences of your actions' look. She pocketed her phone again, before looping her arm through Belgirel's. "So, what's the plan, Your Grace?" Unlike Aamon's voice, there was no sarcasm in her use of titles. Had the circumstances been different, some might've even called it playful.

BEELZEBUB & BELGIREL: Beel rolled his eyes. He knew what Aamon was really saying. "I love you too, bro." He blew a kiss in Aamon's direction. No one wanted to be like Aamon, except, regretfully, Belgirel. He nodded when Dagon asked him to call her with updates, but he hoped their wouldn't be any bad ones. He didn't think he could handle any more bad ones. I'll mark it up to the fact that I'm always hungry, he texted Dagon back. He wasn't sure how long her talk would go, so he figured he'd wait a little while before ordering food.

Belgirel took Dagon's arm as she offered it to him. "I figured we could summon Devour the way the kids always did, and then he can help us find and talk to Echo. They've gotta have a better way to talk than just her repeating what's been said."

DAGON: She nodded her agreement when Belgirel laid out the game plan. She and Beel had already been meeting with Devour as emissaries so there were a few ways that she was able to contact the being. The easiest one was a pebble drop. She and Belgirel found their way to the rivers edge once again, only this part was much more secluded. Dagon looked around, a tad hopefully that she might see Echo or Devour just on their own but there was no sign of the beings for the moment. So, she picked up a pebble and held it in her palm. Her magic made it glow red as she placed her intention into the pebble. Once her wish to speak with Devour was firmly implanted in the pebble, she tossed it into the water and hoped for the best.

DEVOUR: He had not ventured to the Belphegor's settlement all week. Other things had occupied his time. He'd found a colony of large slugs deep within the Empty and spent some time taking care of them. But, it was hungry work and he missed his little friends. He figured he was due for a visit. He made it halfway to the settlement when he felt the pull of the wish pebble. Trouble was afoot. He knew because the wish pebble was only meant to be used for trouble.

Devour located the nearest source of water and dove into it. Without his friends around, he maintained no form. He was pure inky blackness that melted into the water. The darkness that was his form traveled quickly through the river channels and followed the energy of the pebble to the river's edge. He spotted Dagon and...not Chef. Normally, Chef was with her but this was not Chef. This time she was with some green tin man. Curious. He wondered if Green Tin Man had food.

Devour's inky form began to bubble up from the water. At first, he just looked like a vat of black oil, but slowly his humanoid form started to take shape. Once he was fully formed into the tall blond man that they were used to seeing, he glided closer to the pair but he did not come to shore. Instead he stayed in the water and everything below his torso remained hidden by the blackness. Now that he was closer, he recognized the Green Tin Man as one of the Belphegor's brothers, their twin. "Princess Mother," he greeted Dagon. "You seem troubled. Is everything all right?"

BELGIREL: He wasn't exactly happy about needing to talk to devour in order to talk to Echo, even if it was his idea. All of the Void creatures reminded him too much of the Void. Even if they were nicer, it felt like an old bully that acted differently depending on if other people were around you or not. Even when they were nice, he couldn't convince himself that it wasn't a trap. He felt like he was going to throw up when something rose up out of the water. His gut told him that there were hands in that water preparing to pull him in and drown him. He took a deep breath. Despite all his armor, he still felt vulnerable. He squeezed Dagon's hand. "We need your help actually. Our people are sick. Dagon was sick yesterday, but there was someone here last night who healed her. We were hoping you could help us find her. We think she might have been one of your siblings. She couldn't speak and just repeated what Dagon said."

DAGON: She hadn’t used the pebble method before so she really did not know what to expect while she and Belgirel waited by the shoreline for something to happen. She could tell that he was nervous so she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Things would be okay. They had to be. A moment later, she saw the river waters bubbling where the pebble had landed. Slowly, a black inky mass started to appear. This made Gears all the more nervous. Dagon squeezed his hand back to let him know she was here and he was safe. The mass seemed to melt away as Devour’s humanoid form appeared. He looked confused as he waded toward them. She smiled when he greeted her.

“Hello, Devour,” her voice was gentle as she curtsied to him. “Thank you for answering the call. I’ve seen better days,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I don’t have any food with me today.” She nodded when Belgirel explained what was happening. “The illness has affected Nadia and Mumur as well as my twin Andras and my right hand Seir. They cannot breathe or play or eat. Honesty is still okay and Chef is with the kids, but they don’t have much time left. We could really use your help.” She nodded again when Gears explained how she’d been healed. “The healer presented as a lovely sting ray,” Dagon recalled. “I think she is the sibling you refer to as silence. We’ve taken to calling her Echo. Can you help us get in touch with her? We’d be willing to offer her a fair trade for her services.”

DEVOUR: He stared at the Green Tin Man when he spoke but he could not fully concentrate on the man’s words. There was an odd energy about him, a kindred energy. That could not be. It should not be. The only Child of God that was supposed to radiate that energy was the Belphegor. “How are you like me?” he asked the Green Tin Man. “You should not be, but you are. How?”

His attention turned back to Dagon when she stated that she had better days. Indeed, she looked quite pale and gaunt though still very pretty. Her smiles were melancholy, and they did not reach her eyes. He knew deep sadness resided in her, but today it was not hidden in the waves of her soul. It was on the surface. “That’s alright,” he told her when she said she had no food for him today. “Though you look like you can use some too. Have you eaten?” He frowned when he learned of the sickness. Had he known sooner, he would have come to see his little friends. Whatever this illness was, it sounded bad. “They cannot eat?” He sounded horrified and sad all at the same time. It had to be devastating for the Duchess Nadia. He nodded at their description of the creature that helped them. That did sound like silence. He raised a brow when Dagon asked if he could contact his sister. He glanced at a dark spot in the water. It was not visible to them and blended in very well with the rest of the water, but it was visible to him. “She is here actually.” He splashed in the direction of the dark spot. “Sister, come out please.”

BELGIREL: Belgirel took a step back when Devour said he was like him. He didn't like the way that sounded. He wasn't like Devour, but he didn't think that Devour was specifically referring to himself but to his entire family. He was like the Void was what he meant, and that was an awful thought. He felt even more nauseous. He didn't want to be like the Void, a monster, a torturer, and worse. He wanted to rip off his skin. "I-" He looked at Dagon, not sure how much he should've been sharing with Devour. "It's . . . temporary. Belphegor had to go somewhere, so they left me in charge of the Empty for the time being."

He shook his head when Devour asked for confirmation on the kids being unable to eat. He couldn't help thinking about how Murmur would've made an inappropriate joke about that. He felt unsettled when Devour looked off to the side, as if something was watching them. Apparently, there was. He took a step back as something else started to emerge out of the water.

ECHO: The Silence, or Echo as these people now called her, had been watching the whole interaction. These were her waters after all. She was very rarely unaware of what went on in and around them. She'd been watching because she'd been worried that she was going to get in trouble for helping the mother Dagon before. Devour wasn't one of her harsh brothers, but she was still scared that more people might find out, especially with these two telling her business. They used their voices improperly, but it still interested her all the same. She rose up out of the water as if a pedestal was being lifted up under her, but it was just her recreating her form. It was different from last time. She'd gaged their reactions and determined that her form hadn't been quite right. This time, she'd studied Dagon, the tin man, and Devour's form, so when she rose up, she actually did look more like just a very tall human woman. there was no mouth on her stomach, and no sting ray shape, though a long black dress drooped from her shoulder to her wrist in a similar manner. A metal plated corset went over her chest. Like her brother, she only rose halfway out of the water. She did not speak yet because she had not been asked to do so.

DAGON: She could feel how deeply uncomfortable Devour's words made Belgirel. He already didn't like how much these abilities made him feel like the Void. Belphegor didn't like it for themselves either. But power did not make you something you weren't. The Void was the Void because of its actions; not because of its powers. Dagon held Belgirel's hand even as he backed away a little. "We'd appreciate it if that stayed between us," she added.

She smiled when he asked her if she'd eaten anything today. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to hold much down. But I did ask Chef to order food. I'll bring you what I don't finish," she promised. He seemed truly saddened by the fact that the kids were now in a state where they could no longer eat. She imagined that resonated with his own torture a bit. She glanced over toward the spot in the water that Devour was speaking to. The spot slowly began to take a humanoid shape, choosing to mold its form to something similar to Devour. "Hello, healer," Dagon bowed her head to the creature. "I wanted to thank you again for helping me. I am feeling much better. My children though..." her voice took on a new level of melancholy. "They are unwell and they need help. We are willing to offer a fair trade if you'll help us. Will you help us?"

DEVOUR: The tin man was uncomfortable though Devour could not tell whether that was because of the conversation or because he was wearing a tin suit. Perhaps it was both. So, the Belphegor was gone and they transferred their power to the tin man, their twin. "I will not tell anyone. It is not safe for any of us if that information got out. I have no desire to rule these lands. The responsibility is tiresome. But I cannot say the same for my siblings. I do hope those powers cannot be transferred to just anyone." His family was already upset that the powers went to a foreigner upon the Void's death.

He looked at Dagon sympathetically when she remarked that she hadn't been able to hold much of her food down. That, too, was sad. This illness was taking much joy from them. He perked up at the mention of leftovers though. "That is very kind, thank you." He was famished. He watched as his sister took form from the waters. She was getting better at looking more like them. He wondered if she practiced some. The little ones that she speaks of are my friends, he spoke to his sister mind to mind. If you can help them, please do. I will share my food with you and I'm sure they will share their words. The Mother will meet your terms if you wish to set any.

BELGIREL: Belgirel was grateful Dagon was here with him. It was nerve wracking to be around two of them at the same time. He wondered if Echo had that desire. He watched her as she listened to them. "As far as I know they can't." He hoped Echo was listening to that one. "Belphegor probably would've transferred it to someone else if they could have." It wasn't necessarily that he believed Belphegor didn't think he could handle it, but he felt like Belphegor didn't want him to have to handle it. Belgirel also just didn't want the Void family to believe they could just take this power from him or Belphegor. Even if Devour didn't want it for himself, he didn't want to risk that information getting to the others. He couldn't tell what Devour and Echo were doing as they stared at each other. Clearly, they had some other form of communication that he and Dagon weren't privy to.

ECHO: Devour had talked to Echo before about his new friends. He always seemed happy talking about them, but seeing them interact was a much more different experience. With their family, there was rarely ever happiness. Even with the Silence, Devour had not seemed too happy. They could not offer him the same sort of conversations as these creatures did, but she was learning. She hoped to share more words with her brother, so they wouldn't be trapped in the conversations of their minds. To speak was so much sweeter than to think.

Echo didn't have much of an understanding of what children were. They did not have that concept for their own species. Age was nonexistent here. There was no older or younger. There just was and there wasn't. There were no mothers or fathers or parents for them either. These creatures were different though. It was all so foreign. She relied on Devour and his connections to help teach her what those differences were. So children were the little ones then. Devour's friends. Your friends are sick too? she asked in her brother's mind. I have questions, but I am afraid to ask them. I do not want to admit to healing her, especially when that one is like the Belphegor. Our siblings will think I'm helping them, and they will be angry with me. I would like to help your friends, but I am afraid of the danger. I have no use for food. It will not protect me, so I must say,

"No..." she faced the two while she said it, so that they would know she was talking to them and not Devour, but then she turned to Devour again.

I do not have the words to ask them my questions. I would have many steep terms for this too even if I were to agree. For your friends, I can be more lenient. I will heal those two for you, as long as we can keep it a secret from our family. If we get caught, I don't want the others to think I care for these creatures. I do, but they cannot know that. Let them and these two think they must make a tremendous deal for my aid. The mother, she told me thank you, and I quite liked that phrase. It made me feel good. I want the words of the children that make them feel best. I know this is a steep price, but they must fulfill it for my help. It is the easier task for them to do. However, the tin man said their people were sick, which means there's more who need my help. That will take a hefty price, and I do not know if they can manage it.

DAGON: She understood where Devour’s worry was coming from. It, indeed, would not be good if the others found out about the power transfer. Thankfully, most of them were put off by the settlement and stayed away. It was too overstimulating. She hoped that would be the case in this instance too. She gave Belgirel a sympathetic look when he said that if it were up to Belphegor the power might’ve gone to someone other than him. It wasn’t the first time that Gears had voiced this kind of sentiment. They would have to unpack that later when everyone was safe.

The way that Devour turned to his sister, Dagon could see there was some kind of silent conversation going on between them. Echo’s emotions were complicated. She seemed conflicted by the request. Dagon hoped that Devour might be able to sway her. Her heart dropped a little when Echo turned to them and said no. Dagon dropped Belgirel’s hand as a deep sadness, her sadness, filled the space. She took a few steps away from all of them. She promised no violence and did not want to seem like she was escalating things, but she wasn’t always in control of this manifestation. The bracelet around her hand did a lot to keep the power in check, but it had its limitations. When Suds died, she couldn’t visit the Empty for a few days because of those limitations. It seemed that she was skirting them again. “I’m sorry,” she apologized and tried to reel the emotion back in. “Healer please reconsider. Name your terms and we will do what we can to meet them, but please reconsider.” She looked to Devour as if to say please, they do not have much time.

DEVOUR: He wasn’t sure he believed the tin man, but for his sake he would pretend to believe. It was easier than dealing with the possible implications of what the Belphegor had done. He would not tell anyone and he hoped none of the others found out. He nodded to Echo in confirmation when she asked if his friends were affected. The mother is their caretaker. I wish we had a mother, he lamented. There hadn’t really been a moment in his existence where he felt as cared for as his friends were by the Chef and Mother. She would not lie about this. He understood Echo’s hesitation to help. Their siblings were not always welcoming to the idea of helping or even interacting with the foreigners. If our siblings ask, you were not helping the Belphegor and their people, you were helping us. If we let them die, more of their kind will pollute our lands. It is better for them to live and be able to leave our home rather than die and stay here. There were many ways to spin this situation if the others found out. He would help his sister and he would keep her secrets as she kept his.

He felt Dagon’s sadness permeate the area when Echo declined to help. The energy reminded him very much of Numbness. His friends had said she was like the Numbness but he hadn’t seen that side of her until now. He was about to try to persuade Echo again when his sister turned to look at him. Relief flooded his body when she remarked that she would help his friends. Thank you, sister. “She says that she will help your children on the condition that her involvement in all of this is kept secret. She liked the way you said thank you. She says she wants more words that have personal meanings to the people she is to heal.” He paused to catch the rest of his sisters requests and nodded. “There are steeper requests for healing the others, but if you can meet her demands, she is willing to help.” What would you like them to do? he asked. They are desperate.

BELGIREL: Belgirel felt disheartened when Echo said no, but it couldn't have been as bad as what Dagon felt. She was trying to maintain it, but this was a serious subject for her. If she couldn't get those kids healed, they'd be dead just like he was. He wanted to fight Echo for saying no so quickly, but instead he followed Dagon the few steps away, holding her hand and squeezing it. "It'll be okay," he tried to assure her. "Beel should have gotten your blood to Raph by now, and it can't be long before they get a vaccine." He didn't actually know that. They never had this kind of thing for angels, and he had no idea how long it would take. Nor did he know if the kids would last that long.

He let out a sigh of relief when Devour said that Echo would help. It was such a quick change of answer that he wondered if there was some kind of mistranslation. Did Echo actually mean to say no? Or was Devour just saying yes for her? Maybe there was a way he could force her to do this. Belgirel was willing to turn a blind eye to whatever it took to save their people. "We can keep it secret," Belgirel promised. His face contorted into confusion when Devour said that Echo liked the way Dagon had said thank you. That was an odd inclusion into this discussion. "Thank you?" he asked. They could've said thank you a million times if that's all it took. "If she can heal them, we'd be glad to give her a whole dictionary of words. My little brother, Lucifer, talks almost nonstop." He especially talked when he was nervous, which was happening a lot currently. Belgirel himself felt nervous at the mention of steeper requests, but there was a lot they'd be willing to do. "What are the demands?"

ECHO: Echo felt guilty as the Mother Dagon's emotions became sadder at the sound of her 'no'. She didn't want her words to hurt. She was learning more about how they could do that. Words could make people feel better, like thank you. Or they could make them feel worse, like this no had. Thankfully, Devour translated that her no wasn't a definitive one. She was glad that they agreed to her first terms, even offering her more onto it. "Better." she agreed. She would always be glad to have more words. She looked back to her brother to communicate the rest of her demands. I want protection from the harm of the rest of our family. Protection for me, for you, and any of the others who wish no harm. The Mother Dagon reminded me of the numbness, and I worry that they need protection too. If they can find the Numbness, and ensure all of our safety, I will heal their people.

DAGON: She flinched a little when Gears touched her hand. Touching her when her suppression tools were struggling to hold her manifestation was like touching a live wire sometimes. He seemed okay still and she eased a little. His words held hope but she knew that if Echo did not help them there was no hope for her children. A vaccine took time. Her contribution, her blood, might save some people, but it would not save her children. While Death did not seem like such a horrible thing these days, they had so much life left to live. She and Beel had done so much to protect them from the horrors of the world and yet it all still ended in horror. She couldn’t have that. Her heart couldn’t take it. She let out a surprised little sniffle when Devour clarified that his sister was agreeing to help. It was such a drastic shift and Dagon didn’t entirely understand it. She wiped at her face and nodded emphatically when Belgirel remarked that they would keep it a secret. “You keep ours and we’ll keep yours,” she agreed. Words. Her demand was for words which could very easily be done. “The kids too when they’re better they’ll talk up a storm,” Dagon promised. She was so looking forward to just hearing them talk again. “You might wish they’d stop,” she laughed through tears. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing them talk after this but she couldn’t say the same for others. She nodded when Devour remarked that there were other demands that were a little steeper. “Tell us and we’ll do our best.”

DEVOUR: The Tin Man tried to comfort Dagon, but her grief was intense. Devour could tell that this was her last chance to save her children. He found himself crying a little too. He wished he had something to eat. Eating always made him feel better. He was sure it would make Dagon feel better too. Thankfully, his sister offered something more needed than food right now. She was offering help. “I don’t think she’ll tire of their words. They have many interesting things to say.” They were very knowledgeable about food and other things that Devour had only recently started to experience. He listened intently to Echo as his sister relayed her requests to him. “She would like protection for herself, me, and any other peaceful beings who turn to your settlement for sanctuary,” he replied. His brows knitted at the next request. No one had seen Numbness since the Void’s death. Devour wasn’t even sure their sibling was alive. “She would also like for you to find one of our siblings, the Numbness. We have not seen them for quite some time and they were in a fragile state.” Numbness was always in a fragile state. It was the nature of their being. “If you are willing to agree to these terms, she will help.”

ECHO: Echo shook her head when the Mother Dagon said she might wish they'd stop. Devour knew her well. There was no way she'd tire of someone's words. "I. Won't. Wish they'd stop." She didn't know what interesting things they'd have to say. She'd never met them, but she trusted Devour's description of them. If he believed that they were interesting she believed them. She could see that her request confused her brother, but did he not worry about the Numbness too. She thought he might've been dead, but she needed to know what the truth was.

BELGIREL: At first these requests sounded reasonable to Belgirel. If their siblings were as bad as Belgirel thought them to be, it made sense that they might fear them too. He supposed as long as they didn't cause trouble, they could look out for them. It was a big decision to take in refugees, but he felt like it was one that Belphegor and Cupid would've respected. "We can offer protection, but we'll need to get into the specifics of what that protection entails. We don't want to go to war with your family if one of you instigates one, but as long as you are on our lands, you will have our protection so long as you aren't causing trouble. Devour didn't seem certain about Echo's next request, and it made Belgirel nervous. "The Numbness? How are we supposed to find them. The Empty is endless."

ECHO: Echo looked at Dagon. From the way Dagon had acted similar to the Numbness, that was why she thought she could find them. "You. Are. Sad. Have. Sad. Direction."

DAGON: “I don’t think I will either,” she replied as she wiped her tears. She nodded her agreement when Belgirel said that they could extend the protection as needed. She did not know which Void siblings would come seeking protection, but truth be told even if all the Void siblings banded together, which was unlikely, angel kind outnumbered them. They would be flattened by hell within a day. Echo’s last request was for her to find Numbness. Dagon had heard a little bit about this sibling before. He’d been compared to her kingdom, but she knew he was lost and possibly even dead. Trying to locate him would mean going out of the bounds of their settlement and into the unknown of the Empty. Dagon nervously looked at the woods beyond the waters. “I can do it,” Dagon nodded. “But I’d like five people cured before I leave.” Nadia and Murmur were a given, but she also wanted Andras healed. She couldn’t leave not knowing if her twin made it through the cure or not. She’d feel his death, the way all siblings do. And Belgirel would feel it too. It would throw them into a complete spiral. And then there was Mazikeen. She wasn’t super close to Maze, but Hell needed her alive and Dagon couldn’t spend the next century listening to Lucifer complain about finding right hands while not really addressing the truth of what was actually making him sad. Lastly, there was Zophiel. He was just a child – one that had a massive crush on her and Beel but still a child nevertheless. He’d been through enough with Suds having nearly eaten him. He didn’t deserve to die a painfully slow death on top of that. “I can’t track your sibling with all of this noise in my head and anxiety in my chest. I need it calm. I need to know that these five people are better before I leave.”

ECHO & BELGIREL: Echo nodded. The Mother Dagon must've had a preference for more words too. She could see that her final request troubled them a little more. What she was asking wouldn't be easy. It might have been impossible in fact, but even if they failed to find the Numbness, Echo still would've helped. She just wanted them to try. "Good. Is. the. illness. in. these five people. . ." She didn't have a word that meant same. She needed to know if the illness of the others was the same as the one Dagon had. That was what really determined if she could help. "As. Like. As. You. Your. Illness."

Belgirel tried to understand her conglomeration of words. It was hard for his brain to process, but he felt like he could figure it out. "Yes, they all have the same disease."

"I will help if you can do it." She agreed.

Belgirel was relieved to hear that, but not completely. "Could you just excuse us for a minute or two?" He asked before pulling Dagon far enough away where he didn't think they could hear them.

Echo turned to her brother as they both stood there waiting in the water. Do you want anything, brother? I could have them add something to my requests. Maybe we could have them give you more tasty food regularly. If they are to protect us from danger, they could protect you from hunger too? I've seen pairs of them bring blankets by my waters and having meals on them. We could do that if we were safe and they provided you food. It shouldn't be much more to ask if they're wanting me to cure five people before they go. Chef, he may provide the food, even though he did not make this deal, as a reward for healing his children.

Further away from the river, Belgirel stopped and turned to his girlfriend. "Dagon, you know I don't doubt your abilities normally, but are you sure you can do this this soon? You only just started getting better today, and then you did that blood magic with Beel. I know you want to help the kids and everyone else, but we've already got assurance that she'll help the kids. I know you'd want to see them recovering, and you took more than a few hours to start getting better. If you wanted to, you could stay with them while I just go. I don't have your same sense of empathy, but I do have Belphegor's powers. I may not be great at using them," mainly because he was terrified of even trying to do so, "but I could try to use it to figure out where the Numbness is." He didn't think that was something she'd be fond of either. As much as he worried about her, he knew she'd be worrying about him on his own too. It wasn't even just about him being on his own. He could've asked Aamon to come with him, and he would've been just as safe, but Dagon had to be sidelined during this whole plague just because she was sick. He knew she was itching to feel useful. He sighed. "Can you at least assure me if this is something you really can do or not?"

DAGON: She felt as though a weight was lifted off of her chest when Echo agreed to help. "Thank you, healer," she replied before stepping to the side to talk to Belgirel. He was concerned about her ability to locate the Numbness after having been sick for so long. She understood where the concern was coming from. For the past night she'd been hearing nothing but concerns about how she should take it easy. "I want to go with you," she replied. She couldn't go through all of this and end up losing him at the end because she wasn't there. Sure, she couldn't heal Belgirel but there were other ways, human ways, to deal with life threatening injuries. "I can do this," she assured him. "I'm going to need to eat before we go so I can focus on something other than my hunger." Her stomach ached so much and she was pretty sure she could eat a wagon of cheese fries right now. "But I can do it. It might take us some time. I can track depressive energies but there's no guarantee the energy I tap into is the Numbness. This place is quite sad. But if he's still alive, I'm sure we'll find him."

DEVOUR: He was thrilled that things were turning out for the better. The Mother and the Tin Man seemed to be relieved too. He knew time was of the essence for his little friends, but he also wanted his sister to feel safe while helping these people. He shook his head when she asked if he wanted anything added into this deal for himself. I’m all right. They feed me well enough and I steal the rest. He enjoyed the thrill of it just a little. Besides, he didn’t think friends made demands of one another in times like this. Chef would likely offer it anyway once the Little Chef was better. I likely won’t be able to come with you to the healing station. Too many of us in one location makes them anxious and raises suspicion. But I will be in the kitchen if you need me. He would remain close by until his sister was able to return back to her rivers.

BELGIREL: Dagon's response was about what Belgirel thought it would be. She was caught between leaving her kids or leaving him. It wasn't like he wouldn't try to stay safe, but if anything happened, he knew she'd feel worse for not being there. At least with the kids, she could be there when they got their cure. "Okay," he said acceptingly. He didn't think there was a way he could convince her to stay anyways. He just had to make sure she was sure she could do this. "I'm sure Beel can get you some food, and while he does, we can sit and rest and maybe make a plan for how we're going to handle this. But don't strain yourself. We can always stop to take breaks if you need it, or I can carry you on my back. Whatever you need." He nodded when she said it might take time, but they'd find him if he was alive. He walked with her back to the two Empty beings. "Alright, we have a deal then." He held out his hand.

ECHO: She thought it was odd her brother wanted to steal instead of just be given what he wanted. It didn't seem like a massive request, but she didn't pretend to understand all of her brother's strange ways. I wish it were not so. She didn't like the fact that so many of the Belphegor's people were scared of them. She thought it might've been nice to live among them and hear all their sounds. She hoped that this would be a step towards that. She looked at the tin man's hand when he held it out to her. She didn't know what that was about. "A fair trade," she agreed. "I need to make better feeling . . . Not food before I leave then can we go."

#discord chat #discord: dagon #discord: nadia

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mariacallous · 1 year

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In my previous column, I outlined how the government of President Andrés Manuel López Obrador steadily hollowed out U.S.-Mexico security and counternarcotics cooperation despite the vast flows of fentanyl from Mexico to the United States. In this column, I discuss why the insistence of the López Obrador administration that it alone will take care of counternarcotics measures in Mexico is problematic and lacks credibility. Drawing on my recent statement for the record for the U.S. House of Representatives hearing “Follow the Money: The CCP’s Business Model Fueling the Fentanyl Crisis,” I detail U.S. policy options vis-à-vis Mexico to induce better anti-drug and security cooperation.

The evisceration of U.S.-Mexico security cooperation by the López Obrador administration did not come out of the blue. It is part and parcel of the Mexican government’s abdication of security policies and internal responsibilities in Mexico.

At the beginning of his administration, President López Obrador announced a strategy of “hugs, not bullets” toward criminal groups that sought to emphasize socio-economic programs to deal with crime, and address the causes that propel young people to join criminal groups.

But that strategy never articulated any security or law enforcement policy toward criminal groups. Worse, as Mexican criminal groups have resorted to more and more brazen violence and impunity, dramatically expanded the range of legal economies they seek to take over and dominate, and intensified their efforts to influence elections, the López Obrador administration has persisted in its do-little policy.

Essentially, the Mexican president has hoped that if he does not interfere with Mexico’s criminal groups, they will eventually redivide Mexico’s economies and territories among themselves and violence will subside. That policy has been disastrous for many reasons: Most importantly, because it throws the rule of law in Mexico underneath the bus of impunity and subjects Mexican people, institutions, and legal economies to the tyranny of Mexican criminal groups. But also because Mexico’s out-of-control criminal market, plagued by a bipolar and increasingly internationalized war between the Sinaloa Cartel and CJNG, has little chance at such stabilization.

Like other Mexican presidents since the 1980s, López Obrador reshuffled Mexican security institutions. Most significantly, he abolished the Federal Police and created a National Guard staffed mostly by Mexican soldiers and police officers from the former Federal Police.

However, the National Guard is not and could never be an adequate replacement for the Federal Police. President López Obrador dismantled the Federal Police because of its infiltration by Mexican criminal groups, a systematic and pervasive problem for all of Mexico’s law enforcement forces for decades. Since the 1980s, the many iterations of law enforcement reforms have failed to expunge such infiltration and corruption across Mexican agencies.

However, the Federal Police, with all its faults, also had the greatest investigative capacities and mandates. The National Guard has no investigative mandates and very little capacity: It can only act as a deterrent force by patrolling the streets, something that it has not been effective at, or acting against crime in flagrancia. A Mexican lawyer in a conversation with me in 2021 summed it up well: “The National Guard are the most expensive mannequins in Mexico.”

Investigative authorities in Mexico are predominantly the role of the Office of the Attorney General (Fiscalía General de la República, FGR), the Federal Ministerial Police and state prosecutorial offices. But their capacities are limited, all are overwhelmed by the level of crime in Mexico, and all of them have also suffered from criminal infiltration despite decades-long efforts at reform.

Moreover, what remains unanswered and unexamined regarding the law enforcement reforms of the López Obrador administration is the question of what has happened to all of the equipment, technologies, and databases (such as Plataforma Mexico), and the intelligence that the United States provided the Federal Police with under the $3.5 billion aid package of the Mérida Initiative? Who owns this equipment now: the National Guard? The Mexican military? What accountability has there been for U.S. taxpayers’ money, especially as the López Obrador administration gutted meaningful counternarcotics cooperation even as over one hundred thousand Americans are dying of drug overdose and over thirty thousand Mexicans from homicides?

With the lack of will on the part of the Mexican government and the lack of capacities of Mexican law enforcement institutions to take on the cartels, it is not satisfactory to operate on President López Obrador’s preferred definition of U.S.-Mexico cooperation: the United States countering the flows of weapons and money to Mexico and Mexico doing what it wants, which is very little, in terms of domestic enforcement and with little transparency to boot.

On March 27, news reports began circulating that the United States and Mexico were on the verge of announcing a “new” deal concerning the fentanyl flows. Subsequent reporting from the end of March the U.S.-Mexico Synthetic Drug Conference in Mexico City rather suggested a hardening of Mexico’s noncooperation crouch.

But whether any eventually-announced renewed U.S.-Mexico cooperation will be more than thin gruel remains to be seen. If such “new” efforts mostly restate López Obrador’s interpretation of the Bicentennial Framework, cooperation will remain inadequate. To be watched is whether Mexico will become more reliable in sharing samples from declared precursor and fentanyl seizures, begins conducting controlled delivery operations, allows agents of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) at least to observe and ride along on interdiction raids, and starts more systematically acting on U.S. intelligence.

Also yet to be understood is what authorities, if any, the U.S. Homeland Security Investigations (HSI) agency has and will have to operate in Mexico. As with the DEA, will HSI be able to ride along on Mexican law enforcement operations or will it be mainly focused on countering weapons and financial flows to Mexico as Mexico prefers? After the López Obrador administration shackled DEA operations in Mexico (as I detailed in my previous column) the HSI has sometimes been talked about as a replacement for DEA operations. But it is not clear – and unlikely – that HSI can do so.

U.S. counternarcotics and law enforcement bargaining with Mexico is unfortunately constrained by the U.S. reliance on Mexico to stop migrant flows to the United States. If the United States were able to conduct a comprehensive immigration reform that would provide legal work opportunities to those currently seeking protection and opportunities in the United States through unauthorized migration, it would have far better leverage to induce meaningful and robust counternarcotics and law enforcement cooperation with Mexico. Nonetheless, even absent such reform, the United States can take impactful measures.

Republican lawmakers have introduced legislation to designate Mexican cartels as Foreign Terrorist Organizations (FTO). An FTO designation would enable intelligence gathering and strike options of the United States military, such as against some fentanyl labs in Mexico or visible formations of large Mexican cartels – principally CJNG.

However, such unilateral U.S. military actions in Mexico would severely jeopardize relations with our vital trading partner and neighbor whose society is deeply intertwined with ours through familial connections. Calls for U.S. military strikes against fentanyl-linked targets in Mexico have already been condemned by Mexican government officials, politicians, and commentators.

Meanwhile, the number of available targets in Mexico would be limited. Most Mexican criminal groups do not gather in military-like visible formations. Many fentanyl labs already operate in buildings in populated neighborhoods of towns and cities where strikes would not be possible due to risks to Mexican civilians. Moreover, fentanyl labs would easily be recreated.

Nor would the FTO designation add authorities to the economic sanctions and anti-money laundering and financial intelligence tools that the already-in-place designation of Transnational Criminal Organization (TCO) carries. The latter designation also carries extensive prohibitions against material support.

But an FTO designation could significantly limit and outright hamper U.S. foreign policy options and measures. Such prohibitions of material support for designated terrorist organizations have made it difficult for the United States to implement non-military and non-law-enforcement policy measures in a wide range of countries, making it a crime to provide assistance for legal job creation or reintegration support for even populations that had to endure the rule of brutal terrorist groups. To be in compliance with the material support laws, the United States and other entities must guarantee that none of their financial or material assistance is leaking out, including through coerced extortion, to those designated as FTOs.

Yet such controls would be a significant challenge in Mexico where many people and businesses in legal economies, such as agriculture, fisheries, logging, mining, and retail, have to pay extortion fees to Mexican criminal groups. The attempted controls could undermine the ability to trade with Mexico, as many U.S. businesses would not be able to determine whether their Mexican trading or production partner was paying extortion fees to Mexican cartels, and thus guarantee that they were not indirectly in violation of material support clauses.

The FTO designation could hamper the delivery of U.S. training, such as to local police forces or Mexican federal law enforcement agencies, if guarantees could not be established that such counterparts had no infiltration by criminal actors.

Instead, if the López Obrador administration continues to deny meaningful law enforcement cooperation, the United States may have to resort to significantly intensified border inspections, even if they substantially slow down the legal trade and cause substantial damage to Mexican goods, such as agricultural products. Yes, such measures would also cause economic pains in the United States, impacting U.S. trade with Mexico and supply chains. But the U.S. opioid epidemic, fueled by fentanyl, also carries large economic costs, in addition to killing tens of thousands of Americans yearly. In 2020, the latest estimate by the U.S. Congress Joint Economic Committee put the cost of the opioid epidemic in the United States at nearly US $1.5 trillion, 37 percent higher than a 2017 estimate of the U.S. Centers for Disease Control (CDC). In contrast, in 2019, U.S. goods and services trade with Mexico totaled an estimated US $677.3 billion , with imports from Mexico $387.8 billion. With higher and growing U.S. yearly deaths since 2020, the cost of the U.S. opioid epidemic is even higher now. Thus, even the economic impact measures clearly imply that major additional efforts to save U.S. lives from lethal overdose and countering fentanyl flows are imperative.

Under optimal circumstances, U.S.-Mexico law enforcement cooperation would be robust enough to make legal border crossings fast and efficient. Joint fentanyl and precursor busts and seizures could take place near production labs and at warehouses. Joint inspections of legal cargo heading to the United States could take place close to production and loading sites in Mexico. Under the Mérida Initiative, the Obama administration, in fact, sought to develop along with Mexico such systems of legal cargo inspection inside Mexico and away from the border.

But if Mexico refuses to act as a reliable law enforcement partner to counter the greatest drug epidemic in North America, which is also decimating lives in Mexico, the United States may have to focus much intensified inspections at the border, despite the economic pains.

Furthermore, the United States can also develop packages of leverage, including indictment portfolios, against Mexican national security and law enforcement officials and politicians who undermine and sabotage rule of law cooperation with the United States. Instead of giving up on the type of arrests like that of former Mexican Secretary of Defense Gen. Salvador Cienfuegos in October 2020, the United States could double up on them.

The structural characteristics of synthetic drugs, such as fentanyl, including the ease of developing similar, but not scheduled, synthetic drugs and their new precursors, pose immense structural obstacles to controlling their supply.

U.S. domestic prevention, treatment, harm reduction, and law enforcement measures are fundamental and indispensable to countering the devastating fentanyl crisis.

However, given the extent and lethality of the synthetic opioid epidemic in North America and its likely eventual spread to other parts of the world, even supply control measures with partial and limited effectiveness can save lives and thus need to be designed as smartly and robustly as possible. They require reliable international cooperation.

The sabotage of that counternarcotics cooperation with the United States by the López Obrador administration should not be acceptable.

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teaandinanity · 1 year

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lyon/valya, 25

#25 - A kiss to say 'yes.' (from this list)

This took a while, so thank you for the prompt and also for your patience! Ficlet under the cut.

She generally enjoys the delicate application of persuasion and leverage to effect change. Or, if ‘enjoys’ is overstating the matter, she at least finds it satisfying when her efforts bear fruit. Currently, however, Jiyel’s Parliament is not in session, the various factions have all decamped to their own estates, and coaxing various people into positions aligned with her goals must be accomplished by letter.

In some ways this is better; more time to consider her words, and she does not have to be in company to get work done. She doesn’t mind writing - even enjoys it, in many circumstances - but the sheer quantity that has recently become necessary is…

Well. Not enjoyable.

In the last two days she has written to seventeen people she thinks might be amenable to supporting one or more of her projects. Eight others who were initially ambivalent but who might, if induced to consider the matter in a light aligning the issue more closely with their own interests, be persuaded to bestir themselves.

Her hand aches. Maybe she should just write a manifesto and have it printed. She could mail that out instead. It would be so much easier. But then, it would probably only convince about a quarter of the ones she thinks she can get with the more targeted approach whilst convincing at least three of the ambivalent ones to oppose her on sheer principle.

She sighs and leans away from the desk, digging her thumb into the meat of her palm and biting back a hiss when the pressure turns the cramp into a sharper pain.

A soft tap on the doorframe lets her know her husband is coming into the room - he moves quietly, but seeing one badly-controlled flinch was enough for him to start doing this; one little deliberate sound when he enters the room, so she knows he’s there. He is so gentle, her husband.

The her of three years ago couldn’t have even imagined this life.

So the pain doesn’t matter, really, and she’s smiling when she turns towards him, although she lets it dim as it wants to when she sees his furrowed brow.

“Lyon?”

He takes her aching hand, the motion deliberate and gentle, and rubs warmth and comfort back into it. His little frown doesn’t budge.

She studies him. For all the discontent, that’s the look he has when he’s working out how to say what he wants to communicate, not the one that means he’s frustrated because words are insufficient to the task, so she waits. He keeps hold of her hand, steadying warmth, when he speaks;

“You said once that we are responsible for the harm we fail to prevent.”

Yes, she did. She hadn’t really considered what that would mean, since she’d had so little experience of having sufficient power to effect change. From farther up the mountain, she can see why he was worried that one wrong move might cause an avalanche. A Duke has considerable power, and it is difficult to do the work of a scalpel with a sword.

She understands the urge to tread carefully, to go slow. But some of the power she has, right now, is because she departed from Vail Isle with something of a celebrity glow. She won’t have that to help her forever. She needs to use it now, while it lasts.

She still believes that having the power to do good and choosing not to is, if not evil in itself, at least not morally neutral. She is tired, yes, but that is not a good reason to let inaction make her complicit in cruelty and injustice.

She knows he agrees; it’s why he helped her save Imogen, regardless of what rules said.

He meets her eyes, finally.

“Let me help.”

He’s still holding her hand; she uses that grip to draw his hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles because she’s so full of feeling that they have to get out somehow, and smiles up at him, knowing he’ll read the grateful assent in it.

She does not deserve this man for a husband. She looks forward to spending the rest of her life trying, all the same.

#7kpp #OC: Valeriya (Ambitious Widow)#sometimes I write things

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readwebcomicsgdi · 2 years

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woah look out

Here’s another little list of some comics! This is the fifth set, you can see the others here in the “roundup posts” tag~

Amongst Us (and Carciphona) By @okolnir

“Amongst Us is a slice of life / romance / comedy comic about the couple, Blackbird and Veloce.”

I’m going to be ten thousand percent honest with you and admit that I got into this comic because one of the characters really really reminds me of my Agatha and I’m gay (I don’t mean to be rude by comparing them, I am saying this in the rec because a lot of other people also seem to appreciate the Tall Socially Awkward Intimidating Lesbian character archetype and they’re hard to find, it’s a selling point lmao). That said! It’s lovely to look at and certainly stands up without any of my own associations, and it’s a very cute and simple sapphic slice of life story. Y’all are always asking for wlw stuff, here is one.

I do want to mention this comic is actually an AU the author is doing of their main comic, Carciphona, which is an ENTIRELY different project; it’s a black and white fantasy manga that I haven’t actually read yet, but some of you probably have! To be honest this artist is quite a bit more popular than the folks I usually like to feature here, BUT: they’re publishing their own books and steering their own ship outside the mainstream and man I am all about that shit so go give these a shot.

https://amongstuscomic.com/

https://carciphona.com/

Electric Bones By HAZEL + BELL

“Lucian has just been fired from his dream job. Irritated and aimless, he is invited by his friends to go on a cruise trip in deep space.Lucian plans on spending his time on board indulging in every illicit activity and substance in the galaxy, but his plans are cut short when he ends up crossing paths with a familiar face: A robot who has an uncanny resemblance to the co-worker who got Lucian fired.”

yeah yeah Aria likes the smutty robot comic, but also it’s just really good. It’s good! The art is lovely, the story’s in that sweet spot where it’s “harder” sci fi with lovely detailed metal things floating in space but it’s ALSO having a good time without making you read a doorstopper’s worth of political lore every five minutes, and while this bit is maybe a bit less interesting from the other side of the drawing table, the lettering is creative and engaging and suits the story perfectly. A lot of comics get the fonts wrong!! This one didn’t.

This website is also navigable with arrow keys, which is just so nice. Why doesn’t everybody do this. Go turn it on if you have a comic site.

https://electricbonescomic.com/

broken By @yubriamakesart

“broken is a fantasy/horror story about a psychic zombie kid befriending a fairy general and trying to deal with guilt, grief, and PTSD. This is complicated by eldritch abominations, a genocidal dictator, the dictator's wife, and a panic-induced exit from the last known bastion of civilization. Warning: this comic contains things like graphic violence (including suicide), body horror, and the occasional flashing image.”

The archive looks real big but don’t panic, this one’s broken up panel by panel so you’ll fly right through it. It’s maybe a weird thing to focus on but I super appreciate how much effort is put into the aesthetics of the website!! Even the backgrounds change along with the updates. The author clearly puts a lot of thought into crafting an Experience around their work, so it’s definitely worth reading it on the home site rather than on any of the mirrors.

https://broken.spiderforest.com/

The Secret Knots By @santapau

The Secret Knots is, according to the author, inspired by things like A Softer World; it’s a series of self contained nonlinear pieces you can read in whatever order you like. He speaks extensively about how and why he started making this comic, it’s too long to put here but it’s a wonderful primer.

It’s hard to talk about this one you just kinda have to jump in. That said I love this shit dude this is exactly what I wanna see, make weird genuine shit and put it up for other people to read yeah yeah yeah

https://thesecretknots.com/

Shot and Chaser By @bigbigtruck

“SHOT AND CHASER is a story about storms. Esoteric lifemates Tre and Olly set out together and experience a literal whirlwind of a day in the Texas panhandle. WARNING: This comic contains sensitive themes and is intended only for mature adults.”

You’ve certainly heard of this comic and this artist already (if not Shot and Chaser, you might be familiar with one of Weaver’s previous webcomic projects TJ and Amal) but sort of in line with the first one on this list, I’m just a real big fan of what they’re doing and how they’re doing it and it’s exactly the stuff I wanna see on this blog. I’ve reblogged it here before but I really wanted to put it in one of these posts because in addition to being a fun read it deals with Pentecostal stuff in a very like. Candid way, and I can always make room on my platform for anybody else making complex work about religious trauma.

http://tjandamal.com/sac/

as always, you can also read mine:

Kidd Commander by @shinesurge

“It’s a world at the mercy of uncaring gods, and Phineas Kidd is a heretic with a chip on her shoulder and enough fury to outshine a supernova. Armed only with aggressive enthusiasm (and an explosive left hook), Phineas sets out to gather up a merry crew and travel to Kairos Crossing to catch the sun, an urban legend that has tempted countless dreamers to a bloody end.”

Kidd Commander is a romantic comic that’s mostly concerned with ambitious characters doing cool anime stuff while being subjected to trauma and dealing with said trauma! Rated T for lots of (cartoon) violence and swearing, and a good deal of irreverence for topics some folks might prefer to leave revered. If any of that sounds like it might make you uncomfortable this comic may not be suitable for you!

http://kiddcommander.com/

If you’d like a comic (yours or otherwise) to end up in one of these, send me an ask or whatever and I’ll add it to my list of stuff to check out! The only requirements I have are I’d prefer for it to be a bit lesser known and it needs to be accessible in places other than tapas or webtoon because I am physically and emotionally incapable of engaging with either of those sites. Happy reading!

#roundup posts #sweet recs

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blankspacebye · 25 days

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The Life of Mediocrity

Mediocre or average means moderately okay. I interpret mediocrity as a manifestation of fear shared by many, including myself. In the past, I despised and refused to embrace mediocrity, to be someone who isn’t lacking, yet not exceptionally good either, just mediocre.

Previously, in a world filled with ambition and towering skyscrapers, being mediocre felt like a sin to me. The nightmare seemed all too real when I realized that slowly but surely, I was becoming mediocre myself. Initially, it induced feelings of nausea and self-irritation, not understanding how or why I transformed into an ordinary individual.

Since childhood, I believed I was quite special. I often topped my class, possessed writing and drawing skills, and easily mingled with others. I thought I was anything but ordinary. At least, that’s what I always believed until the age of 17, when reality hit me hard. I, who had always felt special, turned out to be just an ordinary individual; my abilities were not on par with others.

At the beginning of my twenties, I still couldn’t accept being just an average human being. To me, the idea of mediocrity was frightening. Neither too attractive nor repulsive. Mediocrity makes us easily replaceable yet not captivating enough to be noticed.

I felt the need to prove my worth, competing with others to the point of unknowingly harming myself in pursuit of being perceived as extraordinary. The more I tried to surpass others, the more I lost myself. I felt envious of other’s achievements. Ambition consumed me from within, leading to frustration and self-isolation whenever my efforts failed.

It felt immensely shameful to fail, to appear ordinary in front of extraordinary individuals.

Years of striving and experiencing numerous failures made me question the meaning of mediocrity. Were all my efforts and achievements in vain? Was I living for myself or for the acknowledgment of others? Who was I competing with? Is being ordinary a grave sin? And ultimately, what am I striving for?

I eventually realized that there’s no definitive standard to determine whether a person is mediocre or exceptional. There’s no law that will penalize us for simply being human and leading an ordinary life. Sure, some people may scoff and belittle, but why should we care? After all, it’s not their life we’re living.

There’s nothing wrong with being unremarkable and having high ambitions. It’s okay to enjoy our surroundings. It’s okay to have a salary that matches our age. It’s okay to be an ordinary worker. It’s okay not to have a million in savings at 23. It’s okay not to own a house at 25. It’s okay not to be married at our current age. It’s okay to dream of a peaceful life away from the hustle and bustle of the city. No one will be disappointed or angry just because you’re living life slowly, like any other human being.

I realized that we have full control over how we interpret the life we live, whether it brings happiness or misery. We understand and know how hard we’ve tried. We determine whether the results will be exceptional or in vain.

I learned that the key to overcoming the fear of mediocrity is to close our ears, reflect, and be grateful. Looking back, I realize I’ve spent more time seeking recognition from others than doing something for myself. I’ve tried to outdo others in a race that I’ve been running alone, and the variety of achievements I’ve attained is something extraordinary, at least to myself and my family.

Currently, I strive to always remember that blessings are not exchangeable or misplaced. I try to focus more on my own journey rather than watching others’ footsteps. I learn to appreciate and enjoy every process I go through. Just as others don’t know my efforts, I don’t know what others have sacrificed to achieve something. I don’t know their prayers or efforts, I don’t know Allah’s plans. But, I know that at this moment, I am striving to be better.

So, I’ve come to the conclusion that being mediocre isn’t as bad as it seems. Truly, we just need to live life as uniquely as our own version, and for me, being able to eat well, having sufficient sustenance, sleeping soundly, and surviving alone are things worth being grateful for.

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unknownjpegs · 4 months

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raspberry

Maran is afraid of the dark. He’s afraid of lots of things, actually. Heights kind of get them, if the dizzying drop beneath is vertigo-inducing enough. And he’s not fond of rats, even the dainty white lab mice that Ben rescues. He can’t look at a picture of the oceans frothy, churning waves without imagining what lies beneath out of sight.

That’s why the dark gets him as bad as it does, why it’s the worst of his fears. Scary enough as it’s defined — the absence of light. Much like the ocean, he can’t look the dark in its eye. He’s always imagining what lies within, what gazes back. Abyss, and all that.

The hypotheticals are bad, but reality is worse. Maran knows without doubt what calls the darkness home. He knows that there are things that peer from the inky blackness. He’ll cold sweat if he thinks of the fact that those nasties have a privilege he doesn’t — they see him. They know he’s watching.

Fear prickles his scalp, makes goosebumps raise to the skin. But so do more pleasurable things. So he doesn’t feel as bad as he maybe ought to when the wash of terror doesn’t stop in that tight clutch of his chest. He’s a bit embarrassed that it drips, thick and cloying, into his stomach. No matter is destroyed, after all; the fear changes states, but keeps its nasty little shiver.

The public park is a nice one, if not a bit off the beaten path. It doesn’t get much foot traffic because its hiking trails are notoriously difficult. Sometimes, at the time of the night Maran visits, dangerous. And yet, as he pushes himself to wind his way towards the overlook at the end of the trail, Maran feels only exhilarated. The fear is there, yes, but it feels…foundational. The base of a soup, rather than poison to avoid. Because he knows what waits in the darkness will be worth the twist of fear. Will make the fear sweet, will digest it, will transform it for him. And what’s stock without ingredients — he adds his clammy palms, sweat-slicked from the effort of the up-hill trail, the race of his heart and heavy breathing.

She stands too close to the cliff edge. Maran wants to call out and ask her: can you sense the fear?

Can you tell it doesn’t bother me like it should? Can you tell me if that’s wrong?

“You look lovely,” Maran calls from the edge of the clearing. The tree-covered trail opens into empty space, no branches or leaves to smudge out the stars in the sky or their neighbor, that white-gold hanging crescent. It shines brighter than usual and she stands out against the violet tinge of night. She looks better than lovely, but he doesn’t trust his vocabulary to offer a better word.

Despite her preternatural hearing, Nomi whirls as if caught off guard. Her eyes are massive in her face, shining rosy-pink instead of that vital crimson. She tilts her head and they catch the moonlight the way an animal’s would, glossing over in an eerie, beautiful sheen.

Oh, fuck, Maran thinks. Run. He imagines them watching him from the darkness. She begins to move forward, a graceful yet shy stride, and his brain screams it again, prey-fear dilating his pupils larger and larger. And although his knuckles tighten on the cooler in his hand, Maran can’t move a muscle.

Even if he could…

“Wear those all the way up here?” Maran tilts his chin, gesturing to the constricting fabric of her boots. His brain goes a bit fuzzy when he notices the gentle squeeze of them around her thick thighs, flesh rounded just above her knee. For some reason, he files that detail away instead of the dramatic slit in her dress that reveals more pale skin.

Maran shivers. Lovely, spools through his head over and over. Punches of it to his stomach, his head, his chest. The word is dainty string wound into a needle; piercing and drawing and piercing and dragging, pulling taut. Sewing him up in it. Lovely. Sublime like darkness.

Nomi smiles at his tease, eyes softening. “Maybe.” She tilts an ankle, studies the heel of her boot. Maran does too — a bit obsessively. “They held up, huh?”

He glances around, almost not believing it. Almost wonders if her friends, the terrifying duo that shadowed her protectively day in and out, were waiting and watching. Obsessive in a different way — protective of their pretty, monstrous benefactor.

Maran’s eyebrows squeeze together, catching the thought and picking it out of his brain. Not monstrous. Benji wasn’t monstrous to him anymore. Nomi certainly couldn’t be.

“Alright, babe?”

His eyes snap back up to her. She peers at him beneath round glasses that cause her eyes to seem even wider. And still they fit her well, sink demure and glossy into the set of her pretty, high cheekbones. Maran could just stare at her face forever; it’d been a shock when it turned towards him in the first place, and not just because of the fear.

Oh fuck, he thinks again. This time, with more of that feeling. Chest tight, goosebumps, shiver up his spine. Oh fuck, Nomi. I’m not even scared — I just love you.

“Aces,” Maran chirps back, his voice thin with nerves.

Nomi watches him unpack the cooler with increasingly pink cheeks. The night watercolors them lavender and more than once he leans across the blanket he’s spread out to kiss the soft, peachy swell. She giggles and swats him away, but that only earns her face more attention.

The pile of candy is split between them like negotiating each others’ share of a dragon hoarde. Nomi plucks more chocolate for herself, sneaks a few extra pieces when she thinks Maran isn’t looking. Really, he’s letting her. Maran would let her do so much. They talk for nearly thirty minutes before they even dig into any of it, hushed whispers from Nomi like they’ve an audience and Maran loud, boisterous: enjoying the solitary night, the privacy of the overlook. Their only companionship are the cosmos, and whenever she laughs at a shit joke, Maran kind of feels like turning his face up towards them and going: see? I did that. She likes me.

“Anything new?” Maran asks, helping her color-sort her Nerds with his fingertips. She pops all the purple ones into her mouth before answering, making him grin.

“You ask me that every time I see you, even if it’s a day apart.”

He ducks his head with a one-shouldered shrug, thumbnail flicking at the corner of a tiny chocolate bar’s foil wrapping. Raspberry. He hands it over to Nomi and she doesn’t hesitate to place it into her own pile. I’d like to taste that off you, maybe, if you’d let me, if I’m allowed. I ask that because I like hearing you talk. Like knowing what you’re up to, that you’re keeping safe.

“Waiting for the day you tell me somethin’ like, yeah Mar, went and did this little hack —” He gets a swat to the chest for mimicking her pretty voice. The sting makes him suck in a breath. “Uh, I — and then I’d see the news the next day is something real dramatic. Lone hacker crashes government database. Massive, y’know?”

Nomi pops a piece of that chocolate into her mouth, which curls sweetly in amusement. “I’ve already done that.” She points at him with a slim finger. Her nail polish needs redone. The image of her sitting in his lap, leaned comfortably with her back against his chest, watching a show or movie or game drones on, her hand placed in his so he can fix up that color to one she likes. That won’t chip so easily, because he’d be careful.

“Lots.”

“Lots.” Maran echoes solemnly. “Well that means you should take a break more often. Come out here, maybe. ‘Cuz I bet it’s nice to be nocturnal, get this sort of quiet.” He feels shy suddenly, but barrels forward. “If you ever want company…”

Nomi scoots closer to him on the blanket, bunching it beneath their knees. “Will you bring food again?”

Maran lifts his eyes and meets hers, feeling his cheeks warm at the connection. Do anything you fucking want, Nomi, come on. Gotta know that by now. “Yeah, ‘course. Whatever you’d like.”

Her eyebrows furrow together and lift, obscured by the messy blue fringe above. He worries for a moment that he’s crossed one of her lines and mentally replays the conversation, gaze flicking between hers as he tries to recall if he’s said anything, done anything that would —

Nomi leans forward and puts her palms to the blanket. Maran’s breath wheezes out of him so loud and fast that he can’t even think to the contain the soft noise. She only covers about a foot or two of distance between them, but watching her move with that grace? Makes him feel torn open. Like someone fed him metal and tossed him in an MRI; his insides are going to fucking revolt, bounce him around, cause him to fucking explode.

All of the thoughts and images and worries flit out of his skull when Nomi settles herself into his lap. Maran glances down at the splay of her thighs over his, that bit of soft, malleable skin above the top of her boot, and then snaps his eyes up to the night sky.

“Holy shit.” He whispers under his breath, throat bobbing. He nearly jumps out of his skin when her smaller hands roam up his chest, palms flattened and delightfully cold even though his shirt. She rarely, if maybe twice, has initiated a touch between them. And now — and now —?

Nomi shifts in his lap slightly, forcing him to swallow a yelp when the sensation zaps into his stomach. She’s so fucking soft he can’t stand it.

“I want chips,” Nomi whispers. She tucks her face into his neck and Maran startles at the sigh of air over his skin. Goosebumps. “And that new flavor of Monster. The pineapple lemonade? And some kind of gummy worms, but sour. Like, proper sour. I can’t find the good ones, they’re all too sweet.”

Maran gulps audibly around the lump forming in his throat. His hands stay respectfully flat to the dirt. Nomi’s boundaries are fluid and not always the sort he’s used to, but he takes them just as seriously as anything else. Would be fucking mad, no, evil, not to.

Sometimes he worries she reads his mind, and this is one of those instances. As if cued by the tail end of the thought, Nomi wraps slim fingers around each of his wrists. For a moment she only holds his hands between them, studying them like he sometimes fantasizes studying hers. Maran watches her, watches her watch from the darkness. The feral sheen of her eyes disappears when she glances up beneath her lashes. That takes his breath again, more than the terrifying glint of her fangs when she smiles.

“What are you so scared of?” Nomi keeps her whisper. She sounds like she’s teasing him, edging her voice with an elusive note he can’t place. “You’re shaking.” His hands are guided to the severe tuck of her waist, and his eyes flutter. They slip down of their own accord to the swell of her hips and squeeze.

“I’m — not scared.” Maran blushes to hear it leave him a whine. “You just make me fuckin’ nervous, Nomi.”

He has very little warning before she collides with him, their chests pressed together by the lock of her arms around his neck. Maran goes with his back to the ground not because she brings him there, but because he thinks she’ll feel nice on top of him.

She’s sweet enough that he doesn’t care if anything else watches from the dark.

She tastes like raspberries.

#writing #mgc #nw #mgc x nw #vampire au

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rinhaler · 5 months

Text

Smell Some Perfume, Head In The Wind

CHAPTER SUMMARY: it's a party from hell at your parents manor and each guest is worse than the last!

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, (kinda) panic attack, cocaine use, familial issues, handjob, misogyny, dry humping (a little??).

WORDS : 6.3k

notes : still in awe that y'all like this pre edits btw... the difference a few years of writing makes 😅

LAST CHAPTER ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

Scouring your mind for any possibility that you were still in your drug induced sleep was fruitless. This isn’t a nightmare. It's real. Megumi is really here, and he is standing in front of your parents’ house. You hear footsteps approach from behind and your breathing becomes shallow, suffocating under the pressure of the presences all around you. What you did in a past life to deserve this, you’ll never know. But Yuuji remains strong, and you love him for that. When you can't show strength for yourself, he’ll double his efforts. He holds his arm around you as he stares Megumi down. His gaze isn’t asking him to move, it's demanding. But Megumi will do no such thing. He’s snorted a line, he’s at a beautiful house, and it’s a gorgeous sunny day.

This weekend will be fun.

You’re as still as a model in a painting, or even one of Megumi’s drawings. Your begin to well with tears and you can hear voices from every direction. Your mother and father behind you, Yuuji by your side and Megumi in front. You can't understand what any of them are saying as your ears ring. You’re making a choice to not exist, to not perceive what is happening around you. There’s a boom in your ears which you can only assume is Yuuji yelling at Megumi.

Your mother is tugging at your arm.

What does she want?

You’re breathing heavily, your body doesn’t move, but your eyes move slowly to their respected corners so you they can find your mother’s.

“Make him stop!” you read on her lips.

Your head moves as you look at Yuuji, he doesn’t want to let go of you, but you can see he’s becoming more antsy and agitated. He isn’t doing anything wrong, you think, as you process your mother’s words. Is she just embarrassed because his volume is raised past an acceptable level?

“Don’t make me beat the shit out of you in front of all of these people Fushiguro, get the fuck out of our way!” Yuuji bellows, all Megumi offers in return is a sarcastic laugh. He’s cocky, Yuuji is an athlete and way stronger than Megumi, and yet he’s acting like Yuuji wouldn’t stand a chance in hurting him.

Your father grabs your shoulders, Yuuji doesn’t react since he’s so engaged in his heated conversation with Megumi. “You’re breaking your mother’s heart! Don’t go, look at her!” he tells you, your vision snaps to see her again. She looks like she’s fighting back tears. But she’s manipulative, she's trying to control you.

“I even bought you a new dress to wear darling, please don’t go. Please make him stop yelling!” she tells you, her voice cracks and a single tear spills from her eye. She’s serious, she’s actually this frantic and upset over what is unfolding in front of her.

You blink repeatedly, fluttering your lashes until the tears leave your eyes. Although there are a few droplets laced in your mascara coated eyelashes. It’s hard to speak. Your mouth is as dry as a desert and you feel as though glass has been poured down your throat. Your pathetic whispers of ‘Yuuji… Yuuji…’ fall on deaf ears. Of course he won’t hear your feeble voice when he is practically roaring at Megumi.

“Enough!” you manage to croak out, just loud enough to get his attention. He looks at you, his eyes are glassy as if he wants to cry. It’s been tough enough for you, but it must be hell for him too. All of this. Having to see someone you love and worship go through the hardest time of their life. “We have to stay.” you sigh. He shakes his head, he can’t. He can’t let you put yourself through more torment with his piece of shit former friend.

“Maybe… you should just stay love. Yuuji can go if he wants.” your mother speaks, and Yuuji scoffs, rolling his eyes. Of course your parents would want him out of their hair. He doesn’t fit in and they don’t approve of your relationship. But you love him. You love him and you come as a package, that is something they need to understand.

“Yuuji isn’t going anywhere. If you want me to stay he’s staying too, or I’ll walk right out of that door.” you tell them. Whatever dryness was in your mouth had been forgotten. You’ve lost your confidence, you’ve lost your nerve and feel terror and shame whenever you try to defend yourself. But you’ll be damned if anyone is going to insult your boyfriend, whether it’s a backhanded insult or not, you won’t stand for it. “Where’s the dress?” you ask your mother. In your new bedroom, of course. She tells you there’s a letter wedged in the door with your name on it, that’s how you’ll find your room in this colossal manor house.

You take your boyfriend’s hand, ignoring everyone around you both. You’re sorry to him, sorry for him, but this weekend is something you need to do. You said it before you left and you’re saying it now: you are not going to let Megumi Fushiguro dictate your life for a second longer.

You’ve been sitting on the edge of your bed for a few minutes, reading and re-reading the letter over and over again. Yuuji is pacing the room, he’s pissed at you. Like, really pissed, but he isn’t taking his anger out on you. He unbuttons his shirt a little and opens the windows as far as they can go. He knows it isn’t that easy, but he was hoping the cool breeze would help calm him down.

To My Darling Daughter,

I knew you’d arrive to the party in something less than desirable. I took the liberty of buying you a new dress. Don’t worry, I know what style and colours you like. At least, I hope you still like pink. Anyway, it’s Versace, and I’m sure you’ll never tire of wearing designer labels. Enjoy love. Mother x

Your hands are shaking while you hold the letter and the envelope in each hand. That damn pink seal with your family crest makes your heart wrench. It makes you sick, truly, because it reminds you of what a weak person you are. A person who never stands up to her family or can tell them what she really thinks of them. You hate them. You do. You really hate them. You despise how pompous they are, you hate how they treat you like you’re their puppet and you loathe how they treat Yuuji.

But then you look at the garment cover harbouring your beautiful new Versace dress. It’s a beautiful pastel pink colour. It has spaghetti style straps and a large slit down the left leg, tied at the top with two pink string bows. The bustier is micro-pleated, and the iconic Medusa logo features in a small gold circle just above the sternum. God, you hate your parents. You’re furious at your mother for how she suggested Yuuji should leave while you stay. But you’re looking at that dress, that exquisite dress, and you can’t help but feel in a forgiving mood.

You look to Yuuji who is sucking in air from the open window into his lungs. This is no good, you need him to calm himself down. You approach him and rub between his shoulder blades, whispering ‘I love you’ ever so softly.

“Tch.” he mutters. You grab his hand and guide him to the edge of the bed. You didn’t fail to notice the adorable little mini fridge in the corner of your new room. And, of course, it’s fully stocked. You pick up a small bottle of water and throw it to your boyfriend, which he skilfully catches. “I can’t believe you want to stay even though that fuckin’ asshole is here.” he hisses as he cracks open the bottle.

“But you’re here, and that’s all that matters Yuuji.” you tell him as you remove your blazer and your shirt quickly. You hurriedly remove your heels and begin unbuttoning your trousers. “Besides, it’s easier to just get along with my parents. I don’t want to give them any more reasons to talk shit, I’m sick of them looking down their noses at us.” you tell him as you unhook your bra, throwing it across the room carelessly as you approach your new dress.

“What are you- Why aren’t you-?” Yuuji stutters. You turn to face him as you aren’t quite sure what he’s mumbling about. But when his gaze, not very discretely, alternates between your eyes and your exposed breasts, you know instantly.

“You can’t wear a bra with this type of dress, baby.” you explain. He nods in understanding, his eye twitches and he takes a hearty swig at the bottle of water. It’s more than a swig, he ends up drinking the entire contents of the bottle. He’s flustered, you’ve got him all worked up over a pair of tits. And now, you have an even better idea of how to calm him down.

You don’t get dressed, instead, you straddle Yuuji and begin kissing him softly. You’re both smiling and laughing between kisses. He tells you that you shouldn’t be doing this, but you don’t care. You’re unfastening the remaining buttons on his shirt slowly and pull it off him with ease. You pull away from him so you can admire his perfect body. What a lucky girl you are, he’s an athlete through and through with a scrumptious physique to match.

“Princess, we need to stop before… Before we get carried away—” he tells you, but his actions don’t match. He’s kissing your neck while groping your breasts. You hum and giggle at the touch and begin pulling down his trousers, wouldn’t want them getting ruined after all. He stops you and lifts you down beside him so he can remove his shoes and socks. You waste no time pulling out his cock while he undresses completely. You’re sitting beside each other as you jerk him off, he tries to wiggle his fingers inside of your panties, but you don’t let him.

“Just wanna play with you Yuuji, wanna make you feel better.” you whisper, kissing his shoulder gently. You’re stroking him lazily, his hips raise and buck off the bed. “You’re so tense baby, aren’t you?” you ask him, eyes glistening and lips salivating at the way a pool of precum forms at his pretty pink tip, you want to taste it so badly.

“So tense,” he sighs, “so fuckin’ tense.”

“’m sorry, wanna make you feel better. Does it feel good?” you ask him.

“Y-Yeah, fuck. Can you uh, squeeze a little tighter? And go faster, p-please—” he falters as you’re already doing as he asked before he finishes speaking. He lets his head fall back as you work his cock quicker. He looks to you, hazel eyes looking at you like you put all of the planets in the solar system.

“Like that baby?” you ask him. He nods. A large palm finds itself laced in your hair, he brings his face closer to yours. A crashing kiss lands on your lips, it’s heated and erotic, he’s panting and humming through your ministrations.

“Just like that princess, fuck. Such a good girl,” he kisses you again and you can’t get enough of him, it’s like he’s stealing all of the air out of your lungs. “So perfect, so fuckin’ perfect baby. I love you, I love you.” he moans, delectable masculine moans leaving his lips and tumbling directly down your throat and to your chest. No. Directly to your heart, you’re sure the sounds of him coming undone for you are adding extra years to your life.

“I love you Yuuji, please cum f’me. Need it s’bad. Need you to feel better…” you mewl, there’s a wetness growing between your thighs that you’re struggling to ignore. But you have to and you will, for him.

“Y’want me to cum so soon?” he huffs, beginning to let himself go completely to your touch.

You do.

You really do.

“Just want you to feel good baby, please cum. Cum for me!” you command before engulfing him in a showstopping kiss yet again. He breaks it as his moans become more broken and needy.

“Ah, ah fuck—!” he whines as he cums. He forcefully shoves your mouth against his again while his seed spills out.

You’re meant to keep your eyes closed as you kiss someone you love. But while you’re swallowing the beautiful sounds he’s making you can’t help but allow your eyes to wander to his cock. Thick, creamy, white cum is pumping out of him furiously. This has been the longest you’ve gone without pleasuring each other since you began dating, although he fingered you in the car outside before you entered your parents home. It's been days for either of you, so the touches were welcome. You felt like a pair of teenagers stealing intimate moments to please each other.

“Jesus Christ, look what you made me do.” Yuuji smirks as he looks down at his body and your hand completely coated in semen. “Sit on my face baby I need to taste—”

“Sorry Yuuji, no time. Get cleaned up I’m gonna get ready.” you instruct as you head towards the en-suite bathroom to quickly wash your hands.

He steps in the shower so he can clear away any evidence of your little indiscretion. You should get dressed, but instead, you find yourself playing with your hair the whole time Yuji is showering. Should you change it? He steps out and chuckles when he finds you still practically naked. He looks at you, one hand holding his towel around his waist. His eyebrow quirks, he’s looking as if to say ‘I thought we didn’t have time’. But you hurry to your feet and unzip the garment cover and reveal your dress in all of its glory, pulling it out and holding it against your body for your boyfriend to see.

“Help me put it on?” you ask, smiling so sweetly. How could he say no?

He pulls it over you, pulling it downwards and smoothing out any areas it bunches together. He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck sensually, one, two, three times before finding your eyes again in the full-length mirror you’re both standing in front of.

“You’re perfect princess, fits like a glove.”

Everything seems perfect for a brief moment. You were happy. Really happy for the first time since you met Megumi. Yuuji holds your hand as you descend the stairs, and you were gifted with his constant reassurance that he’ll be here for you.

You're giggling and stealing kisses the whole way to the garden.

Though your stomach sinks.

You almost forgot that you had to endure this hellish weekend with your family and school bully. When you step outside, you see a table that you know you're expected to sit at.

Guests are all seated on circular and beautifully decorated tables, all of which house seven seats each. You aren’t sure why you're surprised, your luck has been in the gutter lately, but your mother is waving you over to your table. There are three seats available, enough for you and Yuuji to join and one seat that would remain empty. Your mother would probably use it to place her belongings instead of placing them on the table.

“It’s not too late to leave.” Yuuji smiles. You smile back and take his hand, shaking your head at the proposal.

You’re closer to the table now, and the faces you had seen in the distance have been dangerously solidified in reality. Your mother and father sit side by side, understandably, and then there are two seats free for yourself and Yuuji next to your dad. Toji sits next to the second free seat, and Megumi is by his side. The third free seat is situated between your mother and Megumi.

Yuuji pulls the seat out next to your father for you to sit in, but you misinterpret his action thinking he is doing it for himself. So, you take the chair next to Toji without hesitation.

Yuuji looks at you with a worried expression plastered across his face, you’re too close to Megumi. But when you look up at him, he’s amazed. He thinks you’re incredible. So fucking brave and so unfazed by the whole thing. You are, however, but you’re trying not to let it show.

“You two took your time.” Toji teases, his eyes move to the side to look at your reaction with a smirk on his face. Is he trying to get you in trouble?

The insinuating tone is read by everyone at the table, you feel your face warm up and Yuuji turned red. Your father looks furious and your mother’s eyes have widened. Megumi is smirking, just like his father. The family resemblance really is uncanny.

“Never mind, she’s here now.” your mother speaks. You grit your teeth and bite your tongue, her failure to include Yuuji not going unnoticed by you. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you Megumi, do you remember us? Probably not, are you studying anything at the moment?” your mother speaks confidently. She notices your change in demeanour, quickly stuttering out any words she could to swiftly change the subject.

“Actually, your lovely daughter and I are in the same class.” Megumi speaks with perfect poise, he has far too much courage to say such a bold comment about you in front of Yuuji.

Your mother looks between you both with a big smile on her face and her palms pressed together excitably. She begins asking questions about your studies and your relationship, you catch a vein bulging in Yuuji’s forehead when she asks if you are ‘friends’.

Before you could argue such a preposterous claim, Megumi answers her calmly. “Well Yuuji and I are childhood friends, so I was bound to get along with his wonderful girlfriend.” he explains, “We even share a cubicle in class now, don’t we?” he smirks, resting his elbows on the table and interlocking his fingers. Yuuji grits his teeth, and despite you gently squeezing his thigh, it isn’t enough to relax him.

“Don’t lie to these people Fushiguro,” Yuuji speaks as quietly as he can, trying to prevent himself from losing his temper, “I’m not your fucking friend and neither is she.” he announces, you grimace at his language and Megumi rolls his eyes at the response.

“The fuck did you do Megumi? He’s meant to be your best friend.” Toji questions as he swigs the remaining champagne in his glass. “Did you try and fuck his girl? Huh, shithead?” Toji wonders aloud. Megumi scoffs out a laugh while your father chokes on his own drink and your mother suddenly found the lush green grass way more interesting than the current conversation.

“You’re mistaken Toji, our daughter isn’t loose like that. She’s waiting until marriage.” your father announces.

Yuuji’s face is bright red and your heart is racing.

This really is the party from hell.

There is an uncomfortable silence then, whether it was because no one knows what to say or because most people know it's a lie. You and Yuuji want the ground to swallow you both whole.

You are saved by the wait staff coming to your table with more drinks, overpriced champagne, of course. Your father watches as they place drinks in front of yourself and Yuuji, but you raise your hand in protest.

“Could I just have a water, please?” you request, the waiter nods and turns on their heel to fetch you your drink.

“Don’tcha drink?” Toji wonders, sipping at his fresh champagne yet again.

Your vision alternates between the two pairs of emerald green eyes sitting to the left of you. Yuuji’s blood is boiling as he remembers exactly why you aren’t drinking. He's staring daggers at the bully across from him.

He wants to rip his throat out.

Yuuji seconds your notion of only drinking water; he thought he better stay sharp in case Megumi tries anything while you’re all stuck together for the weekend. Toji deems you both boring, but you don’t care.

“I had a bad incident with drinking recently,” you speak as you tilt your head so Megumi’s eyes would directly catch yours, “taking a little break from it all.”

“You always take things too far, don’t you? Or are you just over exaggerating a bad hangover?” your father asks you. You can practically hear the thump of your mother kicking his leg under the table, livid that he would air a private family matter in front of their guests.

“Actually sir, that piece of shit—” Yuuji barks as he points at Megumi.

“Yuuji, don’t.” you look at him with pleading eyes. He instantly shuts his mouth and slouches back in his seat.

Toji leans over to Megumi and begins whispering to him. Doesn’t he know it’s rude to whisper? But even with just these few brief moments you’ve shared with him, he doesn’t strike you as the type to care about manners or etiquette; so you aren’t entirely surprised at his lack of grace.

Just when you think things couldn’t get worse.

When you believe there couldn’t possibly be anything to make the situation anymore uncomfortable, you heard a chilling, flamboyant voice in the distance.

You don’t turn to see who has just walked into the garden. You could hear him from a mile away. Your elbow rests on the table and you slump your forehead into your hand. You heard a mutter of ‘oh for fuck sake’ from Yuuji as he reaches for his glass of water.

But now water wasn’t going to cut it.

The champagne he'd abandoned soon finds comfort in his fingers as he downs the liquid like a shot. If your stomach wasn’t so raw from the drug Megumi spiked you with, you’d be following suit. The volume of the voice gets louder, and louder, and louder.

Until finally—

“A pleasure to see you all again,” Naoya smiles as he takes your mothers hand in his. He plants a soft chaste kiss on her knuckles, it's embarrassing how much she giggles and blushes at the gesture. He shakes your father’s hand in a firm handshake, and he's smiling, too.

He completely ignores Yuuji, which makes your parents smirk like bitchy high schoolers.

He takes your hand without you giving it, repeating what he had just done to your mother. Although, it lasts a lot longer and is a more uncomfortable gesture.

You snatch your hand away and sit upright to face him.

“Hello Naoya.” you huff.

He says simple greetings to the Fushiguro’s who nod wordlessly.

Toji leans over to you, his head turned away from the table so that no one could read his lips as he spoke quietly to you.

“I fuckin’ hate this little prick,”

Before he could continue, your mother offers him the final remaining seat. He's about to refuse, claiming his father is at a different table, but when he sees how uncomfortable you are and how furious Yuuji looks – who was he to decline?

“When was the last time you two boys saw each other, hm?” your father questions. You almost choke on your drink at his words. Megumi and Naoya know each other?

Birds of a feather, you suppose, and they are both toxic and evil to the core.

“We haven’t seen each other since Megumi and his sister moved away, I believe.” Naoya answers. Megumi doesn’t respond, letting Naoya take over the conversation for him.

He's too busy staring at you.

How did you know Naoya?

“But it’s been a while since I’ve been able to attend one of your family parties and stay longer than a few minutes.” he adds as he crosses a leg over his knee.

“Yes, well, some might say it’s odd for an ex-boyfriend to hang around my family.” you smile widely, but everyone can see it's as fake as they come.

Toji coughs a little at the revelation, smacking his palm on his large chest to clear his airways. Megumi sniggers as he takes a drink.

“I do wish you both could have worked it out,” your mother claims, “you were a beautiful couple and so sophisticated. It made perfect sense for you to be together.” she continues, your father nods in agreement.

“You’ve made a strong name for yourself and the Zen’in clan, a match made in heaven.” your father concurred.

“Why don’t you both try it again?” your mother suggests, as if your boyfriend isn’t sitting right next to you. “You were certainly my favourite of my daughter’s boyfriends.” she adds.

Yuuji is shaking with frustration, but you know it's just covering how upset he is.

It’s horrible to have to hear something so nasty, vile and cruel and not be able to do anything about it. Normally you wouldn’t do anything either and just make it up to him later. But after everything you’ve been through, enough is enough.

“Interesting idea mother, however, I’ve made my choice and I’m happy with my partner and I suggest the pair of you get used to it.” you answer her foolish proposal, “Besides, Yuuji is way better at eating pussy.” you boldly announce in front of everyone.

Naoya’s face drops in horror. Megumi shot champagne out of his nose and Toji laughs raucously by your ear. Yuuji was practically boiling to the touch and as red as a tomato, even his ears were a rosy, red colour at the tips.

“Oh my God—”

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you?”

That is all your mother and father have to say in response. You don’t care, you're smiling.

It feels incredible to make your parents so furious with you and not be able to do anything so they could save face in front of their guests. The only people who had heard your vulgar comment are the people seated at the table.

You are so smug, so fucking proud of yourself.

Even Yuuji is smiling.

He never thought in a million years you’d stand up to your parents like that. You disregard your parent's outrage, and angle your body to be facing the other guests with a cheery smile on your face.

“So how do you three know each other?” you wonder.

“We’re cousins.” Toji spits as his thumb gestures Naoya.

Wow.

Maybe the whole family is just rotten at the roots.

“The Zen’in clan are a powerful family that you would have been honoured to marry into, daughter, but you are going through a rebellious phase I see.” your father gripes. He's staring you down, but when your eyes find his he quickly looked away.

Pathetic, you think.

“We aren’t Zen’in’s we’re Fushiguro’s.” Toji corrects, but your father shrugs his shoulders dismissing the statement.

“Same thing, same bloodline.” your father states as he begins lighting a cigar in his mouth.

“No, not the sa—”

“Toji is right,” Naoya interrupts his cousin, “those two scummy pissants certainly aren’t worthy to carry the Zen’in name so it’s a good thing Toji took his wife’s name instead.” Naoya berates.

Toji and his son both grit their teeth, both clearly furious at the mention of their worth and Toji’s wife. Naoya is snearing, clearly proud of himself for being an enormous prick and upsetting his family.

His eyes wander, and eventually, they settle on—

“And you.” he says as he points in your direction. Everyone is suddenly focused on you and what he's about to say. “You’d never be good enough for me, women are to be seen and not heard. I need a subservient little housewife, not a dressed-up tart thinking she’s something special. You’re not even good enough to lick my boots.” he monologues.

You snicker, Yuuji obviously wants to flatten him for daring to speak to you like that, but he turns to you in shock as you rest a hand on his shoulder and begin to laugh.

“I’m sorry, what fucking century do you think this is?” you chortle, you rise from your seat and gesture to the door. Yuuji immediately understands that you want to leave, so he grabs your hand once again and guides you towards the house.

Your mother protests, "where are you going!?" she cries, you didn’t care. You’d be coming back later.

But for now, you want some space.

You heard Naoya mutter something about you being a harlot under his breath, so you stop.

You slowly walk back towards the table and approach Naoya’s side.

He can’t help but ogle your thigh where your pretty pink dress slits down the side. He tries his best to ignore it, but it's obvious he's enjoying the view of your supple flesh.

Perhaps he misses your soft pillowy thighs. You rest a hand on his shoulder as you lean over him to grab his glass of champagne. He begins to squirm as your breasts are dangerously close to his chest, and he can smell your sweet, sweet perfume.

Fuck, he did miss you.

He really misses you.

He’s never met a woman like you since you broke up. That smell, he’s missed your fucking scent. You stand up straight with the glass still in your hand. Everybody thinks you're going to drink it, but instead, you pour the liquid out all over Naoya’s head.

“Oops.” you pout over dramatically. “Wonderful seeing you again Naoya. I’m off to go and be a harlot with my beautiful boyfriend over there.” you whisper into his ear and point in Yuuji’s direction.

Your mother and father start to chastise you, but before their words can do any damage, you run to your boyfriends side and take his hand.

The pair of you sprint out of the manor hand in hand towards his car.

He hikes your dress up before picking you up and settling you on the hood of his car. You're kissing each other so lovingly and messily that you aren’t sure you’d be able to break it without fucking in the middle of your parents driveway.

“I love you, fuck I love you I love you I love you.” Yuuji hums between kisses. He gropes your breasts and kisses your neck. He has to stop, he knows he has to stop and yet he couldn’t keep himself from touching you, worshiping you.

“I love you, I love you Yuuji! We need to go. Yuuji, come on we need to go.” you moan back. With one last hard, devastating kiss he pulls away and helps you down. You jog to your respected sides of the car and strap in quickly so he could get the pair of you away from this place, if only for a few hours.

Meanwhile, as you and Yuuji had been practically dry-humping on top of his car, Naoya was seething with rage in the garden. Your parents couldn’t apologise enough. He didn’t want to hear it. After all, they are the ones who raised you. And what had they raised you to become? A vile, insolent, slut. He stood to his feet, dismissing his father when he asked what had happened whilst retreating indoors. He didn’t know he was being followed. He didn’t realise until his shoulder was grabbed and he was being pinned against the nearest wall just as he reached the second floor of the manor. It was Megumi.

“It seems we both have a mutual hatred of the princess.” Megumi admits, staring his uncle dead in the eyes. “Let’s say we have some fun with her this weekend.”

“Tch. I think not. I have my own plan formulating for that abhorrent little bitch. Leave me alone, peasant.” Naoya snarls as he turns away from Megumi once more. The latter shrugs his shoulder and prepares to leave, but he gets another idea instead.

“Naoya.” he calls.

“What—?” he’s greeted with a punch in the face from his nephew, directly into his eye. Megumi is sure it’s bound to bruise. He isn’t done. While Naoya is recoiling in pain, Megumi grabs onto his shoulder and forces his knee up into his uncle’s abdomen. Naoya collapses to the ground and is coughs up blood. He growls when Megumi lords over him, leaning down to patronise him in this frail pathetic state.

“A friendly reminder to keep my mother’s name out of that pretentious mouth of yours. I won’t be so lenient if it happens again.” Megumi tells him in hushed tones, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks to return to the party and his father’s side.

It can’t be a good thing that you’ve made two enemies from the same putrid bloodline.

But that isn’t on your mind.

You're eyeballed and gawked at as you and Yuuji walk into the nearest fast food place in your expensive clothes. Yuuji is in his smart shirt and dress-pants and you were in a two-thousand dollar Versace gown while you walk into Burger King as casual as ever.

You feel like celebrities with the way everyone stares.

You don’t care, you just order food, a lot of it.

You haven't eaten since you arrived at your parents and all you’ve been drinking is dainty sips of water.

You're starving, so you don’t want to think how hungry Yuuji would be since he has the appetite of a horse. You give the cashier your card, courtesy of the bank of dad, and salivate as you think about your enormous meal.

He sits in a booth and pulls you onto his lap while you wait for your order. One hand rests in the small of your back while another remains on your thigh. Kisses are stolen while you giggle and joke about how God awful your parents party had been.

He begs you to just go home, but he's forgetting you left your luggage in your bedroom. It’s only one night anyway, you’ll be able to leave in the morning and you won’t have to see them again for a few months at least.

You still feel eyes on you in the restaurant, but now you aren’t sure if it's because you're both so overdressed or because you are being so overly affectionate with each other.

Again, you didn’t care.

Yuuji can’t tell you enough how much he fucking adores you. He's so proud of you for sticking up for yourself, and even happier that you defended him in front of your horrific parents. His sweet, soft words were rushing straight to your core and you could just jump him right then and there.

When your number is called out, you and Yuuji end up with four huge bags to hold. You each held one in your hands and walk quickly out of the restaurant and back to the car.

You open a bag before Yuuji found somewhere to park. It has large fries inside so you alternate between feeding yourself and putting some in Yuuji’s mouth while he drives.

You know where you can go, so you do your best to direct your boyfriend. There’s an enormous, brick monument between your parents manor and the city that lives on top of a tall hill. But behind the monument there is a country park and endless fields.

You don’t need to mention that Naoya used to bring you here to finger you in the backseat, you’ve had a lot of other memories with friends here too, after all.

He parks up turns the radio up a little louder. It’s crazy that between entering and leaving Burger King the sky had started as a bright blue and become pink and orange.

It’ll be black soon.

You slurp your milkshake and shovel down your fries while Yuuji takes a chomp out of his burger. The ketchup squirted out and dribbled embarrassingly down his lovely clean shirt.

“Oh shit!” you speak, covering your mouth and giggling while you still have crushed up fries in your mouth.

Yuuji looks between his shirt, the burger, and your dress. He couldn’t and wouldn’t let the same thing happen to you. He picks up all of his food and dumps it on the hood of his car. He picks up your food and did the same, telling you to get out of the vehicle. You stand awkwardly on the grass, your heels sink into the ground so you opt to take them off and throw them back into the car.

Yuuji retrieves his fresh gym clothes from the trunk of his car. A baggy grey t-shirt and ultramarine blue shorts. He pulled your dress up from the bottom and over your head. You gasp and cover your breasts as the cold night air pinches at you.

Your panic soon leaves your body as Yuuji began kissing your neck down to your collarbone before helping you into his shirt.

“Always so beautiful princess, doesn’t matter what you wear.” he whispers. Next, you were climbing into his shorts. It feels a little uncomfortable to be in boy’s clothes you aren’t used to and they don’t fit quite right, but you’re grateful for the gesture anyway.

He folds your expensive dress delicately, placing it carefully in the backseat. He helps lift you onto the hood of the car, and your stomach sinks as the car bounces when he climbs up to join you. You spend the night eating as much food as you can handle.

You wait for the blushing pink sky to plummet into purple. and eagerly anticipate the arrival of the stars. As dreadful as the weekend has been, you’re thankful you at least had Yuuji by your side.

Maybe you don’t need anyone else in your life.

He really is the perfect boyfriend.

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