#it's depressing they are just evil for the sake of being evil
Note
Hi!
how would you use a bathtub for whump?
Greetings!
Whumper forcing whumpee into an ice/hot bath as torture/punishment. If they have their clothes on - good, because that makes the sensations exponentially worse! If they're naked - good, because the forced intimacy, vulnerability and degradation of it is another layer to the punishment!
Or alternatively: caretaker having to force delirious whumpee with hypothermia/heatstroke into a warm/cold bath for the sake of their health and safety, but it fucking Hurts
Whumper making whumpee go into a tub, which's walls have been greased, and watching with amusement their futile attempts at getting out and constant slipping
Caretaker having wounded/beaten up whumpee sit in the tub, as they painstakingly patch them up, so the gore that drips off them is easier to wash off afterwards
Or alternatively: beaten up whumpee having nobody to take care of them and sitting in the cold, empty tub by themselves as they push through the exhaustion and pain to patch themselves up
Whumper forcing whumpee underwater in a tub and holding them down till they cannot breathe
!!!! Whumpee hiding in the locked bathroom, lights off, sitting curled up in one of the corners of the tub behind the drawn curtains, their breath hitching, clutching a knife, as whumper - who had broken in - is roaming the house in search for them
Drunk/drugged/high whumpee passing out in a full tub and being unable to wake up as their body slowly slides underwater, leading to them drowning (could be non-fatal and end up in a coma, if you fancy! but death works for a tragic flair too)
Overwhelmed whumpee curling up in a tub, behind drawn curtains, because it makes them feel safe and confined
On the more fluff/ hurt-comfort side of things: caretaker giving whumpee a warm bath post-rescue (that can mean rescue from captivity, them being retrieved from a dangerous mission, or even just caretaker finding them sick/hypothermic, the possibilities are endless), while they're absolutely exhausted and as caretaker gently scrubs them down with warm water, they fall into deep sleep
Depressed whumpee trying to force themselves to take their first bath/shower in a long time and they curl up sitting in the tub, the shower pouring over them, them still clothed
Whumpee getting their bed, sofa etc occupied/confiscated (abusive family or housemates?? evil landlord???) and them having nowhere to sleep at night but the bathtub (bonus points if the assholes use the toilet loudly at night or force whumpee out when they suddenly decide they need a 3am shower for some reason)
#can you tell some of these are kinda the same as my previous post but in a different font lmao#bathtub#bathing#whump#whump prompt#hurt comfort#whumpee#whumper#hypothermia#heat stroke
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Am I the only one who wants to save Adam and Lute from hazbin hotel? That smile Adam gave Lute before dying is next to meaningless in this ungodly rushed plot. But it's a shade of what those two could have been in the hands of a competent writer for an actual adult show show with 26 episodes per season and complex psychological themes
They deserve more mature characterization instead of being a punching bag for oh so morally superior demons in a black and white setting PERIOD
#hazbin hotel critical#i'm sorry I just love the vibes those two give off so much#it's depressing they are just evil for the sake of being evil#but then again all characters are flat as a cardboard in this cartoon#so...#i hope adam is brought back to life in season 2
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Every single time I see a take that amounts to "if you write about X happening, or like fiction where X happens, you like X" I'm reminded of this one time I was at a casual friends house as a young kid. We were in her room, pretending to "be orphans" escaping from an evil orphanage and having to take care of each other and fend for ourselves. It was all very Little Orphan Annie/All Dogs Go to Heaven and based on the 80s pop media.
And this girl's mom comes in, hears what we're playing and gets all MAD and UPSET. She says that if we play act something, it's because we want it to happen. So her daughter must WANT HER TO DIE.
First off lady, we were 6 year year olds, so take it down several notches. We barely had a concept of mortality for fucks sake. She made us feel so guilty and ashamed, because she was taking our game personally.
Now I have a 5 year old. And sometimes she looks at me and says "pretend you're dead, and I have to -" Whatever it is. Some adult task she's assigned herself.
And it's just so transparently obvious that she's practicing the idea of having to do things on her own. Which is exactly what 5 year olds are supposed to do. I actually find it very flattering that the only way she can envision me not being available to help her is to be literally deceased. Otherwise, obviously, she wouldn't have to do scary hard things alone.
It's a natural coping mechanism. She's self-soothing about what would happen if I wasn't there by play-acting independence in a perfectly safe environment. She's also practicing skills she needs, and making up excuses for practicing them on her own, without taking on the responsibility of being able to do them by herself all the time yet.
Humans mentally rehearse bad this in their brains all the time. We can do that by ruminating- going over worries over and over again, which tends to lead to anxiety and helplessness and depression. Or we can do it with a sense of play- by recognizing that the fiction is fiction and we can dip our toe into these experiences and expose ourselves to bad things without actually being injured.
My daughter does not want me dead. And I don't want bad things to happen in real life. But fiction and pretend help me face the horrors of the world and think about them without collapsing or messing myself up mentally.
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song 53! magic (one direction) + percy jackson requested by @isabelboo (2023 spotify wrapped event)
you, you’ve got this spell on me, i don’t know what to believe, kissed you once now i can’t leave
Percy isn’t really sure how or when it started, but he’s pretty sure you’ve put some kind of curse on him.
His thoughts are consumed by you day and night. His vision tunnels in on you every time you’re around. Whenever you talk to him, all he can do is think of your lips. It’s excruciating. It’s nauseating. And it’s definitely affecting his daily activities, he thinks as he sits, dazed in the infirmary, with a stab wound (a very minor one!) in his side.
It has to be some kind of magic, he thinks, because he’s never felt like this. Maybe some voodoo? Maybe a trick by Hecate as vengeance for defeating the Titans. Maybe you’ve been slipping him potions in his food. It could be anything, and Percy is not as well-versed in magic knowledge as some other people at camp, so he has no idea.
But he finds himself always looking for you, asking after you. He finds himself trailing after you always, and depressed when you’re not around.
The strangest part is that nobody else seems to notice anything out of the ordinary, and he’s too afraid to ask them about it.
He mentioned something about it to Annabeth once, but she merely waved him off.
(“It’s like I can only think of Y/N,” he said.
Annabeth looked over her notes distractedly. “Uh huh, yeah, that’s great, Percy. Hey, since you’re not being any help here, would you mind getting Y/N so they can help me finish the Capture the Flag plans?”
Percy blinked. “Okay?”)
He thinks it must have started somewhere between all the times you held his hand to lead him somewhere, or the times he stood behind you to help correct your sword fighting posture, or the times you touched his hands and arms to correct his archery posture. He always ended up blushing furiously after each of those ordeals.
Or maybe it started that time he kissed you. Although, technically, you’d kissed him first (on the cheek, nothing crazy!) before he went off to face Kronos.
But then again, Percy had been the one to kiss you on the lips when he found you again after.
(“Percy!”
He heard the call of his name, registered your voice, and his head was already whipping around to find you. He found you, a strained look on your face as you hobbled towards him, and Percy rushed towards you.
No sooner had you steadied yourself by holding onto his forearms than he had leaned forwards and kissed you on the lips.)
But Percy couldn’t help it! He’d just been so worried about you, and so relieved to find you alive. He thinks maybe during one of those kisses you transferred your evil little spell.
Still, he hoped that kiss might have meant something to you, more than friendship, but you hadn’t gotten the chance to talk about it, since you’d collapsed on your broken ankle right after.
Even until now, you two have never really discussed what you are, or what the kiss/es entail for your future relationship. Because magic spell or not, Percy’s endless thoughts about you have him planning out your future (however much of it you can plan for two demigods who face certain death before their prime). An apartment in New York, close enough to his mom and Paul but not so close that it’s overbearing, college and planning schedules to match up, weekends out with your friends laughing and eating and watching movies and doing normal teenager things.
That’s all he wants. But he’ll settle for the lingering touches and smiles he gets from you for now.
But this curse, spell, whatever (because gods forbid Percy Jackson admit he’s in love with you before he’s sure you’re in love with him. They kissed you, Percy! What more do you need, for Zeus’ sake) is seriously becoming a problem, because somebody explain to him how from 30 feet away, Percy managed to see an Ares camper headed straight for you and make it over the battlefield in time to intercept it. With his own abdomen.
It was a stupid mistake, he acknowledges now. He’s been through countless battles, and he knows he could’ve incapacitated the camper from behind, or just knocked the spear out of his hand or something. But something about seeing you in danger just sets alight a fire in his mind that burns through any rational thought, leaving only an urge to stop you from getting hurt.
A little inconvenient now that he’s wincing on an infirmary bed with his side burning up. But at least you’re okay. And oh, look! It’s you! He’s not sure if he’s hallucinating now, or if you’re really standing in front of him.
“Seaweed brain,” you say, sniffling.
Okay, definitely you.
“Hey Y/N,” Percy says meekly. His side still feels like it’s on fire but his heart feels warmer with you here.
You take his hand and his heart aches at the tears in your eyes. “Hey, I’m fine,” he assures, ignoring the fact that he is definitely not fine.
“You’re an idiot, is what you are.”
“Yeah, that too.”
You look at him, at the ridiculous little smile he’s giving you to reassure you, at the bandages around his waist, and his hand in yours, and you lurch forwards and press your lips to his.
Percy jolts in surprise and feels his abdomen screaming at him from the movement, but kisses back nonetheless, feeling your lips on his once more and your tongue graze his bottom one.
When you pull back, he stares at you in a daze. If kissing is how you kept this spell on him, he is okay with being under it forever.
“You’re ridiculous, Percy Jackson,” you say, “but I love you.”
He swears his heart has never felt this warm. “I love you too.”
(“Sorry,” Leo says, looking rather gobsmacked, “they weren’t already dating?”
“Leo!” Piper throws her hands up in exasperation.
He smacks his cheeseburger back down on his plate and stares at the faces of his friends. Jason and Frank also look rather miffed, but the girls are all rolling their eyes. “Excuse me for being surprised! They’ve known each other since they were, what, 13?”
“12, actually,” answers Annabeth.
“12! When Percy woke up on the other side of America, the only name he could remember was Y/N’s, right?”
“Correct,” says Frank.
“And we spent ages on the Argo II, during which they got caught in the stables—“
“They were just talking,” says Hazel.
“—and they fell into Tartarus together! Because he refused to let go of her hand! They literally went all the way to hell, all the way through hell, and back out, together!”
Nobody says a word, all looking at Leo.
“You’re telling me,” Leo says, breathing very intensely as though he just found out that his pet dog has been run over, “that during that entire time, neither of them asked each other out?”
“Nope,” says Annabeth matter-of-factly, “and he also kissed Y/N on his 16th birthday.”
“Man,” Jason sighs, “talk about slow burn.”)
#percy jackson imagines#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson#heroes of olympus#hoo#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo x reader#pjo imagines#pjo imagine#written works !#2023 spotify wrapped event !
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I understand now. I understand all of it.
All those times politicians claimed something was "too complicated" "not that simple" "we don't have the money" it's all lies to keep us complacent.
They did it about the situation is Israel. "It's too complicated" everyone said. It didn't look complicated when I did my own research, away from those shitty think pieces talking down to me. Israel was a state built off the blood of Palestinians, and they simply do not want you to think about it. Because there is oil in the middle east and Israel is our only "Ally"
Wow, so complicated! The complicated part being that our media is tricking us into thinking this is so complex so they can be evil in plain sight: yes, so complicated of a situation!!
And today I wake up to find that the House of Representatives (the lowest level of US government) has passed a bill offering 14 billion to Israel! It will go to the Senate to vote. Wow, billion with a B huh? I got a question for you.
Where the fuck did we get enough money to fund genocide? Where the hell was all this money when it comes to supporting the Americans you politicians claim to be representing? Where was this money for free college, universal Healthcare, covid precautions, the climate crisis??
"It's just too complicated! You'll make us do cuts on other programs! You'll make us raise taxes!! Think of the taxes!!!"
Then where did this money come from? Oh, the IRS, the fucking company that handles our taxes??? Yeah????? That was an option? Why wasn't it an option before but it is now? Were they over funded and we just didn't notice until now? Or are you taking advantage of the situation to cut funding to another service you hate?? The point being: if they really want something, they can find the fucking money. They haven't because they don't want to.
It's never been complicated. It's their job to move money around. It's their fucking job to raise our taxes and provide for us, but the only people they truly represent are the ones filling their pockets with lobby money. They could have done this long ago, given us what we've been demanding, but they coddled us and said it was too complicated and our baby brains couldn't handle it. And God forbid you be a woman!! That means you're double unable to understand!
Enough. Fucking enough. Every year congress votes to increase their wages and refuses to raise our minimum wage. Every year they take advantage of their medical insurance and benefits they get for "representing" us when nearly every adult I know is left to suffer with their conditions: untreated sicknesses, chronic conditions, the depression that looms over us because we live in the most wealthy country in the world but we can't make ends meet and our government is more concern with funding armies that feeding and housing us
Politics was never complicated. They just told us it was. To shut us up. To make us feel young and idealistic and stupid. And we fell for it. And now evil is moving through the wills of our leaders IN OUR FUCKING NAMES to support a genocide in the middle east. Their only crime was being born on that land. Their only crime is being Arab. That's not a fucking crime.
Our system isn't complicated. It's working as intended. Keep the people blind and claim that it's too hard, leave all the details to them. But we are smarter than they are. We are informed. The world is connected like never before and I refuse to let their propaganda ever reach me again.
Hold them accountable. Know their names. Write it in the history books. Let their legacy be known to the end of times.
Be loud about your anger. Go to protests. Write your reps to tell them your vote is on the line. And for God's sake vote in the damned elections!
THE IDEA THAT YOUR VOTE DOESN'T MATTER IS PROPOGANDA. THEY WANT YOU TO FEEL USELESS. THEY WANT YOU TO GIVE UP SO THEY STAY IN POWER.
They want you to think it's complicated. It never has been. Be loud. Vote. Use your right to protest. Use your right to free speech. Use your right to petition. Next Tuesday is election day. Make it fucking count.
#american politics#free palestine#Rika rants#Don't tell me to calm down it's freaking me out that you're not freaking out#social justice#What else can I put here?? That I'm tired? That I'm pissed? That I'm wanting to yell to Biden's face that he's a murderer???#My therapist told me to stop looking at the news for my mental health and I don't feel I get that luxury due to you know#Don't stop talking about Palestine
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Eternity and Counting
(Pt1) This is a running piece I've nearly finished, but the whole thing is way too long to post as one chapter sooooo... This part's pretty short just for the sake of timeline splitting.
Obey me! X Angel!MC (They/Them Pronouns)
TW: Suicide, depression, self-deprecation, death, big feelings, lots of sad, everybody is crying like all the time
MC just can't handle anything anymore and takes their own life. Imagine their dismay to find even death isn't the end for them.
(Takes place in the Frost Flowers event (sorta?), with mild "that chapter where MC finds out they're the Bridge" spoilers. Can't remember which chapter that was.)
~/\~
It's so heavy. This grand weight I've been lugging around since that day. I should have died. I was supposed to die. I would have deserved it too. All I've ever managed to do was cause problems for this family. And maybe I still am. The idea almost stopped me. Visions of their faces. Their tears. Their grief. It did, actually. A few times at least. But not today. It's happened again. Everything was going just fine until that God-forsaken dog decided I would be the object of his affection. Somehow, in spite of the threat it faced to the nation, the brothers refused to just hand me over. Almost losing not just their home, but their kingdom, for my sake. Yet again wasting their time trying to save me. Just like they did when my stupid power nearly killed Lucifer. When Lucifer nearly killed HIMSELF to save me. A bitter, evil part of me is still mad at Michael for stopping me. For saving me.
My arms feel heavy as lead as I lay here, counting away the seconds. I've got nearly an hour before anybody gets home from RAD. Plenty of time to make sure I stay dead. I feel a little bad for lying about being sick to get out of classes today. But maybe I am. Doesn't matter much now anyway. Really, my biggest concern in the current moment is how long it will take Barbatos to notice the ingredients I took. Sure, he's in classes right now too, but he pops in and out of the castle all day long. The likelihood of him stopping into the kitchen and noticing the cracked cabinet door, the scavaged shelves, and finally the open jars is uncomfortably high. In my defense, the chances of that happening while I was there were equally high, so I can't be blamed for the messy crime. But he's only got a few moments more before his discovery will be for naught, so I suppose it's not terribly worrying.
I can feel it, creeping up my spine like a cold massage. The ever-growing numbness. The slow death of my limbs. My lungs. Me. It's growing darker now, unnaturally so, even for The Devildom. I can finally free them of my burden. Free myself of it too. But I would like to offer a final scorn to whatever God allowed me to hear the gentle creaking of the front door.
~/\~
(Mammon's POV)
A chill runs through my spine,like something ominous is lurking behind me, but as I turn around, nobody's there. In spite of that comfort, I can't shake this overwhelming dread coating my nerves and sinking into my bones, urging me to move. Driving me to jog home. The gentle sway of the bag on my arm becoming notably more violent as it begins swinging by my side.
My hands can't work fast enough as I try to unlock the front door. I break into a near sprint as I approach their door, slamming it open.
"MC?" I call, it's dark in their room, but I can just make out the shape of their body resting in their bed. "Oh, you're just sleeping." I mumble, walking up to their bed and setting the bag on the ground next to it.
"Hey, I gotcha some human world medicines." I whisper, pulling a few bottles from the bag. "C'mon, you gotta wake up and take some."
I can't help but roll my eyes at their lack of reaction. "Been spending too much time with Belphie." I reach up to shake their shoulder gently.
Nothing happens. So I try again, fingers gripping just barely tighter. Tight enough to feel the unsettling chill of their skin. It seeps through my fingertips and into my soul. Gripping my heart in white hot fear.
"MC, wake up." I shake them again. "MC." Their name falls from my lips like a plea. "MC please-" I grab their other shoulder. "MC!" Tears spill from my eyes, breath shaky and ragged. "Wake up!"
(Raghhhh, sorry about this)
-Your dear friend, the author
#obey me shall we date#obey me x reader#obey me#mammon x reader#obey me mammon#obey me diavolo#diavolo x reader#obey me angst#why did i make this#send help#obey me leviathan#obey me x mc#obey me belphegor
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In defense of Andrew Graves: Facing Yourself
Alt title: Andrew Graves: The Will to Plow Her
I think my analysis of Andrew is one of the best essays I've written so far. But since then, I think I've expanded my understanding of his character in a way that urges me to add on to my prior essay. What I intend on doing is further fleshing out my reading of Burial, and going deeper in detail on why I think Decay ends up panning out the way it does. This essay will end up sharing a lot of text with my prior one, but will add enough scattered throughout that I think it merits a complete reread instead of just scrolling down and seeing what's new.
I've focused a lot on Ashley in my past writings. She's my favorite character in the story (and depending on how episode 3 pans out, maybe ever) and I'm pretty mortified by how some parts of the fandom have reacted towards her, so I pretty much made it my life's mission to push back against that. From highlighting the ways Andrew mistreats her, to coming up with justifications for her behavior that aren't just being a manipulative bitch, I really wanted to prove that a more favorable picture of her could be painted than most were willing to.
But in doing so, I've left Andrew in the dust.
In highlighting his flaws and the ways he mistreats Ashley, I think I've implied a level of intentionality to his actions that I don't believe he has. When I say that Ashley did nothing wrong, it's in direct response to the idea that she holds the most responsibility and agency in how their dynamic plays out, when in reality, I believe she has very little. Most of her actions in-story are in reaction to a variety of stimuli that come directly from Andrew, that he has control over and are aware of how Ashley feels about. His refusal to use clear and direct language to deny her most toxic tendencies causes her more and more stress as time goes on, and instead of giving her clear answers he opts to be catty, passive-aggressive, or, at his worst, threatening. Never direct and never clear, except when establishing boundaries over his name after the choking scene. Andrew fails to help Ashley be better in some frankly depressing ways throughout the whole story, especially in their childhoods, so we never get to see where she'd fall short if given a better influence.
...
Kind of. More on that later!
In mentioning his thing about preferring to be called Andrew instead of Andy, I also implicitly mention one of the places where Ashley falls short in their dynamic and could stand to do better: recognition.
This scene says a lot. It's the most heartbreaking scene in the game, if you ask me, and probably the single most profound and well-written moment in the entire story. I could write a whole 2000 word essay on it alone, but I've already said most of what I have to say about it through what I've said in other essays, so I'll spare you all that. Instead, I'll use it to highlight something:
"I had fun."
Their dysfunction is fun to her. She's so used to abuse and alienation that even the most awful, stressful (as far as we know) route of the game is still fun to her. And that's not a sign of her being a secret evil sociopath or whatever; that's actually not abnormal behavior to develop for a lifelong victim of abuse. Those highs and lows, those strong emotional highs and lows are -addicting-. They're -fun.- Part of why abuse victims get into so many abusive relationships is because it's easy to pick up on those patterns of thought and take advantage of them, and the cycle of abuse is often furthered when a victim of abuse tries to draw out mutually abusive behaviors in someone with no interest in having that kind of dynamic.
This is where I'm willing to acknowledge Ashley's manipulative tendencies. Not just as a matter of controlling Andrew for its own sake, purely out of jealousy or possessiveness, but as a matter of trying to further the only dynamic she's ever known in her life. Better the devil you know, right?
That push and pull- that emotional rollercoaster- is all many of us know. And it's all Ashley knows. This dynamic is something she's so used to that she reacts incredibly harshly to any attempt to change it, because she doesn't know that things can be better. Because of this, she refuses to engage with who Andrew really is, and tells herself- and him- that she *hates* Andrew:
This scene is almost as heartbreaking as the above one in a lot of ways.
Andrew putting his foot down about the Andy/Andrew name dichotomy wasn't arbitrary and it wasn't just about his comfort. It was about Andrew giving a clear indication about what needs to happen for their relationship to improve. He's recognizing the cycle between them and wants to put a stop to it, because he's confident that things between them CAN get better and evolve into something healthier. Ashley, not understanding that their dynamic can get better, because their "fun" little push and pull of abuse is all she knows, rejects that. She rejects the unknown, and says- in Andrew's mind at least- that she'll never accept that new dynamic, nor will she accept who he really is.
Ouch. No wonder he looks so sad in that screenshot.
They have a conflict of understanding here, and I think it's fair to pin most of the responsibility on Ashley. Andrew was clear in what he wanted, and Ashley just... Didn't. She didn't see the importance of it ("...whatever that means in practice") and didn't really ask. This gap in communication, perfectly displayed in this scene, is likely what causes the Decay ending. He wants things to be better, and wants to treat Ashley better, and whether or not he understands the ways in which she communicates with him is in part what determines what he sees her as.
But there's a lot of evidence that he always wanted things to be better, that he always wanted to treat her better. But external factors have made it very, very difficult, and I think there are two key points in which he started to shed the importance of those external factors and seek that better relationship, both of which happening in the apartment: The killing of the warden and the 302 lady. In the first case, he was forced to do it to protect Ashley in a way he hadn't done before, or depending on how you look at it, since the death of Nina. But the intentionality was the key point here. After this point, he calls Ashley Leyley, which may or may not seem important at this point, but it's something I'll draw attention to later, so keep that in mind.
Next is the killing of the 302 lady, which is the much, much bigger point. We don't learn much about it until later on- as at first he just gives an excuse about the nail gun that doesn't line up with what we see on the map- but during the dream, it's revealed it was a calculated, intentional killing that he did to make sure there was no evidence left behind, and because Ashley (supposedly) would've wanted him to do it anyway. I say supposedly because Ashley herself doesn't seem to ever want Andrew to kill for her past Nina's death, because he only ever kills for her to defend one or both of them. If you want more evidence that violence for violence's sake isn't something she wants, look at this part in the final dream:
A knife isn't what opens the door, despite it being placed on the ground in that very map. While it seems obvious that the knife (violence) would be the key to solving the puzzle, it's put there explicitly to show you that it isn't. It's not what she wants; what she wants is a flower.
So, why is this important? Why am I centering Ashley- again- when this essay is supposed to be about Andrew?
It's because these two killings are when Andrew's self-delusion over who he really is starts to break down. It's still there, mind, as he still relies upon Ashley as an excuse to justify it, but, as well as what I've said before, the name ultimatum is an implicit confession that the normalcy he finds comfort in is starting to lose its grasp on him. There's a lot that's been said about Andy being something close to a "moral impulse" for Andrew, given his child self's reaction to Nina's death being the only thing he does that approximates a normal moral response to his and Ashley's actions, but if you do think that- which I think is a reasonable thing to think even if I don't necessarily agree- there's something you must also keep in mind:
-He- is the one who doesn't want to be called that anymore. -He- is the one who wants to let that moral impulse go, and Ashley is the one making it difficult.
That reading is assuming that Andy is a moral impulse, which I think is... either wrong or too simplistic. Every time I see that reading, it's from someone who's trying to paint him too sympathetically and absolve him of most moral responsibility. I also find it infantilizing to equate morality with childhood in such a way? But that's another tangent that I didn't sign up to talk about. What I do think, however, is that it's a useful framing device to display his own relationship with morality; the allegory to his child self doesn't have to be there for the general pattern to exist.
When Ashley starts to grill Andrew over the killing of the 302 lady, he gets mad. Very mad. Ashley sees it as pointless, as him covering his own ass, but he genuinely did it for her sake, because he thought that's what she wanted, and that it'd make her happy. But what makes her happy isn't violence- or any similarly extreme action for that matter- it's attention and validation. Something he's always reluctant to give her, despite the fact that he always chose her over the alternatives. But despite making that choice, it's always empty and meaningless, because in Ashley's mind, he never did it for her sake.
And hoo boy, does he not like it being framed like this.
He is perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and safe... but only for her sake. It has to be for her sake. He still needs that traditional role, and he still needs to have a narrative in which he's the good guy- a protector. Because it can't be for his sake. It can't be because that's what he wants. He has to uphold that romantic (in the literary tradition sense) ideal. His darkly romantic idealistic streak colors many of his actions and beliefs. This is most plainly visible in his quip about a double suicide being romantic, but it's also visible within the symbolism present within his dream, such as how he can only pave his own path in blood unless Ashley lights the way. It's visible within his appreciation for poetry, and it's visible with how the cultist within the dream speaks in Shakespearean English.
But the transient nature of this ideal is also revealed within this dream, because there's never a cohesive, guided path, even with Ashley there to light it up. Contrary to Ashley's dream, where you literally have maps showing you where to go, Andrew's dream has many more dead ends and no map to guide him. The symbolic role he acts out gives him no clarity, and there's no overarching narrative; merely a bunch of disconnected symbols.
This is contrasted with Ashley's dream, which has narratives so clear that the story literally gives the dream an episode title.
In a sense, he wants to view himself as an actor acting out a role in a story. He wants his life to be poetic, to represent something greater, and to have a cohesive narrative. This is why he's so disconnected from his true desires: He's more concerned with acting as a representative of an ideal than a person with agency. But every time the mask drops, every time he stops acting, his true self becomes visible. He naturally settles into being comfortable around Ashley, in treating her with warmth and kindness, and their banter becomes much less toxic. As intent as he is on acting out his role, it does nothing for him, and as his dream sequence shows, it doesn't even form a cohesive narrative, because he can't act one out. It's too contrary to who he really is, and what he really wants. But that idealization doesn't just apply to himself, it also applies to Ashley. Specifically, who Ashley is, vs who he wants her to be.
In his unique dream sequence, he sees two versions of Ashley; the child version of her- Leyley- and the adult version of her- Ashley. And the differences in the ways he interacts with the two of them are stunning. Leyley is an obstinate, annoying child. She's the one he NEEDS to take care of, and he hates that. He hates Leyley for what she did for his childhood. He hates that he needs to provide for her. He has the option of trying to kill her, even, over something as small as a candle!
But in the room with all the murders, the gilded cage, he sees Ashley as an adult. This version of Ashley is stuck in a closet that he himself has to open- and to choose to see. Their interactions are calm and friendly. She teases him a bit, sure, but she's still helpful, and they have fun together. He doesn't need her, and she doesn't need him. He needed Leyley- needed the candle- but here, there are other limbs strewn about for him to take. And, crucially, he doesn't even have the option to kill this Ashley for one of the limbs.
And during the choking scene, he lets her go the moment she acknowledges that he doesn't need her anymore. This is the first time we know of that he seems comfortable enough to set a clear boundary, which is acknowledging that their prior dynamic is dead and that they're now Andrew and Ashley, not Andy and Leyley. It's a bit late to express a clear boundary -after- literally acting like he was going to kill someone, but it's the first time we know of that he sets a clear standard for what, in his mind, would improve his relationship with Ashley.
After all, what he wants is to want her, not need her. He wants Ashley for Ashley's sake. Not for what she can provide him. He doesn't even need her for sleep, he just wants her. But Ashley has trouble acknowledging this, because he's never before shown that WANT. Only a NEED. She keeps trying to find ways to make him need her, because she's never seen what his desire for her is really like. She's only ever seen him desiring someone else, someone other than her.
She's only ever seen him as Andy, because she's never truly seen Andrew, only the violence he can inflict on others. But Andrew can see both:
He can see Leyley, the needy, bratty child who always needs his attention, that he needs to provide for. The one he hates and wants to get rid of. The one he kills for to protect.
And he can see Ashley, the one who engages in friendly and cute banter with him. Who comforts and shows him physical affection. The one he loves. The one he kills for to make happy.
He just can't choose which one he wants to see. Every outside influence- from his parents, to Julia, to Nina- makes him see her as Leyley. Ashley herself makes him see her as Leyley too, whenever she brings up all the things he did for her, and calls him Andy, his child self, instead of Andrew, his current self. And as long as he sees that child, he feels like one too, and can never give Ashley anything that comes from the heart.
But he really, really wants to see Ashley as an adult. He wants to take pride in her, how much she's grown, and how driven and competent she really is.
But god damn, does that bitch ever make it hard, because there IS no real difference between Ashley and Leyley. She's grown and changed over time, taking more adult (and stereotypically feminine) responsibility upon herself, but the fact that her temperament and personality hasn't changed much obfuscates that growth. When you talk to Ashley in the closet during the dream after getting the limb, Andrew asks Ashley to come out of the closet, but she refuses to come out because he won't invite Leyley over to play, which is a pretty strong metaphor for how he interfaces with different aspects of Ashley's personality and refuses to accept others. But the reality is that he needs to accept both, or rather, see her whole self as Ashley, rather than just the parts he likes.
In the end, it's him who has to make the choice how to see her. Ashley can only see what she's been shown, but Andrew can choose.
And in the basement scene, he makes that choice.
If Ashley refuses to leave him alone with their parents, that's it. In one of the most critical and important moments of his life, she couldn't give him the space needed to make up his own mind. She couldn't treat him as an adult. She couldn't see him as Andrew. If she does give him that choice, she chooses to acknowledge that Andrew is an adult who can be trusted to make his own decisions, even though she (perhaps foolishly) believes that this choice lines up with her own interests. And frankly it does either way, but in accepting their mom's offer, her chooses to see her as Leyley once and for all. He chooses not to reciprocate what Ashley showed him. He does it because he needs to, not because he wants to. Because it's his duty, not his desire.
This is what results in the Decay ending. Through his inability to see Ashley as an adult, he surrenders his agency and views all of his actions as an extension of his responsibilities, his role, which he no longer wishes to uphold. He dissociates fully from who he really is, acting in accordance with that disconnected, barely-cohesive narrative that exists only within his mind. The game starts to resemble the heartwrenching tragedy that many seem to take for granted that it is, as their dynamic fully doubles down on its painful toxicity. And, in an example of a poetic book end, Ashley's dream shows a double suicide, closing the book on their tragic tale.
It's tragic. It's heartwrenching. It's poetic. It's beautiful.
...Except it's not. Not at all.
It's actually fucking stupid, pointless, and brutal, and Burial shows us that. When we view their spiral as beautiful, we project the same darkly romantic ideal that Andrew possesses onto the story.
But the actual reality is horrifying.
Ashley spends most of Decay terrified of Andrew, the one person she found comfort in. He acts cold, distant, and aggressive towards her, showing pointless cruelty instead of any warmth. All she wants is comfort; all she wants is to not die. She doesn't want to engage in this death spiral at all, and, in her dream sequence, shows none of the same willingness to die alongside Andrew that Andrew does with her. The moment we stop focusing on the end of the Decay dream sequence, which has very striking imagery, and if you choose not to shoot, one of the most beautiful scenes in the game, we can see it for what it really is:
A scared animal running away from a predator.
The moment you see Decay through Ashley's eyes, and not the perspective of some romantic ideal, Decay becomes terrifying, tense, and painful. There is no catharsis to be had in this tragedy. It's easily avoidable as long as Andrew chooses to engage with reality, and not the empty promises of his mother and incoherent narrative of his ideal.
Finding beauty and meaning in tragedy is how we cope with the harshness of reality. But there is no coherent narrative to the tragedies we experience, just like there's no coherent narrative to the ideal Andrew wishes to uphold. It's something we create- that he creates- but it's not something that actually exists.
And when Andrew casts aside his desire for that ideal, and the responsibilities it shackles him to, it grants him clarity that he never had before. He sees the world for how it really is, and acknowledges that nobody- the least of which their mother- is as different from Ashley as they pretend to be.
They're no better than her, and he's tired of people pretending that they are. People are all the same, no matter what ideals they try to uphold and represent. They still sacrifice others in the name of advancing themselves, still punch down whenever they can, and still lay blame on those beneath them rather than try to take control of their lives. They just use those ideals to justify themselves, but Ashley, and now Andrew, reject even the need for that justification.
This is why I believe the story is nihilistic. Not in that it asserts the inherent meaninglessness of life, but in that it grapples with the ideals we uphold and how they obfuscate the reality of the world we live in. The story, intentionally or not, highlights how ideals are often but a pretense we use to justify what we were likely going to do regardless, and how holding to them too strongly can lead to our ruin- and how monstrous they make us look to those who do not share them.
Consequently, this is how I view the part of the fanbase who thinks Decay is a good ending.
(the characters themselves represent existentialism rather than nihilism but i couldn't really fit that analysis in here without it feeling forced so i might cover that another time)
From that point on, their relationship becomes a lot more friendly, lighthearted, and playful. They ironically start acting more like children, but to quote CS Lewis:
"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence."
He's not ashamed of being playful with Ashley, or showing affection towards her. He's grown up. He finally sees her, and himself, as an adult- although he still doesn't show that in full until much later on (more or that later). But in Decay, he still sees her as a child, and to an extent, probably himself. Let's compare the ways in which he reacts to being called Andy. In Decay, he lashes out at Ashley and gets angry, even threatening her. But in Questionable Burial, he calmly says that Andy is dead and doesn't need Ashley's comfort, but still tries to reassure her that she's still needed. He's not ashamed of or hostile towards their prior dynamic, because he's grown past it. He still acknowledges Ashley's need to feel needed, but here, he recognizes its importance to her, whereas he was hostile towards it before.
It's a display of respect towards her feelings.
This interaction doesn't happen in the Sane ending, however. He doesn't play games with her and is just a lot less fun to be around all together. Why is that? Because he still hasn't yet shaken viewing Ashley as Leyley there. He still views her as a burden, as someone who needs taking care of. He's calmly accepted that, too, mind you, but he lacks respect for her because she's still a child, in his mind. But in Questionable?
The vision did more than just make him extremely embarrassed and lay his deepest desires bare. It forced him to recognize Ashley as an adult. When choosing between "Never" and "Never say never," if Never is chosen, the burden of thought is lifted off of him. But if Ashley chooses "Never say never!", he has to reckon with the fact that Ashley is an adult, someone who can consent to those kinds of things. Someone who MIGHT. Someone who has agency, and can make her own decisions. And more importantly… someone who can trust him to make his own.
Whether he desires sex or not is secondary; he's always had those feelings and has always been ashamed of them. But now that the part of him where that shame came from is dead and buried, there's no childish impulse to grow up. There's no attachment to the hate and bitterness he had before. Look at what he worries about when he picks up that she's uncertain or confused about who he is now:
It's her feelings.
He wants to be fun to be around. He wants to make Ashley happy. He loves her, and not as a romantic interest or even as a sibling. He loves her independent of all that baggage.
He loves her as a person.
Their relationship runs contrary to societal ideals in some pretty huge ways. So contrary, in fact, that it's hard for some to accept it as anything good, that it can ever be best for the people involved. It's incestuous. It involves them killing and eating their parents. It involves them distancing themselves so much from society that it's hard to believe they'll ever fit in it again. It's chaotic, it's messy, it's codependent, and maybe even toxic. And yet, here they are. They're coexisting. They're happy. They're healing. They're navigating the world in the only way they can: together.
Meanwhile, in Decay, Andrew refuses to allow himself to get closer to Ashley. He surrenders all agency to her, buys into his own narrative, drinks his own Kool-Aid, and may or may not condemn one or both of them to death in the process. Like it or not, the only path where Andrew takes ownership of his life is the one where he's closest to his sister. It's the one where he decides where they will go next, the one where he decides his own feelings matter, and acts in accordance with what he wants instead of how he thinks he should act.
His agency, his freedom, and his growth don't happen in spite of his codependency; they're happen because of it. They can't grow alone. They can't heal alone.
In reading the story, one must interrogate how important those societal ideals are in the face of the realities of what makes people happy. Are those ideals worth upholding in spite of this? Can we really allow people to fall through the cracks in the name of social norms? Can we blame people for taking rash actions when the social contract has failed them?
Or are we so blinded by those ideals that we can't see that people can be happy while blatantly disregarding them?
All I know is that in Burial, Andrew, having cast aside normalcy, now appears to be truly happy for the first time in his life.
Who are we to take that from him?
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༻ 3 Nights ༺ part 6
Gortash x fem Tav — mini series Explicit 18+
Summary: Gortash invites Tav to stay 3 days at his palace for the sake of an alliance. Reluctantly, she compromises for peace and it becomes an experience they won’t forget.
Part one -> here <-
Tav and her companions made their way to the lower city, the weight of recent events heavy on her mind. She had just helped Astarion in killing Cazador, a task that had taken its toll on both of them. It ached her heart to see Astarion so depressed in the days following the encounter. Despite her own inner turmoil, she had prioritized aiding her companions over fulfilling her treaty with Gortash by postponing killing Orin. However, Tav was aware that the time has come to prioritize Orin’s death, today.
As Tav walked with her group, engaging about their next target, Gale suddenly interrupted with a sense of urgency. “Tav, you’re going to want to see this,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. As he extended the Gazette, the newspaper’s headline caught Tav’s attention. “It’s not good,” Gale added gravely.
Tav scrunched her eyebrows in confusion as she read the front headline of the newspaper: “Adventurers or Absolutists? All you need to know.”
She crumpled the paper between her fingers, she irritated my whispered to herself, “No, no, no, no…” She looked up at her friends with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, “Who would write something like this? Those damn journalists, always peeking their noses into things they don’t understand!”
"Shit. that damn Gazzette... well at least the paper didn't mention what we looked like. But we don't have enough time before they do." Karlach added as she peeked over Tav's shoulder, frowning at the text.
"Damn it." She ripped off the first page, folding up the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. "For as much as I would love this fix this now, we need to get going. I bet Orin has something to do with this." Tav started to walk ahead of everyone.
“Wait, where are we going?” Gale chimed in, running from the back to accompany Tav’s side.
“To the sewers, we’re killing her today.” Tav held her head high, her vision blurring red with anger. The injustice of it all had reached a boiling point, and she could no longer tolerate the slanderous rumors that spread like wildfire.
"Oh, what fun!" A small giggle left Astarion's lips. "But please, do watch where you step. It smells vile down there." Despite the evident disgust on his face, there was a slight hint of excitement in his eyes.
In the city, the wait has finally come to an end. The bloodshed in the name of Bhaal would no longer taunt the people. What started as a rather tedious quest turned into a ritual with pure malice, culminating in the lifeless body of Orin in its inhuman form - a sight straight out of the hells. Killing Orin was no easy task; it required everything they had to take her down. Tav, witnessing the evil firsthand, realized that Orin was even more twisted than Gortash. Finally fulfilling Gortash’s request to rid the world of Orin, Tav now prepared to pay him a visit. But first, she sought healing from Halsin after nearly exhausting all her strength in the battle against Orin.
~
“Thank you, Halsin.” Tav calmly spoke to him as his hands glowed in pure magic, his hands cleansed her body of any pain. Only leaving behind the small cuts and bruises.
“I really hate seeing you like this. You should not be the one covered in bruises.” He had a sadness in his eyes. No woman should be bruised to this extent.
“Well you know we really haven’t gotten much of a choice lately. I’m just glad we have someone like you here with us.”
Halsin’s gentle touch and intense gaze had a calming effect on Tav, relaxing her body and mind. The silence between them was noticable, and Tav couldn’t help but feel a little nervous under his watchful eye. Tav found herself drawn to Halsin’s intelligence and the way he made her feel like he was always looking out for her well-being. Not to mention how handsome she found him.
However, there was something about Halsin that didn’t quite click for Tav. Perhaps it was his almost fatherly demeanor, or the fact that he was always so sweet and caring. Whatever it was, it made her feel like she had to be careful around him, like she was constantly on edge. Tav was able to be as raunchy as she wanted around Gortash, which made her feel more comfortable to voice her feelings around him. Even if it was mostly banter.
Despite that, he was pleasant eye candy. Her eyes matched with his for a moment before embarrassingly averting her gaze away. Halsin chuckled to himself from the flush of her cheeks. “All done then.”
Halsin instinctively withdrew his hands and took a subtle step backward, his eyes lingering on her figure as he assessed her. “You’re truly beautiful,” he murmured softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that was unmistakable. He always worried about her health and it always felt nice to be valued by him so dearly. He did make her nervous everytime something flirtatious left his mouth.
“Thanks so much again. I’ve got to clear some things up, I’ll be heading out for now.” She looked at him with grateful eyes, giving Halsins hand a slight squeeze in return with a smile. He returned her gratitude, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Oh no, it’s okay Halsin, really. You’ve done enough. Rest.” Tav patted his hand before grabbing her bag. She opened it to reveal Orin's twisted red knife, its blade covered in old dried blood and adorn with a nether stone. Tav ripped out the stone and handed it to Halsin, “Take this and keep it safe while I’m gone.”
Halsin took the stone and simply nodded to her favor. Tav was grateful to have such loyalty. Her eyes wandered to his biceps before shaking herself out of that naughty head space, “thank you.”
“You have a sparkle in your eyes as of lately. Though— I know it isn’t for me. Who is giving you such a spark in those eyes?”
Tav’s voice quivered as she spoke, “I— Halsin, there’s nobody…” Her words trailed off, leaving an awkward silence in the air. Shit. Tav felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, wondering if Halsin had caught on to something. Frantically searching for an excuse, she stammered, “Maybe it’s because of everyone’s company that I’m so grateful for.”
“Perhaps.” He once again smiled with knowing eyes at Tav before walking back towards his tent.
There was still daylight outside, and Tav had plenty of time to visit Gortash, even though it had been a week since she properly visited him. He had been popping up unannounced to talk to her whenever he caught her alone throughout the city. Tav was sure he wanted to speak with her, especially after Orin’s death.
Tav dressed down in a loose-fitting brown blouse and paired it with fitted pants to create a balanced look. Her hair fell loose, falling just below her hips. With her traveling bag in hand, she started her small journey to the palace, determined to prove to Gortash that Orin was no longer a threat and that their deal could finally be fulfilled. She had, after all, taken care of Orin, ensuring all business between them.
Upon entering into the palace Tav immediately called out for him. Yet, no response. Tav scoped the halls of the palace and called out a servant, “Hey, do you know where Gortash is?”
The servant, startled, responded, “O-oh, lady Tav! It’s you… He’s in his chambers.”
Tav thanked the woman before heading to his room. She’d never been in his chambers and it felt a bit too personal. As she approached the door, her heart quickened with anticipation. Should she simply open the door and enter, announce herself, or linger outside until he noticed her presence? The array of choices overwhelmed her momentarily, but Tav ultimately keep a high head and opened the door. She called out his name before hearing thunking noises hit the floor.
“Who dares to barge—“ Gortash stormed out of the bathroom, his body drenched from head to toe, a towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets rolled off his black locks and plopped onto his collarbones, leaving behind a trail of glistening beads. His eyes blazed with irritation as he confronted Tav, who stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth agape in disbelief.
She caught a glimpse of the trail of hair that ran from his chest down to his groin and disappeared into the tucked towel. As her eyes followed the path, she instantly averted her gaze. Turning around, she focused on the door, trying to distract herself from what she had just seen. “Fuck! You don't have to come stomping out half naked!“ Tav’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red as she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. She could feel the heat rising from her neck to her face, making her feel like she was melting in her boots.
“My favorite assassin, how have you been?” Gortash completely disregarded the fact that he barely clothed. His demeanor was nonchalant and pleased to see Tav at this moment. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Instead of walking away to cover himself, he walked over to Tav’s turned back. “I was waiting for you to come tell me good news. So—“
Tav took a deep breath before answering, "Orin, she's dead." With a steady hand, she retrieved the blade from her bag and turned back to face Gortash, the weapon glinting in the light. His eyes flickered momentarily to the knife before returning to her face, his gaze piercing and intense. Tav felt a shiver run down her spine as she took in the deep scar on his chin, her mind racing with the desire to trace its path with her fingertips.
Gortash’s expression softened as he accepted the knife from Tav, there's a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He casually discarded the weapon, letting it clatter to the floor without a second thought. His attention then shifted to Tav’s clothing. The blouse was far too big for her, and it masked her femine figure turing all her delicate curves into a shapless jumble. Not even the color suited her in the best way possible. Gortash thought he'd rather see her in a bra than the ugly shirt. He spoked up with a sense of cockiness, "I hate this color on you. Actually— the entire shirt is not flattering, really."
Tav’s mouth fell open in a mix of shock and offense. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I came here to tell you the greatest news you'll ever hear in your pathetic life, and all you can do is criticize my clothes? How classy of you,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with disbelief. Tav rolled her eyes in frustration. It seemed like he always found a way to ruin any moment of connection and attraction. “And for gods sake, put some damn clothes on…”
"The dagger— It's a lovely souvenier, dear." Gortash added as he dug into his drawers for clothes and sloppily dressed himself despite judging Tav for her unflattering blouse. "It's good that you came, I want to hear all about that fight." The shift in his demeanor caught Tav off guard – was he truly intrigued by her battle with Orin? It was an unexpected moment of connection amidst their otherwise mundane interactions.
"oh, sure..."
~
As they walked, Gortash led Tav to the back of the palace, where a vast and stunning garden awaited them. The garden was adorned with an array of bushes, flowers, and lush greenery, creating a picturesque scene that left Tav breathless with awe. Gortash, observed her reaction, tilted his head, and stared in approval by her response. It was a moment he could speak with her out of the stone walls, one that he knew he would never share with anyone else.
“You are a force to be reckoned with,” Gortash remarked with confidence as he looked at Tav. “I am glad that you are on my side.” His words carried a sense of trust and appreciation, hinting at the possibility of a newfound understanding between them. Tav had just completed an exceptionally important task for Gortash, and it seemed that this act had solidified a bond of trust between them. Perhaps she wouldn’t betray him after all.
"You're welcome. It was a pleasure killing her." Tav admittingly let the dark thought slip her lips. The weight of her words hit her, and she widened her eyes in realization of what she had just admitted. Instantly, she flashed an embarrassed smile at Gortash, acknowledging the sudden darkness of her confession. “She gave me one hell of a hard time… she almost killed me, to be honest,” Tav confessed with a tinge of sadness in her voice. She lowered her tone as she continued, “She turned into this— monster. It was like something straight out of the hells.”
Tav had to grapple with the impact of the horrific encounter with Orin. The weight of her words lingered in the air, painting a vivid picture of the intensity and trauma Tav had to endure. Tav felt a bit defeated in the moment, this fight took a lot of her mentally and physically.
In the midst of a tense atmosphere, Gortash chuckled at Tav's grave confession, "Am I rubbing off on you, little hero?" His words injected a small sense of light into the heavy air, although he could discern the challenge in her eyes. Seeking to reassure her, Gortash offered his support, "If there is ever a problem, you can come to me. After all, we are allies now, offically." A tinge of his voice felt cocky and playful at the end.
Tav smiled slightly and nodded her head to his offer. She felt like he was actually being genuine for once and it was a good palette cleanser to what she was used to.
They walked down a carved out stone path into the garden side by side. They were silent for the most part admiring the scenray and company. Tav bite down on her lower lip as many thoughts flowed into her head. Mostly that she now felt insecure in the baggy blouse she wore that he clearly hated so much. It felt strange to suddenly care about what he thought of her appearance.
A fleeting image of Tav’s face crossed his mind as they walked in silence. Gortash was captivated by the delicate features that seemed out of place in the harsh world he ruled. Gortash peered over his shoulder to peek at her. He found himself admiring how silky her hair was and how it curled at the end.
Gortash’s thoughts of Tav were a dangerous indulgence, one that made him vulnerable in a way he couldn’t afford. Yet, he couldn’t deny the allure of Tav’s beauty, a beauty that seemed to defy the darkness that surrounded them. Even in the brown top that consumed her natural curves, Tav was like forbidden fruit in their small bond.
But in rare moments of vulnerability, Gortash found himself lost in thoughts of Tav’s face, her silky hair, and the longing that stirred within him.
During their time apart, he watched over Tav with a keen eye, particularly noticing the stares of her companion. These stares were not just casual glances, but rather intense, lingering looks that seemed to bore into her very being. Jealousy crept under his skin like a slow-burning fire, fueled by the memories of that wizards lustful stares.
Gortash’s voice erupted abrasively from his thoughts, catching Tav's attention. The question that followed was rather random, laced with a hint of jealousy that lingered in the air. "Whose that pathetic wizard in the group? He's always staring at you."
Tav tilted her head up questionably as she stopped in her tracks, “He’s my friend. And what does it matter with you anyways?” She crossed her arms with curiosity.
In a flat, lifeless tone, Gortash elaborated his jealous statement, “Because he thinks he stands a chance with you.”
Tav was taken aback by the harshness of his jealousy. She couldn’t help but mock his behavior, “Maybe he does? He’s intelligent, sweet, and far from a homicidal maniac.” Tav playfully teased him, “What? Do you really think you stand a chance?”
Gortash let out a small, evil chuckle as he grabbed Tav’s wrist and pulled her body closer to his. His hands firmly grasped the top of her hips, closing the gap between them. With a menacing expression, he brought his face dangerously close to hers and whispered in a mean tone, “Do I not?”
Tav's eyes widdened from his advances in surprise and then responded flusteredly with a firm “No.” She shook her head in denial softly.
His index fingers traced sensually around her hips. “That’s hard to believe when your face is like this. Such big eyes that plead,” he said, gazing into her widened glossy eyes. His tone was filled with domination.
Tav could feel his gaze drilling into her, could feel the heat of his body radiating towards her. She closed her eyes, her heart racing as she waited for him to make his move.
And then, without warning, he leaned in. His lips brushed against hers lightly, then finding a sweet spot. Tav's pulse raced as she felt a rush of excitement. Kissing so openly during daylight. But Gortash’s gentle touch was reassuring, and she found herself melting into his tighten embrace.
Their lips moved together, soft and dominating, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. They gasped for air between heated kisses. Tav felt a rush of emotions, her heart pounded in her chest as she wrapped her arms around Gortash’s neck, deepening the kiss. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a passionate kiss.
As they kissed, Gortash’s grip on her tightened, pulling her closer to him. Tav felt a surge of desire, her body responding with goosebumps from his touch. Her knees grew shakey, and a growing heat tickled her body. Gortash held any additional weight that Tav lost in her legs.
His hands slipped down to her thighs, scooping her thighs up to wrap around his slender waist. Tav’s hands lovingly caressed the sides of his stubbled face, as their lips hungerly devouring the bitterness away. Tav finally traced the pad of her thumb over the deep scar on his chin.
Gortash held her body close, propping her against the nearest pillar. His hand gripped her neck, firmly holding her jaw. He pressed his hips against hers eagerly, causing Tav to let out a soft whimper of surprise. “N-Not here, not now,” she whispered.
“Isn’t this what you want— To surrender to me? " He huskily asked between the kisses. he whispered, his voice filled with desire. His intense gaze locked with hers as he spoke. Gortash's brown eyes fell into a half opened state.
Tav giggled softly against his lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The look on her face was a sight to behold, a mix of playfulness and determination that made Gortash’s heart race. She couldn’t give in so easily to have him devour her so shamelessly in his garden, not when there was still so much to explore and discover.
Tav teased him in a whisper, breaking free from his hold and taking a step back. “I never surrender, you should know that,” she said, her voice firm and seductive. Her feet touched the ground once more, and she stared flirtatiously up at Gortash, her eyes daring him to try and catch her. “I would rather watch you squirm for it.”
Tav blushed through out the teasing smiles. She reached into her pocket and unfolded the ripped newspaper article, "I expect you to fix this however."
“Mmm, tempting.” Gortash clicked his tongue in the lost of her warmth. His eyes fixated on the news clipping, he took it softly from her hands.
"Thank you— Enver." Tav smiled confidentalty at him, her hands were clasped behind her back as she began to walk backward, then turned around completely to leave the palace. Tav enjoyed keeping him on his toes. She noticed how easily he aimed to please her, and she was keenly aware of the power of her desirability over him.
To Be Continued ~
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Not Wholly Evil |II| Pirate!Eddie au
summary: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.
Series Masterlist
word count: 5.7k
"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. heavy scarring and wounding. minor character death. allusions to suicide, depression and trauma. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: frequent mentions of non-con and allusions to assault, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment. abuse. manhandling.
There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot's sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.
Chapter 2: Asphodel
"Because you and I are alike, and there will come a moment when you have a chance to show it."
- Elizabeth Swann, Pirates of the Caribbean
Despite gaining the privilege of an open cage and access to the rest of the ship, you decided against this freedom… and in a way, that was all the freedom you could ask for, wasn’t it? To choose where to go or where to stay. The restrictions were only so far as anyone else on this ship. The uncharted waters kept you all at the bay of the plank.
But perhaps there was a part of you was scared to go beyond what had now become your own piece of the ship, a safety blanket among the ravenous snake pit. It was not even a question. You could just tell by how you closed your cell door at the sound of footsteps approaching down the ladder towards you. These men were wild and unpredictable. You could never expect what they would do once with you. The distance was the only option.
Perhaps not so free as the rest, after all.
Yet.
Because you would fight it. All of them. Make your presence known and show everyone you were not like any other they had snagged off a ship. You assumed there had been more, after all. More prisoners, more girls to take advantage of. The shackles hanging down from the wall in your cell, stained red with rust and blood, were proof enough of what once occurred below deck.
Despite being the safest place you could be in, it still was a nightmare on Earth to spend your days there, among the crates and chests filled with stolen treasures, supplies, and whatever else was deemed worth the same amount of treatment as you. Everything had been stacked mindlessly, dropped at the earliest convenience, and items only moved to make a short path to your holding cell. The disorganisation and thoughtlessness around you had been a bittersweet nuisance. You could not stand it, but at the same time, it was nice to have something so trivial on your mind as the lacklustre distribution of goods around the ship.
Clearly, no one cared about what was going on. No one spent enough time there to notice anything, besides you, of course. The only times someone climbed those steps were to bring you your meals or to bring more storage in. So what harm would it do to you put some order to it?
It wasn’t much, but you had created a way to pass the long hours aboard. And it was pleasant, though exhausting. With the food you were given, your energy was not what it once used to be, and the first thing to go when not feeding the body properly is the muscle. Moving the larger items took a while, but you saw a positive outcome. By taking everything slowly, you had no fear of completing your task soon. It was a never-ending activity. Tiring but something for you to do, and most importantly, keep your mind too occupied with the straining work ahead rather than the larger picture of your current circumstances.
A part of it was also an attempt at claiming your territory. Lifting large boxes was doing the trick when it came to letting out your anger and frustrations, too, a way to channel everything into the peculiar renovation. A point to focus on something physical, something you could control, instead of your emotions and everything going on around you.
A few days since you began doing so, things started making sense. But, most importantly, no one who ever came down there seemed to notice or care what you were doing. Besides the food they had to feed you to keep you alive, there was little interest they seemed to have for your existence.
You found many other objects that they must have considered rubbish, but you could use them just fine. Like the old sails, or what you assumed were scraps of an old torn sail, folded up in a corner. It was such a large piece of material that you tied it up to the corners of your barred walls, creating a curtain that gave you some privacy. Most of the chests around you were locked, giant padlocks handing down from the cover, the keys most likely at the bottomless pit of the ocean along to their original owners. But some were shut, and of course, you poked a peak inside with interest.
Some were empty, and some had scrolls of paper, which you took up as light reading for early mornings when the sun hit through the windows just right, giving you a bright light source. There were captain logs and maritime routes; letters never sent, and maps never finished.
One caught your attention, and you read the most on those drabby mornings when nothing else could make you feel alive. This one particular letter, which you could only assume was intended for a young woman from her lover, kept your heart beating and your hopes of escaping this ship alive. At least the parts of it that you had managed to find, for the parchment was ripped to pieces, the last chunk still missing among the piles of items you were roaming through.
By now, you had read it so many times you didn’t even need the paper to recite it.
My dearest,
The nights have been cruel, but I spend them thinking of you, and suddenly, the dark sky does not feel so heartless anymore. I think of your eyes.
The sea reminds me of them— it is a calming sight each morning, and I imagine you looking out of your window at the shore, and perhaps we look up at the same clouds, and it is like you are right by my side and the wind feels not as harsh suddenly. More like a kiss straight from your lips.
Some days I hum the words of that song you sang to me. I know what you have said about my voice, and the kind words still warm my heart, but it will never compare to yours. I will never do the melody justice. Only you…
There certainly was something about the love you felt seeping through each word you read and reread. It almost put you down into this state of calmness as it looped in your mind in the evening, letting you fall asleep.
It was another evening like all the others before it. Your dinner had been served in silence. If you had not known better, you would have assumed all men had taken an oath of silence, never to speak again, but it was evident the quiet was only limited to you. As you felt the slumber climb over you, the deck was alive and well.
The contrast between living aboard the Hellfire at night and day could not be more than that. While the sun was up, the boots fell heavy above your head, fatigue coming over them as the work had to be done. The crew did what they could to keep the boat afloat and sailing on. As much as the deep waters could be a calming sight to some, it was absurd that there could be nothing around you but water for days. Undoubtedly, the ship must reach a harbour quickly; provisions could only be stored in the salt barrels for so long. The last time the boat reached shore must have been days before your cage door had opened. Then again, you knew what going ashore meant for the people like the Hellfire crew… and did not wish the aftermath upon your worst enemies.
There would be fire, which you knew they adored. It came alive in spirit and light when the night sky appeared. When the work was done, and the sails smoothly let themselves be guided by the wind, you could always hear them walking above your cage, taunting their freedom with songs and tales. The ship was like a masquerade when the moon lit everything in her silver glow. It would have to be, or else the weariness and longing for land would take over.
The songs were nothing special, typical shanties and hymns allured by a drunken chorus, singing the ballads of adventure and treasures, beautifully sombre. Yet, these moments made you believe that some humanity was left in them. Some kindness and compassion, too. A part that they would never dare show when the sun came up.
It was as if the men aboard were two different people in one, where one side came out during the night and the other during the day. And you seemed to much prefer the nighttime sort. As, during the sun hours, the candles and lanterns went out, and with it, their souls were all back to their usual dirty selves. Their dark spirits would take over once more.
Either way, the nights were extended, as no sleep came to anyone. Not with the singing being so loud that it drilled into your ears. For them, slumber would come later and disappear quickly too, but no one seemed to mind.
You had no way of telling the time on board, the only possible tell sign would be the sun's position, but even that was never exactly as you had barely any idea where in the world you were. All you could make out was that the crew made way for their hammocks in the small hours of the morning when the sun teased its appearance at the horizon, its glow awakening everything else but the drunken sailors that held you captive.
The ship was asleep. The only sounds you could make were the waves smashing into the vessel and the gulls screeching in the distance. It was an opportunity. You could roam the deck unbothered.
With a deep but shaky breath, you inhaled the salty sea air as you climbed the ladder, hands paling at your knuckles from your grip on it. The trapdoor opened with a creak, and you froze in your movements, waiting for the sound to have woken up everybody… but the silence resumed. You let out another deep breath and pushed the door open to reveal the sky, millions of stars looking down at you, but already fading as the sun appeared slowly. The dewy morning hours were dark but brighter than anything you had been surrounded with since your capture.
It had been getting colder by the day, and you already knew that by sitting in your cell. Soon enough, more than your dress would be needed for the climate you were entering. Shivers swarmed your arms at the wind blowing by. Your steps remained small and apprehensive as you needed help figuring out where to go. You had the entire ship deck to yourself for a short time. There was so much to explore above ground, but your legs automatically steered you towards the barriers of the ship.
You walked over to the ship's edge, letting your nails dig into the wood and your frustrations on the trim piece. Stand there, look at the horizon, and watch the sun slowly rise from under the water. The first sunrise you witnessed in weeks— at least not from the small window that peaked right over your head in your cell– had been a euphoric experience. Everything felt brand new. As your last attempts at peeking at the waves had resulted in painful flashbacks of your previous minutes aboard the Red Tail, now, you focused on the calm ripples of the water. No longer was the only thing you saw in the blue the blood of your long-lost friends. You saw their resting place. In the early morning, golden sun rays peeked out from the horizon, illuminating the drab grey of the waters like a liquid treasure hiding beneath the surface. You saw the waves moving along the ship sheepishly, back and forth. Calmly, sleepy, drifting away into the distance with each push of the boat and wind. It was slowly waking up, the sea, the earth.
What would it dream of, you pondered. It must be lovely to be so at peace.
If you closed your eyes and let the fresh golden light wash over you for long enough, you could fool yourself into oblivion. That you were somewhere else. A happy place.
It was so peaceful and quiet that the smallest of disturbances broke you out of your happy thoughts. You felt the presence from across the ship, his eyes on you, disintegrating your moment of bliss. But, of course, it could have been anyone, and you expected it to be one of the crewmates, one of the men with poor luck who had to start their work shift with the sun.
Never, in a million years, did you imagine turning around and meeting with a pair of golden hazel eyes. Captain Munson was leaning against one of the masts, leg prodded against the wooden pole. He chuckled at the sight of your face, evidently struck with panic. How had he even reached the centre of the deck so quietly? Because… he could not have been standing there, or anywhere, all this time?
In one hand, he held an apple, and in the other, a small knife. He pressed the blade against the fruit’s skin and his thumb over it, cutting a small piece off. Then, still with the knife under it, he brought the apple slice to his lips. Never did his eyes leave yours as he ate. You felt unnerved with each move he made. You felt the need to look away, but for some reason, you simply couldn’t. It was like he was capturing you in a trance. So instead, you let your nails dig into the ship’s rail even more.
‘Do not let me disturb you, my darling,’ he eventually said and bode you farewell with a slight bow before parting ways. You were left stunned. Not sure what to say or do, you just turned back to look at the sea. It had no effect and felt like a sore loser's words, but you mumbled “Not your darling” under your breath.
Had that been all? It was all extremely disorienting. Because, of course, he had meant to disturb you. He did so to your very core. That cold-eyed gaze opposed the actual warmth of his honey irises. It froze your blood. It spoiled everything about your morning.
And as quickly he had appeared behind you, so quick the captain was to disappear out of your view again. You looked around yourself for good measure, extending your neck to locker over the larger barrels standing in the corners of the deck, but he had genuinely evaporated into the early day’s mist. A phantom of the sea.
But just because he was gone didn’t mean his presence was. You still felt his eyes on you, lurking from hidden darkness. Perhaps the darkness was in your own head, inner thoughts poisoning your sanity, but the feeling remained nonetheless.
Suddenly, the calm sea was anything but. Instead, the light sky seemed dull and grey, the waves bouncing off the ship aggressive. There was nothing peaceful about it left behind. There was nothing left for you there. But you remained steady in your place on the boat, looking out ahead at the horizon until the sun rising began to burn your eyes with its bright presence, and the wind blew harder. Only then did you decide, on your own devices, to head back down into the warmer discomfort of your enclosure.
You lay on the ground and threw that thin fleece over yourself, hoping to fall asleep and thus pass on the rest of the day. But, if Lady Luck was on your side, it would be one of the silent dreams that asked nothing of you but your mind, leaving it as it was. In fact, letting you rest from the horrors that were your life.
And so, the sleep came, but quiet it was not.
Flashes of the Red Tail. Flames, explosions, blood, it was all around you. Men dying over and over again. You tried to scream out, reach for them, and help them, but it was as if your body was stuck in the mud, unable to move. So you just had to stand there, helplessly, as you watched everyone around you die.
The pool of blood expanded over the sinking ship. The sky turned dark, almost black. You looked up to see the sun–that same sun that kissed you welcome mere minutes ago at the horizon– melting, enveloping everything in darkness. Once you looked back down, another urge to scream came over you.
A figure was standing not far from you, perhaps a few feet away. Covered in the blood that the ship was drowning in, from head to toe, he was basically dripping in it.
He smiled at you, a canine-baring grin. Then, slowly but steadily, he neared you.
“Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun, princess, aren’t we?’
You awoke with a pitched scream.
Breathing heavily, just trying to get your heart back on a steady rhythm, the clanking of swords echoing in your head was doing everything against it. Just like that day on the Red Tail. Just like in your dream. You could still hear it, and it felt so real. Each loud hit of metal against metal made you wince. Cannons would follow soon. Then the blood…
But only the swords remained. It kept going and going. Then there were the footsteps. Heavy above you, making the whole ceiling shake. It felt like a stampede, in all honesty. And there was shouting. Boisterous clammer. Followed by crowded cheers and some clinking… that you could not immediately make out what it was supposed to be.
One thing you knew for sure, however. Whatever was happening above you, it could not mean anything good. It simply reminded you too much of that other day. That first day… or was it your last?
There was a fight ongoing on the deck. The question was, what kind? Were you being attacked? Would another group of men come down the ladder steps and haul you onto another ship? Will they cheer over Munson’s death as these men cheered over Carver’s? Would this circle of hell ever end?
No, it couldn’t be that. The cheering was too joyful and—was that laughter you could hear? Yes. Loud and boisterous. Right above your head. In a chorus. Your mind went to the evenings you had endured sleeplessly as the men jested until the sun rose, but when you looked out the window, you still saw the bright blue sky. So what was going on?
Against your better judgement, you took a risk, all in the thought of showing initiative and how powerful you would look walking out of the trapdoor onto the full deck. You just told yourself that enthusiastic cheering was a sign of no evil. It indicated that it was no malicious attack of another ship, that whatever you would encounter, there would be nothing to be afraid of. With that confidence, you climbed up there, pushed the trapdoor up and–
A blade wobbled back and forth as it deeply penetrated the deck's surface, inches away from your face. You held onto the edge of the floorboards, trying not to fall back down, as the scream that erupted from your lungs halted everything around you. Everybody in reach hooked his gaze on you if they weren’t fast enough to run up to the hole you were attempting to crawl out of. No one helped, of course. They just stared. Dozens of pairs of blank and cold eyes blinked arhythmically as the bodies they belonged to stood frozen in a circle, unsure of what to do next. The blade stuck in the wood still shifted in its new makeshift holster.
Then, much like on your very first day aboard, the circle opened up to reveal the captain. He stood several feet away, and you caught him blinking slowly before approaching you. Had he been hesitant to approach? Was he, though you doubted, startled to see you?
But whatever emotion it had been to cause his hesitance, it was gone as he spoke:
‘Just in time, darling!’ The silence was broken, and so was the tension your appearance had created.
He had an almost identical sword in his hand. Behind him stood one of his crew mates, face paling despite the grimace he was trying to pull off among his peers. He must have been who the captain dramatically disarmed, ending with that sword landing and nearly cutting your nose off. Was anyone feeling guilty for putting that fear upon you?
Highly unlikely.
The captain neared your trapdoor, leaning down on one knee and reaching his hand out to you, an attempt at some fair treatment toward; helping you get up onto the deck gracefully—you boldly refused. The idea of touching him… images your mind had conjured up in the night still pestered you and flashed past your eyes at the sight of his hand so near you. You looked away as your feet touched the deck for the second time that day. You hated the sight of him any given day, but this particular afternoon, it was even more of an unbearable sight.
The captain had abandoned his hat, opting to tie his hair with a red ribbon into a ponytail, failing to do so properly as strands were already escaping at the frame of his face. His long black coat and shirt also had been abandoned. It was a hot day, and with the training, he was most likely performing, the sweat on his chest was already forming, despite the cool breeze standing a strong fight with the sails.
A ghastly sight, truly, the sweat that slicked over the countless prints of black ink on his arms, chest and ribs. The ink barely covered the various scars in the same placements. Some were small, like the nicks of a blade. The new bright red cut across his clavicle would surely join that collage. Others were unmistakably older but must have once been deep flesh wounds, possible gunshots, bites, or the results of things you most likely would not even be able to fathom. It looked like a visual of a life of torture.
You blinked, letting his previous words settle in your mind. ‘In time for what?’ You looked around. All eyes remained on you since you had made your presence known, something you had fallen out of habit with. You were not used to getting so much attention anymore.
‘Training, of course.’ Munson easily pulled the blade out of the ship planks, handing it to you. ‘Has anyone ever taught you how to fight?’
‘No.’ It was unladylike to swordfight, scuffle, argue, or do anything you did at the time of your capture. The heft felt awkward in your grip, clearly too big for your hand, but the entire piece felt off-balance. It must have been a homemade contraption of one of the Hellfire crew. Possibly molten out of the treasures residing downstairs with you. You adjusted your grip on the sword, but nothing felt right.
Nothing you did slipped past the Captain, whose eyes were on you and his crew. He pursed out his bottom lip in a mocking pout.
‘A true pity.’ He swung his blade back and forth. Each swoosh in the air made you flinch. ‘maybe if someone had, you wouldn’t have ended up here with us.’ The chuckle started deep within him but evolved into a guttural laugh from the whole crew. The sound boiled your blood in anger as well as embarrassment. You wanted to attack their captain immediately but knew it wouldn’t end well. He looked you up and down with his casual smirk, and you made it a point to, somewhat confidently, keep your head up. No longer could he think he could just do whatever he pleased with you. ‘But there is always time to learn, I believe.’
‘I don’t want to fight you,’ you simply stated, looking down at the longsword clutched in your hand.
‘C’mon, princess,’ Munson swung his sword back and forth, ‘it’s no fighting. it’s just a bit of fun.’
‘I see no fun in useless acts of violence.’ Did any of your words sound profound? Confident? You were ready to hear another wave of laughter, but it did not come. The only response was a smirk of the captain, but not one you had seen before.
It wavered.
‘Don’t be like that, my darling.’ He recovered with his mockery, but you were no longer having any of it. With large strides, you closed the gap between you two across the deck. The men around you were split in moving back or getting ready to seize you if the situation required interference. The captain was among the former group. His stance shifted backwards as you met him, your chest nearly hitting his.
Your grip tightened on the sword, and he must have noticed it by how his eyes shifted down to your arm and back to your face.
A million different things ran through your mind; there were endless possibilities for relieving your anger at the man standing before you, all being the catalyst of events that you did not dare start. What were you to do?
Your nails dug into your hand as your fingers wrung the halt of the sword. With this object alone, you could do a hundred different things, most of which would result in only a worse situation for yourself.
You struck the blade down with as much power as you could muster. Like it had hit the planks in front of your face moments before, it now missed the captain’s feet by mere inches. He looked down, never moving anything but his eyes, and then looked directly at you again. His features were blank of expression; no fear or anger, but no amusement either.
‘Call me any of that again, and next time it won’t be the deck that gets it.’ You had dared to move closer, letting your faces nearly touch. That smell of cinnamon and rum greeted you again. A few seconds passed as you stood there, eyes piercing through one another. Your blood boiling, his chest heaving with deep, controlled breaths.
He did not respond.
Or at least not until you had turned to walk away.
‘I would love to see you try. It sure is easy making empty threats, prin–’ but he never got to finish his mockery. Perhaps because it was even easier to sound confident behind one’s opponent’s back, not looking them in the eye, that angered you. The fact that the man who threw you in a cage was, in reality, nothing but a coward. At that moment, all regard for your safety escaped you as you turned back on your heel and lunged your fist towards his face.
It must have hurt you more than him, but the pink mark across his cheek was established. You did not bother to await his reaction once more and walked away for good– as far as the circumstances allowed you, which was not far. The ship was only so big, and the circle of men had moved onto the trapdoor, locking you in the fresh afternoon air.
They were ready to retaliate for your aggression towards their captain, but his words boomed across all ears. ‘Stand back! I said stand back,’ he repeated when some still tried to reach for you. You passed the crew and made for the spot you had become familiar with over the morning. Trying to ignore everything behind you, you again reached the ship’s edge. Their voices lingered over everything, impossible to block out, but you let yourself focus on the ripples in the water as your anger subsided.
Not long now. You had already been so close to home when they took you, and it's been days. Surely, soon they would reach the shore of your home and give you back to your family. That idea somehow managed to overcome everything that was actually happening around you.
Though you had slept through most of it, it had been a long day, and signs of it were showing in the sky. Now turning a soft pink and orange as the sun began to set once more, the night was coming. With it, the stars. Would you stay outside long enough to look at them? It had been a sight you had missed properly gazing at the millions of twinkling lives above you, the constellations and the stories they told.
It would all depend on the men that had now resumed their sword-fighting practice.
The casualness of it all was actually rather comforting, as it, for once, did not bring back memories of the unfortunate ship you had bid farewell to but rather the surroundings of your father’s estate. There, men like Admiral Carver were standing guard or practising, but also young boys and girls who ran away from their mothers, pretending to be on great little adventures with large twigs for weapons. For a moment, you could swear you could smell the fresh flowers that bloomed outside your bedroom window, or the spices haggled for at the market in the harbour. There were cats meowing and dogs barking. To think that once you had grown tired of it all, yearned for something new in life, but now could not imagine anything greater than a return home…
Who knew how long you had stood there staring at the darkening horizon. Your thoughts must have sent you off into the distance from the ship, as you had not realised anything happening around you. The sea was quickly becoming a comfort. When looking out at it, you did not have to face the cruel reality of the Hellfire and the people upon it. The waters seemed so inviting and freeing that you couldn’t help but think if maybe walking the plank wasn’t always a punishment…
You had not even noticed the smile creeping up at the corners of your lips, but it never came to fruition as you were broken out of the spell.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ the deep voice startled you, but you did not show it. In your short time aboard, and now being in actual contact with these scoundrels, there was one thing you had learned: To show fear to people like Munson, like the men on this ship, was possibly the stupidest thing a person like you could do. Letting fear control you would let them control you, playing right into their hand. Instead, display confidence and strength, which gets under their skin.
You glanced over as much as you could without physically turning in his direction. His long dark hair messily flowed with the wind now that he had released it from the ribbon. He was looking directly at you, making you grow hot with anger. Then, subtly rolling your eyes, you looked away again, back to the waters. That, however, did not stop the Captain from speaking again.
‘A view like this makes you think of how big the world is. How small you are.’ He held his dagger again in his left hand, twirling it mindlessly between his fingers. He was standing so close that your arms were brushing against one another. His gold and silver chains jingled at the slightest of movements. You tried to focus on that instead of his words. A task that turned out to be much more challenging than you had thought, as the Captain did not enjoy your rejection.
‘A bit of advice, princess,’ he leaned closer to you, his breath mixing with the wind. His nicknames for you would just have to lose their meaning in your head, as clearly, they were not going anywhere. ‘The silent treatment is not doing you any favours. On the contrary, my men like their girls quiet.’
‘Spare me, please,’ you hissed.
‘Believe me,’ he responded as if he could read your mind, ‘finding yourself on our ship has spared you enough,’ he let his head hang lightly askew, looking up at you with his large eyes, bemused– you could tell you had lost his one-sided game by speaking up. Then you might as well keep going.
‘Is that a threat?’ Just a reminder that even when you were not locked in a cage, you were not truly free or safe. Their danger constantly loomed over you.
‘Far from it, darling. I simply hope you know that there are much worse things out there,’ he leaned forward, forehead nearly touching yours as his hand reached out to the waters at your side to point at the waves with his blade. ‘You probably can’t even think up the horrors that live out in the wilderness of the oceans.’ What could he possibly know about your imagination? If only he knew that, at this specific moment, you were considering five different ways to gauge his honey eyes.
You turned to him directly now. His stare at you was cold and focused. The mark you had left on his cheek was now also unavoidable. It called to you and anyone who looked at him like a beacon of a lighthouse. That smile of yours from seconds before threatened to come out again, but you held it in. However unbothered he might have sounded at the strike, you did not believe that could have been it. There must have been a reason for his current approach. What you had done in front of his entire crew was unacceptable and certainly not inconsequential–you could not imagine that he had not set a punishment ready for you. And whatever it would be, you doubted it would be subtle or free of pain. Yet, you reminded yourself of the freshly taught lesson. Keep your head up. Don’t show your fear.
Not breaking eye contact, you decided to simply ask.
‘What is it that you want from me?’
And the Captain did not waste a second in his response.
‘See me in my quarters, darling.’
-Chapter 3-
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Limbus Company theory
Okay, I have absolutely no idea if anyone's noted this yet. Did anyone pick up that the Sinners are held down by a Sin, represented in their EGO, and their Canto are about their struggles against another sin entirely. The branch creates a space for 'penance'. When Rodya entered the field of effect of the branch, Baba Yaga went crazy, freezing the entire mine. There's clearly some paralleling at work here.
So let's go through.
Gregor, Canto 1: Sloth V Gluttony (survival); note that this expedition failed, and we later explore Sloth with Yi Sang
Rodion, Canto 2: Pride V Gloom; note that Rodya refused to actualize
Sinclair, Canto 3: Gluttony (Greed) V Lust
Yi Sang, Canto 4: Sloth V Gluttony (greed); Dante's resonance begins
Ishmael, Canto 5: Gloom V Envy; Dante's resonance progresses
When we look at the dominant sins of the remainder...
Heathcliff, Canto 6: Envy...
Don Quixote, Canto 7: Lust…
Hong Lu, Canto 8: Gloom…
Ryoshu, Canto 9: Wrath…
Meursault, Canto 10: Pride…
Outis, Canto 11: Pride…
Faust, Canto 12: Pride…
Dante, Canto ?: ????
Sins not confronted yet: Sloth, Pride, Wrath
Sinner sins left to explore: Envy, Wrath, Lust (If we're talking strictly what progressed Dante's clock, Gluttony & Pride)
Assuming Dante's doomsday clock setting is moving in 5 minute intervals, Dante currently has 2 positions left on their clock; 5 minutes to midnight and midnight itself. It's made almost explicit that their resonance with sinners is the tool with which they resonate with the branches. By obtaining each sin, they're building to some sort of complete whole.
Predictions based on this theory; Pride being so back-heavy probably means we're going to scramble for branches with Hermann. It gives the impression that for whatever reason Pride is necessary, which is interesting.
My own theory: Rodya says she'll settle in the cold [Gloom] for a little longer, and Sonya says she doesn't have the mark. I'd say this might mean Rodya hasn't sufficiently resonated. Sonya may have tried to bait her in hopes of getting better results in this regard.
This may mean ...
The last few Cantos will be a losing streak (LOL)
Someone who hasn't cleansed themselves of their opposing sin/formed the mark of cain will get the branch; I'd imagine this person shares sins with Dante, Vergilius, or Charon, who I believe are probably Envy, Wrath, and Lust respectively (OOP @ WHO WE'RE MISSING ⬆️)
In that respect Vergilius V Sloth, Charon V Pride, Dante V Wrath. I even think the wrath Dante is opposed to could be Vergilius
Very notable there's only 3 sins missing; it could be possible we already have Dante's branch; they were very obviously part of the group of Cain Marked, and again, their clock started at 25-to-midnight and just kind of sat there for a little while. It's also possible it didn't move until Yi Sang because their sin was Gluttony (ambiguous manifestation)? If Hermann also represents Lust ..... Think about it
Rodya's refusal of the call of Cain might become plot-relevant, just as our failure to observe what happened to Gregor on the myth arc timeline of 3 years ago and relationship with the Big Bad makes it obvious he's going to be a core character in the future. We can tell based on those who have the mark of Cain that he just doesn't have the chops, so mayhaps their mutual exclusion will be a surprise tool that will help us later.
And of course, my theories for the sins that weigh down our remaining Sinners: Heathcliff V Sloth, Don Quixote V Wrath, and Ryoshu V Pride. I predict all the Prides share Rodya's opposing force, which is Gloom; we see this in the books these characters are based on, with Meursault's despair of being sentenced to death being overcome by his Pride, Outis putting herself through grueling trials for the sake of returning to her family, and Faust beginning with suicidal depression leading to her pride creating(summoning) Mephistopheles.
I think it would be pretty funny if Dante was Gretchen's evil baby. Or that Gretchen might have been their previous self, manipulated into giving birth to Dante (extremely vulnerable and exploitable state), which they will be disgusted by and put to death. How many representations of the Divine Feminine in classic literature can Dante represent any% speedrun
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Crown’s S Class Mission - Roger Barel (Bitter End)
As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this.
Roger: Hold up. Not gonna let you kill my cute student.
Now then, it’s time for Instructor Roger’s fun and exciting punishment.
Master of the estate: Oliver, shut that guy up!
Instructor Oliver: The one who needs to shut up is you.
Oliver grabbed the man and pinned him to the floor.
Master of the estate: *cough* Wha-what are you doing!
Instructor Oliver: I can’t lie to myself anymore. That’s all.
Roger: Capture everyone involved.
--
What awaited was an unimaginable scene.
Roger used rigorous muscle training to punish those involved.
When they were no longer able to stand, they were handed over to the police.
Kate: The Beauty Muscle Club has pretty much dissolved.
Roger: That’s good. And all the hospitalized women will be compensated.
Kate: While money won’t fix their situation…I hope it’ll help, even if just a little.
Oliver the instructor also came forward as one of the accomplices.
After atoning for his crimes, he planned on running his own sports gym.
He wanted to establish a place for women to work out together.
???: Um, excuse me…
Kate: Emilia…
Emilia’s wise gaze caught mine when I turned around.
(...If she overheard us, she knows that she got deceived, doesn't she?)
(...What can I say to her—)
Emilia: Um, thank you so much!
Kate: Huh?
Emilia winked and smiled.
Emilia: I’ve faced a series of disappointments, but I can’t let that get me down.
Her strength revealed how much she had gone through in her life.
Kate: …I’ve also faced a series of disappointments. I could only think about how useless and pathetic I was.
But I can’t stay depressed.
Emilia: I agree. I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself, Kate.
While I waved goodbye to Emilia, I noticed Roger’s gaze on me.
Kate: What is it?
Roger: Nothing. Just thinking about how you’re growing into a fine woman.
Kate: D-don’t praise me out of the blue.
Besides, it’s not like you raised…
Roger: Yeah, yeah. Anyway, as a reward for growing up well, I’m taking you out somewhere nice.
--
Roger took me to a restaurant by Big Ben.
Roger: Been coming here ever since Ellis told me about it. Basically, everything here’s pretty good.
(...Roger brought me to such a nice restaurant)
Alarms bells started going off in my head.
Kate: …Are you’re going to make me do something again?
Roger: What do you take me for?
Roger stifled back a laugh and stared straight at me.
Roger: Don’t worry. There’s nothing behind the reward today.
Emma: …Reward?
Roger: I saw how hard you’ve been working…Good job.
(Ah…)
Hearing those words, it was clear that he brought me here as a reward.
Kate: Thank you…But, I don’t deserve it.
I got too emotional to make rational decisions.
Roger: I suppose that’s true.
But I would’ve slapped that guy myself if you didn’t.
He deserved it. Getting angry for the sake of others is admirable.
Kate: …
Roger: Kate.
Kate: Yes?
Roger: You’re strong enough.
(What do I do…I’m going to cry)
Roger’s carrot and stick method always disturbed my heart.
If he did this on purpose, then he’s pretty evil.
Roger: Oh it’s here. The roast beef here’s delicious. Here.
The simple look on Roger’s face when he looked at the meat blew my sentiments away.
Kate: Hehe…It really does look delicious…
Roger: …
Hey, Kate.
Kate: Yes?
Roger: Being strong doesn’t mean doing things alone.
Being able to rely on someone’s also a strength.
So you can rely on me.
After saying that, Roger took a huge bite out of the meat.
Roger: Mmm, yum. Come on, it’s getting cold.
Kate: O-okay. Mmm…Wow, it’s really good!
It’s so juicy and tender. It’s amazing.
Roger: …o_o
Hahaha! You’re as restless as ever.
Remember to chew.
My family’s corgi used to eat so fast that they’d choke. They look just like you.
Kate: There you go again comparing me to a dog!
Roger: All that barking’s the same too.
Kate: Ugh…
We argued like usual, but my heart felt warmer.
Roger’s words made me feel really happy…and I kept arguing with him so that he wouldn’t notice.
--
Some time later, I joined Jude and Ellis on another mission.
Ellis: Kate, you’ve been moving pretty smoothly.
Kate: Thank you. I’ve been doing strength training.
Jude: Ya still lookin’ pretty soft.
Kate: I-I’m planning on gaining muscle!
Ellis: Good luck, I’ll be cheering you on.
Ellis smiled and put his lips close to my ear.
Kate: Ellis…?
Ellis: Kate, Roger’s going to be in the lounge tonight.
Kate: Huh?
Ellis: You want to report your hard work and get praised, don’t you?
Ellis smiled gently at my surprise.
(I didn’t say that…)
Ellis: Or do you want to go out to dinner?
Kate: I’m heading back. I…have things to do in the castle.
I wonder how Roger will react when I tell him how I did today.
I definitely didn’t want him to know that I was walking a little faster than usual.
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I saw your ask to Chai about your hatred of Lucifer and I just wanna shake your hand cause I fucking hate him too and don’t get the hype At All
wow this is a surprise!
I can't stand watching clips of him, it's literal torture. viv really need to stop making goofy villain characters.
another thing I hate Lucifer is that the show wants us to feel bad for him like who cares? Lucifer is the literal Devil. the personification of Evil. the representation of the Pride sin. where is all that?
his design makes no sense at all. I strongly believe they made Lucifer short just for the short king joke for all sakes. from what I've read about Lucifer in the bible, he's the most beautiful angel even after his fall. this Lucifer? he's super ugly. I've seen better redesigns of him from other good artists.
Lucifer also doesn't feel like a ruler of hell. i don't care that he was depressed. (also what's up with the ducks?) if anything I feel like they should make something from that. because of him being an absent ruler, the sinners suffered from this. or something like that.
during the hazbin pilot and helluva boss run, I got a strong implication Lucifer really is an evil villain in the shadows. because of his prideness over ruling the sinners, he only lets them stay put in the pride ring which led to the overpopulation. there's even a theory he does this due to a deal with heaven and it's probably the reason he let the extermination happen. the bible even states Lucifer hates humans so it makes sense. even big YouTubers believed this theory and I honestly wished we get this Lucifer.
but all we get is an uwu depressed short deadbeat dad Lucifer. now wonder Lilith left him.
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I see conversations about people being tired of fantasy works having fantasy racism bc other than often not being handled well, the presence of it implies there is a valid reason for it kinda like how ogres are often treated as pure evil. Thinking about Arknights, I think Oripathy manages to avoid the issues? Systemic prejudices against the infected like classism, ableism, & they make statements with it all & have nuance, it's not just racism for the sake of it but real + complex issues in Terra
I understand your point but Arknights very much does have fantasy racism with the Sarkaz. It takes a backseat to general oripathy discrimination and hidden by the fact that plenty of the main cast is Sarkaz, but you have lines from Meteorite for example stating her surprise that Rhodes Island hired Sarkaz like her in public-facing jobs.
I do like though how Arknights handles the topic of racism towards the Sarkaz. They're shown to actually be a hugely diverse group of people, they're the minds behind the whole Rhodes Island project (Theresa, Closure, and Warfarin are all Sarkaz), and the "reason" for their discrimination isn't because they have superpowers (fucking everyone does) or otherwise are naturally dangerous, it's because they are simply different (everyone else represents an animal, while a Sarkaz is a mythological monster).
Fantasy racism is often eyerolling because it's usually like "In this world the race called Normies are discriminatory towards The Exploders, a race that eats the brains of passerby and then explode. However, when this Normie cop finds a ten year old Exploder lost in his backyard, they will go on an adventure to break down the walls of society, and hopefully not explode."
Arknights explores the topic of the Sarkaz with some nuance, and the careful explanation that the reasons they continue to be discriminated against today came about BECAUSE of their oppression. They are often mercenaries and hired muscle, because there are no other jobs for them. Many are depressed, cynical, and violent from living such a hard life where their lives are seen as expendable, further enforcing the stereotype of Sarkaz as a race of warmongers. Their only land to call their own was ravaged by foreign invasions and then by a civil war.
Even Buldrokkas'tee's entire backstory was about Sarkaz oppression. During Theresa's reign over Kazdel he brought his clan with him to Ursus seeking a better life for them (keep in mind Vigilo called Theresa a great war hero, implying her reign or the leadup to it was marked by war with other nations), and when they arrived in Ursus they were thrown to the frontline of a demonic invasion, made to fight horrifying and inhuman monsters to prove they were worthy of Ursus. It's almost understandable why Buldrokkas'tee sternly told his son not to rock the boat, not to protest the Ursus government's treatment of the infected: they had already fought so hard and sacrificed so much just to get here, just to be citizens.
It's also why Rhodes Island as a creation of a Sarkaz venture is important to the games' themes. Almost every single nation in Terra is a complete dystopian nightmare and yet from the most beaten, oppressed, and discriminated people comes a genuine effort to Make Things Better. Not only does RI reject the status quo of status and power by being a community effort where everyone works according to what they can do and is given according to what they need, they're also the most advanced Oripathy research institute on the planet because of the Sarkaz's own long intertwined history with the disease.
It's a fantasy, in a way. "Yeah you all treated us like garbage but we'll save you anyway while saving ourselves, fuck it. This pandemic will kill us all if we don't."
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you know what, i think im getting to a point where I'm more tolerant of aramantha than rhysand. At least she knows she's bad and doesn't hide behind a screen. Also I'm thinking back on a lot of what rhysand did in acotar and a lot of it seems to be not necessarily things she ordered? like if she wanted to threaten spring court w the head on the spike, she would have had that sigil be her sigil not the night court
(also I've fallen into the trap of evil women hot, i support womens rights and womens wrongs, send help it's a dark pit)
ALSO! I think Nesta would've slayed in Hewn City, I think she would have caused a revolution so that the people there could go up to the surface. She has the court tact and poise that none of the IC have and i can easily see her taking complete control of the situation... wish sjm would've put her there :(
We love and appreciate manipulative evil women here. I'm so tired of manipulative men being glorified and manipulative women being shit on. Make a manipulative women compelling for FUCK'S sake. It's naturally more compelling than a man being compelling because we're underestimated by others and we're born with a natural disadvantage over men so we use our cunning and wiles.
A lot of what Rhysand did, we only have HIS WORD for it that it was ordered. For instance, the head. Why would he put his own sigil on it and ask if Tamlin got "his present" if it was Amarantha who ordered it? I'm sure Amarantha has her own sigil. The winter court children? Maybe he was ordered, but why is he passing blame to someone else, claiming some other nonexistent daemati did it? Clare Beddor??? I would've respected Rhysand more as a villain if he just ADMITTED he was a coward and submit to Amarantha to avoid punishment. Rhysand could've been a compelling villain, or at least a hot one.
Honestly would’ve loved to see Nesta thrown down into the Hewn City only to be crowned the leader of the revolution because she so would. Made all seven high lords listen and restored the valkyries all while still in a depressed state. I meaaaaaaan… Nesta the woman that you are.
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PLEASE HELP: SIGNAL B*OST, D*NATE, OR C*MMISSION ME!!
Listed below are the TL;DR, How to Help, and Full story/Context. I’m sorry I had to resort to this but i have no other choice.
TL;DR version
Please help a mentally disabled fan artist’s family to pay for medical debts for c*ncer, insulin, maintenance meds (for depression, anxiety, etc), and cat food
How to Help
D*nations!!! - I only have P*yPal (also thru K*-fi) and GC*sh! Please dm me for the link or QR code
C*mmission me!!! - I really hate asking for help with nothing to give in return, so preferably please c*mmission me. I havent updated my new set of c*mmission sheet samples BUT heres a short, quick version attached on my post as a pic.
B*y my let-go collection of merchandise!!! (PH-based only please and sorry) - In order to try and make up for the em*tional ab*se me and my mom have to go thru on a daily basis just by living with dad, I ended up in a downward spiral and tried to buy things impulsively since 2020. So, now, we’re paying the price and I have been deeply regretting it ever since. So, plsase please please help buy my palugi (selling for a loss) let-go merchandise, theyre mostly official and am selling for a loss, we badly need the space and especially the funds. Weve only sold less than a half of my stock and it doesnt help that my dad keeps mocking me about it.
Share and S*gnal boost!!! - Tumblr is the only site where i have somewhat of an audience. Please please please help reblog, share, and signal boost.
Full Story/Context
Hi, I’m Theresivy (Teh-reese-ivy), I have been depressed and mentally impaired (among other things) who draws art as a multifandom self-taught fan artist, As of 2020 my mom’s tumor has turned into cancer that has only been given medical attention to in 2022 onwards. And as of then, i have indefinitely become a N,E.E.T for my mom and our finance’s sake while being there by her side. As of now she has gone through FOUR surgeries because more and more unexpected complications keep popping up. She doesnt deserve this, why couldnt it have been me,
We live with my emotionally abusive and manipulative dad (her husband) and our two fur daughters Pancake and Waffles (of which my cats and mom mean more than the world to me) while being forced to live in one of the countless apartment complexes my equally abuse maternal uncle (and his wife, my maternal A-I-L) as we have no other choice. And as such, my dad has been kissing their asses since we were forced to move here more than five years ago.
Both my uncle and my A-I-L took it upon themselves to become the defacto head of my maternal family ever since my maternal grandmother passed just because he became rich thru the means of evil entrepreneur practices. We cant do anything lest we want to get kicked and live on the streets. He is a real-life mastermind as he is always a few steps ahead of us, even making it so that his eldest daughter became his perfect pawn of being his personal lawyer. He always has connections and to them we are merely insects.
My parents and the rest of our family dont really see “artist” as anything that could get money rolling in (and day by day my failed attemptes have been proving them right), and on top of that, they see me being depressed and such as being the “freeloading couch potato”. So they keep bringing up how much of a failure I am. Weve been living in such toxic conditions that my mom has developed this sort of stockholm syndrome type relationship with my dad, and her younger brother (my uncle), and his wife (my A-I-L, her S-I-L). At first i thought i could try and save mom but shes too far gone that she strictly forbids me from fending for myself whenever either of the three try to berate me and drive me to tears and breaking down for the fifth time every week.
All i wish now is to be able to pay back at least some of the debt, for my mom and my fur daughters’ sake, and hopefully my own. I have been in a downwards spiral ever since i have been tolerating being the “odd one out” kid from school. in general, and even in the family, its been literal years and my entire life, im tired of being used and tossed to the side, im tired of being the punching bag of a cosmic joke, and im tired of my disabilities. im tired of being useless to the people i care for the most. so please. help us.
My wish now is to be able to help mom and our fur daughters move away from our domestic ab*sers. everything is an endless spiral of dead ends and im sick of it. ive been self sabotaging for years but a small part of me still has hope, please. i dont want to believe that this is where it ends for us. in this world of darkness and cruelty that spits on our faces, only my mom and our fur daughters have shown me the smallest glimpse of happiness. and even then ive failed them by becoming a barely functioning patient of depression. so, please, dont take my sunshines away.
#signal boost#art ph#commissions#artists on tumblr#my art#theresivysart#paypal#gcash#mutual aid#emergency commissions#art commissions#commissions open#open commissions
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Where to unpack? First of all, I'm not saying this person doesn't deserves a haven because of what they've been through -we all do (especially since we all live in capitalistic hellscapes) -but disavowing the corporate evils of Starbucks -who, time and again has destroyed their own workers' mental health, has shut down stores to deter unionizing, has committed violence against people who farm for their coffee beans, penalized workers who posted their support of Palestine -and, in turn, has consistently remained neutral during this genocide -and it is just vile. If you think that consuming products that have been a comfort to you is more important RIGHT NOW than the the liberation of an oppressed people or communities around the world -you have blood on your hands. You can recognize how much this place has meant to you in the past (as I have -I have MANY memories of Starbs over the past decade before I stopped supporting the franchise) -but deciding to boycott is a bare minimum way to show solidarity and if you can't do that, that's beyond cruel.
You can find other businesses to support (and sit/dine in other coffee shops and cafe's) -you can find another safe space. Even if it may take time -but you won't, and that's terribly pathetic. This is also coming from someone who has and manages anxiety, and was diagnosed with clinical depression.
The bottom line is: you shouldn't hold onto the familiarity of something like this if it comes at the expense of someone else's well being and/or life, for goodness sake.
It's one thing not to know, but when you do -do better.
#feminist#feminism#social justice#free palestine#free gaza#boycott starbucks#starbucks#fuck starbucks#capitalism#capitalism is evil#boycotting#bds movement#settler colonialism#settler violence
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