#new patron saint unlocked
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Major Shōgun Ep. 9 spoilers:
Yabushige truly gives meaning to the term 'rat bastard'. Toranaga factored his inevitable betrayal into his plans, and Yabushige STILL somehow managed to spring a surprise betrayal. If it wasn't so horrible, it would be impressive how two-faced the man manages to be.
So, about Mariko .... (I'm actually glad I randomly got spoiled the day before seeing this episode and was prepared otherwise I would not have survived what happened to her.)
My take ... Mariko's death was 'pointless' in the same way Nagakado's death was pointless. Nagakado died a senseless death that failed to accomplish anything, but then Toranaga gave his son's death meaning and honour by thanking Nagakado for dying to earn him some time. Mariko blocking the door with her own body served nothing in the sense that it wouldn't prevent Ishido's men from getting in nor did it change the fate of anyone else in that room. But by choosing to sacrifice herself like that and die at the hands of Ishido's agents, Mariko derailed Ishido's plan to take her captive and ensured she'd become a martyr to Toranaga's cause. Mariko not only fulfilled Toranaga's plan, she exceeded it.
Mariko's mission was to get the hostages freed or die trying and in so doing force Ishido to dishonour himself by openly revealing his hand instead of keeping up the facade that he's not keeping anyone against their will. Mariko did both: got the hostages freed and died a martyr to the cause. (Yes, Ishido may choose to turn around and keep the hostages anyway instead of releasing them as agreed, but in doing so he'll only dishonour himself further and lose more support.)
When Toranaga gets to Osaka, he'll have the moral highground and the support of the other samurai families who didn't want Mariko to die like that and who now see Ishido for what he really is. (Also, when the time comes, I think the Christian Regents will now be prepared to turn against Ishido.)
And Mariko got what she'd wanted all along: dying with honour in response to what happened to her family. Her death was meaningful. She served her duty like her father told her to. And she got to spend her last night being at peace and experiencing something like happiness with John.
Buntaro dishonoured her for so many years by keeping her alive for selfish reasons and when he finally offered her the release of death, it was also for selfish reasons. Buntaro was only willing to allow her to finally die because HE wanted to die then and wouldn't be affected by her death since he'd be gone too. Buntaro ordered Mariko to stay alive. John asked Mariko to stay alive many times, and when she ultimately wouldn't change her mind, he not only accepted and respected her decision, he honoured it by offering to second her. Mariko died knowing John finally understood. He finally got it.
Mariko died, and now she is finally free.
EDIT to add:
She died calling herself Akechi Mariko instead of Toda Mariko. She disavowed her husband and her unwanted marriage with her last words. She was truly freeing herself!!!
#shogun#shōgun#shogun spoilers#shogunedit#toda mariko#lady mariko#anna sawai#give her all the awards!!!#new patron saint unlocked#our lady mariko#but i'm still sad as fuck#crying like omi#may have to write fanfic to console myself#*meine
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Wrote this at a laundromat so I hope you guys like it
Ghost had just moved to Scotland to get away from everything. His family's murders stayed a constant thought in his mind, but more than that, he didn't want anyone still loyal to Roba to find him. After wiping them off the map, he decided to do something he never thought possible.
Chose himself.
So he made his way to Scotland where no one would know Simon Riley and he bought a house and lived next to a small town so he could go over and get whatever supplies he needed before coming to hide again.
That's where he met him.
A local man who apparently was involved in the church and was in general a great person.. Most people referred to him as Soap, which Ghost thought was a very strange name, but he had also heard MacTavish which seemed more realistic.
The man saw Ghost, probably decided he was emotionally vulnerable, and decided to skulk around him. He asked, begged, pleading for Ghost to join his congregation.
Ghost turned him down each time, though he did love to see a pretty man beg. Once, he lifted lifted his mask, let him see the Glasgow smile cut into his cheeks. He hoped that Soap would assume gang member or miscreant and leave him alone, but it seemed to spur him on.
Soap MacTavish, savior of big buff men. Patron saint of being annoying.
Ghost started... watching him. The way he moved. His smile, just a little too wide with teeth a little too sharp.
He was... handsome. Seemingly kind. But Ghost was like a stray. He didn't trust affection and he wanted to keep it that way. No matter how honeyed Soap made his words or how kind the scraps he offered. Something about the man was unsettling.
Soap simply knocked on his door one day at dusk. Ghost only answered when he had his mask on. He had some kind of food in containers. "Hey! Several people I know made me these and gifted them to me, but I don't think I'll be able to eat all they gave me. Thought you might appreciate them. I know I'd be homesick, in such a new area."
Ghost stared at him, hands itching. "How did you know where I lived?"
"i knew the people who lived here before. Laid them to rest myself. Saw their last rites and all that. No other empty house around for miles."
"Other people know...?"
"Doubt it. Most don't think of you too much." Soap sniffed, looking around. "I assumed that's what you'd prefer."
"It is. Thanks."
Soap smiled. "I'll keep it between us." He kept standing there. Just waiting.
"I'm not going to invite you inside."
Immediately, those soft lips turned into a pouty frown. "At least take the desserts. I really do have no use for them."
Ghost didn't want to disappoint him for some reason, so he awkwardly took the food. "Okay. Address between us right?"
"Of course. With God as my witness." Soap grinned and left.
If Ghost would've thought about it, he'd made him promise to never come back as well. But he did not do that.
He went into his kitchen and opened the container.
Cranachan. Ghost had heard of it. The King of Scottish Desserts.
He grabbed a spoon and brought a bite to his mouth slowly. There was a thick cream with oats and raspberries. When he put a bite in his mouth, he could taste the honey and whiskey.
It was so good.
Ghost dug in on his couch. He was pretty sure this was supposed to be something he'd eat off for a few days, but he devoured all of it in one sitting. There was more of the raspberries sauce and Ghost found himself licking it from his fingers. A warmth settled in his chest from it.
Maybe Soap wasn't terrible.
Ghost got ready to start his routine of checking all of the windows and doors, but his couch suddenly felt so comfy. He felt his eyes start to close, the warmth spreading more.
For the first time since being a kid, Ghost slept all the way through the night with no nightmares.
Ghost cleaned up from the night before, feeling comfy. He noticed one of his windows was unlocked and chided himself for being so forgetful. After two sweeps of the house, he was sure no one was in his house and nothing was missing.
The dishes sat on the counter, suddenly suspicious. The idea of there being something in it was preposterous.
Ghost cleaned the dishes. "He's a fucking poster boy for good. You're being paranoid."
As time went on, he noticed things. Always on his porch or right outside. Tapping or animal noises or sometimes visions of someone right outside. The wonderful night of sleep was the last time he slept for a while.
Soap showed up again. A cross necklace Ghost couldn't remember seeing was around his neck. He looked apologetic as he had more of the delicious treat. "Sorry. It's raspberry season so everyone is making it and... well... I don't really have much of a sweet tooth."
Ghost looked at him coldly. "And you're bringing it to me? No orphans to give it to? Children to target?"
It was the first time Soap had looked upset at him. Ghost was a military man. He dealt with that constantly back in his troop. But for some reason, Soap's unhappiness got under his skin.
"No, Ghost. I just... thought you might be feeling lonely. Ya probably think I'm naive. Small town guy, always trying to talk to you..." He looked embarrassed. "Never met someone from Manchester. And before you ask, I figured it out by your accent."
Ghost looked at him for a few minutes before looking away to pretend he wasn't affected by him. "I don't."
"Gotcha... I can just... take the food."
"No. I'll still take that." Ghost quickly grabbed the home made food, noticing Soap's flash of a smile. He bit his lip as he cradled the food. "Look, I'm not a good guy. Definitely not someone you need around you."
Soap looked at him sadly. "Even outside of my faith, I still think all people deserve someone. I just... want to try to make you feel less lonely."
Ghost sighed. "Alright. Come in."
Soap got so excited. He carefully walked inside and glanced around, moving his weight back and forth between each foot.
Ghost sat on the chair he had. "Haven't exactly bought much furniture. But you're allowed to get comfy."
Soap grabbed the couch and smiled brightly. There was something about him. He looked at him and his eyes... had a shimmer to it.
Ghost paused, holding the bowl.
"Are you going to put it away? Or eat it right now?" Soap asked conversationally. He batted his eyelashes.
Ghost gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "Gonna put it away for now."
"I see. Have you been sleeping well? This place seems... so isolated. I don't think I could ever quite get a good sleep."
Ghost couldn't think of a good answer besides the truth. "Sleep has never came easy to me."
Soap frowned, batting his eyelashes at him. "I'm sorry. I hope it gets easier for you." He seemed so genuine. So sweet.
Ghost shrugged. "Thank you..."
They started to slip into rather easy banter, but he found his eyes getting heavier.
Soap got up and picked his way over. For a moment, Ghost was afraid. He almost lashed out, afraid. But he didn't touch him. He leaned in, eyes glowing against the backdrop of everything around them. "Sleep well, Ghost."
Ghost fell asleep on his chair. Soap locked the door on the way out but he didn't lock the windows.
Ghost found Tommy's photo album and went through them. He looked at the various photos of him and his family and he found himself missing them again. They looked so cute. So perfect. He left them on his coffee table, messy and covering every inch.
Joseph looked up at him, bright smiling face.
Simon was holding him. Blond curls that he spent too much time keeping bleached. No scarring.
He felt like he was going crazy as things... moved around his house. Things moved right out of the corner of his eyes. So he started preparing.
Guns were tucked into every hiding place he could. Knives even more so. He started to work out again for the first time in a few weeks. Luckily he hadn't lost too much of his physique.
Ghost eventually found himself eating the cranachan. He slept well. It was unsettling.
Right before dawn, Soap arrived at his house. The clouds were churning together but there was still some sunlight streaming through. "I brought coffee. Are you a coffee person?"
Ghost wasn't usually, but rather than deal with Soap's sad look again, he took the drink. He sipped it and found himself pleasantly surprised at how good it was.
Soap smiled. "Have any plans?"
"Gonna make breakfast... wanna join?" Why did he say that??
Soap smiled and quickly walked in. "I'd love to."
Ghost started to cook. He had been trying to learn more cooking lately so hopefully it wasn't too bad.
Soap looked thankful when he set it down and started to eat. They did so in basically silence. The cross necklace kept catching the light so he kept staring at it. When he lifted his gaze to look at his eyes, they made direct eye contact.
Soap's eyes. They were so dark. Like a shark.
Ghost felt for the gun under his side table. He tried to keep up conversation.
"Don't grab that gun, Simon."
Ghost paused what he was doing, watching the cross necklace sway where it sat. "What?"
Soap sighed. "Don't be like that. The gun your hand is on. Don't grab it." His nails clicked against the table. Too long. Too alarming. "Be a good boy, Simon."
Ghost stared at him, debating what could be done here.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"What are you?"
"Not a danger to you." Soap answers a little pedantically. "I promise." His canines. They were long and curved.
Ghost glanced at the coffee. "You were drugging me."
Soap hummed. "No. More of a... side effect of my presence. You feeling anything right now?"
Ghost could feel something tugging at the edge of his consciousness but nothing too severe. "What do you want?"
Soap swallowed. "I'm hungry. Starving."
"You saw me up here. Being vulnerable. And decided you could fuc-"
"No. Not quite. I... I know you could keep a secret."
Ghost blinked, realizing the situation. "You're... asking."
Soap looked pained. "I am. A... deal. I keep everyone away. Tell them whatever I need so they leave you alone and I get to..." His eyes trailed to Ghost's throat.
"How bad is the feeding?"
"Not bad! I take about as much blood as a blood donation. Easy peasy. I'll even bring you food for recovery just please..."
Ghost undid the top button of his shirt and Soap looked ready to wiggle out of his seat. The poor man was salivating.
Why was he doing this?
it was stupid.
Idiotic.
Self-sacrificing.
The mask hit the table.
"Go for it."
Soap leapt over the table and sat in his lap. Teeth sank into his throat as he held him, holding him tight. They pressed together and Ghost could feel the unsettling chill that came from Soap.
He grabbed the table, almost white knuckling it.
Pain radiated from where he was being stabbed into and he felt himself go lightheaded. Soap's ass was pressed firmly to his lap though and it felt...
pleasurable.
Slowly he sank into it, feeling Soap take his fill.
His pretty boy thanked him, lips bright red from blood. "Thank you. Thank you. You're perfect. My angel from heaven."
Their lips touched and Ghost groaned softly.
Soap panted in his ear. "I'll be good. Promise. Take care of you." His claws sank into Ghost who was wondering how bad the situation he landed himself was.
#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost riley#johnny soap mactavish#call of duty modern warfare ii#cod mw2#ghostsoap#cod#soapghost#ghoap
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Barriers
A long awaited request from my mutual who asked to remain anon.
Summary: Turkish polyglot!reader is on a run with Daryl and three new arrivals to find a warehouse rumored to be stocked with food. When the destination is overrun with the dead, it's up to you to communicate with those who do not speak english to get you all home alive.
Warnings: TWD typical stuff. Potential TW for those of you with religious trauma as there is a Catholic prayer.
All dialogue is translated in (red).
Turkish, Romanian, and Spanish is translated by my mutual and their friends.
Romanian is translated using Google translate, as neither of us are very fluent in romanian but we wanted to include a balkan country.
Please forgive any inaccuracies! This was a labor of love and it was much harder than I anticipated, but I'm so glad this mutual asked for this. It was fun to exercise my brain!
Characters and their languages:
Derya: Turkish
Maria: Spanish (originally french with the name Marie, but we couldn't get anyone to translate the french lol)
Andrei: Romanian
Rolf: Dutch
Tensions were high. The newcomers knew where a large stash of food was and Daryl was sent to help them retrieve it. The only setback was the communication barrier, which was where you came in.
"Sunt încă la șase străzi distanță. (It's still six blocks away.)" Andrei told you.
"Six blocks." You repeated to Daryl.
"We won't make it that far with all them walkers." Daryl whispered, peeking through the boarded windows of the little shop you all holed up in. The herd came out of nowhere.
"Trebuie să cunoașteți un traseu mai sigur. (You must know a safer route.)" You pleaded with Andrei. He just shook his head. You sighed and turned to Derya. "Depoya gitmenin başka bir yolu var mı? Mücadele edemiyeceğimiz kadar fazla
kişiyiz. Burda kapana kısıldık. (Is there another way to get to the warehouse? There are too many for us to fight our way through. We're trapped.)"
"Galiba burdan çatıya çıkmanın bir yolu var. (I think there's a way onto the roof here.)" She suggested. "Binalar karşıdan atlanabilecek kadar yakın. (The buildings are close enough that we could jump across.)"
"Daryl, do you think we could jump roof to roof?" You asked.
"Maybe. Buildings are pretty tight knit." He shrugged.
"Okay, Derya, çatıya çıkan yolu biliyor musun? (do you know the way to the roof?)" You asked her. She thought for a moment.
"Binaların arkası çitle çevrili orada bir merdiven olabilir. (Behind these buildings is all fenced off. I think there's a ladder out there.)"
"Okay. Good thinking, Derya." You patted her shoulder and rushed over to the back exit, peering through the cracks in the wood. "She's right.." You whispered. "Daryl, this way! Andrei, Derya, Maria!" You waved them all over as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. Sunlight poured in as you all piled outside and rushed up the ladder. On top of the building, you could see just how far up shit's creek you all really were. The herd wasn't a herd at all -- it was a massive horde. It filled up the streets of the small town like a sea of death and decay.
"Querido San Judas Tadeo.. Patrono de las causas desesperadas, escucha nuestra oración. (Dear Saint Jude Thaddeus.. Patron of desperate causes, hear our prayer..)" Maria gasped, clutching the crucifix she wore around her neck. "En tiempos de desesperación y desesperanza, guíanos a la luz del amor de Dios... (In times of despair and hopelessness, guide us to the light of God's love..)"
Daryl looked to you questioningly.
"It's a prayer." You mouthed. He nodded.
"Y'all ready?" He asked. You nodded and ushered the other three toward the edge of one of the building that lined another. There was maybe a two foot gap between the two. It was doable.
"Andrei, tu primul. (you first.)" You nodded to the man, who lept courageously and landed smoothly. "Now, Maria." You looked to the girl. She was young, maybe nineteen, and clearly devoted to her faith.
She tucked her crucifix into her shirt and took a breath, whispering the rest of her prayer as she geared up for the jump. "Ayúdanos a encontrar fortaleza en nuestras pruebas y a confiar en el plan del Señor. (Help us find strength in our trials and trust the Lord's plan..)" She took a running start and flailed her arms as she flew from one building to the next. She rolled as she landed but she was otherwise fine.
"Derya, sıra sende. (your turn.)" You smiled to her reassuringly. Out of everyone, you'd grown the most friendly with her, as you were both Turkish. She told you about the warehouse to begin with.
She nodded and jumped across, smiling triumphantly back at you after she made it safely. You and Daryl crossed over next. The process continued over three more buildings, all the while Maria still prayed desperately under her breath. "Quédate a nuestro lado en nuestra hora más oscura y llévanos por un camino de esperanza. En tu pasión, intercede por nosotros y lleva nuestras súplicas a Dios. (Stand by us in our darkest hour and lead us to a hopeful path... In your passion, intercede for us and bring our pleas to God..)"
At the end of the block, you were all drawn to a halt. The next building was at least six feet away. None of you hard faith you could jump that far. The sea of walkers was still raging below, waves of bodies crashing into buildings and obstacles as they swarmed.
"Qué vamos a hacer?! (What are we going to do?!)" Maria's panic was becoming more evident.
"Sólo tenemos que pensar en un plan. (We just need to think of a plan.)" You assured her. You turned to Andrei. "Știi o cale? (Do you know a way?)"
"Nu.. Mai avem cinci blocuri (No.. We still have five blocks.)" He said solemnly.
"Okay." You took a breath. "Do you have a plan?" You asked Daryl. He scanned the walkers on the ground below, his silence answering your question.
"şurdaki kütüphane, (That library over there,)" Derya spoke up, one finger extended to point out the building she was talking about. "Arkadaşımız rolf orada. o sadece flemenkçe konuşuyor ama daha önce bize yardım etti belki de tekrar yardım edebilir. (Our friend Rolf is there. He only speaks Dutch, but he has helped us before. He may be willing to help again.)"
"Do you think we can make it to that library across the street?" You asked Daryl.
"Why?" He asked.
"They have a friend that lives there. He might help us if he's still there."
"He lives in a library?" Daryl tilted his head. You shrugged.
"That's what she said."
"Mm... Maybe." He nodded. "We need to distract 'em, though."
"How?"
"Dunno.." He looked around. "Ya still got that toy ya picked up for Judith?"
A lightbulb went off. Of course! The loud toy! You dug in your bag and quickly found it. You turned it on and pressed a button, a loud song ringing through the speaker. You handed to him and he threw it as far from the library as he could. To your pleasure, the toy didn't break on impact. The mindless corpses below slowly turned their attention to the sound, the tune of Old McDonald drawing them in. When enough of them were distracted, the five of you crept down the side of the building and hurried over to the library.
"Rolf!" Derya hissed, lightly tapping at the glass.
" Rolf we hebben hulp nodig! (Rolf, we need help!)" You added quickly. Moments later the doors swing open and you piled inside, Rolf shutting and barricading the door behind you.
"Wat doe jij hier?! Zie je niet hoeveel van hen er zijn? (What are you doing here?! You don't see how many of them are out there?)" Rolf scolded. You could tell he preferred his solitude.
"We hebben hulp nodig om naar het magazijn te gaan. Dat is 5 blokken verderop. (We need help getting to the warehouse. It's five blocks away)" You panted, out of breath.
"Het magazijn? (The warehouse?)" He scoffed. "Jullie zijn gek! (You people are insane!)"
"Nee, maar we zijn wanhopig. (No, but we are desperate.)" You pleaded.
"Je komt vast naar mij denkende dat ik weet hoe ik jullie door al deze dingen heen kan krijgen? (You must be to be coming to me thinking I know how to get you through all those things!)" He waved his hands around.
"Ona kamyonetini sor (Ask him about his truck.)" Derya urged.
"Wat dacht je van de truck? (What about your truck?)" You asked Rolf. He glared at you.
"Nee. Absoluut niet! Enkel voor noodgevallen. (No. Absolutely not! Emergencies only.)" He declined.
"Dit is een noodgeval. (This is an emergency.)"
"Oh, oké laat me het verduidelijken. Enkel mijn noodgevallen. (Oh, okay, allow me to clarify. My emergencies only.)" He crossed his arms.
"Is dit niet jouw noodgeval? (This isn't your emergency?)" You raised your eyebrows, motioning your hand to the door. "De hele stad is overspoeld met hen. Je zal het hier niet lang volhouden. (The entire town is flooded with them. You wont last here long.)"
"Ik red me prima in mijn eentje, dankje. (I do just fine on my own, thank you.)" He insisted.
"Oh? Ik zie nochtans geen eten of water hier. Hoe lang kan je zonder? Want die dingen gaan daarbuiten zijn voor dagen, misschien zelfs weken voordat iets anders ze weg lokt. (Oh? I don't see any food or water here. How long can you go without? Because those things will be out there for days, or maybe even weeks before something else draws them away.)" You pushed. He thought for a moment.
"Oké goed. I breng jullie naar het magazijn en dan zijn jullie op jullie zelf. (Okay, fine. I take you to the warehouse and then you're on your own.)"
A collective sigh of release aired out into the room as he rushed to find his keys. You all followed him to the back exit. He glanced back at the group. You and Daryl nodded at each other and stepped ahead of the others.
"Jij opend de deur, en wij zullen je beschermen. Sluit de deur achter je. Wanneer je de teuck start, zullen wij de deur voor alle andere en beschermen ze. Vertrek niet tot iedereen in het voertuig zit. Begrepen? (You open the door, and we will cover you. Shut the door behind you. When you get the truck started, we'll open the door for everyone else and cover them. Don't leave until everyone's in the vehicle. Got it?)" You instructed. He nodded, reluctantly.
You quickly relayed the plan to Daryl and everyone else in their respective languages, then counted down. "Drie… twee… een! (Three... Two.. One!)"
On your word, Rolf threw the door open as planned, and you and Daryl rushed out, stabbing and beating down walkers left and right. You heard the door slam shut. You peeked behind your to see a nervous Rolf looking overstimulated and overwhelmed at the chaos around him. "Komaan! We hebben je gedekt! (Come on! We have you covered!)" You urged him.
He stepped between you and Daryl as you strategically kept him safe. Once he was to the truck, he shut himself inside and you and Daryl bade way back to the back exit. The engine revved and sputtered a few times before the truck was up and running, but it didn't take too long. At the sound of the fully started vehicle, you threw the door open and the rest of your crew worked their way through the walkers. Maria, a particularly nonviolent young woman who made herself more useful as the sneaky one, cowered in the center as you all surrounded her and defended yourselves from the threat of the undead. Once everyone had piled inside, you and Daryl jumped in last. Rolf wasted no time putting the pedal to the metal, so to speak, and before long he was pulling up in front of the warehouse.
"Okay." You sighed. "Worst part's over, right?"
"Ik zal op je wachten. Wees snel. (I'll wait for you. Be fast.)" Rolf announced. You tilted your head. "Mijn bibliotheek is omsingeld. Er is niet voor mij om naar terug te keren, als ik zelfs leven binnen geraak. (My library is surrounded. There is nothing for me to go back to, if I could even make it inside alive.)" He elaborated. "Ik help jou een thuis te krijgen, jij geeft mij een thuis. (I help you get home, you give me a home.)"
"Okay." You nodded. "Wij kunnen dit. Laat ons gewoon niet achter. (We can do that. Just don't leave us.)" You placed a hand on his shoulder and thanked him with your eyes.
"Alright, we need to get in there, grab as much food as we can, and get the hell on somewhere before it gets any worse. 's a damn miracle we made it this far." Daryl said.
"Okay. María, eres rápida. Si vienes con nosotros, te cubrimos. (Maria, you're fast. You come with us, we'll cover you.) Andrei, vino și tu. Știi ce căutăm. (Andrei, you come too. You know what we're looking for.)" You turned to them. They nodded nervously. "We get in, grab as much as we can, and get out." You continued, once in spanish and once in romanian.
----
Back at Alexandria, people were surprised to meet a new member of the community, but mostly just grateful everyone made it back alive and in one piece. The food was just a bonus at that point. You had all been gone way longer than planned.
After introducing Rolf to everyone and making sure those who didn't speak english had everything they needed for the evening, you and Daryl finally retired to your shared home. Relief and gratitude set the mood, but after you had both showered and found something comfortable to wear, you couldn't help but to pick up on a subtle sense of disappointment written all over his face.
"We did good." You assured him as you plopped beside him on the sofa. "The food we brought will feed everyone for a week, and we can probably go back in a few days and that herd will have moved on."
"Ain't that." He shrugged.
"Then what?" You asked, brushing his stringy damp hair out of his eyes.
"'s just..." He chewed at his lip. "Just felt so clueless out there, ya know? Useless. If you hadn't been there, all them people woulda died 'cause I wouldn't know how to talk to 'em."
"Well, I was there." You assured. "And they wouldn't have died anyways because you're a badass."
He huffed a dry laugh. "I dunno. Just wish I had more skills than huntin' and trackin'." He admitted.
"What?" You scoffed. "You've taught me more survival skills since we met than anyone has taught me in my entire life. You did teach me tracking and trapping, but you also taught me how to be quiet, sneaky, and observant of my surroundings. You taught me how to read people, and how to kill them effectively if needed. You are so much more than a hunter or a tracker." You rambled. His eyes scanned over your features as you went on, silently admiring how you always managed to find yourself on a tangent, no matter the subject.
"Mm." He grunted. " Still wish I could just... talk to everyone, ya know?"
"Then I'll teach you." You offered. "Starting tomorrow, with the language of my people. Turkish." You grinned. “Lesson one: Seni seviyorum sen benim kahramanımsın.”
"Wha's that mean?" He pushed his eyebrows together in confusion.
"It means I love you, you're my hero."
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Is Jonathan turning into a vampire?
I saw someone say that Jonathan's reactions to Dracula in the Piccadilly confrontation make him seem less human, and that has gotten me thinking about the 'Jonathan is turning into a vampire like Mina' theory I've seen others discuss.
Now, I have to pay attention to Dracula Daily/ Re: Dracula going forward because my husband has my copy of the book so I can't dig around for evidence later in the book right now, but here is what I have noticed from entries in the timeline thus far:
Personally, even though it's not explicitly stated, I think Jonathan was bitten on Dracula's final night in the castle. It's his blood that revives Dracula's youth, and I think that is why he reacts violently to seeing the blood dripping from Dracula's mouth.
We also know from Van Helsing that anyone bitten by a vampire will become one. What complicates this is Dracula's blood exchange with Mina, if biting her is enough to turn her then why have her drink his blood? I theorize that having a victim drink his blood allows him to have a connection with or influence on them that he otherwise would not. He seems unaware that Lucy is dead when he gloats about the group's women belonging to him, and as there is no evidence that Lucy received his blood then it would make sense that he doesn't have that connection with her and thus, would be unaware of her true death. Going by this logic, If Jonathan is turning into a vampire then it seems unlikely that he received the Count's blood as he doesn't seem to have any mental link to Dracula either. I have seen the argument that Dracula did have a mental connection with Jonathan that was broken when he began to target Lucy instead, as Dracula Daily made it clear that Jonathan's 'brain fever' broke on the day that Lucy sleepwalked (slept-walked?) to Dracula.
Jonathan is likely Anglican, and says that his religion finds crucifixes and the like 'idolatrous', meaning that it's unlikely he would commonly come into contact with religious items in his day-to-day life. When he was in the convent/hospital he was delirious and in bad physical condition, it's possible that-like Mina with the wafer- he was reacting negatively due to his latent vampirism. Perhaps the early, prolonged exposure to religion suppressed his vampirism, and it fades away as he gets away from it. It could explain his slow recovery in England.
(It is also interesting to note that, while in the convent, Jonathan is being cared for by Sister Agatha. As a recovering Catholic I unfortunately retained some of my religious knowledge, and Nuns take on new names when they take their vows. Usually they take the name of a biblical figure that inspires them; in Sister Agatha's case it would be Saint Agatha who is, amongst other things, the patron saint of rape victims. Vampire bites have a loooooong history of being an allegory for sexual penetration and, with Mina's attack later in the novel being a clear reference to sexual assault, it seems likely to me that this was a subtle nod by Bram Stoker that Jonathan was bitten. Unfortunately it would likely have been censored if he had been more blatant given Victorian censorship laws.)
With this in mind, it's likely that seeing Dracula in London 'unlocked' his suppressed vampirism, and could explain him passing out. Though, admittedly, he does have a history of fainting when confronted with horrific things.
Going back to Jonathan's connection to sacred items, we never see him come into contact with any directly. When the group is entering Carfax Jonathan is handed two vampire deterrents, a wreath of garlic flowers and an envelope with a bit of communion wafer in it. Jonathan makes a point to mention that the garlic is withered however; I have to wonder why it was specifically called out as withered. Could that lower it's efficacy? As for the eucharist, well, it's in an envelope. The Count, a full vampire, reacts badly to it when the envelope is brandished at him. However, Mina, not yet fully turned into a vampire, seems to only be negatively affected when it touches her skin directly.
Another piece of evidence that I find interesting is Jonathan's hair color change. Listening to Re: Dracula made me realize that we have another character whose hair changed color; Lucy after her death. Vampire Lucy is described with dark hair, whereas in life her hair was compared to sunshine (meaning she was most likely blonde). Now we have Jonathan, whose hair was described as dark brown by Seward, turning white. The Characters write it off as shock despite the sudden change (shock/stress would have caused it to grey over time, realistically speaking), but it is interesting to note the link to vampire Lucy.
Jonathan's quick responses to Dracula's presence in the Piccadilly house are also notable. You could argue that it's the daytime so the Count is not as fast as he would be otherwise, but Seward points out that he, Arthur and Quincey are all experienced hunters and yet Jonathan, who Seward described as a 'quiet, business-like gentleman' when he met him 5 days earlier, is the first person to react. Jonathan goes so far as to climb out of the window to follow Dracula when he retreats.
It is entirely possible that Jonathan is in denial of having been bitten; he says himself while in the castle that 'I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul.' He would likely have been bitten on the neck, a place he can not see without a mirror, and Dracula makes a point to destroy the only mirror Jonathan had. Jonathan specifically notes that there are no other mirrors in the castle, either. Thus, if he was bitten but reluctant to admit it, he would have had no way to see if he had a wound and it would further justify his reaction to finding Dracula bloated with blood in his tomb. Denial is a hell of a drug. If he can not confess it to himself, it seems unlikely that he would tell anyone else, especially after his illness that affected his perception of reality.
As I said, I don't currently have access to my copy of the book to check the future dates so I will look for more evidence as we get the daily releases, but I think there is pretty strong evidence that Jonathan is in the process of turning and doesn't realize it.
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📚and✍️ for the fanfic questions!
📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?
Oh. Several.
I love all of @dayurno's fics, the patron saint of Kevin Day POVs. This is also the place where I admit to not having finished the name of the game yet despite it being one of the fics that convinced me to come back into the fandom, because something about it made me sad and I take. Absurdly long to finish things that make me sad. I also cleaned the 388 open tabs I had on my phone and forgot where exactly I had stopped. But Im going back there!!!! Someday. Also dayurno is so sweet and their blog is just a very fun place to hang out in.
@knickknacksandallthat A Falling Star series was literally the joy of my life the latter half of 2023 and knowing there was going to be a new chapter every friday helped me through some of the harshest weeks in college (and there were. A lot of them). I have reread the last chapter of Darkest Before Dawn many many many times because it is rare that miscommunication angst hits THAT good.
sunset, like survival by @jaywalkers is one of my favorite fics, ever, let alone in this fandom. Baltimore is my favorite part of the trilogy because of the emotional punch it packs and the way this fic takes that and turns it aaaaaall the way up in all three of the POVs is nothing short of masterful. It even makes me like the ending of that arc a little bit. Also the author just finished their other kandreil multichapter fic and it's the first thing on my reading list for my Carnaval break from work because you bet I'm gonna use all the time I can get to savour it.
I have the absolute privilege of betaing @queer-lovebot's fic Good to Go (Going Nowhere Fast) and it's just. So good. It's a WIP and there's two chapters out as of today and I think everyone in the entire world should read it maybe. Go check it out while it's still fresh so you can brag to your friends that you were here first!!!!!! (This is only a slight exaggeration. Fame is a construct but you should read it NOW anyway. Live dangerously go read a WIP).
Edit because I almost forgot: Have you heard the word of our lord and savior The Later Parade? I thought I liked Kevjean before I read this. I was wrong. This fic unlocked potentials of kevjean-loving within me only comparable to an anime villain revealing their final form. Like my bookmark on ao3 says, "this is the greatest thing I have ever read. goodbye".
✍️ What's your ideal writing set up?
At home, on my notebook in my desk, ceiling fan ON, with the biggest cup of passionfruit juice I can find, and wathever ambient noise my brain likes most at the time on repeat. (It can very from any song to rain sounds to those playlists of classical music. I once wrote 50k words to the repeated playlist of Brian David Gilbert's AAAAAAAAAH!BBA. Good times.)
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Misadventures - Part One
now I wanna be the tattoo ink that swims down through the needle in your skin · and I wish I was poisonous · like a bottomless sound, like a violent drug
[Masterlist] [Series Masterlist]
Warnings: talks of alcoholism.
Word Count: 1,624
A/N: I told myself I was going to keep these chapters short, and now I find that was a lie. I also don’t know why I have to put things in Manhattan, but I did. I have a Christmas story I want to post later, and not that it require a crumb of context from this, but I wanted to post this before that.
Quinn had barely left Manhattan in the year that followed in returning from New Orleans. Barely left her apartment some days. The realization, as she woke up in bed with a stranger, for what she had decided would be the last time (at least without knowing how she got there), that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, keep going through these spurts, these self destructive whirlwinds, was sobering. Literally.
The chunks of days or weeks that she couldn’t remember had caught up with her on numerous occasions. Conversations that held no relevance next time they were resumed, sad faces realizing that she truly didn’t recognize them. How many phones had she replaced with contacts lost, both work and private, that there was no getting back, due to her own stubbornness of not committing to backing them up.
COVID lockdowns hadn’t done them any justice either. Her job wasn’t essential, and rightfully so, the studio had been closed before being allowed to reopen with intense precautions.
It was a breather, now, to be quite a bit on from it. Two years later and so much had changed.
Today, she was the first one in the shop. Cleaning and sanitizing and setting up equipment. She retrieved the stencil she had spent hours drawing and redrawing the artwork of, making sure each line ebbed and flowed just so. Once it was drawn, and approved through a series of emails back and forth, the printer did the hard work of making the stencil, and then all she would have to do was stitch it together to apply it.
After that she would be spending long hours on just the line work. Maybe all today. That was the worst part, seeing who could sit still the longest.
“You know,” Hannah began, handing over a black coffee, taking in the startled jump Quinn gave as she spied her for the first time, “for not wanting to tattoo religious iconography, you really outdid yourself with this one.”
Quinn nodded as the two of them looked at the color printout and the stencil that was all but ready.
She shrugged, taking a sip of the drink, “I don’t know, it just felt different. Saint Sarah, Santa Sarah Kali, or Sara-al-Kali. The patron saint of the Roma people. It depends on which version you read, in some she saved Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary and then was later converted to Christianity, in other versions, she’s the daughter of Jesus and Mary Magdalene.”
“And the deer?”
She shrugged, eyes tracing the lines that created the poppies, the woman, the animal, “A stag. I don’t know. I’m just the creative vessel.”
She took over the sound system, queueing a playlist that wouldn’t repeat for at least 4 hours.
“No, c’mon, don’t subject me to your weird nineties bullshit today!” Hannah cried, at 10:55, unlocking the door and turning on the open sign as PJ Harvey flooded the speakers.
It was just the two of them today, a welcome break from the shop being full with the other two artists being out of town at a convention.
Someone had to hold down the fort, she supposed, declining their invitation to attend also for fear of slipping back into her previous drunken antics.
Hopefully, he was on time. The appointment had been filled for upwards of two years and she didn’t spend hours upon hours drawing it for nothing.
She heard the door open, and Hannah speak as she distributed the papers he needed to fill out and took his ID.
“Quinn?” Hannah poked her head in the room, before heading to the copier, and holding up his passport so she could see the photo, “I feel like I should recognize him.”
Shelby, Thomas Michael
Birmingham
UK Specimen
She shook her head, eyes flitting between the photo and the identifying information that accompanied it as she chewed her lower lip. “I mean, yeah, I do too, but I don’t.”
“Weird.” Hannah carried on, unable to shake the familiar feeling but not getting overly hung up on it either as she returned his passport to him.
“You can come back!” Quinn called out, tuning on the brighter lights in her portion of the studio and stretching the plastic wrap over the black massage table.
When she saw him in the doorway, she had to agree with Hannah, without a doubt she should know him. She reminded herself though, she had that feeling about a lot of people anymore. Living each day with alcohol living in her mind for how long made her realize she had forgotten so much.
“I’m Quinn,” she offered her hand, and he knew it was the same woman by the candlestick and match that were on the inside of her right arm. Her hair was longer now, but still purple, in a braid down her back. She also, he noticed, looked as if she had lost weight, although, she looked amazing either way.
“Tommy.” He took her hand, realizing she either wanted to keep things as professional as possible, or that she had no recollection of the almost sleepless night they had spent together in New Orleans.
The way she smiled, as if the exchange was unfamiliar, he guessed the latter.
“Okay, so, I’ll give you more aftercare information when we’re done for today,” she informed him, trying to follow her routine as she was startled by the familiarity of the bright blue eyes that watched her, trying to not get too caught up in analyzing his features, high cheekbones and shortly cropped hair along the sides that was allowed to be long on the top, and setting a few sheets of printer paper on the counter next to the sink, “but for right now, I just need you to remove your shirt so I can check that the stencil is the right size before I trim it and get ready to position it.”
He nodded as he pulled the black shirt over his head. If he’d have been wearing longer sleeves, she wouldn’t have suspected at all he had a single tattoo, but the raglan shirt he was wearing, the sleeves were rolled up enough, that she had a good idea of what else to expect.
Now with her hands washed and sheathed beneath the gloves, Quinn handled the papers delicately, trying to make herself focus instead of roaming the ink on his chest and entirety of his left arm.
“Okay, go ahead and turn around,” shifting, Quinn reached for the orange marker so that it was obtainable when they agreed on the placement of the stencil.
Facing away, he watched in the mirror as she retrieved the stitched together papers from the table carefully. Her fingertips, even through the gloves, were cool against his skin. “Relax your shoulders, stand how you usually would.”
He shifted slightly, but not much, and he could see the way a smile played at the corners of her lips as she moved the paper closer to his skin.
“Is it okay if some of the florals go above the collar?” She asked, realizing she should have asked in the first place before she finished the drawing. She placed her finger where the stencil lined up at, tapping as she spoke, “it’s only right here.”
“Yes,” he nodded, “that’s fine. I’m not too worried about it.”
It was a perfect fit. They had never met for any in person consultation appointments because he had emailed her when COVID had been running rampant. Instead she instructed him to send measurements of his shoulder span and waist, and a photo, and the rest she would figure out from there.
Around the edge of the stencil she made tick marks, running from the paper onto his skin, so that when all the preparations were done it would end up right back where it belonged.
He turned back around to face her, the colors and lines decorating him feeling familiar. A swan and flowers, blue peonies amongst the bunch, standing out as something she should recognize.
Maybe just because of his eyes. Ugh, his eyes. She felt like they were digging deep into her soul, reaching and pulling for something she didn’t have to offer.
There was small conversation as she collected the rest of the remaining supplies, moving around the area right to each thing she was looking for as Tommy watched her carefully.
The grey wrap shirt she had on wasn’t doing him any favors, a low enough V neck that he could see the shiny dermal implant in her chest each time the light caught it.
“Did you hear me?” She had paused, two pieces of absorbent paper in her hand, with her eyebrows raised as she waited for an answer.
“No, sorry,” he gestured one hand in the air toward the copper tiled ceiling, quickly coming up with a lie “sidetracked. Music.”
She nodded. “I said, since the ink will stain clothing, I’ll give you these and you can put them over the waistband of your pants. Even though they’re black, it still makes it, just, more sanitary.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and thanks, for actually listening to what I said in my email,” she smiled as he adjusted the crinkly paper over the waistband of the sweatpants, “You wouldn’t believe how many people I tell to wear comfortable, loose fitting clothes for something like this and they show up in skin tight jeans.”
Once again he watched her through the mirror as Quinn took her time, applying the stencil solution to his skin, her movements gentle as she listened to the music, finding her head moving in time in parts.
“I figured since you’re the professional I should probably take your advice.”
“You’d be surprised, I don’t hear that too often.”
#peaky blinders#tommy shelby#peaky fucking blinders#peaky fookin blinders#tommy shelby fanfic#modern tommy shelby#modern!tommy shelby#modern!tommy#misadventures#tommy shelby x oc#quinn meyer
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@reapcrbunny
The man sat in the dimly-lit corner of the adventurer's guild, the soft glow of a nearby candle casting shadows on the walls around him. He watched as the Viera he was tasked to guide approached, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she surveyed the various tools and equipment lining the walls. Without a word, the man reached into his satchel and withdrew a small rectangular plate made of stained crystal, set into a frame of worn out metal. The plate depicted a virtuous deed of one of Eorzea's patron saints, The Twelve, they call it.
"Guildleves," he began, his voice soft and measured. "These small plates are more than just trinkets or symbols of our status as adventurers. They represent the very essence of what it means to be part of this guild, to undertake the tasks and quests that are presented to us. Each guildleve is a key to unlocking new opportunities, new challenges, and new adventures," he continued. "When you hold one of these plates, you have the leave to take whatever steps necessary to complete the job. You can enter normally restricted areas, hunt or harvest on private lands, confiscate goods, even negotiate with those considered enemies of the city-states."
He turned, letting one of the plates dance on the palm of his hand. "Guildleves are more than just a way to make an honest living, they are a way to make a name for yourself in this realm. The more errands you undertake, the more plates you receive, the greater your reputation will become. You will be known as a true adventurer, someone who is willing to take on any challenge, no matter how daunting or dangerous."
But as he kept talking, the man realized that his words were falling on deaf ears. The woman seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, her attention wandering as she gazed off into the distance. He sighed and waved a hand in front of her face, distraught at the wasted effort. "I know it can be overwhelming at first," he said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "But trust me, the guildleves are the key to unlocking everything this guild has to offer. Take them seriously, and they will reward you in ways you cannot even imagine." He sat back in his chair, resigned to the fact that some adventurers were simply too lost in their own thoughts to pay attention to the wisdom of their more experienced peers.
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A♣️ - What’s your muse’s strongest talent? K♠️ - What is one thing your muse considers a grave injustice?
A♣️ - What’s your muse’s strongest talent?
Morganaux:
Ignoring his magical strength caused by his unnaturally large personal aether supply, Morganaux's other greatest talent is his ability to easily memorize information. This knack for memorization has gotten him far in life, allowing him to stand out at the orphanage he grew up as well as at Saint Endalim's Scholasticate.
(He also put these skills to very good use in his childhood by having a relevant quote from Halonic scripture for any situation, but as an adult, he likes to pretend this phase of his life never happened. Plus, it ended up making him a prime candidate for an expurgator, whose sole job is to memorize forbidden scripture deemed too dangerous to write down.)
Most importantly, it makes it much easier for him to learn new spells and he's always itching to learn new spells.
This talent of his only applies to situations where he's consciously studying something, so he's still capable of (and often is guilty of) forgetting things he's told.
Phoebus:
Gardening may have started off as a way of keeping his family's traditions alive, but it didn't take long for others around him to notice he had a green thumb once he got his own greenhouse.
While others in House Albinus had relied on their patron voidsent to bless their harvests, Phoebus couldn't use their same methods in the imperial botanical gardens for fear of being caught. (Or, rather, he couldn't do it very often.) Yet still, he had a gift for growing the most beautiful roses and the most delicious berries while toiling away in his private greenhouse, even if he wasn't doing anything differently from the other imperial gardeners.
Apollo:
Apollo naturally excelled at anything involving healing due to top secret spoiler-related reasons. The details are something that'll need to be unlocked via RP! ;D He would have made the perfect Emmerololth, were it not for his need to wander, and in scenarios where he doesn't go on to hold the seat of Azem, that's exactly the role he ends up filling instead.
The extent of his healing powers also veer into spoiler territory for many of the secrets he's keeping, otherwise I'd gladly ramble about them lmao. (Someday, when work calms down again, I'd like to get some RPs going for him!)
K♠️ - What is one thing your muse considers a grave injustice?
Morganaux:
In Morganaux's eyes, to willfully harm a child is the worst thing someone can do. He might be a pacifist who tries his best to make peace with his enemies until he's forced to resort to violence, but this is one of the very few exceptions to this rule. He sees a little of his past self in children who are put in harm's way, and he wants to protect them the same way he wished someone else would've protected him during his youth.
Phoebus:
To be willfully, pointlessly cruel toward others, and a refusal to intervene in the face of such an injustice. Seeing those things as the most grievous sins of all, it's no wonder he throws himself into a self-destructive quest for repentance the moment he sees the Garlean Empire as the monster it truly was.
Throughout his career as a legatus during pre-imperial times, he had a reputation for showing genuine care toward the men who served under him, but also was known for harshly punishing those who acted out of malice. It was one thing slaying invaders, but he had no tolerance for inflicting needless suffering upon them and would take matters into his own hands the moment he saw any of that happening.
He hoped that one day, the Garleans could make peace with the magic-wielders who threatened them and to work together with them, and mistreating them wouldn't make that vision a reality.
Apollo:
To Apollo, for someone to die before their time is the worst injustice that could happen. Returning to the star by choice was something to be celebrated— a well-earned rest after one had accomplished all they had set out to do in life— and the idea of someone dying unfulfilled deeply unsettled him.
Even so, before he was Azem, he made the choice to be a researcher of the healing arts, and though unnatural deaths were rare in the ancient world before the Final Days, his career of choice made it much more likely for him to have to witness such a thing. Those rare occasions where he had to watch someone's life slip away were devastating to him.
Seeing such a terrible sight, all he could think about were the hopes and dreams they had that would never come to pass, the loved ones they left behind, and the happiness they could have achieved at the end of it all if only they could have been saved. He never took moments like these well, sometimes disappearing for months at a time to mourn the patients he had lost, even if he didn't know them.
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transmime jesus was sacrificed and resurrected this week.
new holiday unlocked:
may 3: resurrection of sombre tempête, patron saint of hormones and ooze
#i did indeed stab myself with the mirror blade but it is fine.#ALSO I SHIT YOU NOT THE BLACK BLOOD DRIED PINK AND BLUE
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May I request some Luther & the showgirls working for Jack, as they seem to get along well. Though it seems like you already got quite a few requests, so feel perfectly free to ignore this. Hope the muse will become a bit more cooperative <3.
Thanks for your patience with this, sorry took a little longer than expected! Put a little bit of asexual Luther in here, hope that's okay. Also this is Gordo and this is Valentina.
-
Luther’s dinner is interrupted when a newspaper appears in front of his face.
“Look at this Lulu!” Patsy chirps over his shoulder as she holds it, “First woman in space! Can you believe it?”
“Not even long after the men,” Sandra says, leaning on the bar next to him, proud smirk on her face.
Luther takes the paper, acts like he’s surprised, like he didn’t already know. “Wow, look at that!” he says.
He’d learned about Valentina Tereshkova when he was just a kid, hell he’d been able to list all the Mercury Seven by the time he was four. He’d been upset, actually, that he’d been dropped at the tail end of December 1962 and had missed almost all their flights. At the very least he’d seen Gordo go up, the first to stay up for a whole day. Despite how he got here Luther’ll remember that as one of his favorite days of his life.
“A woman,” Marvin the bartender mutters as he sweeps up behind the counter, “and a Russian at that!” He scoffs and shakes his head.
Luther bites back a smile, Marvin’s gonna be real disappointed by a whole lot of things if he lives a lot longer.
“Hush, you,” Patsy says, shaking her hands at him, “you gotta start being more modern, like Luther.” He rolls his eyes and keeps sweeping.
“Nice to have some forward thinking men ‘round here,” Sandra says, leaning over the bar to grab a bottle of brandy. She was the one who’d given Luther a tour of the place, had teased him when he’d looked away as they passed the changing room.
She pours herself a glass, tips the bottle Luther’s way. He nods and lets her top off the glass at his elbow. He says, “Thank you.” They love how polite he is.
The girls all like him, or seem to at least. Luther’s never been anywhere that…well, anywhere, ever, especially where he’s around actual people. He acts how he’s sure he’s supposed to act and so far it’s working. This is still new, even months later; he wonders often if the day’s gonna come when he slips up and reveals a whole lot about himself they won't understand.
But he does like them, that's true. “How’s Bobby?” He asks.
“That lout!” Sandra says, rolling her eyes, holding up her left hand. “The day I get a ring on this finger is the day the saints come marching just for me.” She and Luther take a drink together.
Autumn bustles through the door then, gives a cheerful hello as she comes up to the bar, setting down a Tupperware container.
“Tell me those are lemon bars,” Patsy says, peering over them with a grin.
“Ma made ‘em this afternoon,” Autumn says, cracking open the lid to give her a peek. She points a finger at Luther, “And you’re gonna take some this time mister, none of that ‘no sugar’ nonsense.”
Luther gives an apologetic smile, “I have a fight tomorrow.” He’s always had a strict diet, his whole life, to keep in fighting shape. Sugar was a luxury saved for mom’s birthday cakes. He’s found it’s not all that different- training for dad’s missions or Jack’s matches. It’s alright though, he’s used to it, even if the lemon bars are tempting.
“Again, so soon?” Autumn’s expression turns concerned, “This hasn’t even healed yet!”
She reaches out towards him, to the cut that sits over his right eyebrow still sporting three stitches, but doesn’t actually touch. The girls are sweet, used to being flirty with patrons, but they’d learned within the first week that Luther was strange about physical touch. They’ve all been careful about it ever since, an unspoken agreement between him and them. He’s embarrassed by it, he tells himself it’s a stupid hang up to have, but it’s a relief and he’s thankful to them for it.
“It’s really not that bad,” he assures her. He heals fast, he can’t tell them why though. “I just won’t get hit there again.” He already knows he won’t, but he can’t tell them that either.
“Jack!” Autumn calls, looking over Luther’s shoulder and he turns to see Jack arriving, starting across the room to his office. He doesn’t look up from the papers in his hands.
“Yeah? What now?”
Sandra twists in her seat, “You gotta give Luther a break! You’re gonna ruin that pretty face!”
Luther ducks his head, tries not to blush. The only times he’s been called ‘pretty’ or ‘handsome’ was in some magazines when he got older. He doesn’t think of himself that way, especially now.
“Pretty face isn’t what keeps the lights on girls, it’s the muscles,” Jack says.
That’s always why Luther’s been useful.
Jack stops outside his office door, “Those lemon bars? Save a few for me.”
“Of course Jack,” Autumn says with a smile. The girls like Jack, he’s easy to work for.
Music comes on as Marvin puts a record on, a signal for the girls to start getting ready. Patsy whines that she wants to listen to Elvis Presley and Sandra says of course she does. Patsy gives Marvin doll eyes and he relents and the song switches, ‘There’s Always Me’ filling the bar with Elvis’s smooth voice. Luther likes it enough but some days he misses Cyndi Lauper fiercely.
“Promise?” Autumn says, still behind the counter, looking at Luther with a soft expression, “That you won’t get hit there again? It’s gonna leave a nasty scar.”
Luther gives his best reassuring look, “Promise.” He can’t tell her it’s all planned, every punch and kick. Luther spent 24 years of his life training to fight much worse people than some thugs in an dirt floor ring in a shack, every hit he takes is on purpose. Jack’s the only one who knows something’s a little off about Luther and he says he has to bleed a little, can’t make it look too easy.
Luther sees it as a requirement, a small sacrifice. He’s got a room and a job and free meals, and he knows he’s gonna win the fight anyway. What else is he supposed to do? He was dropped in the middle of nowhere, decades out of time, and dad…well, he won’t help. He tries not to think about how dad spoke to him that day, about the look on his face.
Autumn smiles like she’ll believe him for now, then takes the Tupperware with her off to the backroom to change. Luther finishes his dinner and drink alone at the bar until the first patrons show up, rubbing their hands together in excitement, eyes on the stage even as they order drinks. Luther starts his rounds.
It’s an easy job, he just mills around, warns the guys who get too loud, shoves out anyone who gets too rowdy or handsy. There’s strict rules on how exactly the men interact with the women and Luther makes sure everyone knows it. And he always makes sure Jack’s happy.
Luther’s not really interested in all the skin on display, he never has been. It’s another item he’s added to the list of ways he doesn’t quite fit; he’s supposed to like this kind of thing isn’t he? All “red blooded American men” like it, that’s what Jack says. Luther just nods, says, “yeah, of course”; something’s always told Luther it’s just not for him..
“You’re not a slobbering goon like the rest of the guys in this place,” Patsy had told him once after he’d thrown out some guy who got too bold, “You’re a real gentleman.” But he doesn’t understand how he couldn’t be, not with them, and that’s not even because of the other thing.
The night goes well enough, he only has to talk down a group of sailors who get too noisy but they get an eyeful of him and simmer down. Autumn makes her rounds, comes up to him at one point.
“Can I ask a favor Lu?”
“Always.”
“Well April borrowed my car yesterday and left it with a flat, didn’t bother to tell me-”
“Oh April,” Luther says, shaking his head. He’s used to these kinds of stories about her sister.
“I know right? That girl, I swear. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d walk me home tonight?”
“Of course,” Luther says, “I’ll check with Jack, make sure he doesn’t have anything for me at close.”
She beams at him, “Thanks Lu, you’re the best.”
He has to check with Jack because he’s got to put Jack first, it’s just part of the deal. He doesn’t have anything to do with parts of Jack’s business, parts that he doesn’t look into or think about too much. There’s an irony there about being a former superhero working for…whatever Jack is, but he has to run errands, sometimes even at 2 a.m. But tonight he’s free, Jack waves him off saying, “Yeah yeah, make sure my girls get home safe.”
Autumn’s waiting by the door in her street clothes when Luther finishes with Jack. Marvin locks the door behind them as they step out onto the quiet street.
Autumn gives a sly look as she opens up the Tupperware container, now half empty. “Come on now, you’re gonna make my ma real sad if you don’t at least try one.”
Luther purses his lip against a smile, sighs. “A bite.”
Autumn’s nearly giddy as he breaks off a piece, pops it in his mouth. She watches him expectantly. “Your mom’s an amazing baker,” he says and she grins proudly.
It is amazing, reminds Luther of a lemon cake mom had made when they turned 14.
The night is quiet and warm, the only place still open is the 24 hour diner down the road. Autumn says she likes their pancakes but other than that they don’t talk much. Luther finds it’s kind of nice that they don’t have to.
Her place isn’t far and he stays to watch her unlock the door and go in, she gives a wave as he stands at the gate.
It’s a longer walk back to his place from here but he doesn’t mind it. He never just walked around his neighborhood, back when he lived at the Academy. He wonders how different it might all be if he did. He tells himself it’s not a thought worth wondering though, he’s here, there’s no changing it, all he can do is make the best of it, but he’s got a few people who make it easier. He looks towards the sky, thinks about Valentina passing overhead.
#tua fic#umbrella academy fic#the umbrella academy#luther hargreeves#my fic#t.ua#i got one more prompt on the docket i haven't forgotten!
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YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI x FEM ! READER
goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon themes, yandere, abuse, profanity, ableism, amnesia, animal abuse, anxiety, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, mind control, stalking
CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT
He didn’t want it to be this way.
Or… that’s a lie. He didn’t want to enjoy it being this way. He had to do it either way, but disliking it would make it slightly easier to forgive himself afterwards. Yet, he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that. Looking into those large wax-like eyes, glossed over by some thick veil, no longer in her own control, but in his. No longer constantly distracted by the faintest noise or the mildest view or the most mellow smell accompanying the fucking breeze. Her attention undeniably and uninterruptedly set on him and only him. It felt better than what he had imagined, as though some war had been won; peaceful, right.
Yet wrong. It was wrong of him to take advantage of her trust, what more: it was wrong of him to enjoy it so devilishly as well. But how could he not? How could he resist taking pleasure in her utter submission, even if he’d forced it from her; looking at him so helplessly, hopelessly, no plead or hatred or fear evident in her defenseless features, just complete and pure vulnerability.
Not that she was ever one for caution anyways. She was always so temptingly careless, reckless, ruthless, dangerous. Chaos in desperate need of control. She was always chasing some new type of death as though in love with the idea of her life being ripped away, in love with the idea of not having any control. He was granting her just that. Where she lacked the ability to control herself, he had no qualms in doing it for her. She couldn’t blame him when she was practically begging for it.
He was scared, he realized. Afraid of letting go now that he’d taken her, unsure of how to brace himself once he unclutched his claws from her mind. It was easier to simply stare into her orbs as she did him. Yet, he didn’t take her to feel safe. Quite the opposite. He took her to taste the chaos she provided. That unpredictable terrifying wilderness that seemed to swirl behind her eyes, the one he’d currently subdued. There was no way to prepare, he figured. No point in postponing the inevitable either.
Her eyes flickered, as though waking up from a nap, fluffy puffy soft-looking tail raising behind her, ears ruffling as though sensing she wasn’t where she was supposed to be before her mind reached the same sense of dread. Licking her lips as she’d been unable to for some time. Hands scrunching into the bedsheets, nails plunging through the thin fabric, knees retracting to her chest as her breathing picked up. Eyes locked onto him, recognition then confusion, then a newfound panic building and brewing and storming her senses all at once.
“What did you do?”
She sounded unsure, unbelieving of her words, half expecting there to be some logical explanation behind her situation, yet she couldn’t shake her insurmountable sense of dread. Eyes scanning and spiraling from the purple-haired man to the large bed she was placed on to the unknowingly locked door.
Without further thought, she leaped as though she had wings attached to her back, all granted by her cat-like mobility, and even as she realized the door was locked, she still pointlessly shook at the handle as though some saint would grant her wish and unlock it for her.
She only stopped when she felt his hand touch something sensitive. His hand feeling so familiar in its distinct resolution, firm and purposeful and greedy, handling her extra limb, controlling the only reign she had in keeping control, keep her balance, keep her footing, now strangled inside his fist.
Her tail wormed in his grasp, bending and twining in discomfort, begging for her to whip around and plant those knife-sharp claws into his skin, dragging them, digging them, graveling along his arm, leaving an imprint of three blood-red streaks in their wake, a stark contrast to the softness of her tail-fur.
He hissed and let go, yet couldn’t blame a wild thing for acting on mere instinct, thinking that maybe relieving his control of her was a decision made on hope more so than on logic. His scarf coming to wrap and slither around her quite similar to how a boa constrictor would suffocate their victims. The tendrils lifting her up into the air, all with her thrashing, joined with all downtrodden panicked little yelps and screams which were second by overwhelming second becoming uncontrollable sobs the more and more the situation dawned on her, feeling herself be placed down on the bed again, which sparked the dreadful thought of what impending violation the following events might contain. However, despite the fat globs of tears that soon made passage down her face, drowning out her sight, she was in no shape or form subdued, and would most definitely not be handled without a fight.
The sheets were an easy target for her claws to shred into ruins as quickly as her body met with the soft surface of the mattress. Feather of pillow came flying shortly after, until the idea of ruining whatever bond was holding her in place even came into mind. Her hands finding the capture weapon, beginning to pull and scratch, but to no avail.
“Chess.” His voice managed to send chills shooting through her, now that she could remember each and every time she’d heard it but been made to forget afterwards. All those times he had pulled her tail, coaxed her into answering a question then made her forget the whole ordeal. All those times he’d come by to rub the softness of her furry ears like lucky charms, those times he’d twirl the plush bushiness of her tail around his fingers and hand, those times he’d kissed her, tested to see if her tongue was gravel in texture, and the moan he gave when finding how it was velvety and squishy like a regular human’s would be, maybe even more so.
Her caution rendered frail and pointless in the whirlwind of her panic. “Let me go!” It was half a sob and half a scream, soaked with panic, yet it made no difference to the heavy weight that soon feel upon her conscience. Her eyes growing wide and glossy and void like before, her body lying limp on the bed. Every nerve of her body; raped. The entire construct of her mind; abused, to the point where she felt the faulty cracks created like never-ending ravines made by the gaps in her memory, decisions she didn’t make, wasn’t allowed to make.
It’s not something you think about… how easy it is for the strong to make the weak crawl, how easy it is for them to excuse themselves, forgive themselves, thank themselves.
His was a patronizing smile, sly in its crookedness. Thinking of how cute a little reckless and forgetful creature he had the liberty and luxury of finding, of having, taking, owning. “Curiosity really did kill the cat, didn’t it?” In her defense it hadn’t sounded like a question. In her defense it wasn’t even her real name, yet the new, or rather old, memories flooding her mind told her otherwise. “It would seem… Kitty’s on her last life.” A long pale finger dragged up her leg slowly, and although she wanted nothing more but to pull her leg to herself, she couldn’t even as much as look at the attacker from anywhere but the very edge of her peripheral, his control not allowing her an inch of mobility.
She realized she hadn’t known fear. She only knew of small fleeting moments where her heart would make a leap into her chest, the feeling of almost pleasant fluttering followed by that flush of relief that could feel like blessing or absolution at times. She used to think fear was something people needed every once in a while. A good little thrilling scare to keep the mundane at bay. But this, this crippling crawling creeping draining, as though there was a puncture somewhere and all her blood was leaking from her limbs and had the fine hairs of her skin raising like spires in a manor where she swore it hurt. And although the fear had her feeling light, as though she was nothing, made of glass or worse, she felt heavy, grounded, trapped. The command placed not in her mind, but on her chest like a two-ton brick.
Stray silent tears slipped past his control, but the act was just as meek and pointless as a whisper in the wind. “I have you wrapped around my pinky, but I promise…” She felt like shaking, like trembling, quaking like earth does in uproar, but her body remained engulfed in some false sense of calm. His knees dipped down into the mattress, and she’d never before wanted to whimper so badly, the sound stuck in her throat, choking her. Her breathing slow and reserved, her own lungs betraying her even as his finger made way to brush up the valley between her breasts over the satiny feel of her blouse. “I won’t do anything you won’t like.”
Hitoshi liked to think he’d learned how much to give and how much to take, when in reality the only thing Hitoshi had cultivated through his several years of struggle was the tenacity, the drive, the strength to take and take and take things when the world doesn’t serve him his desires on a silver platter.
#yandere shinso hitoshi#yandere hitoshi#yandere hitoshi shinso#yandere#yandere shinsou#yandere shinso x reader#yandere shinso#yandere hitoshi shinso#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere brainwave#shinsou hitoshi#shinso#shinsou#shinsō hitoshi#hitoshi#bnha shinso hitoshi#shinso hitoshi#shinso hitoshi#hitoshi shinso x y/n#hitoshi shinso imagine#hitoshi shinsou#bnha#mha imagines#boku no hero imagines#boku no hero academia
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Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 4
Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...
Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader
Word Count: 2k
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything
Description: George takes you on a secret trip to the Three Broomsticks.
X
“Hey, what are you doing?” You were sitting in the library taking notes and completing your assigned reading.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” you responded, peeling your eyes from the text to shoot George a look.
“I could use your help.”
“My help? What could you possibly need my help for?”
“Come with me and you’ll find out.” Your curiosity peaked as you raised an eyebrow at him. He gave you a pleading look and moments later you agreed. You packed up your things and followed him out of the library. You assumed you were heading to the common room but George grabbed your hand and pulled you around a different corner.
“Where are we going?”
“We may or may not be sneaking out.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
“Just wait. It will soon become clear.”
You reached an isolated hallway in the castle where the One-Eyed Witch statue was perched.
“Here we are.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Now I will be lookout so you can go first.”
“Go where?” Instead of answering your question he cast a spell and the hump on the witch opened up, creating a passageway.
“Climb in there when I say go. I’ll follow you down a few seconds after.” You decided not to question his instruction. You trusted him and knew your window of opportunity was limited. He gave you the signal and you hoisted yourself up and slid down into the statue. You fell down the corridor and let out a little squeal, unsure of what was ahead. After a short slide, you were airborne and barely landed on your feet. The ground was rough and uneven. You stood up, wiping the dust off yourself and you cast the Lumos charm to illuminate the hallway. You heard movement a few seconds later and George landed swiftly right behind you. This clearly was not his first time.
“You okay?” he asked. You nodded and curiously looked around.
“Okay, I tried to keep my questions to a minimum, but where the hell are we going?”
“Hogsmeade of course.”
“Hogsmeade? Why?”
“Now I know you’re aware of the party happening tonight.”
“Of course.”
“Someone’s gotta supply the butterbeer.”
“Ah, I see now. And pray tell why am I accompanying you on this journey instead of Fred?”
“Fred’s been avoiding me lately. I offered to get everything tonight so I imagine he’s spending time with Lee and some of the other Gryffindors.”
“Anything happen?”
“We just got into an argument. It’s fine.”
“That’s not like you two. You never fight. Seriously what happened,” George was quiet, putting his words together carefully. It didn’t take long for you to jump to conclusions. “No…no. This isn’t because of me is it? I don’t want to drive a wedge between you.”
“No, it's not because of you.”
“If it was, you would tell me right? There’s an easy out clause for a reason, we don’t have to go through with this if it’s causing tension.”
“It’s not because of you. I promise,” he lied.
“Okay. That’s all I needed to hear,” you said.
“So, will you be my date to the party this evening?”
“I sure will.”
You made your way through the dark and dusty corridor until you reached a stopping point. You were expecting a doorway or something but the hallway just stopped. You looked at George, about to ask him where to next and you followed his eyes up the ceiling.
“You’re joking,” you spoke. He shook his head back and forth. There was no way you could get up there. George stood up on his tiptoes and reached his long arms up to displace a trap door. “Come here,” he instructed you. You moved closer to him as he crouched to the ground. “Sit on my shoulders. I’ll hoist you up through the door.”
“Are you sure about this George? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“What, you don’t think my broad man shoulders can handle it?” he joked.
“No, it’s not that-“
“Just hop on. You’re light as a feather.” You slowly put one leg over his shoulder and braced yourself before swinging over the other. You gently rested your hands on his head, to keep balanced.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Go for it.”
He slowly stood up and took a few steps forward until he was directly under the trap door. He fully extended his legs and you were looking into a dusty shop room. You held onto the sides of the trap door and hoisted yourself up ever so slightly, extending your legs. You climbed out and dusted yourself off when you saw George’s fingertips claw the side of the opening and soon he was pushing his torso through the hole in the ground. You offered him a hand but knew he didn’t need it. He had done this so many times before, he had the process down.
“And where are we right now?”
“Honeydukes cellar. Fred and I know the owner. He lets us come and go as we like in exchange for free marketing. That’s why we always have free samples of the latest sweets.”
“How do you have all these connections?”
“Dunno. Fred and I have a knack for getting into trouble and then talking our way out. Make a lot friends doing that.” George placed the cover diagonally over the trap door and led you upstairs. The shop was closed but he continued walking through the aisles towards the front door. He magically unlocked the door and you made your way to the Three Broomsticks.
It was a cool night, but the air wasn’t as crisp as you expected as you walked through the quiet village. You made small talk as you walked down the empty streets. Most of the shops and stores were closed at this time of night. As you neared the pub, you heard the buzz of the regulars and drunks carrying on and having a laugh. Part of you wanted to stay and enjoy a butterbeer here with George, but you knew there wasn’t exactly time for that.
“Madame Rosmerta! And how are we doing this fine evening?” George said as you approached the bar.
“No! No, you’re not getting any more butterbeers! I told you last time.”
“Now that is not fair. You know this is a special occasion. We’re hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. We have to make sure our guests enjoy themselves and have a good time.”
“I don’t care. You’re not getting anything this time.”
“Oh, come on. You’re making me look bad in front of my new girl.” She stopped pouring beers, turned to look at us, and cocked her eyebrow. You shot her a smile, trying to help George’s case.
“Now, I recognize her. She’s always in here with a group of giggling girls. What’s your name love?”
“Y/N,” you answered.
“Well Y/N, you’ve got yourself a good one. Underneath all the pranks and scheming, Georgie’s a catch.”
You nodded at her statement and looked at George, trying out your acting skills, “He’s so good to me. I’m a lucky girl,” you said rubbing his shoulder.
Madame Rosmerta looked charmed and you could see her starting to soften up. “All right, all right. You’ll get your butterbeers. But this is the last time, you hear me?”
“Rosmerta you are truly a saint. Thank you.”
“Save your flattery. Meet me around back. Y/N, look after the bar.” You shrugged and agreed as she led you behind the bar and gave you nowhere near as much instruction as you needed. You made conversation with the patrons as you poured refills and collected empty mugs. You had to admit, it was a little bit fun. Once everyone seemed to be taken care of, you snuck out from behind the bar to look for George. Surely you would be on your way out soon. You headed to the back office and saw George carrying a crate filled with bottles of butterbeer.
“She’s beautiful that one. You make sure you treat her well, ya hear? She deserves a good guy to take care of her,” you heard from around the corner. You waited a moment to hear his response, your curiosity getting the best of you.
“Trust me, I won’t hurt her. She’s special.” You grinned at his response for a moment before returning to reality.
“So everything’s all taken care of back there. Glasses are full, bar’s wiped down, and everyone’s happy. Well…almost everyone. Keep an eye on Henry out there. He’s about to start weeping over his ex-wife.”
“Ah, I suppose it is about that time,” George chuckled.
“You handled everything?” she asked you, stunned.
“Yeah, I think. Everyone seems to be in good spirits.”
“No one’s ever done that before, aside from me of course. Listen here, if you ever need a job in the future, you come straight here and I’ll hire you on the spot.”
“Wow, I will keep that in mind. Thanks!”
Rosemerta gave George a pat on the back and came over to give you a kiss on the cheek, “You best be off. Have fun tonight you two.”
“Thanks again Rosemerta,” George said as you made your way out the back door.
“And if you get caught with that, it didn’t come from here!” she added. You both laughed as you stumbled outside into the cool breeze.
“She loves me,” he stated as you walked through the empty road.
“Oh is that so.”
“Oh absolutely. I mean every time, without fail, she starts with a stern no. Then I talk to her a little bit and she remembers how much she likes me, minutes later she’s shoving a crate of contraband into my hands. Look, she even put a bottle of Firewhiskey in this batch.”
“Wow, well done George.”
“I should say the same to you. You really know how to tend a bar. Anytime Fred steps behind there to hold the place over, about five different things go wrong and there’s always broken glass and some sort of spill. Rosemerta returns and goes ballistic; until Fred reminds her that he is indeed a wizard and magically cleans everything up. But she was thoroughly impressed with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she asks for you next time around.”
“I would be more than happy to accompany you. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up taking her up on that job offer.”
“I’m sure you can do a lot better than running a bar. What’s your long term plan?”
“To be honest, I have no idea.”
“That’s a joke. You’re a Gryffindor prefect. You’re brilliant in all your classes. You have so much ahead of you and you don’t know?”
“It’s not like that’s uncommon. Are you telling me you already have a plan post-Hogwarts?”
“Course I do. Fred and I are opening a shop where we can sell our brilliant products.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“That’s actually great. I wish I had that kind of clarity.”
“Well, what are you good at?”
“I’m fairly decent at every subject, but I don’t feel a strong connection to one subject over the others. Maybe charms or transfiguration if anything.”
“What do you like? And don’t just limit yourself to school. Just in general.”
You had never really thought about it before. Whenever the subject of the future had come up you changed the subject or completely stopped thinking about it.
“I suppose…I like people. Being around people and talking to people. That’s not much to go off is it?”
“It’s a start. You’ll find your calling soon enough. You’re smart and personable, people love that combination.”
“Thanks George. That is oddly reassuring.”
By this point you had reached Honeydukes. You led the way inside and you ended up scanning the aisles, salivating over all the sweets.
“Here,” George said, handing you a giant, heart-shaped lollipop. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Wow, stealing candy for me. You’re too generous,” you joked. He rolled his eyes and you gave him a genuine thank you as you made your way back down to the tunnel.
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IT’S MY SWEET BRENNA’S BIRTHDAY!!!
we were just talking yesterday about how writing birthday posts can feel super awkward, so I wrote a drabble instead!! She loves Hotch and we were just talking about how Patron Saint Hotch is probably terrible with blood, so here’s some teenage Hotch shenanigans (with a Wonder Twin spin).
everybody go tell @thesassprincess happy birthday!!!
(also warnings for blood!)
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Aaron Hotchner had developed a fairly nuanced reputation at St. Thaddeus School by the time he reached his senior year. A short fuse and a bad temper (mostly rectified once he finished tenth grade). An ever-present scowl. A workaholic with straight As and perpetual dark circles under his eyes. All in all, a tough teenager who seemed to have no chinks in his armor.
Which was why his friends were a bit caught off guard by the incident at the library.
The library had become one of their go-to places once it got too cold to wander across campus, especially since Alex didn’t mind letting them in outside of established hours. She did mind, however, when Derek and Emily knocked over a photo frame on her desk and shattered the glass.
“Guys, are you serious?” she complained as she swept up the catastrophe.
“We know you hide snacks in here somewhere,” Emily said. “Why won’t you tell us where your stash is?”
“Because you two will eat everything I have, and leave nothing for me,” Alex said.
Spencer hovered in the doorway. “I know where it is, but I’m not telling!” he called. Derek stuck his tongue out at him and grinned at his indignation.
“Thank you, darling,” Alex said. She dumped the bits of broken glass and cracked wooden frame into the trash. “Don’t come in here, okay? I might have missed some pieces.”
Emily scooped him up under her arm. “Come on, nugget, let’s go see if Rossi and Hotchner are still arguing over Monopoly,” she said. Spencer shrieked with laughter as she threw him over her shoulder and hauled him out of the office.
“Please don’t jostle him, you just let him drink a venti latte,” Alex said. She sighed heavily as she put the pan and broom away. “Just once I’d like to be able to have fun and not have to be everybody’s mother.”
“You’re usually just Spencer’s mother,” Derek suggested. “You’re a big sister to everybody else, if that’s any consolation.”
“It is not,” she said dryly.
She didn’t mind mothering everyone in their little group, for the most part. And Derek was right, Spencer needed her a lot. But she did have to admit that this wasn’t how she envisioned her senior year.
The vaulted ceilings of the library echoed with Hotch and Dave squabbling over Monopoly rules. “Are they still doing this?” she asked as she sat down beside James. “
“Yep,” he said, tossing his arm around her shoulders. “They’re so distracted with their fight they haven’t noticed that JJ has stolen most of the money out of the bank.”
Penelope stuck out her lower lip. “I’m just mad they wouldn’t let me be the thimble,” she said.
“That’s it,” Hotch said, pushing himself up from the couch. “That is it, I’m done arguing with you.”
“Why, because I’m right and you don’t want to admit it?” Dave said.
“No! I’m just done with this stupid game!” Hotch said. “Whose idea was it to play this, anyway?”
“Mine,” Emily said.
“You’re not even playing. You just picked the thimble and told Spencer to play for you.”
“I know. I figured this would devolve into chaos.”
Hotch huffed in frustration, blowing his dark hair off his forehead. “Well, you can play for me now and you can be the one to argue with Rossi,” he said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and his scowl deepened. “Shit. My phone’s dead. Alex, do you still keep an extra charger around here?”
“Top drawer of my desk in the office,” Alex said, leaning her cheek on James’s shoulder so he could kiss the top of her head.
JJ spread her play money across the table. “All right, whose turn is it now?” she said.
Dave frowned. “How did you get so much money all of a sudden?” he said.
“Wise investments.”
Spencer jumped so he could lean over the back of the couch between James and Alex, the tips of his toes dangling above the ground. “Did you know that Monopoly was originally called The Landlord’s Game?” he asked. “It was created in 1903 based on the economic theories of Henry George, particularly his theories on taxation.”
“How do you know that?” Derek asked. “How do you know so much random stuff? Where does it all fit in that tiny little fourth-grader brain of yours?”
“The hippocampus, most likely,” he said, frowning. “And technically, I’m a ninth grader.”
“A ninth grader in a booster seat,” Derek said half under his breath, and JJ hid a laugh behind her hand.
Spencer’s jaw dropped. “That’s not fair!” he said. “Alex said that teasing me about the booster seat is off limits!”
“All right, all right, I’m sorry, pretty boy,” Derek said as Spencer clambered awkwardly over the side of the couch and slid down to nestle between Alex and James. “Really, though, how do you know so much stuff? You don’t even use the internet.”
“I read a lot,” Spencer sulked, tucking his cheek against Alex’s arm.
Something clattered in the office and Alex jumped. “Did something else break?” Penelope asked.
“God, I hope not,” Alex said. “Hotch? Did you break something?”
A long pause.
“No?”
“That didn’t sound reassuring,” Emily said.
Alex tilted her head back. “Seriously, did you break something?” she called.
“Uh...can you come here for a second?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me what you broke!” she shouted. “Jesus. This is the last time I unlock the library on a Saturday.”
“Alexandra! Come here!”
Alex blinked in surprise. “Oh, you got the full name,” James said. “That’s not good.”
She hoisted Spencer onto James’s lap. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Hopefully whatever he broke is fixable. Unlike my picture frame.”
“I already ordered you a new one,” Emily said. “Can’t you just tell us where you keep your snack stash so we stop snooping around?”
“Nope,” Alex said. “But thanks for replacing it.” She walked behind the desk and opened the office door. “All right, what did you do?”
She stopped dead in her tracks. Her chair had been knocked onto its side, and Hotch was leaning against the wall clutching his arm. “What did you do?” she repeated, this time with genuine concern.
“There was, uh, something sharp on your desk,” Hotch said. His face was paper white. “I didn’t see it.”
“Did you cut yourself?” she asked.
He nodded frantically. “I don’t do blood,” he said. “I don’t do blood at all.”
“Okay, okay, well...don’t look at it,” she said. She grabbed him by the arm and forced him to sit down at the desk next to hers. His knees buckled and he sat down a little too hard. “Are you going to pass out?”
“Not sure yet,” he said, squinching his eyes shut tightly. “Oh god. Oh, god. How bad is it?”
She took his hand in both of hers. “I don’t know, you have to let me see it,” she said. But she could already see the blood seeping through his fingers, and she wasn’t surprised to see a long cut across his palm when he stiffly unfolded his hand.
“Do I need stitches?” he asked faintly.
“I don’t think so,” she said. She grabbed a handful of tissues off the desk and pressed them to his palm, then gently bent his elbow until his hand was level with his shoulder. “Please try to give me some kind of advanced warning if you’re going to pass out on me. I can’t catch you.”
“I’m not gonna,” he mumbled, his lips slack.
“Yeah, that sounded super convincing,” she said. She adjusted her pressure on the bleeding cut. “Keep your eyes closed and breathe, bubba. It’s okay.”
Hotch leaned his head against her stomach as she stood over him. “How bad is it?” he mumbled.
She took a peek. “Not bad, it’s slowing down,” she said. “Your shirt is probably a lost cause though.”
“Oh, god,” Hotch groaned.
Alex stroked his hair back from his forehead. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting this,” she said. “Aaron Hotchner, the most intimidating boy in the eleventh grade, spooked by blood.”
“I hate it,” he groaned. “I can’t help it. You won’t tell the others, will you?”
Alex glanced back at the glass office door. “Uh…” she said. “It might be a little late for that.”
“Oh, shit,” Hotch said, his eyes still closed. “They’re not all-”
“Staring at you through the window? Yeah, they’re all there.”
Emily rapped on the glass. “Are you okay?” she shouted.
“Don’t tie a tourniquet, he might lose the whole arm!” Spencer said.
“He’s fine, it’s just a little scratch,” Alex said. “And he doesn’t need a tourniquet, just a bandage. James, can you get the first aid kit from the circulation desk?”
“Already on it.”
Hotch exhaled slowly. A little bit of color had returned to his cheeks, but he was still a little too pale and clammy for her liking. “Thanks for helping me,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t pass out,” she said. “But don’t worry. I’ll always help if you need me.”
He smiled, his eyes still closed. “You’re a really good big sister,” he said, almost teasing.
She grinned. “Twin sister,” she corrected, and he laughed.
#the Diana to my Anne#au: patron saint of lost causes#patron saint: hotch#caitlin writes things#patron saint: the wonder twins#thesassprincess
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Who Criminals Pray To
Third competition win.
"Won't you stop shaking that fucking leg of yours?" Mike mutters behind ground teeth. "I'll cut it off if it bothers you that much."
"Look at that bunch of street punks," I whisper back without trying to bring my leg under control. "Just look at them, so little respect, no gravity."
"It's your damn job to groom the newbies Sean."
"I didn't make the timetable. Go figure why the boss felt like we should introduce them to the God this session. Certainly wasn't my idea."
"Can't blame the runts for being excited though. What kind of crazy rotten luck is it to be here same as the Dons of all people?"
"Want me to call them off?"
Mike chews on his lips, purple and split from a bout in whatever hovel he decided to cool his temper in this weekend. Being second in command in the Phobos family isn't exactly a relaxing job. Mike likes to go out with the grunts, rough up some locals late on payments or little dealers trying to cut corners. I find my own releases elsewhere.
"Nah. Good test of character, this."
I'm not so sure. I look up at our five new recruits, mingling with four counterparts of the Don family, jabbing fingers in puffed up chests and engaging in sharp banter.
I assume many first met in the streets. All our new boys were urchins not even a year ago. I read their small, single-paged files, hastily written by the people in charge of them throughout our organisation. I talked to them, tried to educate them as much as I could, grinding rituals in their skulls. At the end of the day I don't think they really understand what we're doing here.
After all, urchins have no God.
Raised around the ovens of a small bakery, I was brought up pious. If object have spirits, places guardian gods, concepts emanations and trades patron saints, it only makes sense to know how to mind your manners and deal with the deities that rule your life.
My mother taught me to keep household spirits happy before I could walk, and my father saved our nicest breads and pastries as offerings. He brought me with him whenever he went for donations. The God of bakers loved us like we loved him, and our dough rose high, our pastries stayed crisp and I never saw a mouse in the shop. When I went to school, I paid monthly tributes to the God of students and emanation of knowledge and curiosity.
So when I became a gang member and joined the Phobos family, I paid just as scrupulous respects to the God of criminals. I understand the concept in a manner our former-urchins-turned-street-thugs can't. To them the God is a boss on top of the boss, too high up the hierarchy to care about them. But they're criminals now, and their success in that new line of business will depend on proper devotion.
"What is the boss doing?" I ask Mike for the tenth time this evening, not trying to hide the worry in my voice.
"Can't be long. The Dons are waiting too, see. Maybe Phobos is busy cutting that fat fuck's fingers right outside?"
Mike smiles lopsidedly at the images that conjures, but it's unlikely. You don't misbehave like that around your God's place. You're not late either. It goes without saying that you don't get in arguments or fist-fights in the ante-chamber, which I'm starting to worry our boys might have forgotten.
I look up across the small waiting room to where another collection of rickety chairs hold equally anxious higher-ups from the Don family, also waiting on their boss so that the ceremony of Gift-giving and Induction can begin.
There is Franky, the Don's son and right arm, and Tilda, a cold-eyed woman you really don't want to meet on the other side of a negotiation table. The man glancing back at me over his glasses is Charles Morrow, a fine fellow with a blade of a face who holds a similar position to mine in his own gang. He raises his eyebrows in silent acknowledgement.
I close my eyes and sigh. Let's hope the God is in a forgiving mood.
A bang and a yelp snap me back to attention. Phobos slammed the door into the men and is storming through, a package under his arm and a puffing, angry red Erzo Don on his heels, still biting on the last words of whatever argument they were having.
Each group folds over their boss and everyone pays last minute attention to the gifts they brought and the fine clothes they wear.
Phobos is a tall man, sharp and well cut, just like the black suits he favours, and known as the coldest mobster on this coast. He exchanges quiet words with Mike, and pats my elbow briefly. The man's way of making up for the stress he knows he's been giving me.
Activity dies down as a servant enters the room to unlock the inner chamber's doors. We shuffle to our positions by hierarchical order and I glance at my charges one last time.
"Remember, don't react, keep it all in!"
They nod, worry finally settling on their young faces as the solemnity of the event dawns on them.
For such a bunch of misfits, they do me proud. All I can hear is sharp intakes of breath as their eyes fall on the deity who will soon learn their name and hold their fates in its heart.
The God of transgression, patron saints of criminals and emanation of rule-breaking, looks like a child and a monster.
Five years old if you had to put an age on it, with sandy blond hair parting around little horns that poke from its forehead and the crown of its head. Some are black and keratinous, some the off-white of ivory. Its skin is unhealthily pale, cheeks oddly flushed. Its pinched, lipless mouth betrays no feelings.
But the real unease comes from the eyes. One dark and filled with odd lights, the other white and full of colourful swirls, both huge and sparkling, somehow. Alien.
The child-like being sits on a large pillow atop a carpeted dais, its servants kneeling behind it. Like the building, they are paid for by donations, one of the many ways we show our love to the God.
"Greetings!" Don booms, stepping up to deliver his offering. "I present you with these gifts, my dea–"
Don's words die in his throat, silenced by a small hand, raised palm out.
"Erzo Don, what do you think you are doing here?"
The God's voice is high as a child's but its inflections are nuanced, its tone menacing.
"Well... We've come to presen–"
"You annoy me."
The pressure rises in the room and I feel goosebumps all over my skin. The God stands, face as blank as marble.
"I am the God of criminals, Don. I patron thieves, liars, racketeers, yes. People who live on the margins of the larger society. But if there is one thing I don't condone, it is lying to me."
The God steps down towards Don. I see the sweat drenching him, Morrow's bloodless face, Tilda's hand all white-knuckled around Frank's wrist and their new men's confused expressions. What have they done?
"You can't go and grovel to the God of killers and murderers thinking I wouldn't know about it. Did you not think of your family? Of me?"
"God, but it was only a sid–"
"Go."
Silence hangs over us like a corpse at the end of a fraying rope. There is nothing to do but to obey. One word that ends a whole family business, maybe a fifth of the local territory, suddenly up for dispute. Chaos will engulf them, they will have no divine support.
I'm still thinking of the consequences as the door closes behind the last of them and Phobos steps up, offering the content of his package like nothing happened. It's two hands sawed at the wrists and held together by handcuffs. Charming–and it makes the God smile. Mike is next, showing his split lips and telling his tales. The God nods along, used to the urban-outlaw-cowboy style of our second-in-command. And then it's me, embracing the being my success in life depends on. He's done me good and I love it like I loved the pudgy God that ate our bread and blessed us for it.
"What have you for me Sean?" The child-God asks as I cup its pallid face in my scarred hands.
"A secret," I murmur in its ear. "The cops are coming to crack on the riverside locations. I tipped them to great profit."
The God chuckles, looking up at me with the same adoration I feel for it. It squeezes my hand and waves for me to introduce our new members.
What's a spy to the emanation of rule breaking? Nothing more than a good devotee.
~~ June 2017 – Theme : Gangsters and Crime Lords
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Introduction to Semdaeism
Hello! I am the Semdaen arrikirri which makes me the head and founder of Semdaeism. In the past I have made several smaller introductions to Semdaeism but I feel they were too vague and didn't give a proper understanding of the religion. So I will use this time to make a much fuller and more detailed introduction to the faith while also making sure I answer some of the more asked questions, show how to be a Semdaen and dispel the misunderstandings around my faith.
Firstly, what is Semdaeism? The Semdaen religion is a polytheistic religion that takes an Omnic standpoint on the existence of the gods and believes that all of the gods exist at once, this isn't anything special amongst polytheistic faiths, however Semdaeism itself worships a different pantheon of deities named the 'Kono. The 'Kono are not gods, but rather people who had become godlike by the judgment of a creator deity named Pono, the crow. This is a important doctrine in Semdaeism and often leads to people thinking I am belittling the gods, this is not true as the gods are still considered extremely important, but ultimately subservient to the 'Kono and the king who we will get to later.
Now the 'Kono act a lot like gods, in short terms, due to the gods warring with themselves and with demons it plunged the world into chaos and the king of the gods Dyeus Phter had lost control. Then two creator deities came to the world and segregated the gods and installed the 'kono to police the world and keep it under control. They do eventually lose control and leave Earth for a while to come back later, through me. But that is not important. There are various 'Kono, they come from many backgrounds and areas in the world and have various temperaments and laws. These Laws are often on things such as drinking and eating along with social manners etc. Apart from the actual religious laws of the faith which are concrete, the laws from 'Kono are often varied and change on which 'kono is the Cultic (Patron/Matron) 'Kono. The Punishment for breaking these laws are often dealt with by the 'kono as well. I mentioned that there are Cultic 'Kono, the Semdaen religion has a system similar to the patron and matron gods and goddesses of other Polytheistic faiths. This being you have a wider Cultic 'Kono/s that you worship directly and a personnel 'Kono that acts as a guardian angel figure, this 'kono will act as your protector on day to day life and is separate from other guardian angel figures but works with them. The personnel 'kono was acting as your guardian from your birth and will continue to guard you all of your life. Cultic 'Kono represent themselves various animals and beasts, such as bears, boars etc. In artworks that have religious connotations, made by me, the animals are used to represent various 'Kono who are then used to represent various concepts such as life death, love and war. This is important because in the place of true idols for the 'Kono which show them as how they look you can instead use an animal statue in its place for Worship. The 'kono that are minor govern other many things such as the rocks, hills, trees and mountains. They exist too in the cycle of worship and reverence, especially high ranking minor 'Kono will inhabit various grand structures and as such deserve reverence the most. Therefore we have a system that is very similar to the Kami system in Shintoism.
The Next largest part of Semdaeism is the king, before I became the Arrikirri I got involved with the cult of king Arthur. I carry this belief into Semdaeism, the king is a central messianic figure in the faith, he is said to come back and turn the world into a golden age after he combines all the worlds religion into one religion. He has been declared king of the gods, of man, of the beasts and birds and even of the demons of the world, what does not bow shall bow to the king. He has servants, these servants are normally kings and generals that have achieved glory and fame and in some way had impressed the Lords and the gods in such a way that they had achieved enlightenment and went straight into the kings court, these people are normally not Semdaen themselves but of other religions and had unlocked Semdaen virtue, an example of a servant would Decebalus last king of Dacia. These servants are known by the name of Regs, they help kings and generals in certain situations but will also help the general public. They are like the Catholic Saints if you are still having trouble understanding.
The way to become a Semdaen is to simply prepare an Altar in the Semdaen way, which is simple but can be somewhat costly depending on the quality you want for your Altar. To create an Altar you need to first find a space for it, a bench is the best way to achieve this space. The next thing you need to do is get a larger clothe to cover the entire space, this clothe is called the Plarom. The next thing you need to do is add another much smaller and thinner clothe to put in the middle called the Klijo, it must be wide enough to fit a few statues in and long enough to go across the entire space. On the Klijo you need to place three items, an Idol of your Cultic 'Kono, an Idol of the king and an Idol of your Personnel 'Kono. The next Item you need to place is in front of the clothe and needs to be the Srwos which is a candle holder in the shape of a peacock meant to represent Melek Tawes, the defender of humanity. The Ancestors Skull or the Strutjos is next, placed to the right of the Srwos which should be on the far left. On the far right should be the Donom which is the Libations bowl Finally inbetween the Strutjos and the Srows is the Asis which is a offering urn for things like paper prayer. Behind the klijo you can place the images of other gods for worship. Finally one of the most important parts is the Asajos or Altar sword, this is almost always a real sword, however if there is any reason you legally or financially cannot own sword there are alternatives such as Paper swords or less dangerous training swords.
There are several sacred things into Semdaeism, the numbers eight and four, blood, foxes and Kashmiri cypresses are all considered sacred things. The 'kono of sacred thing and blood, Vestpus represents himself as foxes. Along with that there are the two temples, the Domos and the Yageh. The Domos is considered the most important out of the two, they are made to look like hills or mountains and they contain eight kinds of rooms. The main hall, the sacred well, the room for the Native god, a room for sword smithing, a main worshipping room which has a oven for baking offerings, a tomb or sacred grave for the priests that double as a ancestor worship room and finally a room for some more minor cultic practises. Along with this stands a idol modeled after the Shigir idol which represents the 'kono of the temple and a protector and a Menhir which details certain events that take place during the construction. There is also Kashmiri Cypresses on the top as the top of the complex is covered in dirt and it is surrounded by native fruit trees and other native plants you can eat, these will be farmed in times of emergency. Domos should be sanctified with first a blood offering and some minor rituals, if the Domos is in a larger area as it should be then a game of Polo should take place to properly make it sacred in the eyes of Vestpus. The other structure is the Yageh, which is the main home for the native god, the native god or the gnos if you wish, is a idol of a god that is native to the region Like Zeus or Heracles for Greece and is made in the native art style. He gets two holidays, the day of the gods where he is taken from the Domos to the Yageh representing him being apart from the 'kono but still worshipped The parade is a four hour trip and then the peach parade where he is taken back to the Domos Representing princess Hurkino joining the 'kono as their princess after being abandoned by her fellow gods The Yagehs are built in the style of the native architecture either in the shape of houses or in the shape of granary representing the god is there for their people. Another factor of Semdaeism is that there are the seven heavenly isles where either an important religious event happened or they have a section of Semdaeism within their religion. these isles are as follows, Britian, Japan, the Carribian, Malta, New Zealand and the Canary isles. These I hope will have some of the first Domos and Yagehs.
The next thing I would like to talk about is enlightenment, the Semdaen enlightenment comes in two forms, Bhilis, the right handed enlightenment and the Pavillion Leaf Path, the left handed enlightenment which leads to a form of immortality but is widely hidden or unknown, Clergy and Successor Arrikirris do not take this path but instead take a form of enlightenment reserved for clergy called Itrdae which is a special form of the Leuk path when the clergy devotes themselves to the lords and the king. Bhilis is a very long process and revolves heavily around the concept of the cycle and reincarnation, the result of this is that you must achieve eight forms of lesser enlightenment through each of the eight heavenly laws which I will go over. In each eight you must achieve the lesser enlightenment or Gnowa. the laws go as follow:
Nos, the law of North America, that one must be of their community, know and speak the native language and the popular language, move in the ways of the native culture and the popular culture and bow and pray to the Native, Semdaen and popular gods, unless it is the Yahweh of Abraham.
Mer, the law of Ocenia, that one must understand that all things live through the cycle that is birth, life, sacrifice (Literal and figurative), death and rebirth and that even the animals, to live through this cycle and that slaughter is their sacrifice to us, that man does not harm or act inappropriately to the animal even during slaughter and even after death.
Deh, the law of Africa, that one must realise that the Lystche ancestor spirits watch over their families and their lands and that they are forever listening to our every word and our every action, that no matter what we must be respectful of the dead and not speak ill of them nor insult them with our actions.
Leuk, the law of India, that one must understand that the gods are ever present and ever helpful beings but they are still gods, they are the highers and we are the lowers. We are of not right or will to insult our heavenly lords with images of them as cartoons nor slander their name of deeds with such casualty.
Webh, the law of Asia, that one must understand that above all else, the lords be they gods, demons or 'kono are beloved of those things which are creative above all else, be it art, writing, music or answering the simple question.
Heug, the law of South America, that one must be virtous above all else, even without acting in gnowa. The lords are watching constantly and so to do good deeds and to act in all the manners and be kind is above all else when they watch.
Gwhen, the law of Europe, that one most be aware of the Asajos as one must be aware of the king as a warlord, this world is a violent one for that is a form of the cycle ever since peace came into being and that to obtain virtous too is to obtain skill in the sword and skill in the hand.
Wied, the law of Antartica, that one must be knowledgeable for the ultimate sin is ignorance, that you must live in the great and constant state of learning and knowledge, you must be a scholar above all others and your simple breathe contains more information then even the great libraries. It should be noted that these laws are not really true laws in the sense that you can break them easily, with exception such as Leuk and Deh but rather the eight most important guidelines and eight different ways of reaching enlightenment. I do not decide whether you reach this enlightenment nor are they levelled against each other but rather equal to one and another. After achieving gnowa eight different times (Normally taking eight or more different lives to complete) you become what is known as a Mereg who is an enlightened king or general where upon death you will become a god and begin to serve the king in his court, for only those that are great can serve that which is the greatest.
A confusing part of Semdaeism seems to be the Arrikirris, as some people confuse me to be the only Arrikirri, that is not true. I am the Arrikirri of the four pointed star which makes me the first of my fellow Arrikirris of the heaven of the four pointed star. There they wait in line to incarnate, my job is simply to found the religion and set up some early organisation in the faith. Each Arrikirri will atleast write eight books to add to the holy text before their death. Arrikirris do not have an extreme authority over a Semdaen, it would be good to tell one you're becoming Semdaen so that they can help you and get an idea of numbers in the faith and demographics but it is not needed. Additionally any issue you have with clergy can be brought up to a Semdaen Arrikirri and he will try to mitigate the issue, Semdaeism also relies on UPG and Arrikirris, especially me, will try to check up on you to see how everything is going with your faith and learn more from what you have learnt while worshipping. There is also no ill will towards anyone that leaves, I might get upset, sad or angry for a bit but I will not hold a grudge against anyone that leaves and I hope all other Semdaens will be this kind.
In Semdaeism there is two calendars, the sixteen heavenly days calendar Noichos for the sixteen holidays of Semdaeism and the Zodiac calendar Alkis these two calendars are important, I'm not going to show them in this post but maybe another post because then it will be far too long. Now the Zodiacs in Semdaeism function as a form of totemism, as the lesser Zodiac, the animal Zodiac has an animal for each of the twelve months. Depending on which month you are born you have a different animal, these animals represent the Xenematres who are the lords of the months and if you see your totemic animal it means goodluck. You must also deny the meat of this animal. The greater zodiac is about worship, the greater zodiac creatures are often beasts and coincide with the year you were born in. These beasts are often used to represent your personnel 'kono and they are placed on the Altar right next to your Cultic 'Kono.
I will leave some of the more frequently asked questions below:
Does the religion have a central text Yes, if you ask I will send you what I currently have (The text is unfinished)
How old is the religion/how many followers do I have/ how old am I Not very old, not that many followers
Is Homosexuality a sin No, unless you're a king or queen, then adopt a child before you ascend to the throne
Is Abortion allowed Yes, if the child is born from rape, it isn't a plan B
That is all for now, I will update the questions and the post in general and resend it if I have anything else to add or any more commonly asked questions pop up. I would like to be able to work with the community so I can better express myself amongst you so that I don't seem so dangerous to some. I will be looking forward to talking with you and thankyou for reading.
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Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️
ROYAL diary 21-27th October
21st October:
– The Queen will attend a reception to commemorate the 60th Anniversary of Cruse Bereavement Care as their patron.
– The Earl of Wessex will visit RAF Waddinton, Lincolnshire, as their Honorary Air Commodore
This week, The Earl of Wessex is to visit RAF Waddington
– The Princess Royal, patron of the Moredun Foundation, will attend a Livestock Conference, Pentlands Science Park, Penicuik, Midlothian. As President of the Scotch Beef Club, Anne will visit Damn Delicious, Thankerton Camp Farm, Biggar, Lanarkshire.
22nd October:
– The Prince of Wales will visit Japan for the Enthronement of His Majesty Emperor Naruhito.
– The Duchess of Cornwall, President of the Royal Osteoporosis Society and Patron of Versus Arthritis, will open the new Royal National Hospital for Rheumatic Diseases (RNHRD) and the Brownsword Therapies Centre, at the Royal United Hospital (RUH), Bath. Camilla will also attend a reception to mark the 20th anniversary of The Forever Friends Appeal.
– The Countess of Wessex is to attend The Countess of Wessex Cup at St John Moore Barracks, Winchester in her capacity as Honorary Air Commodore of RAF Wittering, Royal Honorary Colonel of 5th Battalion The Rifles (5 Rifles), Colonel-in-Chief Corps of Army Music, Colonel-in-Chief Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps and Colonel-in-Chief The Lincoln and Welland Regiment.
– The Princess Royal is very busy. As Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Logistic Corps, she will visit 154 (Scottish) Regiment in Dunfermline, Fife; Anne will attend a 300th Anniversary of the Chair of History Reception at Playfair Library Hall, Edinburgh, as Chancellor of the University of Edinburgh; and attend a Lunch at Archers’ Hall in the city as patron of The Royal Caledonian Charities Trust.
23rd October:
– The Princess Royal, President of Riding for the Disabled, will attend the Scottish Supra Regional Conference at Ingliston Country Club, Bishopton, Renfrewshire. Princess Anne will attend a dinner on HQS Wellington, London, as patron of The Wellington Trust.
24th October:
– The Duchess of Cornwall, patron of the National Literacy Trust (NLT) will attend a tea reception to mark the 7th anniversary of NLT’s Books Unlocked programme, and celebrate the 2019 Booker Prize. Mayfair, London.
– The Princess Royal, patron of the Learning and Work Institute, will attend a discussion on adult literacy and numeracy at Westminster Kingsway College, London. She will additionally attend a reception at Ashurst LLP, London, as patron of Transaid; a reception at Clarksons, Commodity Quay as patron of Maritime UK; and the Trafalgar Night Dinner, at the Old Royal Naval College in her role as patron of The Royal Navy and Royal Marines Charity.
25th October:
– The Princess Royal is heading to the Isle of Man. She will open the renovated Market Hall at North Quay, Douglas; open new facilities at Ramsey Park Hotel; open a new road bridge at Peel Harbour; and visit the renovated garden at St. German’s Cathedral as patron of The Cathedral Church of Saint German Peel Development Appeal.
26th October:
– The Princess Royal, Colonel-in-Chief of The Royal Corps of Signals, will visit the RHQ 37 Signal Regiment Exercise, Redditch.
-> 22nd of October RMM will attend the opening ceremony of One Young World at the Royal Albert Hall, London.
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