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ajulisz · 2 years

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Someone is trying to sell pets to our Lady

Relationship type: You're Alcinas pet

MC Pronouns: They/Them

CW: Slavery (trade, chained - but not you), mention of death, mention of cannibalism, chocking, pet names, collar, some petting for you at the end because you deserve it :)

A/N: Do I still need to mention that you have a dom/sub dynamics outside the bedroom even after all this warnings?

*Althought me and my gf re-read this, good to remind that English is not our first language so there's still probably some typos*

With an eyebrow raise your Lady's eyes snapped from you to the merchant in front of her, it was normal this time of the year for some travelers to request meetings with her, normally she doesn't even look at them, too bored with fiddling with the strings of your collar or amusing herself with their fear to find anything of theirs interesting. But the bare mention of her pets always caused a reaction on her, a kind of possessiveness always took control.

- Hello my Lady, I'm a mere trader, I came from far away because I heard that your... pets, are the most behaved ones.

- Yes, they are. Go straight to the point, what do you have.

- Oh, simply other 'pets', I travel the world collecting and selling them to the best leaders.

She liked the flattering, the immortals trying their best, getting on their knees bowing and begging her for the mercy that only she could concede because it was genuine coming from their fear and admiration. But adulation was out of question, and it was the first and last strike to make her lose interest.

Making them believe that she still cares was simply a fun way to keep them in line while crushing their hope and making it seem like it was their fault.

- Is that so? Why don't you show me then, let me see what you have.

From the chain in the merchants hand he pulled four men in front of him, hitting them on the knees to make them stay on the floor. Moving around he started to point to what clearly once was a muscular man, now was malnourished and had an ugly face which made the Lady's insides move with disgust.

- This is one of my strongest, he-

- Oh please, show me the women and the non binaries, not the men. And let me be the judge, no need for your stained percipience.

With a flush on his face he tugged again with his chain bringing three other people on their knees.

-Yes, I'm sorry my lady. These are the ones that I have.

Your mistress eyes slowly scanned their bodies, not only the men but all the other where in a clearly state of bad care.

- Look at their faces, it looks skinnier than a healthy person should, what kind of master are you?

You were put out of the picture when she was talking, sitting on the floor on the side of her chair like a dog would sit next to its owner.

You never cared to listen to the traders that came much less dared to speak without Dimitrescu's permission. It was how you were trained to do, "don't talk, don't move, don't look, sit still until I give you an order" and she tugged your collar which meant for you to get up.

- Do they know any tricks? Or at least are they obedient? Even my current pet, as you can see, is in a better shape than your strongest man.

The man's mouth opened to say something but he stopped at the moment she raised her eyebrow again with a glare. Your eyes were faithfully looking at her hands, just waiting for the minimum order that always seemed unnoticed to others "that's what makes it magical my pet, don't you think it's more enjoyable to see their shaking knees when you obey me without me using a single word? For them is like I took control of your mind, a fair warning that I could and will the same to them if it pleases me". The lady started speaking.

- You see... pets are mere reflexes of their owners, be a good owner and they will be a good pet, be a sharp owner and they will be submissive and agile. My pet is both of this things, they went through a rough training and made a lot of mistakes in the beginning, but you have to reward them for good behavior and provide their basic needs or they will stop obeying you at certain point... because they will be dead.

There it was, a different movement of hand when she started speaking and you got closer. Her hand was passing through your body tentatively, fingers and pointy nails poking the betweens of your ribbs and finally stopped around you neck.

- Isn't it better when they die for you? When you say just one word and, while they excitedly obey, you are able to see the life fading from their eyes and feel their pulse slowly stopping around your hands?

She said and looked deep in your eyes supporting her face on her hand on the chair arm while a smirk appeared and she started squeezing your neck.

The mans eyes got bigger, he was clearly scared but you couldn't even care enough about him or the others, all you could feel at the moment was your mistress full and overwhelming presence. The lack of air, the control she had on you, all of that made your head dizzy, your fingers slowly crawling up to hers, squeezing it, begging for more.

- I- I'm sorry my lady, it was not my intention to offend you. Bu-but my pets are really obedient, they're just like that because of the extensive travel-

- Shush

The Lady's eyes rolled in annoyance, she have forgotten that the man was still standing there, lost in your breathless lust sounds that kept her in a trance. She stopped holding your neck making you fall to your knees with the weakness and struggle of recovering the air that was denied to you and motioned for you to sit on the floor in front of her. Which you obeyed, crawling to your place.

- I do not see a world where your... slaves, would be a good suit for me, maybe try to make some other fool buy them because a thing in such state is not worth a penny.

- But my la-

- Goodbye.

Her hand slowly moved to your head, and she started scratching the behind of your ear which meant that you could relax, you backed a bit and rested your head on her leg with a satisfied smile and closing your eyes when she got back to petting the top of your head for her own comfort giving a tired sigh.

- Man things get even more imbecile with the years, don't you think little one? Girls! Come here!

A smoke of flies took the whole space around you and your mistress, making three heads peak out of it.

- Yes mother?

- In our path there will be a group of humans, you may hunt and kill the leader but bring back the chained ones, put them in the maids wing, ask the maids to provide them food, water and call Monique so she can attend to their medical needs.

- Consider it done mother.

The girls said giggling and flying to the exit in the same direction of the man which made you open your eyes and you look up at your mistress with a questioning face

- Oh please sweet thing, don't look at me like that, did I not promise you that I would not dispose of you? There ain't no way that Mistress is going to train a human again, too much trouble when I have you in a perfect shape, but at least the girls can have a feast in some months and we can produce new scarecrows for the vineyard with them.

#lady dimitrescu x y/n #lady dimitrescu imagine #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden #alcina dimitrescu imagine #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitriscu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina x reader #alcina x y/n #alcina dimitrescu x maiden

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pinkrangersarah · 3 months

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I REALLY hate that Hazbin Hotel was only given eight episodes per season. Like, that is definitely not a lot of time for a story like this to flourish so a lot of it ended up feeling rushed to me. I can't really blame the creators for this as the time constraint wasn't their fault, so I have to cut them some slack.

Final thoughts:

I'm a sucker for themes of gray morality, love that here. It is fascinating that not even angels know what allows a soul to be granted entrance into Heaven, so they come off as very hypocritical when Adam can behave like a blood hungry, sexist jackass but the second Charlie lets the F-bomb slip she's looked down on. Excited to know what becomes of Pentious being redeemed and allowed into Heaven whilst Adam was slain in Hell.

I am so glad the Overlords are not the pompous pricks I was prepared for them to be. With a cast consisting of many assholes, I'm glad that most of the Overlords actually seemed pretty diplomatic and have a mutual respect for one another, minus the Vees. Rosie is an absolute delight and Carmilla won me over in "Hello Rosie". It is absolutely hilarious that Rosie's domain, Cannibal Town, is the most pleasant and charming place in all of Hell.

I do hate to be that person, but I actually thought the finale was sort of underwhelming. Again, there were time constraints so it's hard to criticize them for that, but everything was just thrown at me and I wasn't given the time to let moments sink in. (To be fair, I did accidentally spoil myself for Sir Pentious, so that one is mostly on me, but the scene still came and went very quickly.) Lucifer sort of shows up out of nowhere, but it's hard to complain when I enjoyed watching him go ape shit on Adam.

I don't know if it's another hit by the time constraints or if I just find Vaggie to be too boring (which I do), but I am not invested in the Chaggie romance at all. Their duet felt empty because I personally don't feel the chemistry between them, which is a shame because I want to like them. I love the dynamic they're supposed to have, but it feels so shallow.

I am glad they're allowing themselves to take on certain slow burns, though, like the budding romance between Angel and Husk, and the fact Alastor's soul belongs to somebody. I was prepared for them to reveal what Alastor's deal with, but I'm glad they didn't because it makes me eagerly anticipate next season.

Lilith's reveal pissed me off, and I'm trying to remind myself that there's still a whole other season to see what her game is, to not jump to conclusions. I am literally begging her not to be a secret antagonist. I don't think the theory of her owning Alastor's soul is completely out the window; my sister speculates that she sent Alastor to help Charlie because she couldn't (she seems to also have some deal in place) or wouldn't. My theory is that she got fed up with Lucifer doing nothing, allowing the extermination to happen, succumbing to selfishness and abandoning them. VivziePop herself said Lilith and Lucifer were madly in love, so I'm hoping it's family drama that will be given the attention and time to heal.

Despite its flaws, this show feels worth the wait. The animation is great; it's very fluid, the characters are expressive, and I really like most of the character design changes from the pilot. It's wonderful to see how far this team has come from the pilot. I've been a slut for shows incorporating songs since Phineas and Ferb, and Hazbin has so many great songs. The amount of times I've listened to many of them on Spotify is starting to get embarrassing.

It's still early, but I think Hazbin Hotel has earned its spot as one of the most anticipated shows of 2024, and will earn its place as one of my top ten shows of 2024.

#hazbin hotel

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otakugoddes · 2 years

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🎭Day 3= Little Masks of Horrors (Koushi Sugawara)🎭

DAY 3= LITTLE MASKS OF HORRORS (Koushi Sugawara)

Gender neutral Reader

Warnings: Pre-Timeskip! Mentions of cannibalism, jumpscare, unspecified relationship.

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"(Name)! (Name)! Check out these cool masks!" Koushi came running up to you during lunch, holding two creepy looking masks, one with messed up makeup and the other a half broken "covered" mask with red eyes.

"Those are cool! Where'd you get them?" You took the broken mask and put it on your face.

Koushi grinned, sitting opposite you, "The Art Club just made these for halloween! They have different mould of masks, and they just added things on them!"

You were intrigued.

"Let's go check it out!"

Walking down the hall, you both stopped at the Art Club room where it was messier than normal.

Paint, glitter, sequins, buttons, ribbons and brushes lay amok everywhere.

It looked like someone threw up a art supply set. It was beautiful.

One of the students, an underclassmen who you were acquainted with came up to you and smiled, "Hey Senpai! You came to check out the cools masks?"

"Actually! I was wondering, if I could make one too...or is it only art club exclusive?" You asked, next to you, Koushi's eyes widened comically, "So that's why you wanted to check out the art club?"

You nudged him, "Yeah! Besides...look at all the art supplies they have!"

"You're not in the art club, dummy!" He flicked your forehead, "You can't just barge in and ask them to let you join!"

Your underclassmen however looked suddenly excited, "You want to make masks too, Senpai?"

When you confirmed he smiled, a girl who you also knew (a senior like you) waved you over, "You'd be a big help! We're making these masks for the school even to raise funds, so by all means...if you want!"

You gave Koushi a smug look, he rolled his eyes, "You'd really waste our break time to be doing this?"

"Its your fault for showing me the masks in the first place!"

He shrugged, "Fair point!

A confused look then crossed your face, "If they need to sell these masks at the school event, why'd they give you one?"

The girl looked up from her work, recognizing the missing masks.

"I just found these on my desk! When I asked about them, someone said the art club made them!" Koushi put his hands up in faux surrender, not wanting to be accused of stealing the masks.

"No...those masks were taken from the room, I don't know by whom though!" She responded.

You shrugged, that whole ordeal was none of your business anyway.

So you sat down in the corner of the room with some supplies, taking a blank white mask and deciding what to paint on it.

Koushi sat next to you, doing the same thing, pretty soon he took the paintbrush and started lathering the mould an ugly mossy green color.

You raised a brow in amusement, "Are you trying to paint the hulk or a swamp creature?"

He rolled his eyes at you, "Shush! Focus on your own mask!"

You did.

Both of you were so focused on the masks that you barely noticed the club members leaving, and because you two were so tucked away in the back of the room, they locked the room. Leaving you both inside with the creepy new masks.

In that time while Koushi took a nap because you took a bit too long with your masks that he fell asleep.

Only to be woken up by you gently prodding him, "Kou? Koushi!"

When he didn't immediately answer you, you got irritated and purposefully poked his sides hard.

"Suga! Koushi! Koushi!" You said in a sing song tone, despite there being a layer of panic behind it too.

"Oh my god what?!" He groggily glared at you

"We're locked in the classroom!"

He sat up in panic, "What?! For how long!"

You looked down at your watch, "About 15 minutes now!"

He stood up and ran over to the door, trying to get the very clearly locked door open by fiddling with the handle.

"Its locked!"

"Obviously!"

"You're not making the situation any better with your sarcasm!"

You chuckled and lay calmly on the floor, he was so confused as to how you were so nonchalant about this while situation. Call him superstitious or dumb or watching and believing all those high school themed horror movies, but this was how most teenagers got in trouble.

Being locked in a room.

"This is starting to freak me out! Where's your phone?" He asked, you showed to him the black screen of your dead phone.

"Are you kidding me?"

You stood up and walked over to him, his back was turned to you as he hunched over the table.

"Its gonna be okay! Nothing bad is going to happen...," your hands on his sides really helped his anxiety right now until your voice distorted, "To me anyway!"

He turned to face you as your cold hands pinned his wrists down and trapped his body between yours and the table.

Behind you, the other masks seemed to come alive and hound him in the hair, chating in raspy tones, "Feast! Feast! Feast! Feast!"

You giggled, trailing a finger down his jaw to his throat, your fingernails now talons.

"Human flesh...human flesh...human flesh!" The masks cackled above him.

He also shrieked at the sight of the mask he painted on your face, the ugly mossy mask bow realistic and lifelike where its glowing red eyes replaced yours and a mouthful of canines replaced your smile.

"Time to feast!" You cackled.

~~~~~~~~~

"Suga! Suga! Kou! Koushi Sugawara!" He heard his name and snapped awake.

"Huh?"

He found himself looking at you. You with your cute/pretty/handsome/gorgeous normal face.

You giggled as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to compose himself after that nightmare, "Are you okay? You look a little shaken up!"

He nodded, looking down at the perfectly normal masks in your lap.

"Just had a little dream is all! That mask possessed you and you tried to eat me!" He mumbled under his breath.

You raised a brow, "Eat you? Dude! Do I look like a cannibal?"

He gave you a look that wasn't a yes but it wasn't a no either, "The way you acted in my dream, you said I was pretty tasty!" While his tone was sarcastic, he was still visibly shaken up up this disturbing dream.

You pretended to consider his words, "Well I mean you do look exquisite, but human flesh is not my taste!"

He huffed and walked away from you, you followed with a laugh, he noticed how you two were the only ones in the club room.

"Oh, Mino said we should lock up!" You said.

He looked down at the masks on the table, you picked him and he held out his hand, "Let's go please!"

You nodded, taking the key to lock up, but not before stuffing one of the masks into your bag.

Koushi waited at the stairs for you, smiling at you but still a bit tense.

"Let's go!" You said, kissing the back of his hand with a smirk as you walked out of the school.

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

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moldboy · 11 months

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@edensflower said: "if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess ." from saki @ ana.. im sorry its just funny to make him be a huge cunt in this situation

The thing is that he's not wrong. Ana's breath catches in her throat, and she expects to feel rage and anger and resentment, but all she really feels is a dull misery. "You're going to blame me over the Cannibal Family hunting us for sport? That doesn't seem fair."

The thing is that Saki's not wrong. This is her fault. The only thing she's not responsible for is Maria's disappearance. Everything else -- the road trip, their subsequent capture, all the pain and suffering and misery -- it's all her fault.

There's a certain satisfaction in Saki blaming her. No one else would even think to, and yet she can't stop blaming herself. If everyone dies, it's on her. "Sorry. For dragging you all into this." Her apology tastes stale, but it's the only thing she can think to say. What the hell else is she supposed to?

It's her fault. It's all her fault. She can't be upset with Saki for knowing that.

#i think it's so funny of her to be like yeah you're not wrong. oh well!#ana +ic #edensflower

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madamebaggio · 3 years

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And there was only one bed. Sansa Stark x Steve Rogers

as requested by hailie from AO3.

***

Sansa tried to hold in a sigh as she eyed the bed. It wasn’t its fault that the agent was in this predicament, and it’d be unfair to blame a piece of furniture for her discomfort, but…

It was only one bed.

One.

Which was part of the problem.

It wasn’t even a queen-size, at least. It was a double bed, which was still better than the other possible option, but it still sucked.

Everything about this sucked.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Sansa’s flat look told Steve exactly what she thought about this suggestion.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve done it before. I’m used to it.” He hurried to explain.

Sansa’s eyes went to the carpet; it looked pretty disgusting to her. Well, the whole place looked like it had been properly cleaned in a good while. They’d chosen this motel exactly because of that; it wasn’t on the main road, it accepted cash without questions and nobody would expect to find Captain American there.

And it was… Well, horrible, to be fair. The type of motel that would definitely be in a horror movie.

Sansa was wondering if she’d get stabbed if she took a shower.

“I’m pretty sure even you’d get sick laying on that carpet, but have fun.” Sansa huffed. “I’ll take a shower.”

“Do you want me to take a look at your wounds before you go?” Steve offered, ignoring her previous statement.

Sansa wasn’t that hurt. “I’ll take a shower first. Can you make sure nobody breaks in with a chainsaw?”

Steve frowned. “Is that a common occurrence?”

Sansa grinned. “Only in Texas.”

She left Steve alone to figure that one out and went into the bathroom with her bag.

As she closed the door behind herself, Sansa had to wonder if taking a shower there would really get her clean. She’d probably get an infection from stepping into that tub; there was mold on the walls.

Lovely.

She sighed once again as she started to undress. Her hands were skinned, so this wasn’t pleasant, but she did need to clean all of it.

The mission had been a trap from the beginning. What was supposed to be an empty HYDRA base was actually quite well staffed. They had to retreat, which meant going down a hill, avoiding an explosion and hitting one too many stones on the way down.

Steve, as a super soldier, was quite alright, but Sansa was hurting all over and she’d be full of bruises soon.

They’d called it in, but the area was too hot for extraction now, so Natasha asked them to lay low for a bit. Hence the hotel of horrors.

Sansa checked herself in the mirror. She didn’t have any broken bones, only a lot of future ugly bruises and scratches. She’d survive.

The water was lukewarm, but at least she felt clean.

“‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’.” Steve said as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, his phone in his hand. “It’s a movie.”

“Or is it?” Sansa threw back. “It’s based on a true story.” She teased.

Steve narrowed his eyes at her, like he was unsure on whether to believe her. “We’re not in Texas.”

“Fair point.” She grinned at him.

“Do you need help?” He asked, solicitous as usual.

Sansa shook her head. “I’m fine. Nothing serious.”

“Okay. If you’re done with the bathroom…”

“Yes, of course. I’ll watch out for chainsaw wielding cannibals.”

Steve grinned at her, then grabbed his bag and locked himself in the bathroom.

Sansa sat down on the bed and sighed. This was a nightmare.

Fine. Maybe ‘nightmare’ was a bit much.

Steve wasn’t nightmare material, anyway.

She was being silly, acting like a teenager with a crush. That was Captain America, for fuck’s sake. 70% of America had a crush on him.

And Steve was kind, considerate, such a dork…

Sansa felt her crush was justified, but it didn’t mean she had any plans on doing anything about it. They were coworkers and she respected him a lot.

That was it.

She wouldn’t… It wasn’t like that. Steve was a colleague.

That was what she kept reminding herself as he came out of the shower, as they ate their MREs and -eventually- decided to go to sleep.

“Steve, don’t be ridiculous.” Sansa sighed when he started looking around the floor to find a good spot to lay down. “We can share the bed.”

He lowered his gaze. “I wouldn’t presume…”

“You aren’t presuming.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, it’s no big deal. This floor is a health-hazard. Don’t sleep on it.”

Steve chuckled, looking somewhat embarrassed, but he accepted.

They laid side by side, their shoulders touching because Steve’s shoulders were ridiculously wide and the bed wasn’t.

It wasn’t even a sexy-sleeping situation. There was no embarrassingly -and conveniently -sexy nightgown for any of them to wear; they were both almost fully dressed, in case they needed to leave at a moment’s notice.

Sansa was thankful. This was silly enough as it was, she didn’t need Steve sleeping shirtless next to her to make it worse.

(She was convinced he slept shirtless.)

“I will…” Steve cleared his throat. “Turn that way. So you can be more… Yeah.” Steve turned on his side, giving his back to Sansa.

She grinned. “You sound like a Victorian lady, Captain.”

He chuckled. “If that was the case, I’d be compromised already, and you’d have to marry me.”

Sansa giggled. “I did see your ankles earlier.”

Steve rolled back to his back as he gasped. “The horror. Were they shapely?”

She turned on her side to look at him. “Very much indeed.”

He also turned to look at her, a grin on his lips. They’d left a lamp on, so she could see his face clearly. He was really close. “I don’t think I have child-bearing hips.”

Sansa pressed her face onto her pillow to laugh. “You are quite… What does Tony say?”

Steve groaned. “Like a Doritos?” He offered with a sigh.

“Yes.” She agreed, still giggling.

His smile turned soft. “If my reputation has to be ruined by anyone, I’m happy to let you do it.” Then he seemed to realise what he’d just said and blushed bright red. “I mean…”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean…” She encouraged.

He lowered his eyes, before looking at her again. “If you’re okay with it…”

“With ruining your reputation?” She teased.

Steve’s laughter was full of emrassament. “And taking responsibility for it.”

Sansa bit her lower lip. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Steve smiled at her. “Great.” He cleared his throat.

She was really going to do this, wasn’t she? “Since I already saw your ankles and everything…” She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him on his back, then leaned over him. “What’s a kiss?”

Steve was still laughing when she kissed him.

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #AU #gifs not mine #tropes #there was only one bed #game of thrones #MCU #Sansa Stark #Steve Rogers #sansa x steve

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cottoncandyjester · 3 years

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Let sleeping dogs lie(salem backstory)

People have been asking a ton of questions about salem and his backstory so i decided to answer them in one big post.

This story contains: a lot of child abuse, death, cannibalism, childhood trauma, all around bad times for salem

Salem was a dog, not a child. He slept in a cage,ate scraps and was abused to the point where blood was a permanent taste in his mouth. His brother on the other hand was the perfect child, salem didn't know why his mother loved axis more than him but salem was to believe that something was wrong with him

The truth was that nothing was wrong with salem, he was actually quite gifted in singing and would sing himself to sleep when the late nights scare him. Salem was deemed an ugly child from his mother, his eyes were dead and empty..he never smiled in his life and he doesn't even know how to laugh.

Salem hated axis, he hated axis with every fiber of his being. He hated that axis was treated like royalty while he was dragged through hell just to live, how come axis was so perfect?

The worst part of it was that axis was so sweet to salem, he would sneak down and give salem food when their mother isn't watching. Salem thought axis was just belittling him and that made him hate him more

It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. His mother was supposed to love him more than anything, why was axis so special?!

"your father was an ugly man, a monster and you look just like him..those demon eyes. It's natural for any mother to love the more beautiful child. You're only here cause you are make a lovely trash can"

Maybe asking his mother wasn't the best option, it only broke salem more. Salem finally broke after that, he snuck into axis' room that night. Axis had a fever so the window and door was wide open to cool him off, salem let out a shaky sigh as he walked towards the sleeping boy

Its not fair

I was born first

It's not fair

Even sleeping he looked perfect, salem opened the bottle of chemicals and poured it over axis' eyes. The sounds of screaming and choked sobbing flooded the room as salem stared at his younger brother his eyes being empty of any emotions.

He got beaten extra hard that night, he ruined his mother's perfect little boy so it was only natural for her to want him dead, but it seems she had a far better idea for him.

The next morning he was sold like some rusted toy, a rich family wanted to treat their son to an early birthday present and a commoner slave seemed to be the perfect gift.

"but it's not salem's fault he was just really mad at me! I swear it doesn't hurt anymore!"

Hearing axis sob and cry for him only made salem hate him more, damn him for being so kind.

Salem felt someone force his head up and his blank eyes stared into blue ones, there he met his master.

Hikaru looked beautiful to salem, a pretty boy dressed in pink. He dazzled like a star and the utter sight of him made salem blush.

It seems that hikaru wasn't as sweet as he looked, salem wasn't sure which was worse his mother or hikaru. Salem was forced to wear a shiny collar and crawl around on all fours, he truly was a dog. Hikaru trained him to be obedient and submissive, salem started to forget that he was even human

Hikaru's family were rich and dirty, they could get away with anything even murder. Salem was their dog and as such they fed him whatever remains of the victim they dealt with.

Eating human remains seems to have been the last nail on the coffin when it comes to his sanity, he had finally lost it.

His mind had broke and he couldn't function as a normal person anymore, he wanted nothing but death.

When salem turned 15 years old the toment was too much for him, the constant abuse from hikaru and his family had not only broke him mentally but physically as well, the amount of blunt Force trauma gave him enough brain damage to most likely kill him.

One thing salem hated most of all was the abandonment of his own mother, she was a horrible person but he still loves her yet he despised her for leaving him. He just wanted someone who wouldn't leave, someone who will stay by his side no matter what.

Salem had slit his throat that night, it was hikaru who had found him choking on his own blood and stitched him up before he died. Hikaru was nicer to salem after that, instead of a stray he was treated much like a beloved pet. Salem wasn't sure if it was the stockholm syndrome or what but he grew attached to hikaru

As the two got older their relationship started to become far more twisted, hikaru started using salem for sexual pleasure and salem of course let it happen.

Hikaru's version of sexual pleasure involved hardcore violence, things such as burning and branding filled his excitement. Salem felt as if he owed hikaru his life, hikaru was his master after all and as a lowly dog you do as you were told. Sex slowly became salem's high, he wanted more and more to the point where he would go to other people in hikaru's family, begging to be touched to be used. People don't leave of you offer them sex, that was the one lesson salem learned

When salem turned 19 he was reunited with his brother once more, seems like axis got into the same school hikaru was in thanks to an art scholarship and so the two met and became 'friends'.

Salem as this point was on his way to becoming a drooling mutt, the amount of abuse and trauma he dealt with messed with his brain beyond repair.

When the two brothers reconnected salem didn't remember his brother much, he could barley remember his own name some days. Axis still adored salem with every fiber of his being even if his blindness was salem's fault. Hikaru had no intention of giving salem up, after all salem was his wonderful pet and any pet owner would be sad to give up a family pet.

"i-i want my brother back, please.."

"is that so? Salem what do you think about that?"

Salem, who sat on the floor with his head nuzzled against hikaru's lap shuddered at the thought of not having hikaru. Was hikaru leaving just like his mother?! He couldn't stand it, he can't handle someone else leaving his life or discarding him.

"no no no no no no, ah- no!"

Salem started to spiral at the very thought, why did everyone leave him? Why can't anyone stay for him?! What's wrong with him that makes him just so unloveable?

Salem didnt go back to axis that night, but axis never stopped trying. Every single day he came to bother hikaru into releasing the hold on his brother.

Salem's feelings for his brother were neutral, he was too messed up in the head to clearly piece together how exactly he felt but he didnt hate him anymore

Salem didn't want to leave hikaru and hikaru wasn't finished playing with salem, wherever hikaru went salem did too those two were far too toxic to each other and still are incredibly toxic.

After all salem was just a damaged dog and he only had everyone around him to blame, it's a wonder how he would turn out if he was raised normally.

#yandere imagines #yandere ocs #yandere #tw child abandonment #tw childhood trauma #tw salem #tw toxic behavior

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libralita · 3 years

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The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Suzanne Collins

Summary: Ambition will fuel him. Competition will drive him. But power has its price. It is the morning of the reaping that will kick off the tenth annual Hunger Games. In the Capitol, eighteen-year-old Coriolanus Snow is preparing for his one shot at glory as a mentor in the Games. The once-mighty house of Snow has fallen on hard times, its fate hanging on the slender chance that Coriolanus will be able to outcharm, outwit, and outmaneuver his fellow students to mentor the winning tribute. The odds are against him. He’s been given the humiliating assignment of mentoring the female tribute from District 12, the lowest of the low. Their fates are now completely intertwined—every choice Coriolanus makes could lead to favor or failure, triumph or ruin. Inside the arena, it will be a fight to the death. Outside the arena, Coriolanus starts to feel for his doomed tribute . . . and must weigh his need to follow the rules against his desire to survive no matter what it takes.

Rating: ★★★★★

Review:

So, this is a bit of a “disclaimer” or more of an interesting fact: I’ve technically never read The Hunger Games Trilogy. I had to read the first book for my English class, and it was a time where I hated being told what to read so I used SparkNotes. We also watched the first film in that class but that doesn’t really matter because A) that was like 8 or 9 years ago and B) it was for my class so you can bet I wasn’t playing attention. So, for all intents and purposes, I have not read the Hunger Games. Now you may be asking why I decided read this…seemingly controversial book rather than the much beloved original trilogy. Cuz my friend said I should, the audiobook sample intrigued me, and when are you going to see a review of this book from someone who hasn’t read the original trilogy?

Before I go into spoilers with this book, I just want to say as someone who has at best a surface level understanding of the Hunger Games trilogy, I think people are being a little bit harsh about this book. This book made me completely understand why Coriolanus Snow went down the path that he did while also not glamourizing it or making excuses for it. I genuinely felt bad for this young man who has delt with so many hardship that no one would should suffer through. However, he still does horrible things and the book recognizes that he does horrible things. It is a fascinating character study with a bit of background on how the Hunger Games came to be. Perhaps my opinion will change once I read The Hunger Games trilogy (which I intend to do) however at this point I think this was an amazing book and you should give it a fair shake. Now, onto spoilers.

The only flaw I found with this book was it was a bit too on the nose with a couple of things. First some of the names. Gaul. Satyria. Highbottom. I know that Collins started off as a middle grade writer and these feel like very middle grade character names. They just describe the characters a little too perfectly. In YA, it’s more popular to make characters where their names’ meanings give an insight into their character. Not a huge problem but a bit silly.

Second, I’m a little conflicted on the political talk. On the one hand, holy shit a YA book that talks about political theory? In an intelligent way? That’s not just screaming about real world politics? Oh my! On the other hand, it’s a little too on the nose. Gaul having Coryo write about the Social Contract and then this conversation:

“‘I do. Unless there’s law, someone enforcing it, I think we might as well be animals,’ he said with more assurance. ‘Like it or not, the Capitol is the only thing keeping anyone safe.’ ‘Hm. So they keep me safe. And what do I give up for that?’ she asked.”—Page 434

Hobbes would swoon over Coryo. It wasn’t bad just on the nose. And to a degree, I get it, I’m working on getting my masters in political science and I’ve read Hobbes and Rousseau whereas most the intended audience probably hasn’t. So, I call this a nitpick for me

Other than this book being a little too on the nose, I found very little fault in this. Maybe the Post-Games story line was a little less interesting but it still wasn’t bad by any means. This book is a character study of Coriolanus Snow, so I’d like to talk about him and his dissent. While reading this, my friend asked me if I hadn’t known that Coryo would one day become President Snow, if I could see it coming. And, while it’s hard to tell exactly, I think Collins manages to balance both Coryo being sympathetic and showing how he could become the person that he is in the trilogy. There are three…phases or Coryo’s life that really illustrate how he becomes President Snow. First is his life during the War. Second, is his life During the 10th Hunger Games. Then his life Post-Games. Collins does a wonderful job of portraying what it was like for Coryo during the war. The horrors he had witness of enjoying the life of luxury at an early age and then his world crashing around him. Of his family dying. Of the struggles to survive. Of him witnessing his friends’ parents restore to something horrible like cannibalism. It’s brought up a lot because it’s something that scarred him.

Now his During-Games life/the first half of this book. Coryo and the people around him are clearly dealing with the PTSD of growing up in a war zone. He’s essentially starving through most of this section during the book and on the verge of losing of what little he’s held onto since the War ended. I feel really bad for him. There was a part of me during this section where I hoped along side him that Lucy Gray would win the Hunger Games, he could go to University and continue his relationship with her. Maybe they could have changed Panem for the better. And while in this section he was no pure angel, you could see Gaul and Highbottom pushing him to become a worse person. You could also see the red flags that become worse in the Post-Games section.

There are two major red flags I picked up on during this read through. First, is his relationship with Lucy Gray. He’s very possessive of her and he gets very jealous when she sings about another guy during The Hunger Games. This made the relationship slightly uncomfortable for me…though let’s be honest if Sejanus was pining after Lucy Gray he would be acting no different from any other YA love interest (shots fired.) He actually reminded me a lot of Jace from The Mortal Instruments. The second red flag is his treatment of Sejanus. In a meta sense Sejanus is your typical hero and the fact that Coryo is using him (and really anyone besides maybe his family?) is a giant red flag to me as a reader. He doesn’t like Sejanus or Mrs. Plinth. He just wants to use them. Which is really sad but shows that is eventually dissent into Post-Hunger Games Coryo is foreshadowed.

Now, let’s talk about Post-Games. I took a break once the Games ended because I was a little unmotivated to keep reading. I didn’t know if I would like Coryo leaving the Capital. I liked seeing the political maneuvering of the Games and his dynamics with his classmates. However, watching his dissent was great. His relationship with Lucy Gray went from slightly concerning to full blown toxic. His possessiveness of her really amped up. Coryo also isn’t really happy to see Sejanus because it’s a friendly face, it’s because there’s someone to recognize his status and for someone he can use. Again, another moment of possibility of where Coryo could have let Sejanus and maybe Lucy Gray escape and he could have gone off to become an officer. Work his way up and become the President. However, he didn’t take that path.

It was so heartbreaking to see Sejanus die, there was still a glimmer of Coryo’s humanity where he genuinely felt guilty but you could see his self-preserving nature showing its ugly head. And then his journey is cemented when he can’t handle being out with Lucy Gray so he may or may not have killed her, then he goes back where his family pictures are ruined and his mother’s powder is mush. The only thing left his is father’s compass.

Speaking of his father, one final character I’ll mention is Dean Highbottom. I wish we got a little bit more of him because his view of Coryo is interesting. It seemed like Collins gave a very subtle story about how Highbottom was worried that Coryo would turn out like his father. But Highbottom ended up created the monster he wanted to prevent. If he had shown Coryo compassion and understanding, he might have turned out differently. This ended up getting Highbottom killed which was a great way to end the book. Sad but great.

Overall, I think this is a great story. I loved seeing all the different roads Coryo could have taken and how things could have turned out differently. I am planning on buying the Hunger Games trilogy so it’ll be interesting to see how this changes things for me.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #suzanne collins #reviewsdaytuesday #ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games

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dcforts · 4 years

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[monday 9: undercover]

Something went wrong.

Dean’s got his back against a wall and a knife at his throat and the girl that’s holding it seems like she knows exactly how to use it.

“Who are you?” she asks.

He raises his hands in surrender and kind of regrets ordering a sixth round on a hunt night.

“Hey, hey, easy now. I told you, I’m just a tourist.”

“Bullshit.” The hand that pins him to the wall presses deeper into his shoulder. “A bit too many question for a tourist.” He feels the cold blade press on his throat. “So tell me.”

“Okay, okay, I’m FBI. I’m an agent, undercover.” She’s still unconvinced. “See for yourself. Left pocket.” She slips a hand in his jacket, takes out his fake badge and holds it up towards the dangling lightbulb that lights the backroom of the pub they are in. Her confidence falters. She takes a step back and frees Dean’s throat from her knife. He takes a deep breath.

“So you’re an FBI agent?” she says as she hands him back the badge.

“Yes, and you just attacked me.”

“Sorry.” she says, but doesn’t sound sorry. “You are here about the missing people, right? Look, I know it’s gonna sound weird, but trust me on this, this is not your regular case.”

“How do you know?”

She looks hesitant for a moment, then says: “I hunt monsters. And I think what we are dealing with is -”

“Wait, you’re a hunter?”

“The FBI knows about us?” she asks bewildered.

“No, it’s - uh, I’m a hunter too.”

She tenses up and holds up her knife again. “You gotta decide what you are, dude.”

“No, I’m – I’m a hunter, I swear. I pose as an FBI agent to ask questions without raising suspicions.”

“Good job there.” She deadpans. “So you are a hunter, pretending to be an FBI agent, pretending to be a tourist?”

“Y-yeah?”

He and Castiel had rolled into that little town in Michigan that morning. They read about the people reported missing during their annual town festival and they are pretty sure it’s due to a wendigo waking up from his hibernation period.

The victims were all last seen at a pub conveniently surrounded by thick woods. The wendigo just had to wait for someone to come out after a rough night and without much effort drag them into its lair.

So Dean and Castiel had stepped into the pub three hours before, dressed as civilians, pretending to be tourists in town to enjoy the festival.

And then… well, they- okay, Dean may have gotten a little distracted. It had been the cheery atmosphere, the people drunkenly singing at karaoke, the beers and - Castiel.

Mostly Castiel.

In only his white shirt, with his cheeks flushed, and the lights dancing on his face.

Dean had been painfully aware of their knees pressed together under the table. At one point Castiel had rested his hand on Dean’s forearm to get his attention and leaned closer to talk above the loud music and Dean had turned his head and kinda forgotten how to breathe so close to his lips and his eyes.

Castiel had blinked slowly and Dean’s heart had done things in his chest. He hadn’t heard one word he’d said and he is quite sure his mouth was hanging open. And for a moment, a tiny, hopeful, bright moment, he’d believed the night was going to end in a way that neither of them had planned.

At least, until he’d remembered that they were actually on a job and they were supposed to look for clues and ask around and only act as they were having a night out and not actually having it.

And that maybe this was all in his head, and Cas was actually doing what they were supposed to be doing and it was only Dean who was building up imaginary castles. Castiel was not flirting with him.

He’d wished he hadn’t told Sam that he didn’t have to worry and could stay behind for this one

Finally, he’s made an effort to pay attention to their surroundings. They’d talked to a few patrons and then stopped Denise, their waitress, to ask a few questions and the vagueness of her answers and the clipped tone in her voice had immediately aroused their suspicions. She definitely knew more than she wanted to let on.

So Dean had walked up to her when the pub was half empty and done his usual seductive dance – “Oh, really? That’s so interesting. Maybe we should talk about it later, say, when you finish up here?” complete with wink and all – and Denise had been easily convinced.

Only, well, cause she was playing him.

She’d thrown him against the wall as he’d entered the backroom where they’d agreed to meet.

Dean and Denise are still standing facing each other when the door slams and Castiel appears.

“Dean? I heard - ”

He scans the room and his eyes zeroes on the knife in Denise’s hand. Dean sees the glint of the angel blade sliding in his palm.

“Cas, wait.” he says, stepping between them. “It’s okay. She’s a hunter.”

“Oh. My apologies” says Castiel leaning on one side to look at her behind Dean’s back.

“You’re a hunter too?”

“He’s an angel,” Dean says at the same time Castiel says “Yes.”

She raises her eyebrows. “An angel posing as a hunter posing as an FBI agent posing as a tourist. Wow, way to complicate your lives guys.”

Denise has got a fair idea of where the lair of the wendigo is. They gear up with flamethrowers and silver equipment. Dean feels pretty good about this. He’s splashed his face with fresh water and he’s now sober enough to be able to tackle a seven feet humanoid cannibal. Just another day on the job.

As they are about to head out Denise stops Dean on the door. “He gave you away, you know that, right?”

Dean’s eyes flicker towards Castiel who’s just stepped outside the pub. He’s aware that they are still within angelic earshot.

“You mean the fact that the first thing he asked you was ‘Do you know any of the missing people?’ Yeah.” he huffs a laugh. “He’s still working on the interrogation side of the job. You know, thousands of years of ‘smite first, talk later’ do that to a guy.”

“No, I’m not talking about that. I mean, I figured you out because of him.” She studies his confused face as if she’s deciding if she should say more or not. At last, she takes pity on him: “You’ve been all over him all night, barely spared at glance at anyone else. Then you come chat me up at the end? Come on.”

Well, that is embarassing. Dean feels his cheeks burning. “Oh. I was - We are not - ”

“Look, I don’t care. I’m just saying - if you go undercover as an available guy, don’t bring him.”

“I just - was it that obvious, uh?”

She just looks pointedly at him and then takes off without another world, jogging up ahead towards the tree line to lead the way.

Dean follows after a moment, falling in step with Castiel.

“Hey.”

“You heard what she said, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Castiel says. Dean doesn’t know what to add. Thankfully, Castiel does. “We were not... professional.”

“Yeah. Sorry. ‘t was my fault.” he says and it sounds like a confession.

“It was my fault too,” he says with a quick glance in his direction. Then, after a moment: “Maybe we should talk about it later, say, after we finish up here?”

Dean stops in his track. What’s even happening to him?

“Did you just use my line on me? Are you chatting me up?”

Castiel stops too, a few feet ahead. He shrugs. “Did it work?”

“Course it worked, it always works. I invented it.”

“Well, then I look forward to this conversation.”

“Yeah. You should. It’s gonna be a very long conversation.”

“Good.”

“Get ready.”

“I am.”

Denise’s pissed off voice comes from someplace in the dark ahead of them. “Alright, lovebirds, what it’s going to be? You gonna help me or you gonna chitchat a little more?”

Dean and Castiel smile at each other and resume walking.

I am participating in the spnstayathomechallenge by @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

#spnstayathome #deancas #monday 9: undercover #destiel #deancas fanfic #i didnt think i was going to make it this week nor if i wanted to post it bc of what's going on #but i started writing and i realized i needed the break writing was giving me #i thought that maybe someone else could use a break too from whatever you're living #wherever you are #and that maybe this could be it #so here it is #this is about how dean and cas are disgusting when they are around each other #im giving sam a break from them too - poor guy deserves it #also i really looked forward to this week cause i love the prompt #cant wait to read all the other amazing works #deancas ficlet #deancas ficlets #my writing

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grrcalories · 3 years

Text

1403 - tw ana ,,,,, od,, weight!!!!! - my birthday! turned 14:-) today i binged (which never happens, normally if i "binge" its like dinner which isnt binging, its eating, and even td idk if i can call it binging but i ate candy and nuts and chocolate and my total if the day is 1700. I feel so sick bc ik it's my birthday and shit but when i was skinny i ate like a max of 300 a day and now every time i eat more than that i see myself like ten kilos fatter ,,, idk if its ana bc tbh i never found out if ana actually makes u see urself as fat. I can touch my stomach and thighs so i feel like i see myself as i am????? i asked my smaller cousins if i was fat bc they kept staring at me weirdlyLMFAO and they responded w idk. IDK ALWAYS MEANS THEYRE AFRAID TO SAY YES . im so done,,, ever since i got drunk and od'd in front of my mom and told her i think i have ana (,ptn,) she's been watching me and buying me high calorie shit but she doesnt realize obviously i'm not gonna eat that, i'm not even skinny enough yet. when i get really skinny, then i'll start eating but like a small amount so i dont gain much and i'll also exercise all of those cals out. "U can die" well let me LMFAO i always liked skinny corpses. (that sounds like im a total cannibal weirdo psychopath GN) no but on a real note if i die so be it lol i've been TRYINGG so like god, i'm ready. lol. i weigh 54kilos(height 166cm), which is like 5 kilos more than a few months ago. if i only lost ten, i'd be skinny enough. "what would change when getting skinny" well idk monica, only would i wear skirts again feeling pretty, only would i see my ribs, as if all clothes looked too big.... my goal was to be skinny, but i'm not allowed to even be skinny? ik i sound like crazy but why do they not let me die skinny? LMFAO BC LIKE I'M LIVING FOR MYSELF am i not? and my BMI is healthy weight and that SUCKS bc if i'm truly anorexic, why am i normal? it's not fair it's not fair i've been starving(not fully obv) myself for 6 months AND I EAT FOR FOUR WEEKS(one-two times a day) AND I GAIN 5 KILOS?? bc that is so annoying. all those time I TOLD MYSELF I WASN'T WORTHY OF FOOD BECAUSE I WASN'T SKINNY. AND I NEVER GOT SKINNY. i was skinny be4 christmas but it stopped bc my body got used to starving. at the same time i feel ---- mean. am i right? bc i get to have food but i don't bc of some UNDIAGNOSED illness I MAY NOT EVEN HAVE that KEEPS TELLING ME i don't get to eat. why? why do i not get to eat? what did i do? IS IT MY FAULT? lol AM I FAKING IT? i'm SO FED UP with this PART OF ME telling me what to do. also, i don't think i can have ana, bc u don't have a voice, it's just a part of me. adding to that, i love food. all movies abt ana tell me they never want food, never eat it until they almost die. RECOVERING SCARES ME bc: a) i think i'm gonna relapse b) I DONT EVEN HAVE A DIAGNOSE c) every anorrrrrexic person in movies almost dies. DO I HAVE TO BE SO SKINNY TO RECOVER? ik i want to. literally fuck me 😐 jesus. WHY CANT I EAT AND SEE MY RIBS? anyways. i will now starve myself for three days and workout for three hours so i can be beautiful. that's my fucked up mind, pute . 14!

#anareksya #tw ana #tw food #tw ed content #tw ed rant #fuck eds

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imtryingthisout · 4 years

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I’ll cut away me Bonny hair, let no man ever think me fair

Fandom: Descendants

Ship: Fem!Harry Hook x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,415

Content: It’s a self insert fic inspired by @descendantofthesparrow check out their series and art if you like this. I’m not sure about any warnings, but there is references to British Imperialism and just The Isle of The Lost in general. Ask me to tag anything if you come across it.

———————————————————————-

It was a calm night.

The push and pull of the tides was a mighty sight, but their temperament was overall sedated. Waves of drowsy titans swaying on their feet. There were ships that lined the shore, vessels of varying shapes and sizes and degrees of being intact. Some had their ribs ripped open by thieving hands, cannibalized by their captains and left to rot tethered to their anchor. All empty husks of rot wood and former glory, that rocked like cradles in the breeze. Dipping lower and lower till their cheeks brushed the ocean, before rising upwards to repeat the cycle once more.

Pirate’s Port was a town that was seldom silent, in fact it had quite the reputation to the contrary, yet as the fog rolled in from the sea, sinking low and to the ground, reaching its long and heavy hands around the bases of driftwood shacks and other buildings, not a whisper could be heard amidst the streets. The few people who lingered in the Night Market took one good look at the creeping white mist and quickly fled into their houses. Curious children who mustered the will to stick their heads outside the window frames or from the corner of doorways were hastily ushered inside by their guardians. One young girl nursed a busted earlobe, that her Mother had yanked so fast and hard to get her to move indoors, that it now sported a dark red bruising.

A single man walked along the streets. Stumbling along the cobblestone path till he came to the end of the seaport. He stood there for a breath, as fog swirled around the old wooden pole beside the street. The remnants of a great mast, now left to crumble by the sidewalk. Old barnacles, moss and other things stuck to the sides of it poked against his back as he rested his weight beside its frame.

The clothes he wore, if they could be called that, were tattered and ragged and hung off his frame in great sheets of cloth. They might have fit a different man, once. Grains of salt stuck to his beard and hair, catching the reflection of the water like stars in a blackened and oily sky. His fingers were wrapped in stained cloth and bound with a myriad of dirty copper and golden rings.

Those fingers were wrapped around an old harmonica, silver, clean, with the likeness of twisting vines and waves etched into the frame. Hours of craftsmanship decorating its borders. His grip around it was so tight, it drew the skin around his knuckles white, as he held the instrument to his cracked lips and let out a mournful tune. His song the only echo in the darkness.

“I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away, my John. I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away~”

There was no moonlight on the Isle of the Lost, even now, for on the rare occasion that the moon dared show her fair face, the omnipresent storm clouds that plagued the land marred her, obscuring her smiling figure. There was no moonlight on the Isle of the Lost, nor was there starlight, or streetlamps.

Night time was an abstract shadow here, where reality seemed twisted and fearful. The only thing illuminating the dark streets and alleyways, was the light emitting from the crevices and cracks of house windows, as well as the occasional fire pit, but tonight the windows were shut, the cracks stuffed with cloth, and every barrel of flame doused with water and ash. There was no moonlight on the Isle of the Lost.

But the sea, who so loved the moon and her light, would never deny her glory, so for the lonesome ship who drifted, not by the shore, rather in the heart of the tide, their deck was basked in a pale luster. As well as the two figures who sat beside each other.

You have one hand burrowed deep into the inky black curls of Harry Hook and the other on the handle of a knife. The shine of the blade catches the silver light burning from the moon above the two of you, the silent observer whose gaze watches as you move the blade closer and closer to the flesh of the neck. A flash of heat runs down your spine as you-

“Hurry it up would ye, I’m starting to get a crick in me neck”

-slice upwards through your handful of hair. Watching absentmindedly as some rogue strands flutter down and are carried to the sea by the breeze. “This would be a lot faster if I had proper scissors” you mutter low beneath your breath. Not low enough apparently, because the next thing you hear is Harry replying “It’s not me fault I got hair growin’ thicker than tha soup at Ursula's Slop”

You angle your knife and get to work cleaning up the final few edges. “It wouldn't be so hard if ya didn’t insist on cutting it every time it gets longer than a butter knife’s blade. I swear- would it kill ya to grow it a bit longer? Let ya curls show?”

“And let people compare me more to me Da? Walking around like some great fop, nah, me name is bad enough, don’t wanna be walking around lookin’ like a pale shadow of that bloody English fool”

“Oi watch it” you say, bringing your blade playfully closer to nicking him before correcting it at the very last moment, “Don’t forget my Mother is of English blood”

“Ha! And you’ll ne’er catch a englishman claimin’ her!” Harry exclaimed, kicking a foot out to mark the punctuation” I swe’r the day that Elizabeth Swann is called a sassenach is the day the barrier breaks”

Her movement causes you to accidentally slash a bit too close to her skin, making the hair fall awkwardly. You bite your tongue to keep from scowling, and get to work correcting the cut. “Quit squirming- I still have to clean up this last bit fore’ ya can be back to moving about”

“Ughhhh- whyyy, I’ve been sittin’ he’re for ages” Harry groans, you can practically hear her pouting expression. Even so she stops, reluctantly, sullenly, she keeps her body as still as the statue, not even twiddling her thumbs.

“You know, when someone has a knife to your neck, you could stand to talk to them a bit more politely” Harriet Hook, whose name invokes such wrath that even her own father calls her Harry, turns to look at you. The grin that sails across her face is nothing short of wicked. “Of course, how rude of me to forget me manners. After all, it isn't every day one gets to rub elbows with royalty” She says, drawling out the word royalty with a flourish. You would be lying if you said that something in your heart didnt flutter at her voice, but you would be damned if you let her score an easy victory over you. You roll your eyes to the moon and back. “Oh stop that nonsense Hook'' you say, giving a stray lock of hair a quick tug. “Ain't no royalty on the Isle, no matter how The Fair Folk of Bargains Castle want to pretend otherwise”

“Aye but that's where you’re wrong Miss Swann.” You snip away the final strand. “The way I see it this ship has got not one, but two! Two whole members of royalty gracing us with their presence” Harry slides away from you like water in a strain, spinning around your waist and forcing you to turn around to follow her movement. Her voice is loud. Loud and full of delight, the very definition of boisterous. “First off we have our very own Captain- The Queen of The Sea!” she laughs with her arms extended upwards and to the sky. And something, you cannot say what, in you relaxes. Harry’s love for Uma was a familiar sight. It was a eternal spring that you could feel laced around every word that fell from her lips. Harry stands radiant in her adoration. “Oh but let’s not neglect our Dear Miss Swann, whose Mam ruled over fleets of ships- an armada! And dared to claim the Pirate King’s Crown”

Your fingers furl themselves around the hair in your hands. A part of you wants to braid it, hide it in a locket and keep it close to your heart forever. “How long must I remind you Hook, my name is free to say?”

“At least once more Miss Swann”, she says and takes your hand into hers “For I do so love it when you plead”. She bows, slowly, deeply in a way that would make your Mother’s old governess cringe at the impropriety- and kisses the back of your hand.

(Her lips are warm and rough against your skin, the chapness tickles slightly as she lingers. Looking up at you with eyes paler than riverstones and twinkling with mirth. Second stars to the left and right, stolen from the sky and embedded in her sockets.)

Your knife hits the wood with a clang and a thud, a faint part of you redisters the noise, but the whole of your head is swarming with heat and air. The goosebumps on your arms stand still and tall and you can’t say it's from the cold. Your bones feel hollow, your spirit barely tethered, you are a mind outside of your body outside of yourself and you wonder if this is what pixie dust feels like.

(Harry Hook’s lips are still pressed against your hand. Her eyes fixed onto yours. At first her expression is playful- cocky. All wiggling eyebrows and the crinkles of laughter, but as the silence stretches on it shifts. Confusion blooms with the tilt of the head. A wordless question written in the furrowing of the brow. Then, suddenly, her eyes widen and grow wild with realisation- before hardening into something else. Something more akin to victory.)

“Why Miss Swann-” Harry says moving forward, lacing both of your fingers together and closing the space between you, till you can feel the sting of her grin burn across your cheek. Her laughter rings like toll bells in your ear, sealing your fate. “Do you fancy me?”

You should take your hand back, you know you should take your hand back.

You don’t want to take your hand back.

A retort bubbles in the back of your throat, with that thought, its rough and scratching and feels just like the lock of hair curled around your fingers. You don’t want to let go. There is saltwater roaring behind your back as the sea dips the ship in a lover’s embrace. Harry’s hand grips your hand is gripped to your chest. She’s waiting. You can see it in the corner of your vision, expecting eyes that seem so blue, they shine silver in the night air.

So you answer, in the only way you possibly can. “What’s my name?”

“What?”

You run your free hand through her hair, balling a fist near the center of the scalp and pulling hard- taking her face off of yours and forcing your eyes to meet. “What’s my name Hook, I want to hear you say it” you say, it’s not a question anymore, not a plea, but a command.

And Harry Hook will always heed a command.

“Cassandra Swann” she whispers, the words fall clumsily out of her mouth and into your heart. You smile beneath her chin, using the leverage to pull yourself higher. You growl against her flesh “Again”

“Cassandra Swan”

A shrieking laugh escapes your lips, “Again!” you scream “Again! Again! Again!”

Harry loops her arms around you, killing the space between the two of you. “Cassandra” she says, “Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassanra Swann” With every reprise her words get smoother, and soon “Cassandra! Cassandra!” flies effortlessly from her mouth, as if she had always longed to say it, as if it was always meant to be there. Harry lifts your body into the air and spins the two of you around the deck all the while murmuring into your hair “Daughter of Elizabeth, Prince of Pirates, Daughter of William, Heir of The Flyin’ Dutchman”

The tips of your boots graze the floorboards as Harry’s momentum lessens and lessens, slowing to a stop near the center of the deck. Your head is pressed firmly to her chest. Here, in this place of comfort, you can hear the frantic beating of her heart, the rise and fall of her breath, the rush of blood beneath her flesh. You feel the storm that rages inside of her. And still she holds you close.

You linger there for a breath, hands clinched around the fabric of her shirt, while the two of you sway with the breeze. You’ve danced before, danced atop this very deck even, but nothing can compare to the silent watz the two of you share here and now. Just you and your love and the Moon. Harry’s touch is firm and soft and oh so gentle with you. If this were anyone else you would say it was hesitant, but that thought was absurd- Harry Hook was never hesitant, you weren’t sure she even knew the word. If she saw something she wanted, she took it. If she saw something she hated, she destroyed it. Love, rage, sorrow, desire, she bore them all proudly before the world, without shame or modesty. Harry Hook lived a life without restraint.

There is shifting under your fingernails, you are gripping her so, so tightly, as if you’re afraid she is not but a visiting dream, a girl made of moonlight and shadow, a passing specter doomed to fade away come dawn.

A strikingly strong gust of wind sends your hair flying outward and towards the sky. Waves of sun-kissed and flaxen strands twist and knot in the air, creating an arch of golden color above your head. You, with your father’s skin and days spent working out at sea, and Harry, with hair darker than the space between stars and skin so fair it put the moon to shame, the two of you were quite the contradictory pair.

Then the wind abides and Harry laughs as your hair falls in front of your face.

“Oh ha-ha hook,” you say, blowing a gust of breath up to get the threads up and out of your eyes, which only makes her chuckle louder. You do not pout, you don’t, you scowl like the very fierce pirate you are and you won’t hear any word to the contrary. “I mean really what’s so funny about--”

You are interrupted by Harry shoving a finger on top of your mouth “Sssh” she says, looking out and over her shoulder, “Do ye hear that?”

Hear what? You try to ask, however it comes out sounding something like “Hrrwat?” with Harry’s finger still covering your mouth. You strain your ears to listen, and sure enough you hear something on the wind, but the noise was far too muddled to make out anything further than a melody.

Luckily, a melody was all you needed.

“It’s a song” Harry says, her voice barely a whisper.

“It’s a shanty” you correct, and a very familiar one at that. No matter how time changes, or what variant of the lyrics become popular, you would be dead in the grave before you didn’t recognize a seafarer's lullaby, sailing along waves of wind and water and air.

You slowly raise your hand to Harry’s pale cheek, careful to give her time to see the motion and accept it. Her skin is chilled against your touch, as you pull her face away from the Isle and all its troubles. You both can feel the weight of the full moon at your backs as you begin to sing. “I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away, my John~”

What it is, you could not say, but something inside of Harry relaxes when she looks at you. The crease between her eyes vanishes and a part of the frantic energy tensed into her shoulders, lessens. The heavy gaze of the moon lessens slightly.

You rarely ever see her like this. This calmer, tender side of her, that she hides away from the world. How wonderful it is to witness, to share vulnerability, how beautiful she looks when she joins the chorus, your two voices becoming one. “I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away~”

Taking a step to the side, you begin to lead Harry and your bodies in a proper waltz. Well, as proper as a Pirate waltz could be, at least. You are so focused on your dancing that you almost miss Harry’s voice singing. “I dreamed my true love came all dressed in white, lowlands, lowlands, away me John, I dreamed my true love came all dressed in white, lowlands, lowlands away”

“She sat by my bed when I was asleep, lowlands, lowlands away my John, she sat by my bed when I was asleep, lowlands, lowlands away”

“That’s wrong,” Harry tells you, very seriously, you can’t help but giggle “I’ve heard this sung a thousand times, with a thousand different tongues and a thousand different ways. If the rhythm is right then what does it matter?”

Harry nods her head, “Aye, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong”

“Well if that’s the case Miss Hook, then why don’t you show me how it’s really done?”

“Gladly Miss Swann” Harry grins, puffing her chest up proudly as she sings, her voice so deep and genuine it brought tears to your eyes. “She sat by me bed and did nothing but weep, lowlands, lowlands away my John, she sat by me bed and did nothing but weep, lowlands, lowlands away”

“Cold water soaked her skin so fair, lowlands, lowlands, away my John, cold water soaked her skin so fair, lowlands, lowlands away”

A warm hand runs itself through your head, racking fingers wander as Harry counters, “An’ the salt-sea weed it was in ‘er hair, lowlands, lowlands away, me John, an’ the salt-sea weed it was in ‘er hair, lowlands, lowlands away”

The wandering comes to stop on top of your ear. Her tumb is nestled under your eye, cradling the side of your face. You feel the heat of the touch, burn past your skin and set your blood a boiling. “She made no sound- nor word she said, lowlands, lowlands, away my John, she made no sound- nor word she said, lowlands lowlands away”

For a second time stood still as two souls shared the same thought. Harry moves to rest her forehead on yours, and before you could even think to give a command, your body rose up to meet her halfway.

“That’s when I knew my love was dead, lowlands, lowlands, away my John, that’s when I knew my love was dead, lowlands, lowlands away” you harmonize with each other, voices barely a whisper drowned out in each other and the beating of your hearts.

“I dreamed a dream the other day, lowlands, lowlands away, my John. I dreamed a dream the other day, lowlands, lowlands away”

Up beside the horizon, where the water meets the sky, the first blaze of sunrise streaks along the border. There is a brief moment, when the light is just right, that the entire ocean ignites in a pale blue splendor. The exact shade of your love’s eyes.

“Then I awoke to morning’s keen, lowlands, lowlands away my John, then I awoke to morning’s keen, lowlands, lowlands away”

Miles away from the ship where you and Harry Hook stand, frozen in time, the fog retreats back into the sea. Windows are unplugged, fire restarted, the air begins to be polluted with the shouting and the everyday noises of life.

Inside a small wooden shack there is a Mother, carefully applying cream onto her daughter’s ear. She does not apologize, not openly, not when she doesn’t regret causing it, but she does gather her daughter close in her arms and opens her mouth to sing her favorite lullaby. A song about a distant and beautiful land, far away and low by the sea.

And of course, beyond the two lovers and the mother and daughter, there is an old man standing by the sea, and singing. “Now I’ll never see my love again, lowlands, lowlands away, my John, now I’ll never see my love again, my lowlands, lowlands away~”

#disney #writing #fic #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook imagine #Harry Hook #Fem!harry #harry hook x reader #descendantsofthesparrow #oc #Elizabeth Swann #William Turner #Captain Hook

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A New Arrangement [Part 3/9]

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

Summary: Office gossip, and learning a few new things about your client that leave you embarrassed

1,194 words

“He was such a weirdo! You have no idea—I legit thought it was going to be some creepy sex party thing,” you laughed, leaning over the top of Roxy’s cubicle.

The plump woman scrunched her face with flawless purple makeup in disgust. “Oh my god,” she squealed. “Do not go back there. Get Bobby to take it over. Seriously.”

“Seriously,” you groaned, although you in fact meant the opposite. The hell you were going to give up a big client to the office playboy.

Maybe you would have to eventually. Dr. Chilton did not seem to like you very much, and to be fair, you really put your foot in your mouth right off the bat and never actually apologized for it. Come to think of it, you could hardly blame him for being a bit churlish.

Three days later, you had another chance. You vowed to start this meeting off on a better foot.

You’d looked him up this time so you wouldn’t stumble face-first into any pitfalls. One of the first headlines was “Chesapeake Ripper Suspect Cleared of Suspicions After Near-Fatal Shooting in FBI Custody” followed by links to his books about the Ripper and the Red Dragon, articles about his being discovered half-drowned in a fountain after being burned and mutilated, and an older article on Tattlecrime about his being vivisected while conscious by a former patient.

This guy had been through the meat grinder!

You started reading his first novel, Hannibal the Cannibal. His writing was as dry and pretentious as his speaking voice, the tone overly-technical, though as you got into the flow of it you began to see how it had held enough of the layman’s attention to ascend to best-sellerdom. There was a ridiculous humor buried in the stuffy formality of its grammar, like an old British comedy.

The day of the meeting, you greeted him at the door with a less-forced smile, did your best not to stare at his absurd suit-and-mask outfit, and thought you were being very polite. You also wore a sexier outfit, just as a little fuck-you for thinking you were drab.

He was, at least, less prickly.

He invited you in, holding the door open and flinching a little as you passed through, stepping into into his personal bubble. The reaction reminded you not to try to shake his hand, though it felt rude. He was a little more familiar with you—he got your name wrong, but it was so obvious that it was on purpose that your lips turned up into a wry smile. You couldn’t see him smiling back, but you had a feeling he was pleased with himself.

Now that the shock of his appearance had worn off, you found he was a well-articulated gentleman and fairly charming in conversation. He might not be a total crazy person after all. You might, actually, not hate him.

But you had barely booted up your laptop and pulled up documents to review when he tossed you out, leaving you wondering what exactly the hell you had said this time to offend him. Roxy was going to get an earful when you went to get drinks after work.

***

You returned the next week, and the same thing happened. This time, you weren’t going to take it anymore.

“OK, what is going on? Are you not happy with my services?” You slammed the laptop shut. “Do you want someone else assigned to your case?” That last addition came out more fragile than you’d intended. It stung to imagine giving him up to a coworker, but if he hated your guts, then he hated you.

“You are fine,” he said tersely, pressing his fingertips to his porcelain brow.

“Then what? Are you just jerking me around for fun? You enjoy wasting my time?”

He said nothing, but his chin tilted indignantly into the air.

“Well, if you’re going to keep cutting these so short, I’m not going to keep driving all the way out here.”

“I pay for the full hour regardless. That makes your time more valuable, if anything.”

You half laughed as you stuffed your laptop and various papers back into your bag. “I’m sorry, but no. There is paperwork and research I have to do back at the office depending on your decisions that I can’t start because you haven’t made any. If you keep blowing these meetings off then you can find somebody else to help you.”

Brusque? Yes, but you were tired of being disrespected by some rich asshole.

You shot up from the desk, chair legs scraping on the hardwood, and marched out.

Before you could reach the door, Dr. Chilton stood and called after you, a plaintive, almost desperate quality to his voice. “I cannot manage these lengthy sessions. Sitting upright too long makes my head ache, and my grafts sting.”

You froze in the doorway.

“I have only been out of the hospital for a month,” he confessed, begging you not to leave. His tone turned sharp and defensive again. “Given your line of work, one would think you would be more sensitive to the needs of the ailing.”

You turned on your heel, hands flying to your mouth. “I-I’m so sorry… sir. I thought that you—of course I will do anything I can to accommodate your needs!” Your cheeks burned hot. Why did you just assume he was blowing you off and force him to explain a medical condition?! He was right, that was like, rule number one at your job. “I am so getting fired,” you whimpered to yourself.

The cavernous study seemed vast in the distance between you. You tried to divine if he was angry, or forgiving, but the mask betrayed nothing. He just stood, distant and observing.

“Is there anything that would make it easier for you? If you need to lie down while we talk, that’s fine. A lot of clients do. I see people in the hospital all the time.” You closed some of the distance until his foot took a half step back.

His head tipped considering your proposal. He was a proud man, that much you were certain about Frederick Chilton, and the idea of laying down would be admitting how sick he was. He would rather rudely cut an appointment short with no explanation than admit to needing extra support. (It wasn’t entirely your fault for not realizing—he literally masked his pain, which made him hard to read). But he also did not want you to be angry and quit, and so he gestured you to follow him to a supple leather couch set into a reading nook. There was a low coffee table in front of it on which to set your computer, and a few leather chairs that sank you into a reclined position no matter how you tried to sit at attention.

He stretched out on the couch with an embarrassed grumble, and lay there rubbing his temples for a few minutes before turning to you and instructing you to begin.

Much to her disappointment, you didn’t have a word of gossip for Roxy the next day.

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #raul esparza #hannibal #reader insert #My writing

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promithiae · 4 years

Text

There are no sympathetic characters in the Hansel and Gretel story.

Let’s start with the parents. You’ve got Father, who was so in ompetant at being a father that he just married that first person that would say yes. Like dude went from Good and Virtuous Wife (isn’t the first wife always Good and Virtuous 🙄) to this haggard bitch without even thinking things through? Did 0 vetting? Didn’t even once think to ask, “hey, how do you feel about kids that aren’t your own?” Bruh. Stop thinking with your dick and actually pay attention to New Woman’s interactions with your kids.

Speaking of the New Woman. What is the deal with Evil Step Mother? Why the stepmother always gotta be Evil? Why can’t New Mom ever be good and kind to her blended family? Also, this is what, the 17th century? These brats (yeah, we’ll get to these little shit heads next, don’t worry) and they’re like 10 and 8? another couple years and you can send Hansel into some mine to work to death and little Gretel is almost marrying age. Like, if these kids really are such a threat to your vast fortune (which I really don’t believe Father had. He’s like a woodcutter or something with a little house and maybe a donkey. My dude doesn’t have any fortunes to worry about, you need to chill, lady) they’d be easy enough to take care of in a not totally evil kind of way. Not morally good, or even sympathetic, but at least not actively trying to murder them with a forest.

SPEAKING of murdering children with forests, let me talk about Hansel and Gretel. Ok. Ok, these little shits get lost in the wood and come upon a house made of gingerbread and candy. Now instead of, I don’t know, KNOCKING ON THE DOOR and offering to do some chores for food and a bed these little turds decide to just eat this house. Like. Of COURSE the witch was mad???? I’d be pissed too if some little assholes strolled on up to my house and, instead of raiding the garden or the pantry and promising to help plant and sow or whatever just. Started eating my front door? That took TIME and EFFORT to bake, you little fucker! Do you realize how hard it is to make gingerbread in sheets large enough to make a door? Or the side of a house??? And these little fuckers just stroll up and completely RUIN the facing? Bitch, I’d be pissed and thinking about cooking them in a damn oven, too. Make them into some fucking garden statuary. Fuck.

But don’t think for a second that I’m letting the witch off that easy. Because seriously? What the fuck kind of building material is gingerbread? How is that structurally sound??? You’re living in the black forest you crazy old bat, there’s rain and snow, and hail, and fog, and other damp things. Ok, yeah, gingerbread is great on its own when it’s dry. But have you ever dipped that shit in coffee or tea? It crumbles away to nothing. How the hell do you think it’s going to last the winter??? Also there are like. Squirrels and bears and chipmunks and badgers and sparrows and idk, rabbits and shit in that forest that would be overjoyed to have a huge sheet of gingerbread to munch on. Like. You can’t literally make your house out of food and then be mad when something comes along and eats it. Not even if the things coming along are children who, after approximately 2.5 hours in the forest with no food have apparently become completely feral. So what do you do as punishment? A rational person would make them help repair it so that they understand how hard it was for you to make your structurally unsound house. But no. This bitch sees two human children - even if they are completely unsympathetic little fucks - and decides that a suitable punishment is to make them into dinner. wtf lady. what the actual fuck. Now, if she had turned her house into a monster and had the house mimic eat the kids as retribution then I would be all for it. Fair turn around. Kids eat house, house eats kids. Done and done. But no, this bitch decides actual cannibalism is fair play. Like I was already a little wishy washy on the whole gingerbread as building material thing, but you’ve completely lost me with the cannibalism. I can’t fault those little fuckers for shoving her into her own oven.

The only person I can’t criticise in this mess of a story is Mother, and that’s only because she went and died before she could fuck up her kids lives worse that they did on their own.

#long post #a rant I formulated in my head this morning for no reason #I have no idea why I was thinking about this #can't really call it literary critisism

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forthehunger · 3 years

Text

THE GIRL IS A GOD / THE GOD IS A MONSTER

NAME: Zisa ALIAS: The First Wood-Wife, The Devourer’s Bane, Zisa Foerster SPECIES: Goddess ETHNICITY: Caucasian (German) YEAR OF BIRTH: Unknown ORIENTATION: Bisexual Biromantic (cis-female, she/her) HOMETOWN: Augsburg, Germany OCCUPATION: Tribal princess, forest born-in-training, goddess, the first wood-wife, forester (verse dependent)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: Anya Taylor Joy HAIR COLOR: Blonde EYE COLOR: Hazel HEIGHT: 5 feet 6 inches PIERCINGS: Ear lobes SCARS: A faint scar on her left knee, two long scars on her back (like claw marks), a ridged scar just above her right hip

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: Bluma † FATHER: Rolt † BROTHER: Tyr MENTOR: Old Mother Hunger †

TALENTS & ABILITIES

AS THE FIRST WOODWIFE -- According to Germanic mythology, wood-wives are female guardians of the forest who are known to be altruistic and benevolent towards humans. They usually ask favors from travelers in exchange for a handful of woodchips, which turn to gold the moment the traveler has left the forest. Wood-wives are also known to be adept at using herbs and plants to cure illnesses and ward off evil. Zisa is the first of the wood-wives and all the legends can be traced back to her. She has since shared this vocation with other wood-wives, usually mortal women who are then elevated by Zisa to become forest spirits to continuously guard the forest and those who reside or venture inside it.

AS A FOREST-BORN -- Zisa was chosen to become a forest-born while Tyr was chosen to become the human vessel for the primordial evil known as The Devourer. Forest-borns are abominations, humans who succumbed to the power of The Great Forest, which is The Devourer’s domain. They have a bond with each other and with the Devourer, and some of his magic and malice are woven into their body, tainting their humanity. Zisa trained to become a forest-born under Old Mother Hunger, the first and most powerful of The Devourer’s forest-born. This taint in her humanity is what allowed her to confront The Devourer in his own realm and save her brother Tyr from possession, by containing the primordial evil in her no-longer-mortal form, until she found a way to defeat him.

AS THE WIELDER OF DURENDAL -- While searching for a way to free her brother Tyr from the magical trance he was placed under by Old Mother Hunger, Zisa searches a field of bones to ask the dead for help. A pair of bones -- belonging to a brother and sister -- answered her plea, and she took them to the crippled smith, Volund, to be fashioned into swords in exchange for “the delights of her proud body, twice”. Thinking the swords would help slay the Devourer, Zisa agreed, and after the swords are made, she ended up wielding Durendal, which means endurance. Both Joyeuse and Durendal are capable of shrinking into bone needles, and Zisa usually has her bone-sword pinned on her somewhere.

AS THE GODDESS OF THE DEEP, DARK FOREST -- Zisa eventually saved Tyr and contained the Devourer within her body. She hoped to expel him by sewing charms with red string using Joyeuse and Durendal in their needle forms. The charms were supposed to trick The Devourer to devour itself, and Zisa swallowed them so they can be transported to the Devourer’s realm. After succeeding to vanquish the devourer, Zisa held on to her immortality, and the power of the Great Forest remained inside her. Parts of the deep, dark forest still contain remnants of the primordial evil made of the same fabric as The Devourer, and it is Zisa’s responsibility to stand guard against those forces for the safety of humankind.

NOTES ON THE PORTRAYAL

Zisa the Goddess barely appears on Germanic lore and her existence is often debated upon by scholars. This portrayal is largely based on the book Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge, and it’s fair to say she’s taken some liberty in explaining Zisa’s myth. For one, Zisa and Tyr’s story is supposed to be a Hansel and Gretel retelling (with Old Mother Hunger as the witch). She also portrays Zisa and Tyr as siblings, while some sources cite Zisa as Tyr’s consort. For this portrayal, I will adhere to them being brother and sister, a prince and a princess of a tribe that resided in what is now Augsburg, Germany.

The sequence of events are as follows ( tw: cannibalism, murder ):

A primordial evil called The Devourer threatened Zisa’s community. He was told to have “swallowed the sun and moon” and plunged the world in darkness. In his service were forest-borns who tormented mortals.

Zisa and Tyr’s father, a tribal leader, believed that this was the way of the world, the weak succumbed to the strong. He eventually offers up her children in the service of the Devourer and the forest-born.

During the ritual to denote the sacrifice, Zisa and Tyr were told by the forest-borns that the first to cut the other’s hand will become a forest-born, the one maimed will become the Devourer’s new vessel. Knowing that Tyr would never harm her, Zisa picked up the sword and cut off Tyr’s hand.

Tyr was then placed under a trance, his body and mind prepared to be possessed by the Devourer. Meanwhile, Zisa was training to become forest-born. While Old Mother Hunger slept, she would descend the basement of her house to speak to her brother, imploring him to remember her and his name, which the forest-born wanted him to forget. One day, from his trance, Tyr told Zisa “Only the leavings of the wolf can kill the wolf” which gave her the idea to search the field of bones of the Devourer’s previous victims.

Zisa brought the bones of the unnamed brother and sister to Volund, and the crippled smith fashioned them into swords that shrink down to needles, in exchange for the delights of Zisa’s proud body, twice.

Zisa returned to Old Mother Hunger’s hut to find out that Tyr had been transported to prepare him for the possession. Old Mother Hunger told Zisa that if she wanted to be there for her brother, she had to kill her mother and father and bring their hearts back to the hut. She did as she was asked, and Old Mother Hunger asked Zisa to cook the hearts and eat them with her.

Afterwards, Zisa was eventually allowed to go where Tyr was. Before The Devourer possessed Tyr, Zisa danced for him, and so enchanted he was by her that she granted her one wish. Zisa asked to see the devourer face to face, and he breathed on her to transport her to his domain. From there, instead of seeking out the devourer, Zisa fetched the orbs that represented the sun and moon and released them back into the sky. The light from the moon immediately killed Old Mother Hunger.

Tyr woke up from his trance and Zisa was spat back out by The Devourer. The plan was that they each wield Joyeuse and Durendal to end the Devourer once and for all, but The Devourer informed Tyr of what happened to their parents, and told them that he had hold of their souls. In exchange for saving their souls, The Devourer wanted Zisa to go back to his realm to search for them, but it was a trick, and he ended up possessing her.

Upon realizing what happened, Tyr stabbed Zisa with Joyeuse, incapacitating The Devourer and plunging Zisa into a trance. Zisa’s forest-born body was just barely enough to keep the power of The Devourer at bay, and his primordial evil continued to spill into the lands, despite the sun and moon being back in the sky.

Zisa dreamed and dreamed, and eventually realized how to defeat the Devourer. Instructing Tyr through writing, Zisa sew charms with red strings, using the needle forms of Joyeuse and Durendal. She defeated by the Devourer by swallowing the charms and tricking the Devourer to devour itself. The ordeal left Zisa her tainted humanity, the consequence of becoming forest-born, and the power of The Great Forest still contained inside her.

Now Zisa is the Goddess that guards man-kind against the darkness of the deep forest. She continues to perform her duty as a wood-wife.

Tyr, whose body was once prepared to become The Devourer’s vessel, is now also immortal, and his godhood has its own myths related to it.

It is important to note that in Crimson Bound, Zisa was not the one to kill The Devourer. This is something I am adapting in my own interpretation based on my own headcanons.

REGARDING NORSE MYTHOLOGY: Tyr is more well-known as a Norse deity than a German one, and he is known to be the god whose hand was bitten off by Fenrir, a son of Loki. In a Norse Mythology setting, Zisa is still the sister of Tyr, which means that yes, she is an aesir (and a child of Odin), and Zisa still cut off his hand once to prevent him from making a decision she knew would weigh heavily on him. But Zisa mended him using her own godly powers after their ordeal was done. However, the second time Tyr loses his hand, she deemed it to be his fault (all of the aesir’s fault, actually) for binding Fenrir in a needless show of cruelty and superiority, and if he asks, she will refuse to heal him. It is important to know that Zisa resides in Midgard and has no interest in the politics of Asgard. Because the source material I have been exposed regarding Norse Mythology has a more sympathetic view of Loki and their children, so Zisa will adapt the same mentality. She is patiently awaiting Ragnarok, but she has no interest in taking a side in it.

EDIT: will incorporate this properly soon, but in a Norse myth setting, I will HC that “The Devourer” is a darkness that once resided in Niðavellir. It pit Zisa and Tyr against each other, saying that they have to cut off the other’s hand to decide who will became its new vessel and who will be its new lieutenant of sorts. Since Tyr hesitated, Zisa cut off his hand. The Devourer then sought to possess Tyr and make Zisa his foremost soldier, but not before Zisa defeated it by trickery. Tyr is released, but Zisa had to contain the Devourer in her own body, until she managed to weave the red yarns and swallow them, to compel The Devourer to devour itself. Afterwards, Zisa healed Tyr with her yarn. It is said that The Devourer’s power left remnants of itself in Zisa, and that she has become “tainted” by this eldritch horror.

(If any of the Norse stuff is questionable, please let me know. I am still learning about it and has just recently finished three podcast episodes regarding Loki from Parcast Network’s Mythology.)

REGARDING MARVEL: The main points of the story are kept the same. Zisa is an aesir or in Marvel terms, is an Asgardian. She is the sister of Tyr, the one-handed and dual-natured god of bloodshed and order. They are Odin’s offspring of unknown maternal heritage, and are therefore, Thor’s half-siblings. Unlike other Asgardians however, Zisa resides in Midgard. This came after she and Tyr battled and defeated a primordial evil in Nilfheim (Niðavellir), the coldest and darkest region in the Nine Realms. Zisa contained an evil inside herself called The Devourer and then tricked it to devour itself. As a result, Zisa carries some of The Devourer’s power inside her which somehow made the rest of the gods suspicious of her. The goddess then decided to move to Midgard and reside in the deepest, darkest parts of its forests, protecting humanity from the evil that also lurked there using her powers as a divine entity and the residual power of the primordial evil she once captured inside her. IMPORTANT TO NOTE: The rest of the Asgardians have no idea where Zisa fucked off to when she left Asgard. All they know is that she has exiled herself and has kept herself hidden even from Heimdall. Only Odin (if he so chooses) can find Zisa whenever he is atop his throne, which makes him all-seeing.

IMPORTANT LINKS

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#info: zisa #personals do not interact

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gyromitra-esculenta · 4 years

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Even If the Waters Rise 3/5 (*cough*)

Shadowrun inspired Mermay part 3 out of *now* 5 - it’s a monster. In this edition: Drama, drama, and once again, relationship drama.

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

Give or take a few days, Jesse turns up three weeks later, lacking fangs or a sun allergy, albeit with a certain pallor to his skin and aversion to the light, but that's easily explainable by the obvious hangover he's sporting, the kind that comes with a days-long drinking binge.

"Broke up already?" Jack pours himself a drink and then slides Jesse the bottle with about half of its contents remaining. He obviously needs it more than Jack.

"Don't want to talk 'bout it."

"Good. Because I'm not interested."

He ends up with all the sordid details, anyway.

It takes over two hours for Jesse to explain that his perpetual stalker vampire ex dumped him two nights past the club incident due to him supposedly smelling like a wet dog that also found and rolled in some prime ripe carrion. Jack's not going to comment on that. To him, Jesse reeks of his cigars first and foremost, and maybe under this odor hides a note of wet canine fur, mangy and full of dust - reminiscent of petrichor but more acidic and scratching the throat if inhaled too deeply or closely. Now, it's also alcohol sweat. But those two hours are enough for Jesse to get himself back into the drunken stupor.

Jack relocates him to the couch and orders take out - settling for some suspicious pizza as the safer option out of the available, even if he has trouble deciphering the ingredients. Someone out there probably knows what exactly 'sea chicken baby' is.

To his morbid astonishment, the 'Chicken of the Sea' turns out to be a sea cucumber, bland as fuck if not for the cheese and the sauce - and he's comfortably sure it would taste better raw than baked. He eats two slices and leaves the rest out on the counter for Jesse - and the state Jesse's in, he would probably be happy with a trashcan left out in some alleyway to pick through.

By the looks of him, that's a fair assumption to make, and not at all mean or undeserved.

But the question of how Jesse tracked him down remains. Their hidey-holes over the whole coastal area number in closer to a hundred than a fifty, so it's either an incredible draw of the luck (including the dang spirit dog) or someone had pointed him in Jack's direction. He brings it up during the check-in with Sombra, sure to vent his general disposition at both Jesse's intrusion, and the required daily contact.

"I think some responsibility would do you good," she brushes him off, "so take care of the puppy instead of moping by yourself for days."

"Maybe, just maybe, I do have a reason to mope," Jack snaps at her, "ever thought about that one?"

Sombra sighs.

"I don't know what had happened between you and Gabe, but..."

"Oh, you could, just load it up."

He immediately regrets going off on her, it's not her fault. Only it is her fault, in an illogical and convoluted way - because right now, he needs someone to blame and that someone will not be him.

"I'd never do that unless you want to show me."

Fuck this shit. He's tired and emotionally drained - he didn't even think it was possible.

"Listen, Jack," Sombra continues after he fails to answer her, "you have no idea what ice I had to get through just to send him a message, and the moment he got it, he just dropped everything and walked out of the meeting."

"Yeah, his asset was malfunctioning."

"Whatever happened, you're taking it hard, and you need something to occupy your time because sitting around is doing you no favors to your state of mind."

"Then find me something to do that doesn't include babysitting the human disaster all broken up over my couch."

"The fleet." Sombra mulls something over and Jack, elbows leaning on the windowsill as he finishes his drink, looks over the almost empty street below. "I'm running into walls and I'll need help with some more traditional intel gathering."

"You need hired muscle."

"The gist of it, yes, I need someone to beat some people up so they cough their contacts up, but I'm still pursuing some other venues right now."

"Tell me when you actually have people to rough up, the downtime's killing me, and this place's a total shithole."

"I know. I'll have tickets for you and the puppy tomorrow, and I need you to keep him on a leash because you're going to Yakuza-land for the foreseeable future." He can feel her smile trying to be reassuring pressed against his thoughts. "And you have a meeting scheduled."

"Yeah, about that, one, the only thing I know is 'shakuhachi shite' and 'arigato'," Sombra laughs muttering 'oh god', "and two, he can send them again through the proxy."

"Listen, you don't really want that. And that wasn't even 'fuck off'. That was dirty talk, Jack."

"Figures. I'm..." Jack sighs, massaging his temples. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Earlier, I mean."

"I know."

"I'm just, I don't know, angry? Not with you, you did what you had to, but... It's too much, all of it, and I'm sorry."

"I know. You'll work it out. It's okay."

"Fuck. Thanks, I guess. I'm not thanking for dropping the mongrel on my unsuspecting lap, though."

"You're welcome." She signs off and Jack pulls the plug out.

Even the mere prospect of meeting up with Gabriel after the incident gives him what he can describe only as anxiety. At least, that's what Jack decides to peg it as, something jumbled and all tied up in knots, and self-hating, and making him feel useless.

Nibbling on the third slice of the pizza and watching the sun go down, he knows what it really is, but refuses to give it the proper name. Calling it anything else lets him pretend it's nothing important and go about his life like nothing's different, even if it is - threatening to topple over and crush him under.

When Jesse starts moving, Jack forces him under the shower and his clothes into a washing machine. The thing is done with its load before Jesse is, and he dumps the debatably cleaner garments on the couch - the coyote is looking at him with an expression on its snout that's far too intelligent for his liking, half-mocking, and half-challenging. Jack turns the serape the other way. The coyote, apparently, takes a short hike all around the fabric to end up facing him again, and he could probably get into a trial of persistence with it but has a sneaking suspicion he would lose.

Fuck it. It can stare at him through the back of the couch as he undresses.

Jesse, predictably, ambles out to the shower and straight to the counter to assault the leftover pizza with the zeal of a person starving for days.

"Switch your SIN," Jack instructs him after he catches Jesse's attention with a tactical application of a ballistic shoe.

"What? Why?" Jesse mutters between the mouthfuls.

"We're flying to Japan tomorrow, would be best not to have Yakuza waiting on the ground for you when we get off."

"Why the fuck JIS?"

"Yakuza's probably involved with the fleet Som's tracking."

"They are. Fucking racists."

"You know that?"

"If anything has to do with harm to metas in the region, that's a safe bet it's them." Jesse wipes the oil from his mouth with the back of his hand, and the hand on his stomach. Of-fucking-course. "Say, we gonna be anywhere close to Hanamura?"

Jack sits on the bed, taking off his pants.

"Nowhere close. Everyone knows you there, and you're too recognizable." He stares at Jesse with contempt. "You just broke up with your main ex, you're not getting into another mess with another ex of yours. Don't make me tie you down."

"Nah, that about other business." Jesse stretches and walks around the counter in all his naked glory, stopping when Jack points with definite distaste on his face to the couch.

"You're still wet, the bed's mine, and the dog was giving me attitude."

"Whatever you say, pardner."

Jack cannot blame the sleepless night on Jesse, not directly - he doesn't snore, but maybe his presence has something to do with it. Regardless, his ensuing horrid morning disposition makes Jack snap at Jesse more than once, which Jesse completely ignores, or is simply oblivious to.

After he sends Jesse out with the trash and to wait for the car, Jack gives the flat the last once-over, making sure nothing personal is left lying around - unlikely they'll ever use the safehouse again, but good practice is good practice, and it's best not to tempt the fate.

The trip to the airport is relatively short and eventless, he only has to remind Jesse to switch his SIN once before they board. Jack pushes his bag into the overhead compartment and shuts it with a bang, taking his time before he sits and buckles into the seat.

The moment the plane rolls down the tarmac before takeoff he has to quash down his instincts screaming at him to get up and run. The lurch of wheels losing the contact with the ground below has Jack hunched and holding his head between his hands. Twitching at every suspect sound and tremor of the hull, he has nothing to distract himself with on the flight as his mind runs circles around images of a fiery inferno.

"Dude, have you tried taking something for it?" Jesse tries to start a conversation.

Jack shoots him down with a muttered 'fuck off' before returning to fighting to keep his stomach where it usually is and not in the vicinity of his throat where it battles for space with his now frantic heart. Two hours stretch into an imperceptible eternity of pure torture. Jesse waits for him to regain control of his shaking hands when the plane lands. They disembark among the last of the passengers.

The airport is a reconstructed dream of a crazy architect who, faced with a substantial lack of land, built it floating on water. Jack navigates them through the terminals to the water tram while keeping one eye out for anyone trying to latch onto their trail, hoping they look both intimidating and luckless enough to not attract the attention of any lookouts. It's not his first time in JIS, and, ironically, their best bet is using public transport. Some three years ago, the situation would be different, with the welcoming committee already waiting to bus him to his destination. Now, those bridges were burnt, and the goodwill was gone.

"What's the first rule?"

Jesse scoffs, sprawled on the seat, taking up two spaces realistically, legs kicked up to rest on the back of the seats in front of him to the distaste of the attendant.

"Not gonna risk Yakuza ink, even I'm not that stupid."

Jack stares at him with doubt.

"Except that one time."

"That one was different."

"I'm at loss for words," Jack rolls his eyes. "The second rule?"

"Don't antagonize the local racist shitbags?"

"Yeah, that. And the third?"

"Don't fuck with Yakuza."

"Good one."

"Nah, dude, not gonna go to Hanamura and fuck around, I need to go north later, check out something," Jesse shrugs. "Find someone to talk about that bear spirit because that shit was bad, man, real awful shit."

"I suspect you'll have time to do that. We can go together."

"Nah, no hard feelings, dude, but bear people don't trust that easy."

"Suit yourself," Jack rolls his eyes and nudges Jesse to get up as the tram lines up with the embankment. The taxi that drives them to the hotel rips them off, counting the normal rate several times over. Being foreigners, they are expected to pay more than locals for the same services, and making a scene would only add to the expenses - there's either some notation in the contract that would render any complaint null and void, or the local arm of the law would dismiss it anyway after they had at least ticketed them for creating a disturbance - if not outright put them under arrest on some bullshit charge. Well, Jack's not going to bother with it, it's not his money.

The hotel is one of those ridiculously posh ones, and he and Jesse draw curious glances as they pick up keycards from the reception area.

"Man, that's what I call life," Jesse announces after opening the alcohol cabinet, the first destination he chooses after walking into their shared room. Jack glances at the clock and just like that his heart is back to hammering against his ribs. He leaves his bag on the table.

"I'll be back tomorrow, do nothing stupid while I’m gone."

"Nah, jus’ gonna get stupid drunk and watch some holos."

Jack shrugs and heads out, leaving Jesse to his own devices, hoping he will stay true to his own words and not wander outside, especially not when drunk.

Gabriel's apartment is several floors up and Jack opts for stairs this time. The flight was enough excitement for the day, and the thought of forcing himself into the elevator fills him with revulsion on the spot. Halfway up, he realizes he’s only delaying the inevitable.

The heavy thing settled in his stomach is dread - and maybe, for the first time in his life, his instincts work as they should - screaming at him to run away, no matter where, just away, as he presses the card against the reader and keys in the code. Little late for that, huh? He pushes the door open, wincing at the breach of protocol: so wrapped earlier in his own thoughts he forgot about sending the text. The pad lies in the bag left with Jesse.

"I'm here," Jack announces to the room. His voice falls flat, even to his own ears. Gabriel looks over his shoulder while the screens in front of him flicker off one by one. Fucking dramatic, as usual.

"I can see it."

"I hate flying," Jack scrambles for an excuse - he doesn't need to, but it feels like he does - shrugs noncommittally, holding Gabriel's gaze. The mounting tension in the room seemingly affects only him - some misplaced power struggle Jack loses before it even began - and he breaks away the eye contact, turning away and stepping deeper into the suite. "There has to be a different method to get around."

"It is the most effective one."

The voice sounds too close, following Jack as he sheds his clothes.

"Maybe one that hits the orbit, I heard weightlessness is somewhat like swimming." He can at least give his honest opinion if they're on the subject.

"If the need arises for one."

Yeah, probably any launch of the type is conspicuous and more likely monitored, from the utilitarian point of view only reasonable if the speed is the key. Fuck that.

Jack loses the rest of his garments with the skin on the nape of his neck prickling under the scrutiny. Whether it's imagined or not doesn't matter, it's wrecking his nerves either way.

It's his turn to look over his shoulder, at Gabriel standing some distance away - shifting finally and coming closer to the bed.

"I wasn't aware flight provokes such high levels of stress for you."

Jack bites back the obvious answer - that unless he's bothered to know there's a lot Gabriel doesn't know about him - and the only time he cares to know is when it interferes with the operations. Won't lie to himself about the malice hidden under the thought.

"Now you know."

"Noted."

With Gabriel's thumb raising his chin up and the red and black eyes boring into his own, Jack falls back into the sheets. The sex is great, amazing even - it always is - but there is a certain measure of detachment that prevents him from losing himself in the act.

There's an invisible wall between him and Gabriel, one that wasn't there before, and the more Jack thinks about it curled up on his side, the more he realizes the fault lies with him, and him alone. Things have changed - he has changed - not Gabriel, and neither the arrangement. It's just a business transaction.

Trying to untangle the jumbled knot inside is like picking at an itching scab, only to discover there's pus underneath and nothing's healing. And it won't heal, not when Jack cannot pretend anymore he doesn't care, no matter how much he wants to. If that's what love is, it's a fucking miserable thing he wouldn't wish on anyone; he wonders if his past self also felt the same and he's merely stuck in following a preset rut. After all, the world is a cycle, isn't it?

Wanting Gabriel gone to let him sleep alone is a new one. So he can wallow in misery and self-pity in peace without the subject of his one-sided affection at his back.

Yeah. Love's an absolute utter bullshit, that's what Jack tells himself, staring at his own reflection in the still surface of the lake, fingers trailing in the water. The weathered wooden planks, blackened with tar, are far from the most pleasant to lie on - but the sun bearing down on his skin feels good and allays the discomfort.

The ripples born from his hand idly moving distort his reflection until Jack cannot recognize it anymore as his. And it isn't his, it's something else looking back at him from below the surface. Before he has time to react clawed fingers wrap around his wrist. The shining scales fading in and out of the skin glitter in the light with each minute shift.

It yanks him down with surprising strength

His skin scrapes on the wood - the water is cold - so cold - his lungs hurt with the lack of oxygen when he frees himself from the grip pulling him down - but the safety is far away - too far - and hungry mouths filled with sharp teeth latch onto his flesh.

He drowns.

The ending is the same, it's the rest of the dream that changes.

Lying cradled against Gabriel's side, with the arm wrapped around his waist and the palm resting on his stomach, Jack remains still, trying to wrest his thundering heart under control. Why he even bothers to remains a mystery because there is no viable way Gabriel isn't aware he's wide awake. What's left for Jack is to enjoy the rare closeness, something he's hard-pressed to; the satisfaction eludes him nonetheless while he watches Gabriel work. The screens close and reappear, once or twice prompted by the hand gesturing at them.

Jack tries to focus on the simple sensations: the warmth of the skin, the smell of the ocean, the lingering touch, but soon, it becomes unbearable, this picking at the open aching wound.

He moves away - the arm around his waist slackens and lets him go - and he sits up, disentangling himself from the sheets. Gabriel's attention remains focused on the screens, and Jack struggles for something to say.

"I'm going to take a shower," he mutters in the end, sliding off the bed.

The oppressive feeling of being observed and considered fades after the bathroom door closes behind him.

Of course, the whole room is done in subdued pink - salmon? - with elaborate cherry motifs running unbroken all around the walls with slight hints of darker colors. It's probably pretty and charming, and not at all tacky and lacking any real character or individual touch. Hotels always were like that.

The bathtub looks inviting, and Jack knows he could stay here for days by himself, but the reasons he's loath to are twofold. Jesse definitely constitutes one, the other one being the place that will make him think about Gabriel, and Gabriel only, the distractions available superficial.

Jack steps into the shower and, standing under the rain of warm water, he presses his forehead to the cold tiles. The voice inside his head provides him with an incessant background chant of 'you broke it' until he can't bear it anymore and punches the wall in frustration. The tiles crack.

He has no idea how long he's been in the bathroom - but Gabriel is gone when he walks out.

The pillbox lies on the pillow almost like an afterthought. Jack puts it in his pocket after gathering all his things.

He opts for the stairs again.

What he's not prepared for is Jesse scrambling to look at him over the back of the chair as he enters their room. Jack raises eyebrows at him.

"Shit! Dude. You're, like, glowing, but look like a kicked dog, but seriously," Jesse blindly reaches back behind himself for the open can of beer sitting on the small table, "you're bending the whole flow around you!"

"The what?" Jack notes the smell of cigars in the air, laced with something else, acrid and heady.

"Mana." Jesse sips from the can. "You got a fuckton of magic on you, like, a lot."

"Great. There's to hoping it won't kill me." Jack throws the jacket on the couch, sits in the other chair next to Jesse, and helps himself to the unopened can standing in the middle of empty ones.

"Don't think so, if it's bad, you'd be, like, dead ten times over, what with the potency. No spirit, for sure."

"Great. I feel nothing."

At least now, he had the explanation for Gabriel's clothes trick. Jack opens the can and downs half of it in one go.

"Offense meant, dude, but you got the sensitivity of a low-flying brick, and that means the only sensitivity you got is in the poor dude you're gonna brain."

"Thanks, I guess." Jack chuckles, toasting Jesse with a flourish. "Tell me," he vaguely points at himself, "if it does something weird."

"Will do. Wanna anything stronger with that?"

"That's what stinks in here?"

Jesse looks at him with his eyes pinched.

"Maybe."

"Pass, don't want to fuck up my lungs any more than they already are."

"Dude. You can breathe water, lil bit of smoke not gonna fuck them up."

"Still a pass." Jack finishes the beer and finds another can. "As long as it's not something you can be busted for, go ahead yourself."

Jesse snorts, apparently amused by his comment.

"It's all natural. Like, herbs and shrooms." To illustrate, he picks up a small baggie containing flaky brown fragments. "I smoke 'em, but go as well on the tongue."

This is a terrible idea. And Jack's tempted.

"No," he answers with a delay. "Especially if that's what gave you the mutt, might be contagious."

"Suit yourself." Jesse pulls out a cigar from his pocket and lights it, puffs on it lightly. Jack leaves it without a comment while flipping through the channels on the holo. They're both left with nothing to do for the foreseeable time. Jesse is more than content to spend the days idling: doing nothing but smoking, drinking, and watching tv, but Jack ventures out twice. He gives up on the whole idea of spending time outside of the hotel room soon.

He had forgotten how bland and hostile the whole of the JIS is to him despite the colors and the flashing lights, the music, and the chatter that never stops, or the cities that never sleep. It's a sea of humans only, maybe one or two occasional elves, almost no other metas, which serves to remind Jack that outside of the metropolis it's even worse.

Finding a place to drink and eat he's let in, not to mention not being faced with outright disdain when it becomes obvious he doesn't speak a speck of the language, is too bothersome.

Being confined to the hotel is not the worst thing in the world, Jack decides, not with his surprisingly stable mood, and the fact he's not fixating on the whole situation with Gabriel - only sometimes - and earthly mundane distractions are forthcoming. The majority of it, he thinks, is easily attributed to whatever Jesse's smoking the copious amounts of, and he himself is probably getting high on the fumes by the virtue of widely understood osmosis. Or ingestion. Call it what you will, it works wonders.

The idyll of the carefree quiescence ends with a dream in equal measure disturbingly different, and uncomfortably concordant. His feet are in the water - the waves wash up to his knees. He can feel every grain of sand on his skin: pressing in, irritating, ignored.

Pleasant warmth spills deep to his core, radiates from the bodies pressed to his sides - there's one hand slung over his chest - another carelessly pushes the elbow into his stomach - Jack shifts to remove the discomfort, and as he does so, he senses everyone else moving too. Like dominoes, every change of position prompts a chain reaction following down the line.

Lulled into half-sleep, this strange place in-between lucidity and unconsciousness, his eyes remain closed even with a familiar weight pressing down into almost the entire length of his body.

Something cold tickles his face and Jack finally looks up, at the silhouette cut starkly in the expanse of the pale blue sky, Gabriel's long wet hair brushing against his nose and cheeks, droplets of cool water splashing on heated skin giving him goosebumps.

Jack lifts his arms up. His fingers lock behind Gabriel's neck as he's spread open on the sand, a strange kind of pride bursting in his chest with each bite that draws blood from his skin. Nothing else exists or bears any importance but this one singular snapshot of time dredged from god knows where.

Jack freezes with his eyes wide open, his fingers almost breaking the surface of the water. The sensations - all so very specific and precise, unlike the vague suggestions of the usual dreamscapes - the sand scratching his arms and legs, and the back, the irritation lingering even now. The synthskin, even the kind slapped on his limbs, is never good enough to allow for the definition of the input and the interpretation on the level of the natural skin.

Dredged up. His own thought.

There's a sinking feeling, a frightening idea, that it's a memory. And it's not his. Jack schools his breathing; the jealousy at the effortless intimacy mixed with the shame of being an unwilling observer of someone else's intimate life swirl under his tongue. Or it's all jealousy. And spite. He grips the edges of the bathtub and pulls himself upright.

At the clinking and shuffling from the side, Jack turns his head to see Jesse tucking himself into his pants and buckling his belt.

"Christ, dude, you scared the piss outta me, like, for real."

Jack shows him the finger.

"How does your skin stay on, anyway?"

"It's just what it does? It's only fingers that do this dehydration thing."

"I don't mean that, and don't do this 'rise from the watery grave' shtick when I'm trying to take a leak," Jesse rolls his eyes, a gesture he's so fond of. "Almost pissed all over the wall."

"That's a 'you' problem, not a 'me' problem," Jack mutters, heaving himself upright and snatching a towel off the rack. He wraps it around himself while stepping out of the bathtub.

"Would be a 'you' problem if I'd turned around when you did the 'I live' routine."

Jack snorts, giving Jesse an appraising look supposed to convey his opinion on the subject matter, and moves to the main room - dripping water everywhere - where he sinks into his usual chair.

"By the way, I got my stuff arranged, so I'll be splitting in the evening later."

Jack acknowledges it with a grunt. With Jesse gone, he will probably be about ready to climb walls with the dearth of things left to do. Or return to drinking alone, which, arguably, is far from anything approximating a healthy coping mechanism.

"And you forgot toes. And the soles."

"Hm?"

"The prune looking thing, the feet do that too." Jesse drops back to the couch and plays with the remote. "That's stuff from the time we were all water monkeys, and so we could grab stuff better in water."

"No bullshit?"

"Nah, real stuff, that's why we like water that much. Some of us, at least, that's, like, where we should be most of the time."

"Cool."

"You're still a freak, though," Jesse salutes before opening a beer he has grabbed earlier from the cooler. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None. But, with the world as it is, isn't the whole evolution argument kind of moot? No-one accounted for the magic, did they?" Jack picks the plate with the remnants of yesterday's late-night snack up from the table and tries to discern if anything on it looks poisonous yet. Fried shrimps appear acceptable, to be honest, though the oil probably is a bit stale, Jack decides.

"Now, here, my dude, my friend, is the heart of the matter all those dudes who say a big man, or a big woman, or whatever in the sky did it don't get they get wrong."

"And that is?"

"And that is that even if that's all a fart of some higher power in the sky, it's still a creation, see? Someone sneezed, stuff crawled outta that sneeze, and the world began, it's still their word, ya know?"

Jack nibbles on the shrimp, deep in thought.

"Let's call that 'the great primordial snot theory' and never mention it again, deal?"

"Deal. Sounded better in my head."

"No," Jack lets out a defeated sigh, "you're onto something, but I'm definitely not going into the ramifications of a sneeze being the breath of life."

"But it has a nice ring to it."

"Yeah." Jack focuses on the shrimps, paying only nominal attention to both the show playing in the background and Jesse's mutterings while he slowly gathers his belongings that spread all over the rooms they've shared so far. Later, Jack escorts Jesse to the cab waiting for him, grips his hand for longer than needed when they shake.

"What's the main rule?"

"Don't get inked. Dude, who do you take me for?" Jesse snorts, trying to look offended and failing.

"A moron."

"Fair. Take care."

"You too."

Jesse ducks into his seat in the back of the cab and Jack shuts the door behind him - staying for a moment to see the car speed away from him before he returns to the hotel and for the first time considers the relative wasteland of devastation the room has become. After he pushes everything from the coffee table into a trash bin, he returns to the chair and checks in with Sombra.

"Feeling maudlin, are we?"

Jack shakes his head.

"What gave you the idea? Anyway, you still in Frisco?"

"Yes. Better access points to JIS networks."

"Right. Didn't cross my mind this might be the reason."

"There's good news too. When you get back from your meeting, I'll have a package waiting for you."

The meeting. He's on the last three doses remaining. Anxiety surges up in a sudden spike at the realization. He's been avoiding dwelling on the matter so well he pushed it almost entirely out of his mind.

"A package?"

"Some additional gear we will need to start digging, how to say it, organically."

"Beat people up, you mean."

"Yes," Sombra trails off slowly, a question in the air.

"Go on," Jack urges her, and after a lengthy pause, she continues.

"You never told me you only have nightmares."

"I have other dreams too." He's pretty sure of it, especially after the last one.

"Jack. Every time you enter the REM phase, you have repetitive patterns of stress. Listen," Sombra sighs, probably reading his silence the wrong way, "I wasn't... keen on sifting through all your data, I don't like infringing on your privacy more than I have to, but Gabe insisted on it, and it could've been avoided if you had talked about having problems."

"They're not really problems, though."

He can almost hear her mentally counting down.

"You consistently downplay your pain levels, you don't dream save for reliving the trauma you'd suffered, and, Jack, I tried simulating your brain activity, I clocked out after three minutes."

"I'm used to it."

"That's the thing, you shouldn't be used to it, it's not normal," Sombra huffs, and Jack's sure she's throwing things right now wherever she's physically at by now. "I'm angry with you, we'll talk tomorrow when you get the package, and I'll be less angry."

She disconnects without prior warning, leaving him alone. But that's the thing about pain, you become numb to some of it, Jack thinks, until it becomes just the background radiation of your life.

He takes a quick shower and finds a clean set of clothes to change into.

This time, Jack remembers about keeping the pad on his person, and sends the text as he climbs the stairs yet again, somewhat amazed at how three whole weeks have passed unnoticeably with Jesse there to keep him occupied - he's not going to lie, he's going to miss the bugger. Not the conversations, per se, but rather, the general awareness of his presence. Even if everyone is living their own separate lives outside of the operations, getting together is not so bad, after all.

Jack stops at the doors to the same suite as before. The code is unchanged. A few calming breaths and he walks in.

That's the thing about the constant pain, it doesn't disappear, it just numbs you down - it's a sort of resigned weary acceptance to his situation that leaves a dull ache in its wake, nothing earth-shattering anymore, but it's still there. The half-smile Jack musters at the sight of Gabriel observing him is surprisingly genuine, even to him himself. He can, and will, deal with it. His problem, not anyone else's.

"Long time no see," Jack quips at the inquisitive rise of Gabriel's eyebrow. "Hi, and all that jazz."

He doesn't expect an answer. There is none, save for Gabriel stepping closer, and Jack throws his hands around his neck while his heart flips in his chest - constricts into a singular point of fear and doubt - the touch on his hip giving him something - anything - to grab onto. Grounding, as is the finger raising his chin.

The red and black eyes regard him with moderate interest - observe and scrutinize - pass the judgment on him; Jack leans in against the instinct telling him for once to run and hide from the apex predator before him. But, has he ever listened to it when it urged him to do anything but fight? Not that he can recall such an incident.

In a small act of defiance, Jack catches Gabriel's lip between his teeth, scrapes the tip of a canine on the fragile skin on the inside, hard enough to draw blood. He waits with the bated breath for the reaction, taken aback by a sparkle of what could be amusement in Gabriel's posture, and the kiss, now tinged with the metallic aftertaste, deepening, becoming more forceful, his body pulled flush against Gabriel's, a hand on the nape of his neck.

Jack stumbles over his own feet while being led to the bedroom, lost in the kiss until the backs of his shins hit the edge of the bed, and with a gasp of surprise he lies on the covers - almost falling but also held and lowered - peeled out of his garments, and out of control. Having Gabriel's attention focused on him - and only him - makes Jack's head spin each and every time, regardless of the circumstances; a near-religious experience if he ever had to put a name to it, not unlike the moment the drifting dragon gazed at him - and through him.

He wanders back to the dream - the memory - of the beach, of the coarse sand biting into his skin; Gabriel's locks that have slipped from the low ponytail tickle his cheeks and nose as his fingers dig into Gabriel's shoulders, trying to find a way to bring him even closer. Maybe even to leave a mark - a sign of permanence - something that cannot be denied sunk beneath Gabriel's skin in a desperate attempt to put his claim on him before Jack dissolves in the smell and the taste of the ocean rushing over him, the whirling current pulling him down.

But this is what Jack knows: he is not willing to give this up, this bittersweet torture. It doesn't come as a sudden realization, more like a long-standing knowledge now unburied and close to the surface, driven home with the weight of the moisture hanging on his eyelashes. He reaches out and finds Gabriel's palm, twines their fingers together - always amazed at the contrast and the faint dark red lines following intricate patterns melting into the color of Gabriel's skin - pulls it close to his chest, its back pressing against his heart. Covers both their palms with his other hand and curls around it.

No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it will hurt, he's not going to give this up because the alternative is far worse, it's being abandoned and empty, and lost, and having nothing but that deep-seated ache.

Like this, he can at least pretend, Jack muses, slowly drifting off.

The first time he wakes up, it is to the darkness of the night and fingers combing slowly through his hair, Gabriel's hand still held close.

The next time he opens his eyes, it's morning, and he's alone in the suite – the pillbox waits on the pillow.

#sometimes I write #r76 #reaper76 #mermay #shadowrun mermaids and stuff #that's too much plot put some of it back please

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eyeslikefoxglove · 4 years

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Episode 20 - ChenQing Syndrome & Tangents everywhere

Hello cupcakes, and welcome to episode 20. How’s everyone doing? I hope y’all are as safe and can be. I’m pretty sure I need to sleep for at least 24h because I am exhausted so forgive me if I’m suuuuuper low energy.

On another news I am officially mosquito bait. Yay.

I don’t know if I said so in the previous commentary but I Do Not Vibe with eyeballs so yeah.

Speaking of eyeballs, here is what happened the last time my mum and me consumed a medical drama in public. We decided to go to the cinema to watch The Physician, and in the intro credits there is a tray with a pair of eyeballs by a scalpel and my mum, who’s a GP goes (without lowering her voice of course):

“Those are not human eyeballs, too big, they’re probably cow’s”

I swear the whole row just turned around to give us A Look and I haven’t felt more like a serial killer since I started giggling (again in the cinema) watching Death Proof. So there you have it, I lose my shit when tv doctors do bad medicine and she makes ominous comments that make me want to explain to everyone that no, we don’t dismember people for fun.

Listen, necromancy is whatever, but “Imperio-Ing” people into harming themselves and making them hallucinate by playing the flute is what would freak me the fuck out about WWX ngl. I mean, I know he’s a good egg, but he’s Havana Syndrome-ing this bitch and that gives me chills.

Oh I love this shot of one WWX’s eyes cast in light. Cinematography on point as always.

Ok ok ok I am going to go on a terrible tangent in here. I know that in the book shit was even worse, with the cannibalism and JiaoJiao shoving a whole chair leg down her throat but there’s something that’s always caught my attention. If I’m not mistaken she bit off WC’s dick. Now call it a coincidence that WWX took advantage of, but, because I’m The Worst ™️ it made me think. If I’ve learnt something about Criminal Minds is that you don’t go after someone’s bits unless:

a) you’re a sexual sadist and can’t get off any other way (which WWX is not nor is he killing for sexual gratification)

b) those bits have gone near you when you didn’t want them to and it is revenge.

I mean, same way I didn’t want to make you wonder what WWX ate trapped in a mass grave for three months I don’t want to make you think about this but I need to get if off my chest.

Oh hey, now that I think about it the cannibalism could also be personal because again, they yeeted him into a palace full of corpses where “nothing grows”. God I hate my own brain sometimes.

Did these two just walk up to the front door of the Supervisory Office? I mean, the guards are all dead so it is fine, but that’s one shit strategy.

... that’s one ineffective way of tying a hangman’s noose.

JC IS BEING SOFT WITH WQ OMG!

YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART. STOP. (Watch me go read ChengQing fics after this is done)

JC: is there anyone more wicked that the Wen Clan?

Me: *takes a deep breath* how much time do you have?

Gotta give it to WWX, the boy knows how to set the mood.

Yup yup I’m cackling.

Go my creepy necromancer son!

(Once again, I cheer when someone gets shanked)

(Once again, assume I’m screaming about the cinematography)

Bless LWJ’s brain cell, I remember when I first watched this being super worried about these two also getting ChenQing Syndrome.

So is the Red Woman an actual entity or is she an anthropomorphization of what he’s doing to them? Am I assigning too much Poe to this scene?

JC and LWJ straight up jumped through the ceiling to save WWX I love them. (But think, if they’ve been slightly slower and WZL had realised there wasn’t a core to melt, oh the delicious delicious canon divergences we could have)

Now that’s an effective noose.

THAT HUG WAS TOO SHORT! AND WWX WAS GOING TO RECIPROCATE BUT JC STOPED NOOOOOO. (Again JC looks like he gives the best hugs)

Misdirecting WWX is misdirecting.

Aaaaaand you can see the PTSD start to rear its ugly heard the second they want to know where he was the last three months.

WWX: *starts spinning bullshit*

JC: *relaxes his frown and eyerolls*

Aw bb he was really worried. I mean, it is still misdirection but I can see how JC inexperienced as he is with trauma (and dealing with his own) could interpret that as his baby brother just being himself.

Aw they’re falling back into being their soft yet prickly selves I die.

Nope LWJ! I know that you’re worried and shit but the last thing you want to do to someone with WWX’s trauma is trigger their fight or flight response by asking questions and making them sound like accusations.

(Also, interlude to say, WWX seems super reluctant to admit he fucked with the talismans, which fair enough, I’m thinking his trauma conga line is probably making him think he’ll get in trouble if he admits it or they’ll start distrusting him. But really looks like simple curiosity to me)

I’m just gonna scream incoherently at my screen because they are doing it fucking wrong.

Me with other fandoms: KISS GODDAMNIT

Me with this one: COMMUNICATE

DRAG HIM (ok GusuLan) WWX. I know LWJ only wants to make sure WWX is safe and healthy and loved but listen, he doesn’t have the full picture, he is still somewhat naive about you know, the amount his idols can disappoint him. Yes, it is exacerbated by WWX raising his hackles and his overall paranoia but; GusuLan is where the Sect Leader and the second in command (I know Netflix calls LQR “grandmaster” but I also know the translation is incorrect) decided that lashing their own family was an appropriate corrective. I’m not even going to go into the genocide victims or the reasons for the punishment but yeah, lashing. It hasn’t happened yet, but the potential is there, and as much of a self-sacrificing idiot as WWX is he must have some survival instincts if he lived in the streets for years, I’m not saying they don’t get negated when someone he loves is in danger, but you know, they have to be there. I think his brain has been *Kill Bill sirens* about GusuLan for a long time and now the guy who lives and breathes by their rules wants him to go back? Yeah I absolutely think it is valid that he thought the “help” he was gonna get would be horrifying punishment to “put him in the right path”. Do I see a fuck ton of parallels btw GusuLan and abusive Bible-thumping religious fanatical groups? Ok yeah, my b probably, but I Can’t Unsee.

And again, I know LWJ just wants to keep him safe and I know he’s an awkward potato but this one is on him. WWX is in no emotional place to play “guess WangJi” and it might make his soul shrivel up and die inside but a Long Conversation should be had.

Ok, allow me to go on another fucking tangent, there aren’t enough already. I’ve seen posts saying that western people misinterpret LWJ’s short and blunt speech (is short speech something you say in English?) as him being awkward/clamming up/not liking to talk when it actually is considered a very elegant thing to be able to get your point across with as few words as possible, because our culture values eloquence. First of all, I’ve seen that point made with the English language, and I’m Spanish, I don’t know if it affects my point of view but we also have the same idea of getting to the point ASAP here, it isn’t like the height of elegance but it is very common. That’s not my reasoning to say LWJ is an introverted/awkward potato, although it influences it. Because I’ve seen the show a few times, and because YiBo is the patron saint of micro-expressions, I’ve caught several instances in which, after pleasantries are done, a stranger tries to talk to LWJ and he get the tiniest “oh shit people want to have a conversation someone save me” look on his face. The most notable one is when YunmengJiang is trying to get into Cloud Recesses.

Just because someone can be a good conversationalist doesn’t mean they actually like to talk to people or be around them.

Bless JC to the rescue.

Btw regardless of me going off about LWJ’s lack of communication it doesn’t mean I’m not side eyeing WWX for unleashing on people who are not at fault for his trauma.

LET MY YUNMENG SIBS BE HAPPY GODDAMNIT

So that’s all for this episode. I’m so sorry for my tangents, I can’t contain myself. Thanks for reading!

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mdzs live action #foxglove watches cql #foxglove watches the untamed #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #jiang cheng #yunmeng shuangjie #yunmeng bros #commentary

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