#1. it's a testament to how much they do not know their children | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wethotcrazy · 9 days ago

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SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3727

this is loosely based off of sympathy is a knife by charlie xcx, it’s a lot of world building please bear with me i have a vision (-﹏-。) also expect cursing. this is quite a long one (im working on multiple parts), i'll try to post as much as can.

part ii part iii part iv

All children are encouraged to do their best, dream big, and reach for the stars. But let's be honest: how many kids actually achieve that goal? How many adults can say they have been fighting for their place for far longer than they can remember?

Not a lot.

That kind of passion was rare. But perhaps it was more than passion; maybe it was the sick sense of wanting something bigger than yourself. Maybe she was just a workhorse that never learned when to stop.

Growing up karting was where Yn found a love for motorsports, it was her dad that introduced her to it. A part of her felt for the older man; this had been his dream as much as it was hers. Back then, it had always been just a hobby, even though she had already achieved multiple wins. She never thought it would come this far.

At 16, she was picked up by the Red Bull junior team to race in various junior categories, eventually making it into Formula 3 and then Formula 2. Even then scoring points and race wins came easy. Years of hard work and dedication had done her well, with many saying that a Formula 1 career was surely in the cards for her.

And if she was being honest, Yn was hungry for that Formula 1 seat.

Yn’s laptop lit up with an email, enclosed was her contract with VCARB. She was going into Formula 1. Was it arrogant to say she had been expecting this? Could you blame her for asserting it wasn’t a matter of if, but when?

But signing the contract should have felt like a victory, a promise fulfilled, a chance for everything she’d worked toward to pay off. But as the seconds flew by, Yn could already feel the weight settling over her, heavy as a storm cloud. The stakes had never been this high, and the whispers were already there, quietly accusing, scrutinizing. Her entrance into F1 wasn’t just a testament to her skill and ambition; it was a flashpoint, a reason for some to undermine her achievements and question her right to be here.

F1 wasn’t just a men’s world—it was a battleground where “passion” for her felt dangerously close to “obsession,” and her relentless pursuit of victory was both her strength and her vulnerability. Yn knew that she couldn’t just be good; she had to be perfect, ruthless in her pursuit for wins and podiums, and undeterred by every sly remark and skeptic. Sympathy, after all, was nothing but a knife in disguise, and she’d long since learned not to expect it from anyone, even her team.

Her first day at VCARB was a whirlwind of meetings, briefings, and countless faces both excited and skeptical. The engineers studied her, sizing up the girl who was stepping into a seat she’d earned, but one they seemed to question if she could keep. Her jaw tightened with determination—she would prove every one of them wrong, and not out of spite but out of an unyielding hunger to carve her name in F1 history.

Yuki arrived in the afternoon, a familiar face in a sea of unknowns. With an easy grin, he crossed the garage, his demeanor effortlessly lighthearted as he joked with the engineers before catching her eye. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,” he teased, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that he knew she’d earned.

She let a small smile slip, and for a moment, the walls she’d erected came down. “Surprised? I thought you’d know better,” she quipped back, crossing her arms.

“Not surprised,” he replied. “Just excited. Maybe I’ll finally have someone here to keep me on my toes.”

But behind their friendly exchange was an edge, a reminder that this was a competition and that teammates or not, they were both vying for survival in the world’s most ruthless racing series. They had both clawed their way here, and no amount of camaraderie could change the fact that every second on the track was a chance to prove they deserved to stay.

Underneath Yuki’s easygoing nature, she knew there was a fierce competitor. She’d seen him race, seen the raw talent that made him as unpredictable as he was quick. Yn knew they’d push each other to the limits, that their friendship would inevitably become a duel of ambition. And she wanted that—it made her hungrier, sharper.

But there was something different about her fight. Being the first female F1 driver in years meant her wins were never just hers; every success and failure became ammunition for those who doubted women in motorsport. There was no room for mistakes, and any slip-up would be amplified, dissected in the press, on social media, even in private conversations she was never meant to hear.

One night, as she stared out at the empty track after hours, she felt Yuki’s presence beside her. “They’re going to be watching everything I do,” she said, voice low, a rare admission of vulnerability.

“They watch all of us,” he replied softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I know how hard you’ve worked to get here. And… well, if they think they can beat you down, you’re gonna prove them wrong. Just… stay hungry, yeah?” He nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hungry?” she scoffed, steeling herself. “I’m starving.”

Yuki chuckled, but it was laced with respect. “Good. Because that’s what it takes.”

The season had started on fire for Yn. Her first four races saw her consistently in the points, an impressive feat for any rookie, let alone one under as much pressure and scrutiny as she was. Headlines praised her talent, with journalists and fans alike marveling at her ability to keep up with more seasoned drivers. Her team, too, seemed to start letting their guard down, seeing her not as a gamble, but as an asset. But as is often the case in Formula 1, the success didn't last forever.

Her fifth race began with promise, but Yn knew almost from the start that something was off. The car felt different, twitchy around the corners, each lap feeling more and more like she was on a knife’s edge. Halfway through, she could feel her grip on the track slipping, but she pushed harder, unwilling to lose ground.

With just a few laps remaining, the inevitable happened.

The crash was swift and brutal. The car spun out in the third sector, her back tires skidding as she lost control. She hit the barriers hard, the sound of carbon fiber breaking echoing through her helmet. Her vision blurred as the world spun, then finally stopped, leaving her breathless in the cockpit, staring at the wreckage around her.

Her engineer’s voice came through her headset immediately. “Yn, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, trying to steady herself, adrenaline still pumping as she felt the sting of defeat sink in. “I… I’m sorry. I lost it. The car just—slipped.”

There was a pause on the other end, a moment that felt like judgment even through the crackling radio. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the garage. We’ll review the data,” her engineer replied, his voice careful.

Yuki’s voice came through on her personal channel moments later, after seeing her crash on his onboard. “Yn? You alright?” His tone was laced with concern, stripped of the usual playfulness.

She swallowed, fighting the frustration building in her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pissed off.”

“You’ll be back next race,” he assured her, but she could only respond with silence. The shame of letting her team, her fans, and herself down weighed heavily on her.

In the post-race interview, Yn struggled to find the right words. The cameras focused on her, the flash of lights overwhelming as journalists fired questions, each one cutting a little deeper.

“Yn, it was a tough day. Do you think the pressure got to you out there?”

She clenched her fists, forcing a composed smile. “I don’t think it’s about pressure. Today just… wasn’t my day. The car was giving me some issues, and I did my best to control it. Sometimes, that’s just racing.”

“But after four races in the points, are you worried this is a sign of things to come?”

The question sliced through her like a knife, and she could feel the weight of the implication: that she was fragile, a fluke who’d just been lucky.

“No, I’m not worried,” she replied, her voice steady but tense. “One race doesn’t define my season. I’m here to compete, and I’ll be back even stronger next race.”

When the interviews ended, she caught Yuki’s eye across the paddock. He gave her a nod, a silent show of support that reminded her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like she was carrying the world’s judgment on her shoulders.

The news coverage the next day was ruthless. Headlines screamed with exaggerated disappointment: “Yn Cracks Under Pressure?” and “First Female F1 Driver in Years Falters After Promising Start.” A few outlets were kinder, chalking up the crash to typical rookie mistakes and downplaying any concerns over her ability to handle the car. But most took the crash as an invitation to dissect her every move, doubting whether she could handle the demands of the sport.

Social media was ablaze, fans and critics alike chiming in, and Yn could barely stand to look. She knew this was part of the game, that everyone in F1 was under scrutiny, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for her, the stakes were higher. Every failure she faced felt amplified, a reason for the world to question her right to be here.

Yuki called her that night, his voice calm and soothing against the chaos swirling around her.

“I’m just so pissed,” she admitted finally, her frustration cracking through her voice. “I wanted to prove that I belong here, and now… it feels like all anyone sees is this one mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his tone. “Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats. They’ve all crashed at some point. Don’t let them take that fire from you. Because once the season’s over, they’ll see what you’re made of.”

She took a shaky breath, comforted by his words. It was strange—she’d started this journey expecting every teammate to be a rival, another barrier to overcome. But in Yuki, she’d found someone who understood the relentless, hungry drive that fueled her, and who respected it.

The next morning, her team’s engineers ran a debrief, analyzing the telemetry and tire data from the crash. They assured her that she’d made the right call in pushing the car, that the twitchiness wasn’t imagined. Yn felt a flicker of relief; maybe she hadn’t just cracked under pressure, maybe it had been an unfortunate mix of circumstances. But no matter the reason, she knew she had to rise from this stronger than before.

It had been a long race, Jeddah was grueling and relentless, yet Yn had been on the verge of a breakthrough. She was fighting tooth and nail for P8, going wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in the final laps. She’d been holding her own, each move calculated, each corner taken with the precision she’d been honing for years. This was her shot, her chance to show everyone she wasn’t a fluke or a face in the crowd. She was ready to prove herself.

Then it happened.

They clashed in the final sector, both fighting for space. Fernando took the inside line, edging her out, and she, desperate to hold her position, stayed close, too close. Their wheels touched, and in a flash, her car lost stability, skidding and spinning before colliding with the barrier. The jolt left her breathless, her hands gripping the wheel as the rage took over.

Her engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. “Yn, are you okay? What happened?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to control the fury building up inside her. “That fucking guy, Alonso! He squeezed me—left me no room!” Her voice was shaking, frustration and adrenaline spilling over. “I had that position!”

There was a silence on the radio as they processed her words. “Copy, Yn. We saw the incident. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm? She’d given everything, and now, twice in a row, her race had ended in ruin.

After the race, Yn felt the press of cameras and microphones on her as she trudged toward the media pen. She could barely contain the frustration bubbling inside her, a storm barely held back as reporters closed in, questions already on their tongues.

“Yn, this is the second crash in a row. Are you feeling the pressure of Formula 1?”

“What’s your take on the incident with Alonso? Do you blame him?”

Yn took a steadying breath, but the calm she'd usually conjure wasn't there. “Look,” she said, voice tight, trying to keep her tone steady, “I know what happened out there, and Alonso gave me no space. I was holding my line, fighting for position like we all do. I’ll review the footage with the team, but if people think I can’t handle the pressure—they’re wrong.”

The next question felt even more loaded. “Is it challenging to maintain focus, given the scrutiny you’re under as the first female driver in years?”

She forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not here to be a spectacle; I’m here to race. Everyone’s under pressure in this sport. It’s what makes us competitors. The scrutiny just makes me hungrier.”

Her words were pointed, but she could already feel the twisting of her words forming in the reporters’ minds, their pens scratching away, headlines already buzzing to life in their notebooks.

The news the next morning was merciless. Some articles analyzed her crash with Alonso, calling it a “rookie miscalculation,” while others openly questioned whether Yn’s composure was “cracking” under the scrutiny. The worst were the opinion pieces, suggesting she might be better suited to junior categories if she couldn’t handle the rigors of F1.

Yuki found her in the paddock later that evening, her expression set as she packed up her things, clearly wanting to avoid any more eyes on her. He walked over, hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Rough race out there. I saw the footage—Alonso really gave you no room.”

She shot him a look, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Yuki, but I don’t need anyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve handled it better.”

“It wasn’t about fault,” he countered softly, unfazed by her edge. “It was a close fight. You held your ground. Besides, you’re doing something none of these people could even dream of.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shoving her race gloves into her bag. “Spare me the pep talk. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy. Especially not yours.”

He took a step closer, not backing down. “This isn’t sympathy, Yn. You’re one of the best rookies on the grid. Every one of us has crashed. I know what you’re going through, and I know how much you want this. But maybe don’t let their voices drown out what you already know—you deserve to be here.”

She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that it was different for her, that every mistake was fuel for those doubting her existence in this sport. But instead, she looked away, unable to bring herself to speak. She didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who needed reassurance.

Yuki sighed, catching the conflicted look in her eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “Just… don’t forget that you’ve got people here who believe in you. No matter what the headlines say.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant nod, her voice a whisper. “Thanks, Yuki. But belief isn’t going to get me P8.” She turned and headed for the exit, leaving him behind as the words hung in the air, heavy with the reminder of just how high the stakes were.

Yuki knew things had changed since those days in the Red Bull junior program. Back then, it was just him and Yn, two kids pushing limits, sharing laughs and late nights studying data, feeling like the world wasn’t so big, like maybe they’d take it on together someday. She’d always been determined, sometimes stubbornly so, but she’d had that spark, that glint in her eye when she talked about F1 like it was the only thing that mattered. But now, standing at the pinnacle they’d dreamed of, Yuki could feel the distance growing between them, a wall she was building with every race, every misstep, every setback.

He tried to remind her of those lighter times, even when the racing got intense. On weekends, he’d linger in the garage with her, cracking jokes, trying to coax a laugh out of her, like they used to do after tough sessions back in Formula 2. But it felt different now. She had this look, as if there was a weight pressing on her that no amount of lightheartedness could lift.

The night after her crash with Alonso, Yuki tried again, catching up to her outside the paddock as she was leaving. “Hey!” he called, jogging to catch up. “Thought maybe we could grab a bite together. There’s this place nearby that serves ridiculous ramen—reminds me of the spot we’d hit after races.”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, before letting out a sigh. “Yuki, I’m tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and review the data. It was a messy race, and I don’t think I have much appetite.”

Yuki’s shoulders dropped, but he shrugged, forcing a smile. “We could just hang out, then. No data. Just us. I mean… it’s been a while since we’ve really relaxed, you know?”

She gave him a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, really. But I need to focus. I can’t afford to mess up again, not with everything they’re saying.”

He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the resentment barely hidden beneath. It killed him to see her like this—so hardened, so guarded. She was always the toughest of the rookies, fearless, but now it seemed like her own passion had turned against her, trapping her in a never-ending battle against herself.

He tried again the next day, lingering by her side during their briefing, sending her a grin every chance he got, trying to bring back that easy dynamic they used to have. But it was like she was somewhere else, somewhere far away where his words couldn’t reach her. She’d nod along, respond, but always with that distracted air, her eyes flicking back to the screen, the telemetry, the data, anything but him.

By the time they were heading out after debrief, Yuki couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yn,” he said, his voice softer, catching her arm as she went to turn away. “I know you’re frustrated, I know it feels like everything’s on the line, but… this isn’t like you. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders alone. Let me be there, like we used to.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a glimpse of the Yn he remembered, the one who used to nudge him in the ribs and joke about who could get pole on the practice track. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that same stony determination.

“I appreciate it, Yuki. But you don’t understand. It’s different for me.” She pulled her arm back gently, looking away. “Every mistake I make gives people more reasons to think I shouldn’t be here. Every crash, every missed point. Sympathy’s a knife in this sport, and I can’t afford to need anyone’s help. I just… I have to handle it.”

He let her words sink in, feeling the sting behind them, realizing that every race, every session was turning her into someone he barely recognized. But he understood, maybe better than she thought. Yuki knew that in F1, there were those who supported you, but there were also those who’d gladly let you fall, especially if you didn’t fit their mold.

“Maybe it’s different for you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re teammates. We’re supposed to be here for each other. I’m… I’m supposed to be here for you.”

She looked up at him, and for a second, he thought he’d broken through. But she just shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “Thanks, Yuki. Really. But I need to be strong enough on my own. If I rely on anyone too much, they’ll use it against me. I have to prove myself, no matter what.”

Yuki watched as she turned away again, shoulders squared, that unyielding resolve back in her posture. He knew there was no convincing her, no getting her to see that it was okay to lean on someone every now and then, that it didn’t make her weak. But as she walked away, he felt the weight of her words settle on him, a sadness mingling with frustration. This wasn’t the Yn he knew—this was someone who felt like she had the world against her, like every race was a fight to justify her existence in F1.

Later that night, Yuki found himself with Pierre, staring at his untouched bowl of ramen, his mind churning. He’d always known Yn was strong, maybe even stronger than him in ways he didn’t fully understand. But it was painful to watch her shoulder that strength like a burden, pushing everyone else away, including him.

He thought about what he could say next time, some way to convince her that she didn’t have to do this alone, that he wasn’t there out of sympathy, but out of respect and genuine friendship. But deep down, he knew that as long as she felt the world’s expectations pressing down on her, she’d keep her guard up. For now, all he could do was be there, waiting, hoping that one day she’d let him in, let him remind her that even in the ruthless world of F1, there was room for someone who’d stand by her side, win or lose.

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mariasont · 8 months ago

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Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Five:

Evelyn and Genevieve stepped into the haven of nostalgia for them. The walls, adorned with vintage photographs and local memorabilia, were faded brick and wood. Laughter bubbled up from tables around them, mingling with the soft strum of a guitar somewhere in the background. The air was rich with the scent of garlic and oregano, and the warm glow of string lights above cast a soft inviting glow overhead as she slipped into the warmth of the dimly lit corner booth.

Genevieve's eyes, sharp and observant, had the kind of clarity that came from her experience on the force, yet they sparkled with the same intensity that had driven her to become a cop in the first place. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow, a testament to countless hours under the Californian sun, but it was offset by a certain weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and too much coffee.

"So, tell me everything, Evie," she coaxed, leaning in. "How's life treating you at the BAU?"

Evelyn's smile was a burst of sunshine, lighting up her features with an infectious joy. She fiddled absentmindedly with her spoon. "It's been intense, but amazing," she replied. "Though, I must admit, it's refreshing not to be around people who can deduce your life story based on your coffee order, let alone how you're feeling before you've even fully woken up."

Genevieve laughed, her eyebrow arching in playful accusation. "Tell me about it, you've been doing it to me since we were twelve," she said, her eyes narrowing with mock severity. "But anyway, tell me about these infamous coworkers. Anyone... interesting?"

Evelyn's enthusiasm bubbled over as she began to gush about her colleagues. "Oh, they're incredible! JJ--she's got this uncanny ability to connect with victims, and Penelope, our tech goddess, can unravel anyone's dirty secrets with a click of a button. Morgan--he's like the best protective older brother, Rossi--he's like a walking encyclopedia of criminal behavior. And Prentiss, she can read a room like no other, she's been through a lot, but it only makes her stronger."

She paused, taking a sip of her wine, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And then there's Hotch. He's our unit chief, you know? So poised, so... commanding. And Reid," she sighed dreamily, "he's just a genius. His mind works like no one else, and he's got this awkward charm that's just..."

Genevieve smirked, leaning in, accusation on her tongue. "Sounds like someone's got a bit of a crush."

Evelyn's eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her wine. "What? No, I mean--they're just my coworkers, well, and my boss."

"Uh-huh," Genvieve teased, winking. "Just coworkers. Got it."

The laughter was cut short by the shrill ring of Evelyn's phone. She fished it out of her purse, the screen flashing Hotch. Her heart skipped a beat as she answered, "Gideon here."

"Evelyn, wheels up in 20. Kidnapping case in Rapid City, South Dakota. Two children, siblings, taken from their backyard. Local PD found an abandoned car with possible evidence. I need you here, ASAP." Hotch's voice retained a steady composure, yet there was an undercurrent of urgency that subtly underscored each word, compelling immediate attention.

A shadow of disappointment passed over Evelyn's features as she offered Genvieve a wordless apology. "Understood, on my way, sir."

She stood up, throwing on her purse with practiced haste. "Sorry, Gen, duty calls. Raincheck?"

"Go. Those kids need you," Genevieve said, her tone laced with mixture of pride and concern.

With a smile that conveyed her thanks, Evelyn hastened to the exit. As she swung the door open, she couldn't resist yelling over her shoulder, "Just coworkers!"

Evelyn burst through the doors of the conference room. The sharp click of her heels punctuated her every step, commanding the room's attention. She glided past the long table, her dress--a cascade of midnight blue that clung to her like a second skin--captured the soft light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hair cascaded down in a tumble of soft girls that gently brushed her shoulders, giving her an air of relaxed grace. As she moved a hint of vanilla trailed behind her, a delicate perfume that lingered in the air, turning heads as she passed.

"Hi, everyone, sorry I'm late," she chirped, her go bag landing with a decisive thud. "You would not believe the traffic, and then I--,"

"Whoa, mama, someone's bringing the heat tonight!" Garcia interrupted, her eyes twinkled with delight, a grin spreading across her face as she took in Evelyn's appearance.

Morgan's laughter was a low rumble, his posture relaxed into the chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Damn straight. What's the occasion, doll face?" he teased.

Evelyn flashed a playful grin, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, you know, just saving the world in high heels and haute couture," she joked. "But no, I was out with a friend, didn't have time to change. I'll do that on the plane."

Hotch's penetrating stare, typically reserved for dissecting the minds of unsubs, now settled on Evelyn with an unspoken intensity. His deep brown eyes, usually so adept at observation, seemed to capture every nuance--the graceful sway of her hips, the faint scent of her perfume. It was a gaze that missed no detail, yet the depth of his focus was unusual, a quiet deviation from his usual professional detachment.

Spencer, usually lost in thought, his mind a labyrinth of facts and theories. But now, his attention was undeniably on Evelyn. His eyes held an analytical sharpness to them, but this time they held a different kind of curiosity, one that lingered on the ample flesh of her chest.

Evelyn, caught in the crossfire of their stares, felt a blush ignite her freckled cheeks.

JJ's curiosity piqued, and she leaned forward, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Oh, a friend?" Her voice was light, but the twinkle in her eye suggested she was fishing for a story colorful than just a casual catch-up.

Hotch's brows lifted almost imperceptibly. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of something unfamiliar flickered across his features--a tightness around his eyes, a slight downturn of his mouth. It was a sensation he couldn't place, an odd twinge that gnawed at this composure. He quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality, but the momentary lapse did not go unnoticed.

Spencer, on the other hand, was less adept at masking his reaction. His eyes, usually so full of thought, now reflected a clear disturbance, as if the mere suggestion of Evelyn being on a date had disrupted the very logic he held dear. His gaze lingered on her just a beat too long.

Evelyn's laughter was light, a clear note that brushed away any hint of scandal. "No, an actual friend. She's in from LA," she clarified, her tone breezy and unconcerned, dispelling the playful suspicions with a wave of her hand.

The room settled back into routine as JJ's gaze landed on Hotch, who appeared adrift in thought. "Hotch?" she called out, her voice a gentle tether pulling him back to the present.

Hotch cleared his throat, a stark interruption to the silence, a clear sign he was wrenching himself from the distraction. "Sorry, right," he stammered, a falter in his usually unwavering voice. His eyes, which had been tracing the contours of Evelyn's form, snapped back to the case file with a newfound intensity. "Let's get started..."

Evelyn stepped out of the bathroom, hastily adjusting her blouse. In her rush, she didn't notice Spencer standing right outside the door. With a sudden thud, their bodies met in an awkward tangle. Evelyn's hands flew up in surprise, grazing Spencer's chest as she steadied herself.

"Oh! Sorry, Spence," she exclaimed with a bright smile.

Spencer, equally taken aback, managed a flustered smile. "You're fine," he assured her, his voice a notch higher than usual as he stepped into the bathroom, his gaze lingering just a moment longer on the disarray of her attire.

Evelyn, straightened up, smoothing her clothes once more before taking a deep breath and heading back to her step.

Evelyn took in the sight of her team, already gathered and poised for the briefing. With a subtle clearing of her throat, JJ commanded attention, her fingers deftly pressing the remote. A soft click echoed in the hushed room as the screen flickered to life.

"Alright, team, we have a situation in Rapid City. Two children, siblings aged 7 and 9, were taken from their backyard near Sheridan Lake Road. The unsub left a clown mask at the scene. Local PD found an abandoned car three blocks away with candy wrappers and a handwritten note saying, 'Let's play a game'. We need to establish a profile and find these kids before the unsub escalates."

Hotch's voice was firm, his orders clear as the team prepared for landing, Reid emerging from the bathroom as he spoke. "Reid, Gideon, once we're on the ground, I want you two to head to the last known location of the children. Look for anything the local PD might have missed. After that, go to the local police station and assist them with victimology."

Hotch's phone rings. He answers with a curt. "Hotchner," and listens intently. The team watches him, reading the shift in expression as he receives the update from the local PD.

He ends the call. "The local PD has a lead. A performer known for his clown acts at children's parties was just taken into custody. They found evidence linking him to the abduction site. So change of plans. Reid, Evelyn, you're with me. We're going to interrogate the suspect. The rest of you, coordinate with the local teams. We need to cover all his known locations and find those kids."

The BAU's SUV glides to a stop in front of a local police station, a low building that seems to buzz with the day's frenetic energy. Hotch, with his characteristic stride, escorts Evelyn and Reid through the maze of bustling officers and ringing phones to a briefing room. The room is a testament to the case at hand; walls plastered with maps, timelines, and the faces of the missing children staring back at them. Hotch distributes the case files--thick filled with witness statements and background checks.

"Here's everything we have on the suspect," Hotch begins, "Known as 'Pogo the Clown' at parties, real name Jeffery Willis. No prior record of violence, but plenty of complaints about his behavior around kids."

Evelyn flips through the pages, absorbing the details. Hotch pivots towards her, his gaze steady and assessing, "Evelyn, you're new, but you've got a fresh perspective. That's valuable. Reid will take the lead, but I want you to watch the suspect. Look for inconsistencies in his story, any sign of deception."

Reid nods, his eyes already scanning the suspect's history. "We'll start with a cognitive interview, try to unlock any repressed memories or details he's not consciously aware of. It's a technique we use to get past the lies."

Hotch explains further. "Willis, he's got an ego, sees himself as a performer, above others. He's likely to underestimate both of you."

"Reid, he'll see you as harmless, someone he can easily outmaneuver. And Evelyn, he might dismiss your authority due to his preconceptions. But he's wrong, and that gives us leverage. Use his biases against him. Make him feel superior; it'll make him talk. He'll want to boast, to prove he's the smartest in the room. That's when he'll slip up."

Reid moves with a purposeful stride, his silhouette cutting through the dimly lit corridor towards the interrogation room. The gears in his mind turn swiftly, already sifting through the myriad of psychological strategies that might give him an edge. Evelyn started to trail behind him, her footsteps a soft echo to his confident march.

Hotch emerges before her, a figure of quiet authority. He positions himself before Evelyn, an unspoken barrier, his expression etched with a gentle concern that belies his firm stance. "Evelyn," he begins, his voice a low thrum, "this isn't going to be an easy interrogation. Willis is a performer; he thrives on attention and control. I need to know you're ready for this."

"I've trained for this. I've got this, Hotch," she lifts her chin, her gaze ascending to meet his.

Hotch regards her intently, his scrutiny thorough as if he could peel back the layers of her resolve. Yet, he finds no fissure of doubt. He grants her a slow, affirming nod. "Alright," he concedes, his voice a low rumble. "Remember, he's going to try and get under your skin, to throw you off balance." His proximity is close, almost invasive, but she didn't feel that way. "Stay focused and use his arrogance to your advantage."

Evelyn's head tilts up a fraction more, her eyes never leaving his. She nods. "I will."

Hotch's approval comes not just in a nod but in the subtle relaxation of his posture, a silent concession of her capability. He steps aside. As she passes, the air seems to hum with the vanishing of his body heat.

The interrogation room is stark, illuminated only by the unforgiving glow of overhead lights that cast long, dramatic shadows across the room. Jeffrey Willis is a disconcerting figure at the metal table, his clown makeup running in haphazard streaks, giving him a grotesque appearance. His eyes dart about, betraying a nervous energy as his leg trembles rhythmically beneath the table.

Reid steps into the room with an air of composed assurance, his intellect a sharpened blade ready to dissect the situation. Evelyn follows, her silhouette rigid against the doorway, her expression meticulously neutral. They take their seats, Reid assuming the lead with a gaze that never wavers from Willis.

"Jeffery, I'm Special Agent Reid, and this is Special Agent Gideon," Reid begins, his voice steady, "We're with the FBI, the behavioral analysis unit. We're here to talk about the children."

Willis' response is a smirk, his eyes alight with a disturbing spark of amusement. "Ah, the children," he drawls, a perverse delight curling the edges of his words. "They do so enjoy their games, don't they? High stakes make it all the more thrilling." His gaze shifts to Evelyn, taunting. "Isn't that right, sweetie? Or do they not trust you to speak?"

Evelyn's silence is her armor, her stillness a counter to his provocation. Beside her, Reid's jaw sets, a subtle clench that speaks volumes of his restraint. "Let's keep the focus where it belongs, Jeffery," he directs firmly.

"You ever been to the carnival? I used to love it. The toys, the sound of the water," Willis mused, leaning back as if the metal chair could transport him.

His chuckle breaks the reverie. "My mother, she loved games too," he continues, the smirk returning as he locks eyes with Evelyn. "The best ones, until she disappeared when I was sixteen." His gaze is probing, challenging. "But you, with a face like yours, life must've been easy, huh? Everything handed to you on a silver platter."

Evelyn's reaction is subtle, a slight narrowing of the eyes that betrays a flicker of emotion. Yet, she holds her silence, allowing Reid to handle the waters of Willis' provocations.

Willis edges closer, the space between them charged with his malice. "Or perhaps," he hisses, the words laced with spite, "mommy get sick of the guys giving you more attention than her?"

It's a low blow, one that slices through the air and lands precisely where he intended. Evelyn's facade falters, a minute shift, but it's there. "My mother is irrelevant to this," she retorts, her tone sharper, icier than she means for it to be.

From his vantage point behind the one-way mirror, Hotch catches the fleeting lapse. With a swift stride, he's in the room, his presence commanding. "Agent Gideon, a word," he commands, his voice leaving now room for argument.

Evelyn rises, her gaze lingering on Willis with a silent challenge before she pivots, her heels clicking a sharp retreat. She steps out, the chill of the corridor seeping into her bones, but it's the weight of Willis's words and her own slip that sends a shiver down her spine.

"Hotch, I--" she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, but Hotch is already there, his presence a wall of contained frustration.

"Agent," he interjects, his tone clipped, the word a reprimand in itself. "What did I say about maintaining control?" His proximity is unsettling, the heat of his frustration palpable, yet it's the closeness that somehow steadies her, sends a shiver down her spine, causing her thighs to clench together.

"I'm aware, and I apologize. It won't happen again," Evelyn responds, her words tumbling out in haste, her apology laced with urgency as she seeks to convey the clue Willis unwittingly dropped. "But I--"

Hotch is relentless, his words slicing through her attempts. "We can't afford distractions. There are two children out there; focus is imperative--"

"But the carnival," Evelyn cut in, her voice firm despite the brief hesitation, aware she's overstepping driven by instinct. "I'm sorry, but he talked about a carnival his mother would take him to. Have there been any carnivals in town lately."

For a moment, Hotch's stern facade falters, his eyes softening, betraying a flicker of curiosity. "Check with Garcia," he concedes, his voice still firm but the edge blunted.

Garcia's sanctuary of screens cast a soft glow in the dim room, her fingers a blur as they dance across the keyboard. "Nothing," she breathes out, the word laced with a tinge of defeat. "No carnivals, fairs, or anything similar within a 50-mile radius."

Reid's voice filters through the phone, tinged with concern as he leans in close over Evelyn's shoulder, almost whispering. "Did he grow up here? Maybe there's a connection to his past."

A pause, then Garcia's voice, distant yet clear. "No, grew up in a small town in Ohio--Millersport, near Buckeye Lake."

Reid's mind races. "Carnivals? Anything of the sort there?" he presses, hopeful.

The clacking of keys halts, a momentary silence before Garcia's voice returns, tinged with resignation. "It's a dead end. No recent events, nothing."

Evelyn chimes in. "He mentioned the sound of water, didn't he? It was deliberate, specific. Maybe it's less about an actual carnival and more about a place that felt like one to him."

A collective pause blankets the team. Garcia resumed her search. "Got something," she announces, a triumphant lilt to her voice. "An old cotton mill, nestled rise beside--get this--a carnival supply shop. It's about ten minutes from you guys."

"And here's the icing on the cake," Garcia continues, "his mother, Reyna Willis, was employed there. I'm sending you guys the address now."

The BAU team arrives at the desolate cotton mill, its dilapidated structure casting an ominous shadow in the fading light. Evelyn's heart pounds against her ribs, fear etched on her face. They move cautiously, guns drawn, the silence punctuated only by the soft crunch.

"Stay sharp." Hotch's command is a low murmur.

Evelyn nods at Hotch's words, paired with Morgan, as they make their way through the creaking corridors. The air is thick with dust. Room by room, they clear the mill, the tension mounting with each passing second.

Then, a soft whimper breaks the silence. Evelyn's head snaps towards the sound, her training taking over. She signals Morgan and approaches the door. With a gentle push, it swings open, revealing a small, frightened girl, nestled in the shadows.

Evelyn holsters her weapon, her stance softening as she kneels to the child's level. "Hey, it's okay, you're safe now," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm as the child curls into her side, her sobs muffled against Evelyn's shoulder, "you've been so brave."

"In here!" Morgan's call, firm and clear, cuts through the hush.

Hotch and Reid rush in, relief flooding their faces as they take in the scene. Meanwhile the sound of a relieved shout echoes through the mill. "We've got him! The boy's here!" Prentiss calls out from another room.

As the team wraps up the case, Hotch finds himself inadvertently watching Evelyn. She's a picture of compassion, the child in her arms so natural. There's something about this scene that stirs a warmth within him, an unfamiliar flutter that he can't quite place but pushes to the back of his mind.

He's always known she'd be good at this job, but this is different. It's hard to teach that. The way her eyes soften, the gentle tilt of her head as she whispers reassurances. It's a side of her he hasn't seen yet, one that didn't fit into the neat compartments of his professional demeanor.

Hotch feels a pull, an inexplicable draw to the tenderness she exudes. It's disconcerting, this reaction--like a chord struck deep within him. He watches her, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a halo around her silhouette.

He clears his throat, stepping closer, the gravel beneath his feet a subtle announcement of his approach. "We're about to head out," he says, his voice steady and low, not wanting to disturb the girl, her eyes fluttering in sleep.

Evelyn looks up, her eyes reflecting the last rays of the day. "I'll stay with until her parents arrive, if that's okay," she responds, her voice a low whisper. "She just fell asleep; I don't want to wake her."

Hotch nods, understanding her decision without a word. "We'll see you back at the jet, then," he says.

Evelyn smiles. "I'll be there," she assures him, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before returning to the child in her arms.

The cabin lights flicker, a soft glow against the encroaching darkness outside. Evelyn rises from her seat, navigating the narrow aisle with a practiced ease. Evelyn is suddenly caught off guard by an unexpected jolt of turbulence. She lurches forward, her balance betraying her, and without warning she finds herself tumbling into Reid's lap. Her ass landed on his crotch as her lips fell open in surprise. He let out a soft groan, his hands instinctively reaching out to stabilize her. The rest of the team, deep in slumber, remained oblivious to the sudden closeness between the two.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Reid asked, his voice rising in pitch as his fingers dug into her hips.

Evelyn's breath hitches, her heart racing from the fall, the warmth of his hands, and the feeling of his crotch pressed firmly against her backside. She let out a giggle in an attempt to shake the feeling. "Gosh, sorry, Reid," she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

For a moment, they are both still, the silence enveloping them, their eyes locked in a gaze that speaks volumes more than the words could. Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Evelyn carefully extricates herself from his lap, her movements hurried, eager to put some distance between them.

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

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j3ss3jam3s85 · 7 months ago

Text

Evidence of Exodus

Many often wonder if there is any factual evidence proving the Bible being true. What if I told you that not only can I point you to strong evidence of the old testament Exodus being real, I can point you to a person in Exodus who has a real life replica of himself. Being possibly the only person mentioned in the Bible that we can truly see how they appeared. (With the exception of Vladimir Putin's recent 2024 claim that he has an original painting of Jesus Christ that has been in Russia).

bNow, if you're not familiar with the book of Exodus (chapters 1-14), I suggest you taking a moment to read it. Otherwise, what I'm about to say may not make much Sense. Or, read this and then read Exodus, and things might make more sense to you as it's being read. Either way, I highly recommend reading it.

Archeologically, we're able to prove many things within the Bible, however, Exodus is not one of them. Matter of fact, some of the things are extremely questionable. For example, where are all these Israelites coming from mentioned? There are no records of a man named Moses in Egypt. Many movies depict the enslaved Israelites were building the pyramids, however, The pyramids were built long before the Israelites were enslaved. There are many things that people question in the book of Exodus, you might as well. Maybe I can help with any doubt that you may have. In hopes to open your eyes as to the possibility that these things really could have, and did indeed happen.

Let's go back to the story of Joseph. Joseph is one of the 12 sons of Jacob, also named Israel. (Remember God changed his name to Israel because of his faith in willing to sacrifice his son). They fell into a Great famine Aunt resources grew very slim, so they went searching for a better life elsewhere. Can you guess where they ended up? That's right, Egypt! This is where we get "The children of Israel", also known as, the Israelites.

Joseph's gift from God was the ability to interpret dreams. In doing so, he was able to interpret the Pharaoh's dream which ultimately helped save Egypt from a great famine. So how did his people, his family, end up in bondage? Answer is, the Israelites were living and the delta and we're living a pretty prosperous existence. Up until the moment a new pharaoh becomes in charge. This Pharaoh knows nothing about Joseph. For none other than narcissistic reasons, the new pharaoh is upset that the Israelites are living such a lavish life. He ordered task masters to watch over them, which is when they became enslaved. This Pharaoh is historically documented saying to his midwives, "watch the two stones." Meaning, Egyptian women often give birth while sitting straight up to let gravity help them with the birthing process. Often, they would sit on two stones to help assist them during labor. This correlates with the Bible when pharaoh ordered the death of all the Israelite males that were being born. This is around the time that Moses was born. With Moses's mom afraid of him being murdered, she sent him away, down the river, for a chance at life.

Another questionable biblical text says that the pharaohs daughter finds Moses and the river and takes him in as her own. An Egyptian naming their child Moses, which is Hebrew is not very likely. Leaving some skepticism. Let me push that skepticism aside.

Remember, Moses is sent down river, so when he's found, he's found in the reeds. Now the Hebrew word massa (משא) means brought out. However Moses, Moses is actually a pure Egyptian name, which means Born. Just think about Ra-Moses, Ra means God and Moses means birth in Egyptian, God is Born. Another common Egyptian term is Toth-Moses. So therefore, just because the name Moses doesn't appear as someone's name being an actual person, it does not mean he did not exist. Moses literally means birth and Egyptian. Something someone would say or call a newborn baby.

Moses later has an encounter with God through a burning bush. God tells Moses that he is going to be the one to help set the Israelites free and lead them into the promised land. Moses, brings his brother Aaron with him to go speak to the pharaoh. Moses performs many miraculous wonders and so do the pharaohs magic wielders. So it's like they're in competition for a moment. Moses has a staff and he throws it down and it turns into a snake. Then Pharaoh has his people throw a staff and they also turn into snakes. It was almost like this was something that they've seen before, and we're unimpressed. Now you can take it exactly how it was written and think that a staff was thrown down and turned into a snake and both parties were able to do so. What I think happened is, the staff happened to be a cobra snake that was stiff like a staff with the head as the handle. When you throw the snake down onto the ground it then is able to slither away. This is a known practice and Egypt then and even today which would explain why people wouldn't be impressed. Moses and Aaron came back time and time again with 9 different plagues. Trying to convince Pharaoh to let his people go. Pharaoh gets annoyed and Now orders that the Israelites are no longer going to be given prepared straw to mix with their bricks. Leaving them to cut their own straw to mix with clay in order to make their own bricks. Giving double work with the same deadline. None of the plagues presented so far didn't seem to phase the Egyptians whatsoever. By this point, God says enough is enough and lets the pharaoh know that if he does not cooperate, he will take all the firstborns of families who do not have a blood sacrifice over their door frame. Of course Pharaoh did not take this threat seriously, so there was no blood sacrifice and he ended up losing his son. This is what makes pharaoh say okay, You can have your freedom, you can go.

When the Israelites leave, the Egyptians are all mourning the deaths of their firstborns. So, when the Israelites asked for gold and silver upon leaving, they just handed it over with no issues. So the Israelites are able to leave rich with gold and silver. Rightfully so in my opinion. They just spent approximately 430 years, in slavery and are now heading to the promised lands.

As the Israelites were on their way, Pharaoh quickly changed his mind and decided to go after the Israelites and bring them back. This is when the famous part of Exodus happens that most people are familiar with. Did the Israelites really cross the Red Sea on dry land? While the Egyptians get swallowed whole by the water? There is a lot of skepticism about rather or not they truly did part the Red Sea.

Here the Israelites are leaving on foot with all this gold and silver. We know that they lived in the Delta part of Egypt so we can kind of figure out the route that they took. They don't take the Philistine route because Palestine is highly guarded with watchtowers. So what they do is go through the marsh. Now the misconception lies with where exactly they crossed at. Which they actually crossed through the Sea of Reeds and not the Red Sea. Now in the Bible it says that Pharaoh's chariots were clogged. Sounds like they were going through mud. If you ask me. Which if I'm on foot I can get through but if I'm in a chariot I cannot. So Pharaoh's men ended up perishing while God helped the Israelites make it through safely.

In playing devil's advocate, if this story is true then why is there no record other than what is mentioned in the Bible of this particular situation? The answer is Egyptians were horrible at record keeping in general. Their record keeping is mainly made up of what is written in tombs or on Stella's. Which never mentioned anything about any of their defeats. Egyptians only kept records of victories. Honestly, this entire situation only really mattered to the Israelites. No one else really cared. But this was the beginning of their entire religion.

Biblically they never say who the pharaoh actually was. Historically, Egypt didn't even have a pharaoh at this time. Who ever was in charge would technically be a king. So where does the Bible get Pharaoh from? It's actually a conjunction of 2 Egyptian words, that meant house, great. Which Pharaoh meant the one who lived in a great house. Fitting for someone living in a palace.

A clue in the Bible as to who this pharaoh may be is when they speak of the Israelites building the store cities with bricks. Is it a coincidence that one of the cities names is Pi-Ramess? They are using bricks, which historically we can narrow down the time frame in which bricks began being used to build the storehouse in these 2 cities mentioned.

i'm going to agree with Bob Brier, an egyptologist who suggested the Pharaoh in the book of Exodus is...... Ramesses the Great. Why?

Ramesses' built his capitol right beside the Delta, which would be close enough to the Israelites. Especially during the times Moses and Aaron were traveling back and forth trying to convince him to let his people go. The Israelite slaves built the city of Ramesses out of brick and he was the one who built these cities. There is a sentence written on a Papyrus that explains grain ratios to be handed out to the soldiers and apperu (now I know I butchered inthe spelling of this word, but I spelled it the way it sounded). Which The translation is thought to mean Hebrew. Many scholars believe that this is our Israelites. Other scholars believe that Merneptah was the ruler over The Exodus. They believe this because the first time Israel is mentioned is during the reign of Merneptah, which is Rameses 13th son and his successor. However, when Merneptah mentions Israel on his Stella. It is referred to as a people and not a country or a foreign land. Meaning around this time the Israelites were still wondering. Therefore, if they are wandering at this time, that means they must have left right before he began his reign. Biblical scholars believe The Exodus happened in year 20 of rameses reign. Guess what else happens right around this time? Ramesses loses his firstborn son, Amonhirkhopshef.

In the Egyptian museum, you can now see the mummy of Ramesses the Great. Which very well may be the only face you can look upon that is a real biblical figure. I love it when science, history and the Bible correlate.

References:

Brier, Bob. The history of ancient Egypt. (2013). The great courses.

Exodus 1+14

#reading #my writing #spilled ink #books #writing #writeblr #exodus #bible #science #history #ancient egypt #moss #pj masks pharaoh boy

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andreafmn · 1 year ago

Text

Bound | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: graphic depictions of death, implied/referenced SA

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: tried my best to write the pain and turmoil Rosalie might have felt during such a horrendous moment. I feel like her backstory is so overlooked in the story and, for me, it's one of the most tragic. I hope I do her justice with this and the coming chapters. Also, I want to say to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

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Rosalie Hale should have been protected. That much she knew to be true. She should have been able to revel in a perfect life. A perfect house, perfect children, a perfect husband, all complements to her being a perfect wife.

Everything should have been perfect because she already was.

But there was something about a perfect thing that she did not know until it was too late. Whenever it was scrutinized, the cracks started to appear. The paint that was used to make everything seamless was bulky and uneven. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could even come close.

Still, it had been far too late to see all the flaws of what was supposed to be her perfect life.

Everything had happened to her so quickly. Her courtship to Royce King the Second, to their engagement, to the date of the wedding. It was the thing of fairytales. Or at least, that was what she had thought –what she had been raised to believe. The perfect prince to the beautiful princess.

His façade was impeccable. He did the right things, said the right things; he played the part well. Too well. It made it easy for Royce to hide his faults. Because they didn’t exist to the naked eye. His lingering eye was only witnessed by the women he would make uncomfortable, but they would never speak of it. His drunkenness was reserved for the late hours of the night, in the company of his closest friends. His blatant disregard for Rosalie was only spoken of in whispers, spilling into the ears of his most trusted confidantes. He did not have to worry about anyone else knowing just how execrable he actually was.

The fact that he was marrying the Rosalie Hale was enough to allow his behavior. She was a testament to the fact that he could have anything he wanted without having to work too hard at it. All it took to reel her in were a few words and flowers, some public outings and he had her trapped in his spell.

At that point, she didn’t know it. That the love he seemed to have for her was only his part to play. How could she? Royce King was her ticket to everything she had ever worked toward. He was the trophy for the part she had to play. It didn’t matter that she was not in love with him, she loved everything he could give her. She didn’t mind feeling like an empty shell of a human if it looked like she had everything. She knew it was vain and shallow, but it was what she had been molded to be.

What she never thought was that the same person she believed would grant her every dream would be the very reason it was taken away. Ripped and taken from her without another thought.

The day had started well enough for her. With her wedding only a week away, her head could only be preoccupied with the final details of the event and everything that would come after. Even as she spent the night with Vera, her best friend, watching as her husband loved her and her son grew beautifully, Rosalie could only think of when it would be her own child reaching their arms up to be carried. She would have the life she wanted because that was what she was promised.

But the night was harsh and unforgiving. In hindsight, she would have taken that as a warning. The cold truth was slapping her in the face long before real hands had. When she was yelled at by Royce on the empty street, she should have turned around. She should have listened to the trembling in her limbs as he treated her as nothing more than a prize he had won. She should have ran and kept running.

But his grasp around her was tight, bruising. He grabbed her like she was his possession, as though her body had never belonged to her. And he wanted to show her off because she did, she belonged to him.

She remembered trying to fight. Whatever happened next, she could hold on to the fact that she had tried to fight. Even if it had been to no avail. No amount of strength could have been enough to protect her, at least not of any she knew.

Then, she remembered how frozen she had felt. Not because of the cold in the weather, but because her limbs had gone stiff. Royce and his friend were drinking in her pain, rejoicing in her screams. She couldn’t give them that. So, she froze. Rosalie allowed them to take everything from her but the fact that she was in so much pain.

They took her clothes, they took her will, they took her beauty, they took her body. They took and took until there was nothing left to give. They even believed they had taken her life. But something inside her was holding on. Something she cried would just let it all end. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, Rosalie just wanted the nightmare to end since her dream definitely had.

Rosalie could have sworn that she had spent hours on that dimly lit street begging for death to take her in its arms and whisk her away. She didn’t want to be cold, she didn’t want to be in pain. She no longer wanted to be. All she could do was wait until it all stopped.

Instead of the impending doom of death, she had been carried away by someone she couldn’t identify at first. At first, she believed it was the Angel of Death crossing her to the afterlife. The speed at which they were traveling felt as much. But soon she was being laid on a bed, where she was bitten on every inch of her body and it made her wish she was back to the pain from before. At least that was bearable until death came. This kind of ache ran across her entire body, freezing her veins and adjusting every fiber of her being. It was overwhelming enough that she could smell… sage? Maybe even moringa and rosemary. Possibly even a hint of ginger.

Rosalie wanted to laugh at that realization, not that her body allowed her to. She wanted to chuckle at the mere fact that her brain had decided to trick her with the smells of herbs as she went through the worst agony of her life. But she had to admit, it had eased her slightly. And she wished she had perceived those very smells until the change happened.

She also wished for the longest time that Carlisle had never saved her. What he did felt more like pity rather than a moment of salvation –she did not want to be saved. When he took her in his arms she wasn’t thankful, she was tired. If she’d had the ability to speak, she would have begged him to end it. Rosalie would have used every last breath she had to beacon death quicker than it was coming.

Instead, he saved her in the worst way possible. He submitted her to a life where she would never have anything she desired. She would have her beauty, and she would have a sort of family, but she would never have something that was truly hers. But nothing that was hers. Nothing that was just hers.

At least there was one thing that the imposed immortality had brought her. She was strong. Stronger than all those men the night before. She could feel it. The solidness of her skin, the strain in her muscles, the itching in her limbs for speed. It was supernatural strength. An unlimited source of unimaginable power.

A vampire. That was what they had told her she was now and she knew it was the truth. The burning in her throat yearned for only one thing and none of the people in the room she had woken in had it running through their veins. She craved the crimson liquid as though it was the sweetest nectar in the world and it was the only thing to satiate the deep void in her stomach.

But that hunger was nothing compared to the appetite she had for revenge. For the craving she had developed to have the same men that had made her tremble in her sacred body to quiver in theirs. She wanted them to beg her for their lives, to know what it feels for their lives to be in the hands of someone that could not give two shits about them. She wanted them to plead until their voices were hoarse. Until they were so scared that she could hear their skeletons rattle inside their bodies. She wanted them to pray to their god for their lives and then she would take them with her own hands. Her eyes would watch as their souls left their bodies, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

She could have answered Carlisle Cullen at that moment. When he had asked her if she wanted to join their family, she knew the answer was yes. Not because they were the perfect choice, but because it was the only one she had. Rosalie didn’t want to be alone and the Cullens were offering her companionship. She would say yes, eventually. First, she had something to do. So, she asked them for a couple of days to set her head in order.

Rosalie waited until the sun had set and dressed up for the occasion. She styled herself in perfect curls and demure makeup. She was dressed in tailored clothes and high heels. At the end of the day, she was still Rosalie Hale and those men would know exactly who it was that would take their lives.

The first two were easy to find. Buck and Andre Hubert, brothers that still lived under the same roof. With her newfound strength and speed, she slipped into their house without making a single sound. One thing she knew was every party and social appearance the rich people of Rochester, New York had to attend. She knew who would be where and when. And it just so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Hubert would be out all night.

She wanted to go play with their minds first. Start building that nest of fear deep in their chest as they had done to her. To laugh as they questioned if they were losing their minds.

The brothers were in the drawing room. Maybe reading, maybe drinking. Definitely drinking. It made her smile. Her legs took her to the table in their foyer, slamming a vase she had admired for years against the wall.

“Who goes there?” Buck called out from the room to be met with the crackling of the fireplace in response. “I’ll let you know that I have a gun.”

Rosalie remained quiet, instead making noise by slamming a framed picture of the brothers to the floor. She stared as the frame splintered around her and the glass bounced off her impenetrable skin. Bring your gun, she wanted to say, there’s nothing you can do to hurt me now.

But she kept her silence. She wanted to draw both of them out, not just their guns. Their bodies would be the first warming call to the other three men. So, she broke more things, until the room was filled with splintered wood, glass, and roses. How she detested roses now.

“What the fuck is going on, Buck?” Andre said, his voice shaking slightly. “Who’s there?”

“I don’t know, man,” he sighed in frustration. “I’ll go check.”

No. It had to be both of them. She called out, “Why don’t you both come to check?”

“No way,” she heard one of them whisper, not really caring which one.

They walked out slowly, each sporting a rifle in their arms. They stood tall, their eyes trained on hers, trying to appear courageous. But she knew they weren’t. She could hear their hearts racing, she could see the beads of sweat forming on their forehead, she could smell their desperation.

“Rosalie Hale,” Buck said. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprised to see me, boys?” She smiled sweetly and she could see the way it made them shiver. “I just thought I would pay you a visit after last night. You left without so much as a goodbye.”

“No, but you… you were…” Andre stammered. He was so young and it showed. His brother towered over him and he was shaking in inexperience.

“What’s wrong, Andre?” she feigned worry. She had also been so young and they had not cared. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You died last night,” Buck interjected in big brother fashion. “We left you on the street and you were dead.”

“Correct!” Rosalie clapped in fake excitement. “You did leave me on the street, but I wasn’t dead. No. I suffered for hours waiting to die. But alas, death arrived in a different way.”

She took steps toward them, closing the distance of the large entryway. Her movement made Buck fire his gun, the bullet flying right by her ear. It was so close she could hear the whistle of the shot as it passed her.

“Careful, Buck,” she reprimanded. “You can’t kill something that’s already dead.”

“W-what?”

“I know, it’s practically unbelievable,” she chuckled. “Death becomes me, doesn’t it?”

Rosalie was so close now that it would only take four steps for her to be nose-to-nose with them. Her appearance was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open front door, every feature now unmistakable to the men in front of her.

As they looked into her eyes, they couldn’t help the scream that bubbled from their throats. It was at that moment that they knew their guns would be useless against the intruder. She was definitely not human anymore.

Buck shot at her stomach, watching in astonishment as the bullets ricocheted against her rather than fly through her. On the other hand, Andre decided to take off in a run. Rosalie could only laugh. Her beautiful voice made their veins run cold, fear grasping them by the throats.

The blonde took Buck’s gun in her hand, bending the barrel until no more bullets could move through, and grabbed him by his throat, walking toward Andre. She dragged the man's body with one hand, smiling as he tried to claw free, twisting and turning in her grasp. In a couple of seconds, she was behind the younger Hubert. With the damaged gun, she shattered his right leg, smiling as he yelled in pain.

“Please, please,” Andre cried. Tears and snot mixed on his face, the mask of pure desperation sliding onto him. “Just let us go. We’re sorry, Rosalie. We were just having some fun. It should have never gotten to that point.”

“Oh, then, please. Tell me when I was having fun?” Rosalie said. She had dropped both brothers on the floor, one right next to the other, kneeling. “Was it when I begged you all to stop? Was it when my body had been assaulted to the point where I could not even move a finger? Or maybe it was when you were telling Royce he had to start looking for a new wife since I was dead? I would love to know what was fun about any of that.”

“It wasn’t,” Buck blubbered. “We were wrong, Rosalie. What we did was despicable.”

“It was, wasn’t it? It was the most vile thing you could ever do to a woman –to anyone,” she smiled. “But you still did it. And it cost me my life. Now, it’s gonna cost you yours.”

The brothers let out strings of ‘no, please’s and ‘have mercy, Rosalie’s, and it made the fire inside her burn hotter. The vampire stared at Andre first, the youngest of the two. The one she had gone to school with. The one that was only a couple of months her junior. The boy that had acted like a man and taken everything from her. His cheeks were stained with tears, his eyes red and swollen from crying.

“You could’ve made a woman very happy, Andre,” she smiled. “At least, the boy I knew in school would have. You, as you are now, don’t deserve the dirt on my shoes.”

“I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” he sobbed. The attractive boy she had known had been battered to a sorry excuse for a human, and she reveled in it. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

“You’re right. You won’t do it again,” she said, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Save your sorry for your god, Andre.”

And she snapped his neck, watching as his body slumped to the floor.

Beside him, Buck let out a guttural scream. A completely broken and full of agony wail. Music to her ears. “Does it hurt, Buck?” she said. “To see the body of the little brother you had sworn to protect, lifeless and beaten? Does it hurt that there was absolutely nothing you could have done to save his life?”

When he kept quiet, only responding in whimpers and whines, she took his left arm and broke it under her grip. “Answer me,” she seethed. “How bad does it hurt.”

“It’s the worst pain imaginable,” he yelled out. “I should have saved him. Saved him from you!”

“No, Buck,” she tsked. “You should have saved him from you. From the wickedness of your mind and your actions. Your brother? Your baby brother is dead because of you. And you can let him know when you join him.”

Her pale hands wrapped around his throat once more, her eyes observing as the fight left his body. With his only hand, he tried to claw at her skin, to sink his nails into her in an attempt to free himself, but it was futile. He couldn’t even squeeze her.

She stared into his eyes, the way they pleaded, and she committed them to memory. And she wondered. She wondered if they had looked into her eyes, would they have shown her mercy? Would they have at least let her live to see another day? The fact was that they hadn’t and she would not dwell on them. On these men that were barely human.

Rosalie squeezed until Buck’s hand fell to his side and his heart stopped beating. She squeezed until there was nothing left in his eyes but the colored irises. She squeezed until she was satisfied. Once she was done, she let his body fall to the floor, slumping against his brother. They were a masterpiece before her. Dead without shedding a single drop of blood.

She called the police after, claiming to be a neighbor that heard a ruckus in the Hubert house and she watched from the shadows as the scene unveiled before her. The Huber parents arrived before the police, though they weren’t far behind. Mrs. Hubert let out a heart wrenching wail, calling for her boys as she collapsed in her husband’s arms. And, instead of feeling guilty, she wondered how her own parents would have reacted to finding her body.

Would her mother shriek? Would her father turn heaven and hell until he found the culprit? Would he yell at the policemen to do their job and find the bastard that did such a violent act as Mr. Hubert? Those were answers she would never get. There was no body for her parents to find, no crime to be reported. Not anymore.

The girl remained at the scene for only a moment more, waiting until the front of the estate was flooded with neighbors and people from deep in the town surely woken from the commotion. She waited until everyone’s attention was on the Hubert brothers and none would be on the people farther away. Especially people staying at hotels in the town center.

There were two men down on her list. Three more to go. And she would not give them even a second to escape. Their karma was coming for them in the shape of a beautiful vampire.

Next ->

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counter-culture-christian · 11 months ago

Text

Why Christmas is not related to Christ Jesus nor Christianity

A search on the internet will tell you that Christmas is a Christian holiday (I don't think I read that in the Bible) celebrating the birthday of Jesus Christ. Where in the Bible was the birth date of Jesus Christ given? It doesn't even give the date of the 25th of December. Christmas means "mass on Christ's day" how did it come to be that that was Christ's day? I know that He says He's Lord of the sabbath and that's God's day is the sabbath but Christmas? No. Christmas is the English term. "The earlier term Yule may have derived from the Germanic jōl or the Anglo-Saxon geōl, which referred to the feast of the winter solstice." Yule which is "the pre-Christian festival originating in Scandinavia which was later subsumed, along with other pagan celebrations, into the Christian holiday of Christmas." There are pagan roots, celebrations in it, how does it glorify Jesus? God? People might say, oh but they sing Christmas carols and there's the nativity. Please, it doesn't matter if that is done on that day when there are parts of Christmas which are contributed from celebrations offered to idols or possible pagan gods. "Yule celebrations began as a Norse festival called jol, although assessments of the purpose and traditions vary. Like most winter solstice festivals, themes of light, fire, and feasting are common threads. Some historians think that sacrifices were an important part of the observance, either to the gods and other supernatural beings (such as elves) or to the dead or both." "Since the early 20th century, Christmas has also been a secular family holiday, observed by Christians and non-Christians alike, devoid of Christian elements, and marked by an increasingly elaborate exchange of gifts. In this secular Christmas celebration, a mythical figure named Santa Claus plays the pivotal role." If it's really about Jesus Christ, why is there an image of a mythical man called Santa Claus? What does he have to do with Jesus Christ? As the quote above said, Christians and non-Christians celebrate it. Why would non-Christians, people who don't believe in, nor follow or have accepted Christ as their personal saviour, celebrate the day? How strange that is, a day allegedly dedicated to Christ is celebrated by a non believer who can celebrate that day yet still not want to seek or receive Christ Jesus. "The precise origin of assigning December 25 as the birth date of Jesus is unclear. The New Testament provides no clues in this regard. December 25 was first identified as the date of Jesus’ birth by Sextus Julius Africanus in 221 and later became the universally accepted date. One widespread explanation of the origin of this date is that December 25 was the Christianizing of the dies solis invicti nati (“day of the birth of the unconquered sun”), a popular holiday in the Roman Empire that celebrated the winter solstice as a symbol of the resurgence of the sun, the casting away of winter and the heralding of the rebirth of spring and summer. " Gosh, the Roman Empire and it's influence in Christianity is. . .I'm speechless. Many people are being led astray by their "traditions", "doctrines" etc. So much falseness. I'm not even surprised. Saturnalia: "The influence of the Saturnalia upon the celebrations of Christmas and the New Year has been direct. The fact that Christmas was celebrated on the birthday of the unconquered sun (dies solis invicti nati) gave the season a solar background, connected with the kalends of January (January 1, the Roman New Year) when houses were decorated with greenery and lights, and presents were given to children and the poor." "Saturnalia celebrations are the source of many of the traditions we now associate with Christmas, such as wreaths, candles, feasting and gift-giving." "The pagan celebration of Saturn, the Roman god of agriculture and time, began as a single day, but by the late Republic (133-31 B.C.) it had expanded to a weeklong festival beginning December 17. (On the Julian calendar, which the Romans used at the time, the winter solstice fell on December 25.)"

#christianity #christblr #christian #jesus christ #jesus #god #christian blog #spiritual enlightment #yule #pagan #christmas #saturnalia #santa claus #roman empire #winter solstice

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godsofhumanity · 6 months ago

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We all know what happen with Cronus and Rhea relationship, how do you think Cronus brothers treat their wives and family?

whenever i received a hc-request related to the titans, i do a little weird dance and scream inside my head because im so excited to talk about them hee hee

ok. i'm just gonna start with Kronos x Rhea to begin with, because it's been a while since i talked the Couple of the Year, and it's just easier for me to get my thoughts going. the rest of the titans follow the [read more] break... i didn't want to clog people's dashes :)

KRONOS x RHEA:

BEFORE everything went bad, BEFORE Kronos was even born (remembering that he is the youngest of the Titans, and was born last), i love the idea that Rhea herself was always a mischief maker and she naturally got along with Iapetus who was the Family Prankster (much to Oceanus' despair T-T).

so when Kronos was born, and it turned out he was even more wily and cunning than Iapetus, i think Rhea and Kronos just had a natural thing going from the start.

Rhea, to me, is super intelligent and witty. so is Kronos. so i like the idea that, in their youth, they were quite the prankster duo. Kronos would play pranks on Rhea, and Rhea would one-up him, and then Oceanus would get mad at them both.

i don't see Kronos and Rhea as being "overly romantic". Kronos doesn't call Rhea by any gushy nicknames or anything; i think they both would hate that. they'd much rather poke fun at each other and tease each other.

i think Rhea has a quick temper, and i love the idea of Kronos intentionally getting on her nerves because he thinks its cute when she gets annoyed lmfao

as a husband, i think it's far more bittersweet to imagine that Kronos was a great husband pre-insanity. he was the saviour of the Titans; the only one gutsy enough to commit patricide and save his siblings from an eternity of terror and fear, never knowing when Ouranos would one day snap and decide to shove them ALL in Tartarus.

but he wasn't only a warrior. he loved Rhea. her death is what i have previously hc'd to be the awakening point of Kronos' powers; his need to save her allows him to travel back in time and fix his mistakes. so yeah he certainly treated her well.

faultwise, i think Kronos' worst trait is that he always has this super strong, fearless exterior. so when Ouranos tells Kronos that his children will rise up and overthrow him and enslave all his siblings, Kronos DOESN'T TELL Rhea this. he doesn't want to look weak in front of her. and i think he still has this idea that he needs to protect her.

i think it's important to remember that at this time, there were NO OTHER GODS. Nyx's children were alive, but not involved in the affairs of the titans. this was the first time in history a "takeover" had occurred. no one really knew what to do. Kronos didn't know what to do. all he knew was that he was the leader, and he had to protect his siblings at all costs.

i hc that Kronos and Rhea have always wanted children; i mean, the Earth was sort of just made up of 12 Titans, 3 Hecatoncheires, 3 Cyclops, 4 absent primordials, and 1 psycho pseudo-primordial with anger management problems. so i think there was definitely a need for the Titans to have their own families to populate the place.

but when Kronos and Rhea settle down as King and Queen, and Rhea starts talking about families, Kronos just indulges her without ever acknowledging his own fears. perhaps this is partly because he doesn't want to burden her, but i also think Kronos was just naturally paranoid and feared that if he spoke his worst fears aloud, they'd come true. so he'd keep them buried until it was too late and oops, he's swallowed his kids.

i think it's a real testament to Rhea that she forgives him after losing Hestia. well, maybe not forgives him, but she moves past it. i think it shows how much trust and love she had for him.. to stick around after all of that. she truly adored him. of course, we all know how that story ends with them.. so i'll stop there. but yeah, i think pre-insanity, Kronos was a good husband and Rhea was an excellent wife. and their downfall was Kronos' inability to express every part of himself to his wife, fears included.

OCEANUS x TETHYS:

THE most unproblematic couple of all time.

Oceanus treats Tethys like,, well, a goddess.

Oceanus is the firstborn Titan. he was the guy who raised all his 11 little brothers and sisters. he fed them, clothed them, taught them, played with him, disciplined them. he was the guy who was there for the first time they cried, the first time they laughed, the first time they fought, the first time they lost. needless to say, that kinda makes a guy.... patient, kind, respectful, thoughtful.

i'm a younger sibling myself, and i know that many older siblings work their butts off to take care of their little siblings... and that can be a pain. but i love the idea that Oceanus enjoyed every second of it. it was the most IMPORTANT duty Gaia ever gave him; to look after them.

11 siblings is a lot. so i think that Oceanus never really ever had any time for himself... but when Tethys comes along, i love the idea that she is sort of the only one of her siblings who actually realises fully how much work Oceanus does for them. and she does everything she can to make his burden lighter.

Oceanus normally has a hard exterior, but i hc that with Tethys, he fully relaxes. the full range of his emotions, he shows to Tethys, who is his confidant, his other half.

i think their communication skills are soo good. that's why they last for eternity without any real fights.

obviously, after having 11 siblings, that Oceanus would have his own children, no one could doubt. he was so good at it. and of course, he does... he has like 1000s of kids hee hee.

Oceanus knows every single one of his children's names, he could recognise them by their laugh alone... i think these are the things that make him the complete opposite of Ouranos and that's SO important for his character.

fault-wise, i think maybe Oceanus' only weakness is that he's a bit over-protective. for Hera, for example, i've always liked the idea that Oceanus hates Zeus; this all makes sense, of course, when you consider Zeus' history, and also that Zeus killed Oceanus' daughter Metis. so i get it. but i also think he's like that for all of his kids... heavily scrutinising their partners etc. (see Iapetus x Asia below!) but yeah. even this "weakness" is up for debate. but i personally think Oceanus may be justified in this.

COEUS x PHOEBE:

i always hc'd Coeus as very shy and timid. he is the most intelligent of all the Titans,,, but he cannot hold a conversation to save his life.

i think Coeus was usually the victim of Iapetus and Kronos' jokes in their youth, even though he's the 2nd oldest, because he just naturally is a very passive and soft god with an aversion to fighting.

Phoebe is a lot like him, i suppose, because she's also a bit shy. but i do like the idea that Phoebe has a little more gutsiness than him when she is really pushed. she can fight, when provoked.

because of this, i truly think Phoebe is the pillar in their relationship. any doubts that Coeus has, i think he would bring it to Phoebe.

i think he would tell her almost anything... and he is inspired by her strength during the Titanomachy to also take up arms against Kronos when he goes mad.

Coeus' kids are Asteria, Leto, and Lelantos. Asteria and Leto are both quite headstrong goddesses... i think Leto, especially, is quite boisterous, which is fascinating considering Phoebe and Coeus' mild natures. but i think their children are reflections of their hidden strengths.

Coeus is a good father, i think. Phoebe is a good mother. i think all of this is attested by the kind and elegant nature of Asteria, Leto's righteousness, and Lelantos' innocence.

also, a bit unrelated i guess, but Phoebe is the kinda gal to call her husband by gooey petnames HAHA and Coeus is too shy to ever say he likes it when she does that, but he does. and she knows it. it came to her in a prophecy ;)

CRIUS x EURYBIA:

winners of the Most Enigmatic and Mysterious Couple of the Year.

Crius and Eurybia are a lot of fun to make up stuff about because there's literally no lore for either one.

Crius, to me, is quiet. but it's not because he's shy. he's just reserved. he doesn't like talking if there's no reason to talk.

yes. he hates small talk.

Eurybia, however, is the opposite! i think she talks LOADS. she loves talking. or singing. she loves asking all sorts of useless and dumb questions, especially to Crius because she knows it irritates him... she loves messing with him.

for example, Crius, as the god of the stars and constellations, is always star gazing and recording the movement of the planets, etc. and even though Eurybia knows exactly how it works (Crius has explained it to her many times, it's one of the few things he actually likes actively talking about), she'll still point at the constellation of the Ram and say, "that's the donkey one, right?" and Crius will try not to scream.

i can't remember if i wrote about how they met, but basically, i think Kronos divided the land into North, East, South and West: Coeus in the North, Iapetus in the East, Crius in the South, and Hyperion in the West. and while wandering about across his land in the South, Crius randomly came across Eurybia while she was by one of the rivers that flow through his land, and she was just so fascinating to him, and he was just so interesting to her, they just naturally clicked.

because Crius is such a reserved guy, i honestly think, Crius isn't all that forthcoming about everything. this is because Crius only says things that he deems "need to be said".

so, as Kronos' 2nd right-hand man (after Iapetus, obvs), i think Crius is privileged with a lot of information. and he doesn't share a lot of it with Eurybia, only the things that are relevant to her.

for example, Crius wouldn't tell Eurybia that Kronos locked up the Hecatoncheires (a pivotal event marking the growing paranoia of Kronos) because it doesn't have anything to do with Eurybia, but Crius does tell her of his suspicions that there is a resistance growing against Kronos, and that he feels their son Pallas is part of it (which is true) because Pallas is their son and this involves Eurybia.

for Eurybia's part, i think she has never cared much for "titan business". Eurybia, being the daughter of Gaia and Pontus, is NOT a titan. so i hc that she isn't really concerned at all about Crius' secrecy. she is aware of it, but she is 100% confident in his love for her (which is true, he does love her) and trusts him implicitly. and if she had reason to suspect that Crius was not being true to himself, only then would she confront him.

now to the children: Pallas, Astraeus, and Perses. Pallas and Perses are a lot like Crius, and Astraeus is a lot like Eurybia. Crius and Eurybia love all their children... BUT. Crius is very... stoic. i don't think he has ever actually told his children (or Eurybia for that matter) that he loves them, they all simply know it by way of his actions.

as a father, i think Crius pushes his children all the time to be the best they can be. for him, Ouranos' terror was not all that long ago. he doesn't want them to be weak and defenseless. he needs to know that they can save themselves. he also expects that they will follow Kronos as he does, because Kronos saved them all, and Crius is loyal to him.

so i think, when the war finally comes about, and Crius is fighting against Pallas and Astraeus, and not alongside them, it's a terrible betrayal for Crius. and i think he rejects them as his sons then. so not the greatest father of all time.

now Perses does fight with Crius, and he is loyal to Kronos. and i think Crius is forever wondering how things could have gone so wrong when clearly one of his sons is still loyal.

when Kronos is freed from Tartarus and becomes King of Elysium under Zeus' orders, his siblings go with him. and though things will never be the same, and Crius will never see his children again. i like the idea that in his heart, he feels pride for Pallas and Astraeus fighting for what they believed, and he forgives them.

for Eurybia, i think she has always loved and adored her husband and her children. and lets them know that every step of the way. i love the idea of her fighting alongside Crius, less because she cares about Kronos and more because she supports her husband (and also, i needed at least 1 goddess being punished in Tartarus.. there were too many men T-T). BUT. even though she has to fight her own sons, it's not a betrayal to her. she is SO proud that they stuck to their guns. that they wouldn't sacrifice their morals and beliefs just to avoid confrontation with their parents.

Eurybia fights against Pallas and Astraeus with a smile on her face, and she throws everything she has at them because, when they face her in battle, they are gods in their own right, and they are her equals. she's equally proud of Perses for staying true to what he believes in; to her, this is the most important thing in the world, to be true to yourself.

post-war, Pallas' daughter is named Bia, and i love the idea that he named her for his mother, so he definitely admired his mum and her strength. curiously, Bia ends up being a very loyal supporter of Zeus during a time that the 2nd gen. titans fall OUT with Zeus due to Prometheus being punished, so Crius' family is full of gods who put their family ties on the line to do what they think is right. which i kinda like! ((Pallas and Prometheus are the best of friends. practically brothers.))

so yeah, i think Eurybia's a different sort of mum, but i personally think she's one of the best :)

HYPERION x THEIA:

hmmm.. what to say about these two. honestly i think they're a pretty normal couple.

Theia's a goddess who loves jewels and sparkly things and i can see Hyperion always showering her with gifts. that's their love language.

they don't really have too much trouble. Hyperion isn't one of Kronos' most loyal supporters... i think if Hyperion was privy to what he had done to Rhea, Hyperion would have immediately been on Team Zeus.

in their regular life, i think both Hyperion and Theia are very good to each other. they're open with each other, and they have a lot of trust.

their children are Selene, Eos, and Helios. i think that, from all the 2nd gen. titans, these three are the most "spoiled". i truly think Hyperion is an adoring and doting father.

side-track for one sec: if you're familiar with the myth where Medea kills her own children to get revenge on Jason for marrying Creusa behind her back, you know how taboo filicide is, and YET, Helios saves his babygirl granddaughter and gives her a chariot ride away from the scene. truly Helios loved all his children and lineage. i think he HAS to get this from Hyperion, who in turn had to get it from the only father he knows: Oceanus.

also, with the way Eos casually takes the mortal prince Tithonus and others against their wills because she's in love with them.. there is a myth where she only does this because Aphrodite cursed her because of some other disagreement to have insatiable sexual desire, but even in light of this, she's definitely a girl who's used to getting what she wants.

BUT IN SAYING ALL OF THAT, i think Hyperion and Theia are good, kind people. if Hyperion and Theia learned to be good parents from Oceanus, then they had to learn his kindness too. and i do think that Selene, Eos, and Helios share this trait with them too.

in Medea's myth, i think Helios KNOWS that Medea was pushed into that horrible tragedy; she was cursed with a love spell that made her commit both patricide and fratricide for Jason, whom she never would have helped without it. and after all that, he still ditched her. so yes, i think Helios having sympathy for his granddaughter was justified.

FURTHERMORE, in Persephone's abduction myth, Hekate takes Demeter to Helios to learn where Persephone is and he tells her.. similarly, Helios tells Hephaestus about Aphrodite's affair with Ares... these are things that Helios doesn't truly have to do, but i picture him doing it with such kindness and gentleness.. i think he's a caring guy.

with Eos, i think after she gives Tithonus immortality, even though he starts to age, she still STAYS with him, and takes care of him even after her fascination with him has died... i think that is a lot more than most other gods do after playing around with their favourite mortal.

Selene is relatively problem-free (? dont quote me on that pls idk what exactly is going on with Endymion's myth HAHA) which i feel can only serve to support the idea that Hyperion's kids are PRETTY good.

so yeah. all in all. pretty good family. Hyperion (and Theia)'s biggest weakness, i think, is that they were so caught up in their own bliss, they didn't see any of the signs that could've suggested the impending doom of Kronos lurking on the horizon.

IAPETUS x ASIA:

winners of the Most Unexpected Couple of the Year.

ok so. Asia is an Oceanid. and as i already wrote before, Oceanus is fiercely protective of his children. and Iapetus... well, Iapetus is Iapetus.

i think Iapetus was a bit of a late-bloomer when it came to love. i think he was the last one of the elder Titans to marry because for the most part, he was just interested in joking around and having fun.

but after everyone starts to get married and have families, and Kronos becomes King so he doesn't have any time for trivial pranks, i think it starts to settle in with Iapetus that he needs to get along with his life.

i have a hc that Oceanus would, pre-Kronos-insanity-era, regularly hold these dinners for his siblings so that everyone would still come together with their newly established families to share meals together like they used to. and of course, that meant that all of Oceanus' children would be there too.

and i like the idea that Iapetus, ever eager for an audience to entertain, would always come up with some trick or the other to make Oceanus' children laugh. and now that Oceanus didn't really have to keep an eye over Iapetus anymore, he could afford to smile at his tricks too :)

now. i have said a few times that the gods don't age the way humans do. it's not linear. gods mature according to the needs of the time. so even though Iapetus is, technically, a lot older than Oceanus' children, he doesn't appear like it because.. as i said.. Iapetus himself wasn't really ready to settle into life and be an adult.

anyhow. Asia is one of Oceanus' sweetest daughters. her humour threshold is so LOW. she will laugh at even the worst of jokes... and Iapetus is a GOLDMINE for bad jokes. so i think, Iapetus was always guaranteed a smile and enthusiasm when he saw her.

i think Oceanus was very annoyed by this... he didn't really want one of his daughters to be hanging around with a god whom he personally knew was a bit of a no-gooder. so i think Oceanus really put Iapetus through the ringer to show that, if he was serious about Asia, he could be a good husband and treat her properly.

and through that process, i think Iapetus did mature out, and show that behind the jokes, he truly was kind and loyal, and as the Ruler of the East, he could provide a good home for Asia. and so it was!

now Iapetus definitely loved Asia. all the titans loved their wives to begin with. BUT, Iapetus' problem was Kronos.

being the right-hand man of a psycho tends to rub off on you.

i think that Kronos' paranoia seeped into Iapetus' mind too. and as Kronos began to put distance between himself and Rhea, so did Iapetus with Asia. suddenly, Iapetus didn't feel like he needed to tell his wife everything... keeping Kronos' secrets was more important to Iapetus than being truthful to his wife.

to be honest, i don't imagine Asia being particularly smart, or fierce or courageous. not every god needs to be a superhero. that's not to say she was dumb or anything, but no one was calling Asia to weigh in on war councils or anything like that. and i think, as time goes on, this becomes very apparent to Iapetus. and he thinks that makes her weak. and as her husband, it's his responsibility to shield her from the things that he think could break her.

now in this regard, i do think Asia would have been absolutely heart-broken to know the kinds of gods Iapetus and Kronos had become, and post-war, Asia still is never fully aware of the extent of Iapetus' crimes because Prometheus and Anchiale make sure their mother will only remember her husband for the good things... leading up to and during the war, Iapetus is a MASTER of illusion and deceit.. and by Gaia he can play the role of a good husband amazingly well. so Asia i think, was totally blind to the truth.

Asia and Iapetus' children are: Prometheus, Atlas, Anchiale, Menoetius, and Epimetheus. Iapetus would never SAY he had favourites, but i do think Prometheus was his golden child. he was smart, witty, cunning, mischievous, and with a natural talent for illusions and magic, the same as Iapetus. so i think he had a lot of pride for Prometheus, and so many huge expectations that Prometheus would be some sort of powerful commander in Kronos' army.

when it became apparent that Kronos and Rhea were not having much luck in producing heirs (though the exact reasons were yet unknown), i think Iapetus might've considered that Prometheus could be the heir that Kronos needed... he would have been a perfect candidate. and Kronos himself had a super great relationship with Prometheus as a child. Prometheus didn't call Kronos "King" or "my Lord" like most of his cousins did, he called him "Uncle" because that's what he was.

AND YET. Prometheus also had all of Asia's kindness. mixed with Iapetus' bravery... he could never be the god that Iapetus wanted him to be.

in the Titanomachy, i think Prometheus is the one to fight Iapetus and it is... like the world falls apart. i think Iapetus is so furious that his son could betray him, i think he disowns him in his heart for sure. but Prometheus doesn't. he loves his father like he loves his uncle, and he knows that their current corrupted state is not a reflection of the gods they truly are.

as for the other kids: Atlas is Iapetus' 2nd most cunning child, and i think he's almost like Prometheus EXCEPT that Atlas is cowardly. even as a child. and i think Iapetus always tries to push Atlas to overcome this: it's important because if any one of the elder Titans had shown cowardice, they would have failed in their fight against Ouranos. so Iapetus truly despises cowardly people. Atlas ends up giving himself up and helping Zeus at the 11th hour to save his hide, and i think that's another disappointment for Iapetus.

Menoetius is headstrong, but he's not too witty, so i think he could've been closer to Asia than Iapetus... nevertheless, he supports his father to the end because all of Iapetus' children are aware of how much he values loyalty. and though Menoetius couldn't do the tricks Prometheus and Atlas could, he showed Iapetus his worth by standing with Kronos till the end. he's actually the only one of Iapetus' 5 children to show such undying loyalty, the same as Iapetus has for Kronos. so Iapetus appreciates that.

Anchiale and Epimetheus are more soft in nature. Anchiale is smart but she doesn't care too much for trickery, and i think she doesn't like confrontation and violence, the same as her mother. i give her this attribute to explain why the Lore doesn't give Anchiale much of a role. but where Iapetus doesn't share much with his wife Asia because he thinks her weak, Prometheus does share with his sister Anchiale all his thoughts and his desire to fight against Kronos, and though she's unwilling to pick up a sword herself, she stays with her mother and little brother Epimetheus and protects them from home, and she covers for Prometheus: which i think is an alternative form of bravery, but bravery nonetheless. and if Iapetus wasn't such an idiot, he would've been proud of that.

Epimetheus i think was a child when Iapetus went to Tartarus. his only memories of Iapetus is being a good dad; a dad who tells him jokes, and scary stories, and who could make a coin appear from his ear. i don't think Prometheus and Anchiale ever try to spoil these memories for him. it's good for Epimetheus to remember Iapetus for who he was and not who he ended up as.

anyhow. all in all, Iapetus was probably the 2nd worst husband after Kronos... this is to be expected given their proximity.... but uh yeah.

i hope this all made sense lol feel free to send an ask if u want a clarification on anything ^-^ i have terminal brainrot about the titans and can speak forever and ever about them.

#nicosavior456 #asks #hc #long post

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storyofmychoices · 11 months ago

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The Promise of Today

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairing: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow, Book 2 Chapter 3 Word Count: >550 Rating/Warnings: General, none Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations, @choicesbookclub, @choicesflashfics Prompt #3 (in bold)

Synopsis: Mal and Daenarya share a moment together the morning after her return. [This follows The Quest for Daenarya]

This gorgeous art is by the lovely CoffeesforChloe on Instagram.

She paused, letting the soothing symphony of sounds wash over her. The joyful notes of the children's laughter, the delicate crackle of the fire warming the space, and the voices of her friends talking (and maybe arguing a little) as they made breakfast for the children were the sweetest harmonies she could ever hope to hear. For the first time in—well, she wasn't really sure, but that was a problem for another day—for now, Daenarya felt peace, content to stay in the stillness of the moment for as long as she could, knowing moments like this would not come again for a while more.

The sweet scent of honey cakes filled the air, a special treat for the children who successfully completed their first quest. They had repeatedly recounted their heroic tale of adventure to her the night before. Their infectious cheer was positively contagious. Only Mal could inspire such joyous wonder and storytelling. She marveled at how much he had accomplished since she had been gone. These children were a testament to the man she always knew he was.

He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, drawing her nearer. The gentle touch of his fingertips brushing against her sides brought her an immediate sense of comfort. He cherished the warmth and familiarity of her presence as she leaned further into the security of his embrace.

Surrounded by the gentle melody of laughter and sizzling pans, Mal hugged her a little tighter, savoring the delicate fragrance of her hair. He still couldn't believe she was there, back in his arms.

"Shouldn't you be lending a hand with breakfast?" Despite her teasing words, she placed her hand on his arm, holding him to her.

“I’m here with you. I’m right where I belong.” His words were a tender murmur in her ear.

Her eyes closed gently as she savored being back with him, surrounded by almost all those she loved, and with their dream of an orphanage now a reality.

"Me too," she whispered. "I know we're not safe yet. I know there is so much to do, so much to overcome..."

"Shh," he breathed, holding her closer. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He couldn't even make a joke. The time for that had passed. He couldn't promise her it'd be okay. He couldn't promise to protect her. He couldn't save her if they took her again. He had no magic. He had no legendary weapons. He had no piles of gold or treasures to bargain with. He had nothing to offer, and yet, she was there. She had returned to him.

His body tensed as the fear and panic that had consumed his soul threatened to overtake him once more.

"Hey," she turned slightly, her fingers caressing his jaw. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise that," he shook his head, trying to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

"I know," she replied solemnly.

There was nothing either of them could say. The future was uncertain, but they had each other, and they had now. So, she'd believe in the promise of today and hope that would be enough to carry them to tomorrow.

She cradled his face gently, guiding it closer to her. She sought solace in the warmth of his lips, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against his—a promise that despite the challenges ahead of them, their connection could and would withstand it all.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little drabble and the gorgeous art commission! I just really love them both a lot!

#mal volari #mal volari x mc #daenarya #blades of light and shadow #bolas #choices #playchoices #choices game #choices book club #fan fiction #lovealexhunt #blades 2 #bolas 2 #blades of light and shadow 2 #dani cries over blades 2 #dani plays blades 2 #december2023 #mal volari x oc #my commission

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gojuo · 1 year ago

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Showrunners claiming being "feminist" is the whole circus. They screwed every woman's characterization for high Rhaenyra up:

Book!Helaena was an political advisor who usually participated on Councils,don't shy away from disagreeing with Aegon and he actually listens her advises. She was incredibly loved by the smallfolk and was brave enough to claim Dreamfyre. On the show she did not even have a Coronation or her crown neither(another woman wearing a crown except Rhaenyra is a crime).

Book!Alicent was a witty,smart and incredibly charismatic woman dutiful at the old King Jaehaerys and her sons. She was so interesting: she was disrespected on so many ways for Viserys and had every right to be upset. No other woman in Westeros had to suffer having her first born son be desinherited and ignored by his father (except Ellia from the show and on the book Jon is just a bastard) Alicent,Helaena and Aegon could had been such incredible characters on the show

The Helaena treatment is ssoooooo beyond evil. I can't believe that this fandom is still bitching about the same old tired 3 talking points months after season 1 has finished but not a single peep about how misogynistic the writers have been towards Helaena.

Being beloved by the Smallfolk is not something that randomly happens. It has to be a deliberate move, because technically, Helaena is a public figure and near every public outing she makes has to be a thought-out decision to a certain extent. She can't just willy-nilly go out into the streets of King's Landing, mingling with the people and getting to know them and have an impact on them in such a way that they would love her so much to rise up in revolt in her name. In a way, the cultivation of her public image is reminiscent of Margaery, with one major difference: no deliberate manipulation at play. There is, after all, not a single indication anywhere in any canon that Helaena was a manipulative person in the way that Margaery was, no. What this was — what the Smallfolk adoring her was — was the tangible proof of Helaena's bravery to be out in the streets with the people of King's Landing, the fortitude of her to break down the invisible line between high-born royalty and low-born commoners, a testament to her graciousness and gentility and the affirmation of her adventurous heart. She was the first one of the Targtower siblings to claim a dragon, she showed her political acumen when she and her mother drafted the more than generous peace terms for Aegon to send to Rhaenyra, she had an incredibly complex relationship with her husband who she shares such a horrific trauma-bond with which is, to this day, still unparalleled by any other couple in this entire franchise, and she was a truly witty and humorous person ...

... and all of that characterization was thrown out of the window for the show. She is an extra to someone else's story in every. single. scene. she appears in. Her first scene as a child was to cement to the audience how "weird" and "unorthodox" she is. To show the audience that she is now on the autism-spectrum apparently. She is a dragon dreamer but all she does is utter some vague one-sentence prophecies no one can make any sense of, now always having to live psychologically in isolation because of this, which is the complete opposite of how life was for her in Fire and Blood. She speaks two or three sentences during the dinner scene, and it was to service the contrast between Jace and Aegon as people, it wasn't about her. We get a two-second shot at her children and she isn't even interacting with them. Do not even get me started on how the show completely erased how Helaena used to bring the kids to Viserys every single night to sit down together and hear him speak of tales of the past as he lay dying. These passages in the book weren't without reason, they were there to humanize all four of them — Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor — and to garner sympathy from the reader. Blood and Cheese is one of the most disgusting things to have ever happened in all of the books, but the brutalization of all of these characters was that much more awful because we had actually spent some time together with them in the text, because we had gotten to see them be loved, because we had actually gotten to know them, even if only a little. And the show erased every single fucking thing concerning this point. Everything.

And if that wasn't enough, showrunners and writers then went on to make her an extra during her own coronation scene. That coronation was about Helaena just as much as it was about Aegon and they fucking took that from her! And for what? For what did they change her character this much? All to turn her into the fucking female lead of a fucking incestuous love triangle which is a fucking plotline straight ripped off from three fucking different characters in a different fucking part from canon. FUCKKKKK!!!!

Don't even get me started on Alicent. They gave her raw as fuck book character and motivations and narrative purpose to fucking Otto of all people in the show. She has become the abeyance of her own storyline! And instead of the fandom putting attention to this type of misogynistic writing Helaena and Alicent have been victim of by the writers, I'm having to suffer through the same played-out takes on how being an Aegon fan means being a rape apologist or how Alicent is an evil person because Helaena doesn't like to be touched. For fuck's sake GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!

#anti hotd #hotd critical #helaena #alicent #i have an ask abt alicent in my inbox im gonna go more into depth on her character there so thats why i kept it short here anon #hotd #anonymous #answered

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thetormentita · 28 days ago

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all it needs it’s a spark - chapter 1

The Seven Kingdoms thought Robert Baratheon brought peace after the war, but reality can sometimes be tricky.

Pairing: Original female! Marbrand x Jaime Lannister

A/n: indulge me, let’s see how things would have been with a young lady Marbrand around the lions.

Rating: Teen (+13)

When she opens her eyes, the first thing her eyes can see is the same chariot she has been inside for days.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

A sigh escapes her lips. She has been trapped with him since the beginning of their journey.

“How can you read that much in this damned box?” she mumbles, frowning, as she stretches out her stiff limbs. The space inside the chariot is cramped, with books and scrolls scattered everywhere, making it even more claustrophobic.

“Wisdom is the only pleasure I can indulge myself right now without feeling guity, my sweet good sister.”

From behind the big book, Tyrion Lannister looks even smaller —his eyes twinkling with mirth and intelligence. He marks his place with a thin strip of leather, closes the tome with a soft thud, and maneuvers his way towards her, navigating through the clutter with the grace of a cat.

“Let me guess: you are pregnant.”

Dyanna looks at him with a raised eyebrow, almost surprised by his bluntness despite knowing him during half of her life.

“What? No!” She laughs, the sound light and airy, dispersing the tension that had started to build. “You truly have a unique way of starting a conversation, don’t you?”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting, matching the twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose I do. But then, I've always believed life’s too short for small talk.” His grin widens as he steps closer, the clutter of the room now a forgotten backdrop to their conversation. “And with you,” he continues, “I’ve always felt like we could talk about anything and everything. No barriers, no pretenses.”

She looks at him sideways with a soft smile before turning her eyes again to observe the fields stretching over them as they make their way towards their destination. She could have easily gone riding all the Goldroad next to her brother, her husband, or even the man next to her, but they all thought the Lady of the Rock should make the trip in the most comfortable way: in a wooden box with wheels.

“It has been years since the last time I went to King’s Landing” she sighs, trying to ease her temper. “The capital has its charms, I suppose, but nothing that truly calls to me like the Westerlands,” she continues, her gaze still fixed on the passing landscape outside the carriage window. “It is corrupted. It stenches dozens of miles around.”

Indeed it does. The infamous smell of the city is one of its most known aspects, with dozens of septas and septons claiming that sin and depravation are the responsibles for it.

“It has its beauty, though, doesn’t it?” Tyrion ventures, attempting to steer her thoughts to a brighter side. “The Red Keep, the Great Sept of Baelor, the harbor. There’s a vibrancy to it that you cannot find anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Dyanna turns to her husband’s brother with the same eyebrow raised again as an answer to his words; she would have gladly added a mention to its brothels, one of Tyrion’s favourite pasttimes, but it feels unnecessary.

“I am glad Gerion and Jeyne have stayed at home” she mumbles, her hazel eyes returning to the view from the carriage window, watching as the landscape gradually changes, subtlely, like announcing the proximity to the biggest city of the Seven Kingdoms. The capital's distinctive features slowly began to emerge on the horizon, the Red Keep towering over the other structures, a testament to the power and might of the Iron Throne and those who sit upon it.

Tyrion just hums and lays his hand upon her forearm, offering a silent gesture of reassurance; he knows well how much she cares for her children. She gives him a small, appreciative smile before turning her attention back to the window.

As soon as they stop by the Lion’s Gate, the door of the box is opened and at the other side awaits the reason of their uncommon friendship. With an offering hand, her husband offers to help her reach the ground, even daring to put his hands around her waist to make her avoid a half-dried puddle. She has always liked the feeling of his touch over her.

“Hope you had a nice trip” he mumbles, kissing her hairline softly before stepping back to allow her some space. The gesture, simple yet intimate, makes her heart flutter slightly, a reminder of the deep affection they share beyond the bounds of their longstanding marriage. The connection between them is palpable, a silent language of shared glances and subtle touches that communicates more than words ever could.

“I would have preferred to breathe fresh air, but your brother is a good company.” She manages a small smile, her eyes locking with his for a brief moment, conveying a mix of sarcasm and genuine fondness.

They had married young, almost with too much haste, but they managed to grow together, navigating the complexities of life side by side. One of the most desirable maidens during the Tourney of Harrenhal, her father, drove by greed, had rushed to search a potential husband for his only daughter in order to restore his house’s glory, but she was forced to stay at Ashemark during the war, only to have her dreams to be lady at places like Estermont, Storm’s End, Winterfell or Sunspear shattered with the news that she would marry the once Kingsguard Jaime Lannister, the youth that had preferred to murder his own king in order to save the entire population of King’s Landing.

“You look tired” his hand reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from her face with a gentleness she had not anticipated from the man known as Kingslayer.

“I just need some air, I am well” she attempts a smile, though it's brittle around the edges. “At our return, you will be the one to make the travel in that wooden cage, my love.” she retorts, attempting to inject a bit of humor into their heavy conversation. Jaime's lips twitch into a small, understanding smile, recognizing her effort to lighten the mood.

Dyanna Marbrand had grown to be the nice and pliant lady expected of her, quickly giving birth to the most treasured boy in the Westerlands, a blonde little beauty that had quickly become the pride of their house, the focus of his grandfather’s ambitions, and the center of Jaime's world. Her Gerold had inherited the stength of his father, but the wits of his mother, and Tywin Lannister, the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms, had seen great potential in him from the start. The boy was more than just a grandson to Tywin; he was a legacy, a continuation of the Lannister line, and his mere presence had granted Dyanna a space in the lion’s heart.

Husband and wife silently decide to go for a small walk around, still with enough time and without any haste in them. With a hand delicately on his arm, Dyanna observes around, finding a small glimpse of delight in the fields and nature around the big city, knowing that it would be moons until they get the chance to see something similar again. As they walk, the cool breeze of the late afternoon brushes against their cheeks, a soft reminder of the world's quiet beauty outside the stone walls and political machinations that usually surround them. The city, with all its hustle and bustle, feels miles away even though it's just behind the hill, its noises drowned out by the chirping of the birds and the rustling of leaves underfoot.

By the corner of her eye, Dyanna can spot her lord husband observing her, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

“You seem quiet.” her eyes go to the horizon, to the hills separating them from the mouth of the Blackwater River, where it meets the Narrow sea.

“Just taking it all in,” Dyanna replies, her gaze lingering on the serene view before them. “I wonder what will your father have in mind to ask for us to travel here.”

Her husband approaches, the grass whispering under his steps, his presence a comforting shadow beside her. “Father has always been one to surprise,” he muses , his eyes mirroring the same warmth she feels. “Whatever is it, you can count on me to stand by your side through it all,” he continues, taking her hand in his, an unspoken promise woven through his words.

Sometimes, specially when Jaime had to be far from home, she liked to have a drink with Tyrion by the fire, both letting themselves go and talking about any subject at their reach, no matter if it is about a book, money, gossip, or even politics. ‘You are the daughter my father always wanted’, he had told her once during one of those nights, his voice carrying a mixture of jest and sincerity that only Tyrion could manage. Dyanna laughed it off, but the words stuck with her, echoing in the quieter moments when she found herself alone.

“I am most thankful” she even leans her head over his shoulder, feeling the warmth from the Westerlander. “Maybe it can be nice to be back after all…” she muses, closing her eyes for a moment to savor the comfort of his presence. It was rare for Dyanna to let her guard down, to allow herself to feel the safety and warmth that came from being close to someone she trusted. Jaime notices the shift in her, the subtle relaxation of her shoulders, the gentle ease of her breathing. It is a moment of vulnerability that she seldom shows to anyone outside their private chambers. A strong hand slides over her own, intertwining fingers in a silent promise of solidarity and support. Jaime's gesture is simple yet profound, a testament to the depth of their connection and the unspoken understanding that has grown between them over time.

Hooves and clatter against the cobblestone of the road call their attention, making the couple turn to the road again, only to see a guard of forty Lannister guards coming from the other side of the gate, approaching them with a sense of urgency and formality. At their lead is a figure recognizable even from a distance —Lord Tywin Lannister himself, his expression unreadable as always, but his eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharp, tactical awareness. The couple, unsure of how to react, instinctively step closer to each other, their hands finding each other's in a silent sign of mutual support as they approach the chariot again, not wanting to make the Golden Lion wait for them.

“My lord” despite the years passed since their wedding, Dyanna still bows like she always did at the father of her husband as he climbs down the horse, approaching them with a measured stride, his presence commanding yet not devoid of warmth. Lord Tywin, the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock, had always been a figure of authority and respect, embodying the very essence of House Lannister’s motto, ‘Hear Me Roar.’ His steely gaze softenes slightly as he regards his daughter-in-law, a testament to the years that had woven respect, if not affection, between them.

“Dyanna,” he greets, his voice deep and steady, reflecting the control and poise that has always defined his reign over the Westerlands, but with a spark on his eyes only kept for her. “You look well.”

Dyanna, standing with the quiet confidence that had slowly become her armor in the lion's den, dips her head in respect, her eyes flickering with the same spark of determination and intelligence that had first drawn his attention years ago.

“Jaime takes well care of me” she looks at her husband with a fondness that softens her features, her hand brushing over his, a gesture so natural and filled with affection it could melt the coldest of hearts.

A soft hum escapes Tywin’s lips as he takes them to meet again with the group, exchanging words with his first-born son, letting Dyanna have some little time to reflect on her thoughts before she has to face the last part of the travel inside the chariot once more.

A grim before coming into again.

“He is cruel” she mutters once the door is closed, wrinkling her nose as her eyes drift to the inside, Tyrion gazing back at her from a comfortable corner, his eyes closed.

“Yet I still have to call him ‘father’ and he has to call me ‘son’.” he shrugs his shoulders, a look of resignation washing over his features. Dyanna can’t help but notice the blend of sadness and acceptance in Tyrion's eyes, a testament to the failed relationship he shares with his father. Tywin blames him for murdering the good lady Joanna at birth, when a fever took her to the Strange at her weakest moment.

“If it helps, he could take my father’s hand and go frolicking down a hill both of them” Dyanna offers, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of humor. Lord Damon Marbrand never acted as a proper father with any of his children.

Tyrion cackles, and Dyanna feels a small victory in eliciting such a genuine response from him. The air between them shifts, becoming slightly lighter despite the heavy shadows that linger from their conversation.

"That would truly be a sight to behold," Tyrion replies, his usual wit finding its way back into his voice.

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and as she turns to look through the window again, her eyes can spot the change of views outside.

Both of them observe their surroundings, with Dyanna almost missing the nature around them. As the party approaches the Guildhall of the Alchemists, the atmosphere grows denser, a mix of awe and slight trepidation settling over them. The Guildhall, an imposing structure of dark stone and intricate silverfiligree, stands against the skyline like a monument to ancient knowledge. Its spires reach up, clawing at the heavens, while the heavy wooden doors appear almost foreboding, etched with symbols that shimmer slightly in the dim light, suggesting a magic that is both ancient and alive.

“Do you think they still have the Mad King’s wildfire stash?”

Both of then had lived the Rebellion from the outside, from stories clearly manipulated to show only Robert Baratheon’s truth, the good side of the fight against the cruel dragons they both supported then and still do. In that truth, the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen's obsession with wildfire was a darkly whispered legend. The tales spoke of caches hidden throughout King’s Landing, ready to burn all the city in case the rebels reached it.

“We must may them a visit.”

When the allmighty Red Keep looms by the windows as they go up Aegon’s Hill, Tyrion and Dyanna go silent, both trying to assume their oncoming future, with no clear date to leave that humongous prison. The Red Keep, a fortress of immense power and history, stands as a testament to the Targaryen dynasty's once unbreakable rule over the Seven Kingdoms, a showcase for their strength, for their try to make themselves as worthy of land as the ancient houses whose seats were centuries old.

Despite not initially liking it, Dyanna finds herself preferring Casterly Rock over the ancient seat of the now disappeared dragonlords, a feeling of unsteadiness gnawing at her whenever she thinks of it.

“Please, do tell me we will still have our nightly conversations.”

Tyrion’s mutter surprises her. At least she is not the only one who feels uneasy.

“Well, we will have to see if your brother—”

“Oh, my sweet good sister” the chariot stops and both cross their gazes for the last time before leaving their fake feeling of safety behind, “my brother will surely have other things in mind.”

#all it needs it’s a spark #ainias1 #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fic #jaime lannister x oc #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfic #got fic #got x oc #asoiaf x oc

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bluecatwriter · 5 months ago

Note

⭐

Thank you, dear anon! I decided on "Angels Unawares" because I want to gush about my OCs. ;) "Five times people helped Jonathan Harker reach safety between Castle Dracula and Buda-Pesth."

(Major spoilers, discussion of Christianity)

-I was inspired to write this fic based on the gigantic gap between Jonathan lizard-fashioning down Castle Dracula's walls and showing up in Buda-Pesth, and began to think about who might have encountered him along the way. From my days backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail, I am very aware of how difficult it is to travel large distances without good supplies (just finding enough water is a huge headache!), and I kept thinking that he had to have people helping him along the way.

-This fic was very inspired by my solo travels around the U.S. (and a bit in Europe) when I was in my early 20s— I was never in dire circumstances, but the way that people went far out of their way to help me made a huge impact on me. I wanted to explore the themes of the kindness of strangers, and how doing one little useful thing can help set things in motion for bigger good to be done.

-The title is a reference to a verse in the New Testament book of Hebrews, which one of the characters quotes in the first chapter: "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." This verse was used in my immediate and extended family quite often, to encourage us to be kind to strangers and do what we could to help (my paternal grandmother swore that her family gave food and shelter to a pair of angels who showed up at their farm in Iowa when she was a kid). Someone in the comments show that in some sense Jonathan is an angel— an avenging angel who will return to destroy the foe who is haunting this part of the world.

-In each of the chapters, Jonathan encounters a different person or group of people who help him get a little closer to his destination, told from the outsider's perspective. I didn't have any strong themes or motifs in mind when I started out, but after a couple chapters, I noticed some running threads emerging: 1) Jonathan receiving a gift from each of the strangers, such as shoes or a handkerchief, and 2) the viewpoint characters helping him because they were able to see someone they already knew/loved in Jonathan. After I noticed it emerging I emphasized it intentionally, and I think it gives the story a good kind of structure.

-Chapter 1, set in Romania fairly close to Castle Dracula, is told from the viewpoint of Pavel, who lives with his son and his grandma and is grieving the death of his wife from a vampire. This one was one of the most difficult to write, because of a language barrier (it didn't make sense for them to speak English, and I decided that Jonathan was in no state to remember much of the German he knows) and because of the overwhelming fear that the characters are facing: at first thinking Jonathan is a vampire, then learning he's a victim instead.

-This chapter features some herbal remedies that I pulled from a book my brother got for me called "Russian Folk Remedies." Grandma uses herbs for dressing wounds and treating rabies (and in a rare burst of doing actual research, I made sure the herbs would be able to grow that far south).

-Jonathan reminds Pavel of the wife he lost, and Jonathan is sent on his way with shoes, a pack, and food.

-In Chapter 2, we meet Cristian, an old man with an estranged son. I actually made myself pretty emotional writing this chapter, drawing from my parents' stories about how difficult it is to let go of the childhood stage and accept your children as adults.

-It was important to me that Cristian is kind of a grumpy guy, and was initially going to chase Jonathan away. I didn't want everyone to be sunshine and rainbows— just ordinary people of various personality types who learn to have empathy, anyway.

-Jonathan reminds Cristian of his son, and is given Cristian's coat.

-Chapter 3 introduces Nicolae, the station-master at Klausenburg. I decided to make him young for some contrast to Cristian, and eager to do his job correctly. Meanwhile, I had to figure out how to show Jonathan's "violent demeanor" in a believable way.

-I decided to give Nicolae a seizure disorder to make him sympathetic to Jonathan having a meltdown in public. One of my family members has seizures, and even in the modern day, handling people's reactions when a seizure happens in a crowd is… not fun. There would have been even more social stigma back then, so I thought it was a good way to show that Nicolae is more open to Jonathan than other people might be because he knows what it's like to have people be afraid of him.

-I looked up some pictures of the Klausenburg station, but few of those details made it into the story.

-Nicolae gives Jonathan a sandwich with pickled garlic paste on it (yum!) and Jonathan can barely eat it; at this point it becomes a bit clearer that Jonathan is just a lil vamped right now.

-Jonathan reminds Nicolae of himself, and takes Nicolae's handkerchief with him.

-Chapter 4 introduces a retired nurse from the Romanian War of Independence, Maria. She's my favorite character! I based her no-nonsense personality on one of my sibling's in-laws, who was an ICU nurse for many years.

-Originally Maria was traveling with her niece, who translated for her, but the logistics got ridiculously complicated, so I left out the niece and just made Maria fluent in English.

-This is definitely the most gory chapter as we see the full extent of Jonathan's wounds. Fortunately he has someone to patch him up…

-Jonathan reminds Maria of the soldiers she tended during the war, and she gives him one of her spare shirts to replace his raggedy one.

-In Chapter 5 we finally get to Sister Agatha! I decided to make her one of the younger nuns working at the hospital, thinking that she probably wrote the letter not because she was the person in charge but because she was the one who spoke/wrote English most fluently.

-At the time I wrote this, my spouse and I were watching the show Call the Midwife, and that vibe informed the way I wrote the nuns.

-Once I figured out that each viewpoint character would see someone they loved/knew in Jonathan, I was champing at the bit to get to this chapter, because I knew Sister Agatha would looked at bedraggled Jonathan and be like, "Yeah, that's Jesus." She also gives him a rosary, which burns his hand, but he doesn't want to relinquish.

-I liked the little epilogue with Jonathan, still disoriented, waking up and taking stock of all the gifts he's been given along his journey, even if he can't really remember what is happening. Although the story doesn't necessarily "resolve" in that he hasn't found Mina yet, he's left with a feeling that people will continue to help him along his journey… and they do!

Well, this got a bit rambly, but thanks for the opportunity to gush. :D

(Ask game here)

#ask games #answered #director's cut game #dracula daily #dracula daily spoilers #my writing #jonathan harker #sister agatha

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skepticscribe · 2 months ago

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TW: Mentions of SA

I’m so tired of Christian’s criticizing and making fun of other religions but then they throw a fit when the same thing happens to them.

Yes, I entirely agree that all religions should be critiqued. BUT THAT INCLUDES YOUR RELIGION TOO.

You don’t have a right to critiques the Quran and act like your religion is so righteous when there’s still many fucked up things in the Bible.

“But in Islam, they say that *insert bad thing* is okay!” And so does the Bible?? Seriously, look into the Old Testament. Need some examples?

2 Kings 2:23-24 > God kills some children (the verse states their boys and not men, meaning children) because they called Elisha bald. Yeah. That’s the verse. Literal children are being mauled by bears all because they made fun of someone for being bald. Yes, making fun of someone is bad but that’s an extreme reaction. They didn’t even get the chance to repent.

Judges 16:27-30 > Samson being a terrorist. He murdered a ton of people, which is a sin in the Bible (until god tells them to because that makes so much sense and isn’t hypocritical at all)

Exodus 21:20-21 > A tutorial on how to abusive your slaves

1 Timothy 2:12 > misogyny

Deuteronomy 22:23-24 > blames the woman for being SA’d because she “didn’t scream for help loud enough”

I could ramble for hours about verses like these. There’s so many fucked up shit in the Bible and it’s just ignored bc “god knows best”. Yes, you’re allowed to critique other religions, but it doesn’t make sense for you to criticize them over the exact same things that your religion defends. I don’t hate the message itself, I hate how hypocritical it is.

I’ll probably write a more in depth and less ranty essay on these verses another time so don’t expect these explanations to be my best. There really just summaries of each verse.

And no, I won’t be doing any essays or rants on Islam. Why? Because I grew up Christian, go to a Christian school, etc etc. I have religious trauma and this is my outlet for it. I have zero experience or knowledge in Islam, so I know that I do not have a right to critique it.

YIPEE this is finally done

#atheism #atheist #christianity #ex christian #skepticism #evolution #religious trauma #secularism

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topazshadowwolf · 1 year ago

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GoopTales: Part 20 Grilled Cheese

Lyra to the rescue! And a certain guardian gets the rest he badly needs.

Domestic fluff!

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20(you are here)/34

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8), Ch 3 (9-12), Ch 4 (13-16) Ch 5 (17-19), Ch 6 (20-23), Ch 7 (24-27), Ch 8 (28-31), Ch 9 (32-34)

---

Lyra folded her arms as she looked at the other guardian, who looked back up at her with an eyelight so fuzzy it could barely be seen. Nightmare sat on the bed, the boys surrounding him and clinging to him protectively. They could sense she was angry. She shouldn’t be angry, but she was.

Actually, no, she had the right to be angry about this. It was wrong to deny that she should feel this way when she could have prevented this. They had agreed to start dating, to begin forming a relationship, yet he still would rather act independently to the point that he looked like a wilted plant. Nightmare clearly did not understand how it hurt her to see him like that.

There was no reason for him to look so tired and run down when she was just a phone call away. No. When she could have been here all along! There were so many things she could and wanted to say if the children were not here in the room. She would even grab him by that coat, pull him onto his feet, and plant one kiss he wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon if it would make him understand that she cares! Unfortunately, that would be highly inappropriate to do around children so young.

Besides, she also needed to understand this was all still so new to Nightmare. The dark guardian was still adjusting to having someone he could turn to for help. He has had allies before, but not in the role of Lyra. Her help had no strings attached; no deals needed to be made save for being there when she needed him. Which… was something she was not used to as well. Remembering she had not called on his help yet did act as the water to cool her anger. Considering that he is not used to this, she was just as much to blame for his condition by not being more insistent or checking in on him.

That was it; she was putting her foot down.

“I am not going to be leaving when this is done,” She stated flatly, glaring down at him.

“Lyra,” Nightmare started, and Lyra had enough.

“I do not want to hear it. I know that they are your…,” She looked at the children who stared up at her in their fuzzy pajamas. She needed to be mindful of the words she used around them. “Responsibility. But, I am insisting, no, demanding you let me help.”

“Thank you,” Nightmare signed and smiled at her, and that surprised her.

“No argument this time?” She asked while tilting her head.

“I was going to ask you to stay,” Nightmare said, then stood and looked at the boys. “I admit defeat. They are indeed my responsibility, but it was one I will now accept that I was not ready for.”

He looked back at her, and she sighed, feeling her anger settle further. Well, at least that is sorted out. “Good… Now, to bed with you,” She said.

“aren’t you going to give him a good night kiss?” Killer asked with a big smile. She suspected that one knew what he was doing at this point.

“I do not think that will be,” Nightmare started, but no, Lyra would not let this moment slide. Now, she couldn’t place the kind of kiss she wanted with the young audience they currently had. But she could get away with a nice little peck on the head.

Leaning over, she gave Nightmare a small kiss on the top of his skull and grinned as he froze. His face got that adorable blush she loved so much. “There, now, bed.”

“Be good for Lyra,” Nightmare said quietly to the boys while staring at the floor. Oh, who would have suspected that the dark guardian, who was so bold and confident at most times, could be turned into someone so bashful with a single kiss? It will be a secret of his she will keep, as it is actually a sorrowful testament to how unaccustomed he is to affection.

Once he could, he looked up at Lyra, “and… thank you.”

“we will!” Replied Killer.

“don’t worry, mr. night! we will be on our bestest behavior!” Cross added.

“It is just best, Cross. Best means that you will be excelling and unable to do any better,” Nightmare gently corrected before yawning. He made his way out the door, tendrils dragging on the floor behind him. The poor dear truly was exhausted, and yet, here he was, still doing what he could for the boys. It was rather endearing how devoted of a father figure he was, even if he will deny it.

Dust was becoming fidgety as he watched Nightmare leave. Thankfully, Ferrous walked over, and the small boy started to pet the dog. It seemed to calm Dust enough that he looked back at her without so much nervousness.

Lyra looked at the group and hummed. “Alright, I am about to make dinner. Can I trust you four to play quietly in here while Mr. Night sleeps?”

Cross raised his hand, and she chuckled at how cute that was. Killer’s hand shot up shortly after, and she nodded. “Alright, Cross first, what is it?”

“can i help make dinner?” Cross asked.

“me too! that’s what i wanted to ask!” Killer added.

“wasn’t it your ‘helping’ that made mr. night call a babysitter?” Horror asked with a frown.

“that’s because i was helping by myself. this time, she will be there!” Killer answered.

“Alright, why don’t you all come with me instead? You can either help or play quietly in the kitchen while I work on dinner,” Lyra replied. That seemed to appease them, and they followed her as they left the room. At one point, she glanced back to do a quick head count… Killer… Cross… Horror…

Looking further down the hall, she saw Dust standing still as he stared in the direction of Nightmare’s bedroom. Lyra stopped and turned fully; the others stopped and followed her gaze back to the little skeleton clinging to his dog while staring at Nightmare’s door. “Wait here,” she told the others as she made her way to Dust. She knelt down near the young skeleton and asked, “Child, what is wrong?”

“if i say i’m not hungry, can i go take a nap with mr. night…?,” There were tears in the boy’s sockets. Nightmare had said that Dust, as an adult, tended to hang around him more than the others, especially on ‘bad days.’ Considering the child’s past and the peace and safety Nightmare has likely been providing Dust’s younger self, that shadow behavior appears to have turned into clinginess.

“I think Mr. Night would like you to have dinner to keep your body strong and healthy. Do you not agree?” She asked.

Dust looked at the ground and nodded.

“How about this? Since we both know Mr. Night would want you to have dinner, you come with me and eat first. If you are tired after you eat and promise to be quiet and sleep, I see no reason why you could not go nap with him,” Lyra compromised. “Does that sound fair?”

That seemed to do the trick, and the child nodded. “ferrous, too?”

“Ah…” Oh dear… would Nightmare want the dog in his bed? “Well, we will see. Maybe Ferrous will want some outside time after dinner instead.”

“oh… okay,” Dust replied and looked at the dog as he petted him.

Lyra stood and offered a hand to Dust. He looked at the hand for a moment, then reached up and put his tiny hand in hers. Together, they walked over to the others and then down the hall. Killer insisted on holding her other hand, which led to Horror holding Killer’s free hand and Cross holding Dust’s free hand.

Once the children were all gathered again, they continued to the kitchen. Along the way, she had asked them what they wanted for dinner. After some discussion amongst each other, they had decided on tomato soup and grilled cheese, or three out of four did. Dust was quiet and just shrugged when asked if that was okay. Based on things said, they had tomato soup once already, so he knew what that was. But the complaint from Killer about how long it had been since he had a grilled cheese hinted that was why Dust was so quiet. It may be new food for him, but it shouldn’t be too hard on him if he still has some sensitivity after all this time.

She had each child help make their sandwich after she had doctored the canned soup, so it was the best it could be. They stood on the stool two at a time and flipped their sandwiches when she said so. Then, once the food was ready, she plated the grilled cheeses and poured the tomato soup into mugs while telling the boys to go sit. They sat at the table and ate, looking as pleased as possible.

“thank you for helping, ma’am,” Horror then said.

“You are welcome,” Lyra smiled.

“mr. night was very happy to see you! i think… we caused him too much trouble,” Killer sighed and looked down at his crumb-filled plate. “we didn’t mean to be trouble, ms. lyra.”

“I know you did not, and so does Mr. Night. I warned him, though, that four children is a lot of responsibility for anyone to take on without prior experience with raising one,” She picked up a napkin and handed it to Killer. “I am sure he was doing well for a while there, but now he has me to help him.”

“he came home hurt a few times,” Dust said quietly, and that startled her.

“Hurt?” She asked.

“uh huh, and we don’t know why, ms. Lyra,” Cross confirmed, then frowned. “he would go out to buy groceries or something but reappear later and say that he will try again later. he said they didn’t have what he was looking for or stuff like that and for us to play quietly. but we could see he was hurt.”

Nightmare… why did you wait so long? But she knew why. It wasn’t just stubbornness but the fact he was not used to turning to others for help. Sure, he had his henchmen, but they were not usually so dependent on him. Still, he does care for them and sees them as his responsibility.

He forgets she is willing to share in that, even when they are rambunctious adults.

“ms. lyra?” Dust spoke up, and she looked over at the child. “may i go take a nap now?”

“Are the rest of you tired?” She asked.

“nu-uh! i’m not ready for bed yet!” Killer replied.

“can we play for a while longer?” Cross asked.

“i’m not tired yet, either,” Horror added.

“Alright, wait here at the table. I will be right back,” she said before scooping up Dust. The child clung to her and nuzzled his face against her shoulder. In silence, they made their way to Nightmare’s room, and she quietly knocked. When there was no reply, she walked in and over to the large bed, one clearly made for a king.

That was Nightmare, a fan of the finer things in life.

It appears he had changed into pajamas but didn’t get any further than opening his covers and lying down before passing out. Nightmare was sleeping on his stomach, which made sense with the tentacles attached to his back. One of which was hanging off the bed and touching the floor. With care to not wake the sleeping guardian or disrupt Dust in her arms, she used her foot to lift the tendril up part of the way, then reached with a hand to grab it and place it on the bed.

She then placed Dust on the bed next to Nightmare. The child crawled closer and snuggled up to Nightmare’s shoulder. The dark skeleton shifted a little but did not wake. The tentacle closest to Dust moved and curled around the child protectively. Lyra smiled before tucking them both in under the blankets. Leaning over, she gave Dust a kiss on the head, then gave one more “goodnight kiss” to the sleeping guardian. With them settled, she left the room so they could sleep peacefully.

She now had three others to attend to, plus the pets. Ferrous followed her down the hall as she walked, reminding her with his presence of all the responsibilities she now had. Nightmare might have wanted her to wake him after ten minutes, but she wasn’t going to do that. It has been close to an hour, and he still needed rest. He can trust her to care for the boys and their animals, but if he genuinely believed she was going to wake him so soon, then he was sorely mistaken. Lyra was going to make sure he got the rest he needed.

Once he has his needed rest, then they can share this workload.

---

#GoopTales #This really is mostly sweet sweet fluff #:3c #The Fluff will continue for a while #I hope those who know my writing style understand what that means #Nightmare!sans #dadmare #more goodnight kisses!#cross!sans #killer!sans #horror!sans #dust!sans #Sci is still working on the reversal #it is taking a while to make #FuzzyNight #Lyra!toriel #Balance!toriel

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takeyourcyanide · 4 months ago

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Child Psychology

AO3

Fandom: Soul Eater

Characters: Franken Stein, Minor Original Characters (implied parent, psychologist )

Word Count: 1 525

Tags: Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Short One Shot, Defragmentation, Minor Original Character(s), Tags Are Hard, something of a therapist’s/psychiatrist’s office, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Psychiatric Examination, Minor Character(s)

Summary: A young Stein is pacing around throughout the waiting room and corridor of a psychologist’s office, preparing himself for what is to come. He is taken back for examination. His thoughts ensue.

Notes: The lyric “I get mean when I’m nervous like a bad dog” is from the song Cop Car by the artist Mitski.

I am hoping to be able to write more than what could somewhat be considered defragmentation soon. Is that what it is?

Oh, and while this title was not inspired by the song ‘Child Pscyhology’ by Blackbox Recorded, you should go listen to that if you’d like.

I’m only tagging this as “mental instability” because I know what it is considered to be, and need some tags to utilize.

The off-white walls were decorated with kiddy paintings of cartoon animals; bears, cats, and dogs alike. There was a little shelf in the corner of the room, stacked with children’s books, accompanied by a box of building blocks and a small train set. A white board hung on the wall beside it, a magnetic eraser shoved into its upper left edge, markers stuffed into a holder of sorts, which sat atop the aforementioned shelf.

There was a mother and her daughter sitting in the two seats closest to the check-in counter, a little boy fiddling with his tablet across from them. Stein made sure to steer as far away from those strangers as possible, instead pacing in a continuous circle beginning close to the entrance of the room and into the long corridor outside of it, only stopping cautiously in his tracks when a person would walk by.

He failed to suppress the twitching of his hands, the sharp ticking of his head, the spasms in his facial muscles. The quiet voices acting as grating background noise seemed to either disappear or worsen the gnawing of his bones, or perhaps even both simultaneously. He ignored the glances he’d receive. You’d think they’d be used to it, even unbothered by his supposed “quirks,” given where they all currently were.

How much more time would she take to ramble in her office? He was supposed to partake in testing soon. Though maybe it was a good thing that it was taking so irritatingly long- but what even were they discussing? What aspects of him were being dissected and put on display? What aspects of him were they planning on “treating”- or, truly, attempting to eviscerate, dilute, and poison?

The mere thought seemed to leave him a little more lightheaded than before, a gentle churning in his stomach, a persistent throbbing in between his brows, a ringing, hissing sound in his ears.

His head jerked somewhere to the side, his neck producing a cracking noise.

He’d gladly rip them both apart if it meant keeping himself safe from their deceptive, gaslighting poison.

‘I get mean when I’m nervous like a bad dog,’ the lyrics played in his head repetitiously.

When he got too agitated, he got too impulsive. Not even *he* knew what he’d do in such a state. He was almost entirely unable to control himself.

Let them make one remark. Let them plan right in front of him. Let them say one thing indicative of their true and overt intentions.

Perhaps the willingness to put them to death was a true testament to what they perceived as his ‘schizopathy.’ In their scrutinizing eyes, anyway. It was simply the logical conclusion. Well, until he’d have to go on trial.

He had never once been a sweet, normal child. He’d only be met with scrutiny, for only sweet, normal children were afforded such liberties as patience and understanding, as sweet treatment, as-

“What are you doing over there?” A familiar, conspicuous voice spoke.

“Come on back,” the dreaded one spoke.

He did not speak back.

‘Help.’ What a meaningless term. They did not wish to help, only to hurt. Only to ruin.

The dreaded one seemed to ask him something, though he did not hear it over the volume of his own buzzing, clashing trains.

“Do you remember when you asked me why I didn’t call for help?” Stein blurted out in a low, somewhat shaky voice. It sounded weighted, troubled. It sounded as though speaking came difficult to Stein. His tone was different- they’d ruthlessly point it out to him. It was another one of his involuntary responses towards his own agitation, towards the noise, the gnawing. Almost higher-pitched, lifting, yet low and mumbled. Breathy, even. Strained and filled with struggle.

“Uh, yes. Why?”

“I don’t have that instinct.”

“The instinct to call for help?”

“Yes. I do not possess that same instinct that everyone else seems to.”

And what will she respond with but nothing at all; subtleties so blatant and poorly disguised with useless, pompous academic speech, falsified sympathy, and pseudo-curious jargon. Should he flush the pills they’d give him down the toilet? Would that be rude, given that they cost money? Perhaps he’d fake taking them. No. He’d be much too agitated to be overly calculated. He could do that later on, but at first, he was more likely to put on a show of open rebellion. Truly, would he only be baring his fear for them to witness and utilize to their advantage? Was it even fear?

‘I get mean when I’m nervous like a bad dog.’

They could smell the devouring of his flesh and insides, couldn’t they? They could sense the necrosis. A block and cloud the size of two malignant tumors were wedged somewhere in between his corpus callosum- in between the two hemispheres of the brain he was in possession of.

And while that brain he possessed could be influenced by both genetic and environmental factors, the truest and largest reason as to why he was the way he was happened to be the fact that he simply was not human in any way, shape, or form. He was not connected much to his brain, though his brain and body were clearly interlinked. He was something entirely separate. Not even the consciousness. He was the apparition, mythological-like something. A non-human soul. Or did he not have one? He was not the supposed soul, but only something. He’d grown so close to figuring out what that something was.

“Fran…n?”

Or maybe he was Charlie Brown.

“Franken Stein?”

“Hm?” He hummed distractedly. He was gone. The pot was soon to tip over. At any moment it would. The final straw would surely be the “treatment.”

“Did you hear me?”

He shook his head softly, his chest feeling restricted and stuffed full of nothing at all.

“We’re going to be doing some testing today-“

“I know.”

A slight chuckle came from the other end.

“And you are aware of what all you’re being tested for, correct?”

“Extremely.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

She flipped through various documents, presumably papers upon papers filled with nothing but prodding, invasive questioning.

“We’re going to have you go ahead and take these in the room down the hall on the left.”

“I remember.” Somehow, and for once.

His head ticked off to the side, his lips involuntarily twitching into a faltering, unsteady grin.

The gnawing was getting to him. He was unable to conceal the effects it had on him. Hopefully, no laughter would be had. But it definitely *will be* had if they so much as bring “treatment” up.

She lead him down the hall, laying the various papers and packets down carefully onto the table at which he sat, handing him two pencils and an eraser, and a sharpener just in case.

“All right, you already know the drill, so, do you need anything before I leave?”

‘To be sedated. Peace and quiet. To be high. To receive acknowledgment for my efforts, whether it’s deserved or not. To be rocked and swayed. To never have “treatment” forced on me. Multiple human subjects to experiment on and dissect. Perhaps even non-human subjects. Dinosaurs are fun. I want to dissect a dinosaur. Imagine dissecting a dreadnoughtus. That would be so fucking fascinating. Imagine how pleasantly long it would take-‘

“Franken? Are you with me?”

“Uhm…”

“Do you need anything before you begin?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Just hand those to the lady at the front desk before you leave.”

‘I know.’

“Okay.”

She politely exited, shutting the door behind her.

Stein was left in a delightful, but likely to be short-lived silence. They never liked it when he was provided with any quiet time, after all.

His head jerked once more, as he scanned the room suspiciously.

He lifted one of the pencils in his hand. His eyes met the words on the first packet he’d grabbed and set directly in front of himself.

He massaged the bridge of his nose rather briefly, suppressing a yawn, rubbing childishly at his watering eyes, and struggling for a moment to understand what he was reading- or, really, failing to focus on.

His thoughts were playing too loudly, and so were their thoughts. They’d serenade him, which didn’t ruin his focus, but the unnerving cadence their whispers possessed more than certainly did.

As he managed eventually to maintain a steady grip on the pencil, managing to scribble in the true or false bubbles, the noisy, gnawing sensation that caused his body to tweak and jerk remained as strong as ever, his chest still floaty and heavy, his breathing patterns a little off, though he was so used to it at this point, it might as well have been his average pattern. Was it difficult to breathe? He couldn’t tell.

Multiple doses of sharp pains in his thoracic and abdominal cavities left him internally groaning to himself.

The pot was to soon spill over. A pot full of boiling water, which would certainly burn anyone in its spreading path, as soon as it fell off of the stovetop.

#takeyourcyanide #soul eater #franken stein #stein #stein soul eater #dr stein #soul eater fanfic #soul eater fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writing

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