#But to Roman their fear was a tool of manipulation

[masquenoire]

Roman's last memory of his parents back when they were still alive were ones of fear, the difference being that this time it was they who were the ones that were afraid and not him. Furious at having caught him sleeping with the company's top model, Mrs. Sionis went to strike Roman, only for him to snap her wrist and send her flying into a nearby bookcase where her head was cut open by a sharp wooden corner. Roman was no longer a small child they could push around without consequences; at 17, he was already far too big for even Mr. Sionis to handle and the fear they showed that night was the push their son needed to know he was ready to kill them. He still remembers the sight of fear in their eyes, how powerful it made him feel. In his opinion, it was the first time they'd ever shown him the slightest damn bit of respect and even today, in his eyes, fear is respect.

[cherubimcore]

in another life

pairing: emperor caracalla x fem!reader

author's notes: so... i'm still in my brainrot era for caracalla and can't stop thinking about him, this is supposed to be a romeo and juliet based fanfic but i don't think that it's similar?? i tried, okay... also this is VERY occ for caracalla and there is probably some inconsistencies about ancient rome :)

warnings: character death

in the sprawling empire of rome, power was a fickle god, worshiped by many and feared by all. the twin emperors, caracalla and geta, ruled with an iron grip, their partnership fraught with rivalry and shadowed by whispers of rebellion. their reign was a delicate balance between ruthless control and the ever-looming threat of betrayal.

you arrived at the so-called capital of the world with your father, a king of a distant and prosperous kingdom that bordered this grandiose empire. rome had extended its hand in friendship to your land, offering an alliance that promised prosperity in exchange of the rich resources that they coveted. but beneath your father’s polished words and ceremonial offerings lay a darker purpose: he had aligned himself with the rebellious senators, promising aid in their scheme to assassinate the emperors.

as your father’s only child, you were raised to understand the intricacies of court politics. you were his crown jewel, the tool he wielded to charm, to negotiate, to manipulate. in the emperor’s court, you were not just his daughter—you were his weapon, his most valuable pawn in this dangerous game. raised to charm and manipulate, you knew your role well—to earn the emperors’ trust, particularly caracalla’s, and distract him long enough for your father’s plan to unfold.

your arrival was announced with all the pomp rome could muster. the imperial palace loomed above you, an oppressive monument to the power of the two brothers who sat on its throne. emperor caracalla and emperor geta greeted you in the grand atrium, their guards standing stiffly at attention.

geta spoke first, his smile cool and diplomatic. "we welcome you to rome. we hope this alliance will strengthen the bonds between our nations."

caracalla stood beside him, his gaze sharp and appraising as it rested on you. where geta greeted you and your father with the smooth diplomacy of a seasoned statesman, caracalla’s approach was raw, unfiltered.

"your daughter must be the jewel of your court," caracalla said, his eyes lingering on you. "tell me, princess, are you here to negotiate for your father or to keep us distracted with your beauty?"

his eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the noise of the palace faded into nothingness, a blush crept up your neck, but you met his gaze without flinching. "perhaps both, caesar. beauty has its uses, after all."

he smirked at your boldness, though something in his expression shifted—a flicker of interest, perhaps. it was the beginning of a dangerous dance, one you were unsure you could win.

your father laughed, the sound forced and hollow. "she is here to learn, caesar. to see the heart of the empire and to witness its greatness."

"and perhaps," geta interjected smoothly, "to see a future where our nations stand united."

the meeting was brief, a show for the gathered senators and nobles. but as you followed your father out of the hall, you felt caracalla’s gaze linger on you, heavy and unrelenting.

days turned to weeks, and you found yourself drawn into the web of roman politics and deeply intertwined with your father’s plan alongside the senate, your role in the plan was clear: earn caracalla’s trust, distract him, and keep him blind to the storm brewing around him. but the emperor was not an easy man to deceive.

caracalla was nothing like his brother. where geta was polished and calculating, but still easily manipulated by your father’s tactics and the promise of becoming more rich and powerful with the fake alliance, caracalla was unrestrained, he moved through the court like a lion in a cage waiting for an opening, a weakness to attack.

this was the man you had to win over.

but, despite your father’s warnings, you found yourself intrigued by him.

it all started the very next day.

the palace gardens were caracalla’s private sanctuary, a place rarely visited by anyone but the emperor himself. you had stumbled upon it by accident, your wandering taking you through a small, ivy-covered archway that led into the hidden oasis. the air smelled of blooming jasmine and freshly turned soil, and the sound of a trickling fountain filled the space.

you were admiring the garden when you heard a low voice behind you. “you’ve found my secret.”

startled, you turned to see caracalla standing just beyond the archway. he wasn’t wearing his usual armor or the heavy robes you saw him wearing the other day, but a simple tunic and sandals. the sight of him like this—relaxed, almost unguarded—caught you off guard.

“i didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quickly, scared of the outburst that you heard happening in the walls of the palace when emperor caracalla felt unease “i didn’t realize this was yours.”

he stepped forward, waving off your concern. “you don’t need to apologize.” his tone was light, but there was a faint amusement in his eyes.

you shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to leave or stay. “it’s… beautiful here. i wouldn’t have expected this from you.”

his lips curved into a small, sardonic smile. “because you think I’m incapable of appreciating beauty?”

“i think you spend so much time commanding armies, intimidating senators and watching fights in the colosseum that it’s hard to imagine you planting flowers,” you said boldly, surprising even yourself.

he chuckled—a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “fair. but even a tyrant needs a place to think.” he gestured for you to follow him deeper into the garden.

you hesitated, then complied, walking beside him as he led you to a stone bench beneath a towering olive tree. the fountain gurgled nearby, its water sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“you come here often?” you asked, glancing at him.

“when i can,” he admitted, sitting on the bench and gesturing for you to do the same. “this was my mother’s garden. she designed it herself.”

the mention of his mother softened his voice, and you sat down, intrigued by this side of him. “it’s lovely,” you said. “she must have been a remarkable woman.”

“she was,” he said quietly. for a moment, his usual bravado faded, leaving something raw and unguarded in its place. “she loved things that grew. said it was a reminder that life could flourish even in the harshest conditions.”

his words surprised you. this wasn’t the cruel emperor you had been warned about, the man whose name was spoken with fear and loathing in equal measure. this was someone else entirely—a son mourning his mother, a man seeking solace in a world that demanded so much from him, as a princess soon to be queen, you felt for him.

“i think she’d be proud of what you’ve done with it,” you said softly.

he glanced at you, his gaze searching. “and what about you, princess? what do you think?”

you hesitated, unsure if he was asking about the garden or himself. finally, you said, “i think there’s more to you than what people say.”

his expression shifted, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “and if i told you i don’t know how much of that man is left?”

you looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw not the monster your father had painted him to be but a man struggling beneath the weight of an empire. “then maybe you should spend more time here,” you said gently, gesturing to the garden. “it seems to bring out the best in you.”

he smiled then—a real smile, not the sardonic smirk or the calculated grin you had grown accustomed to. it was fleeting, but it made your heart skip all the same.

“perhaps you’re right,” he said, his voice soft.

the two of you sat there for a while, the silence between you warm and unspoken, the garden wrapping you in its quiet embrace. and for the first time, you wondered if you had misjudged him entirely.

as weeks turned into months, your encounters with caracalla became more frequent and intimate. he shared stories of his childhood, of the relentless pressure to prove himself, while you offered glimpses of your own struggles—carefully omitting your father’s true intentions.

one afternoon, during a rare moment of peace, caracalla pulled you aside, leading you to a hidden alcove in the palace. “i want to show you something,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

he revealed a small pendant, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. “my mother gave this to me when i was a boy,” he explained. “she said it would protect me.”

“it’s beautiful,” you said, studying the craftsmanship.

he hesitated, then pressed the pendant into your palm. “i want you to have it.”

your breath caught. “i can’t take this. it’s yours.”

“i trust you with it,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “and… i trust you.”

the weight of his words left you speechless, and as he closed your fingers around the pendant, you realized that your heart had betrayed you entirely and you felt the first stirrings of guilt for the betrayal you were complicit in.

days passed and you hadn’t heard from either emperor caracalla or emperor geta, not even your father, who was starting to feel unease.

“what if they found out?” he would repeat to you pretty much every night after another day passed without hearing a word from the twins “did we underestimate them somehow? did the senate underestimate them?”

a part of you wanted that to be true, that both of the emperors discovered your father and the senate’s plans, even if that would mean your death, even if you would have to stare at caracalla’s eyes after you had betrayed him, you could do that as long as he didn’t die.

but then the gilded invitation arrived in the early hours of the day, you were already awake, anxious about your father’s anxiety, so you were the only one in the house to pick them up from the praetorian guard, after thanking the man and closing the door, you admired the letter’s ornate edges and wax seal marking it as a token of the imperial court. you turned it over in your hands, noting the unfamiliar handwriting on one of the envelopes. unlike the formal script of past correspondences, this handwriting was bold and deliberate, almost impatient.

breaking the seal, you unfolded the parchment and read:

“to honor the customs of your homeland, a ball will be held tonight in the imperial palace. wear your finest attire. i will be waiting. – c.”

your breath hitched at the signature. not geta, whose name was synonymous with the empire's carefully curated diplomacy. no, this was unmistakably from caracalla. the thought of his hand crafting those words sent a strange thrill through you, though you quickly shook it off.

that evening, the palace was aglow with light, torches and lanterns casting a golden hue over the sprawling marble corridors. the distant hum of music grew louder as you approached the grand ballroom, your gown—a rich fabric from your homeland—whispering against the polished floor.

inside, nobles twirled in an elaborate dance, their laughter mingling with the music. the scent of spiced wine and fresh flowers filled the air. yet, despite the overwhelming splendor, you felt his presence before you saw him.

caracalla stood near the far end of the ballroom, his dark attire contrasting starkly with the vibrant colors of the guests. his gaze swept the room until it found you, and once it did, it remained fixed, unwavering.

you hesitated, your heart racing. you could feel the weight of his attention as he made his way through the crowd, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

“princess,” he greeted when he finally reached you, his voice low and rich.

“caesar,” you replied, curtsying slightly.

“you wear the traditions of your homeland well,” he said, his eyes tracing the intricate embroidery of your gown before returning to meet your gaze. “the room pales in comparison.”

heat rose to your cheeks, and you struggled to maintain your composure. “flattery is unbecoming of an emperor.”

he smirked, leaning in slightly. “then perhaps i’ll save it for when we’re alone.”

before you could respond, he extended his hand. “dance with me.”

you glanced around, noting the curious stares of the other guests, but you knew refusing would only draw more attention. reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, and he led you to the center of the ballroom.

the music shifted to a slower tempo as he pulled you into the first steps of the dance. his hand settled firmly on your waist, his other holding yours with surprising gentleness.

“you look uneasy,” he observed, his tone teasing but not unkind.

“i’m dancing with the emperor,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “should i not be?”

“perhaps,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “but I’d prefer if you didn’t look so ready to flee.”

his words struck too close to the truth, and you averted your gaze, focusing instead on the rhythm of your steps. yet, even as you tried to maintain distance, his presence was overwhelming, his gaze drawing you back to him.

“you intrigue me,” he admitted softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“why?” the word escaped before you could stop it.

“because you’re different,” he said simply. “you don’t fawn or flatter. you look at me like…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “like i’m human.”

for a moment, the mask he wore—the ruthless emperor, the conqueror—seemed to crack, revealing something more vulnerable beneath. it unsettled you, yet it also drew you in.

the music slowed, and the dancers around you began to disperse, but caracalla didn’t let go. instead, he guided you toward a quieter corner of the room, away from the prying eyes of the court.

“why do you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“do what?”

“look at me like…” you faltered, unsure how to articulate the intensity of his gaze.

“like you’re the only one here?” he finished for you, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

you nodded, your breath catching as he took a step closer.

“because you are,” he said, his voice soft yet resolute.

before you could process his words, he leaned in, his hand rising to cup your cheek. the kiss was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. for a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the warmth of his lips and the steady pressure of his hand on your back.

but as the reality of what was happening sank in, panic gripped you. you broke away abruptly, your breathing uneven as you stepped back.

“i… i can’t,” you stammered, your voice trembling.

his expression didn’t falter. instead, a faint smile tugged at his lips, as though he had expected your reaction. “it’s all right,” he said gently. “i’ll wait.”

his confidence unnerved you, and before you could say anything more, you turned and fled, your heart racing as you slipped into the shadows of the palace halls.

even as you disappeared into the night, even after you went to your room, changed clothes and tried your best to forget what happened his words lingered in your mind as well as his lips against yours.

unbeknownst to you and caracalla, the senators had finalized their plans the night of the ball. your father’s role was to provide soldiers to infiltrate the palace under the cover of night, but he himself also wanted to be present to see the emperors being eliminated in a swift, coordinated attack by his men.

later that night doubt began to creep into your mind. caracalla, for all his flaws, had shown you a side of himself that few others had seen. his ferocity masked a profound loneliness, a desire to be understood that resonated deeply with you, besides you couldn’t deny to yourself anymore you were actually falling in love with him.

after twisting and turning in your bed, feeling the pendant he gave you as a gift weighing more and more as the hours passed you decided to confront your father.

"are you sure this is the only way?" you asked, your voice trembling

he turned to you while putting his armor, his expression hard. "do not forget your duty, my daughter. rome is a beast that devours all in its path. if we don’t strike first, it will destroy us."

you wanted to believe him. you wanted to convince yourself that caracalla was nothing more than a tyrant, that his death would save your people. but the thought of his blood on your hands made your chest tighten with a pain you couldn’t explain.

so when your father turned around to leave the house and meet with his soldiers and the senate one last time before killing the man you so loved, you made a decision on the spot.

the halls of the palace were dark and eerily silent, save for the soft rustle of your hurried steps. the chill of the night bit at your skin as you clutched your cloak tightly, the pendant caracalla had given you swinging against your chest with every movement.

you shouldn’t have been here. you shouldn’t have left your chambers, defying your father’s orders and the pact he had made with the senate. but the thought of caracalla lying dead, betrayed by those closest to him, made it impossible to stay away.

when you reached his quarters, you hesitated for a moment before pushing the heavy doors open.

caracalla stood by the window, his figure outlined by the pale moonlight. he turned at the sound, his expression softening when he saw you. but his brow furrowed when he noticed the fear etched across your face.

“princess,” he said, his voice low, laced with concern. “what’s wrong?”

“they’re coming for you,” you said, your voice trembling. “my father… the senate… they’ve sent soldiers to kill you and your brother.”

he stared at you, his face unreadable. “you shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “if they find you with me—”

“i don’t care!” you interrupted, stepping closer. “i couldn’t let you die without warning you. without trying to save you.”

his jaw tightened, but before he could respond, the sound of boots echoed in the corridor outside. the soldiers had arrived.

caracalla moved to draw his sword, but you grabbed his arm. “no,” you said desperately. “you can’t fight them all. you’ll die.”

“and what would you have me do?” he asked, his voice heavy with resignation. “run? hide? i am caesar. if i must die, i will die standing.”

the doors burst open before you could respond, and a group of soldiers flooded into the room, their swords drawn. at their head stood a centurion, his gaze cold and unwavering as he pointed his blade at caracalla.

“step aside, princess,” the centurion commanded. “this is not your fight.”

you moved in front of caracalla, spreading your arms wide. “if you want to kill him,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror coursing through you, “you’ll have to kill me first.”

“don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the centurion said, his tone almost pleading. “step aside. this is justice.”

“justice?” you spat. “this is treachery. and i won’t be a part of it.”

the soldiers hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. but the centurion raised his blade, his resolve hardening.

caracalla’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you turned to face him. his eyes, usually so fierce and calculating, were soft and full of something you hadn’t expected—peace.

“you didn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low and full of emotion.

“yes, i did,” you replied, your voice breaking. “because i love you.”

the words tumbled out before you could stop them, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. “i love you,” you said again, tears streaming down your face. “i don’t know when it happened, or how, but you’re not the monster they said you were. you’re flawed and human and—”

caracalla silenced you with a smile, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. “i love you, too,” he said, his voice as soft as the breeze outside. “i think i have since the moment i met you.”

he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, as if you could somehow pour all the words you hadn’t spoken into that single moment.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a whisper. “i wish we had more time.”

“in another life,” you said, your voice trembling, “the gods will grant us that wish.”

a shout from the soldiers brought you back to reality, and caracalla’s arms tightened around you.

the soldiers moved as one, their blades piercing through you and caracalla in unison. pain blossomed in your chest, but it was dulled by the warmth of his arms around you. you felt yourself falling, and he held you tightly, lowering you to the ground as his own strength faded.

your head rested against his chest, his heartbeat slowing beneath your ear. his lips pressed to your forehead one last time.

and as the darkness closed in, you clung to the hope that somewhere, in another life, you would find each other again.

in the years that followed, your story became legend. the foreign princess and the emperor who fell in love despite the odds, who died together in defiance of a world that sought to tear them apart.

the marble pillars ofcaracalla's room bore silent witness to your final act of defiance, and in the years to come, flowers were left there in quiet tribute to a love that defied the gods themselves.

rome remembered you not as a traitor, but as a symbol of love and loyalty—proof that even in the darkest times, light could be found in the unlikeliest of places.

[astrojulia]

To All my Air Placements People

-Or for those who have already read "just feel"

One thing that really bothers me about the astrological community is their relationship with emotions and those who identify as "air people." As an Aquarius dominant, I try to absorb the best of every word, situation, and perspective, as it is my nature to see reason and to consider things from multiple points of view. I don't see a problem with using words like "manipulative," and I'm not particularly concerned with being politically correct.

However, one issue I can't ignore is the way that air moons and people are often described as having difficulty feeling emotions. The common refrain is, "You don't feel, you just think." This creates a lot of subtext, such as "You should just feel and not think," "How will you survive when you realize you can only feel and not think," and "You overthink and don't feel."

I know that this kind of post may not be popular, as people tend to prefer direct solutions rather than philosophical discussions. Additionally, many people become overly attached to astrology, which I don't quite understand, as someone who practices greco roman paganism and views the stars as simply giant balls in space guided by the Gods. However, my goal is to help air people who may be feeling bad due to these descriptions and depreciating themselves unnecessarily. I want to provide them with the tools to live their lives in their own way, without relying too heavily on astrology. If possible, I also hope to change the mentality of the astrological community regarding air people. Or maybe I just want to help myself, who knows?

In this post, I will use my knowledge and concepts to explain why the concept of feeling can be misunderstood, how air people experience emotions, and, most importantly, how to work with your feelings.

Have you ever questioned how emotions work and why we experience them differently in different situations? Fortunately, neuroscientist Lisa Feldman has been working for 25 years to explore these questions, and her book "How Emotions Are Made" provides a scientific way to understand how our bodies process emotions. I will explain the main ideas in a summarized way.

While the amygdala is often regarded as the brain's emotional center, it is not the only part of the brain responsible for emotions. In fact, emotions are not solely processed in the brain, but throughout our whole body via neurons. Studies on monkeys who had their amygdalas removed showed that they temporarily lost the ability to feel fear, but eventually regained it. This suggests that our emotions are not simply regulated by a specific part of the brain.

Instead, emotions are processed when neurons in our body are activated and send signals to our brain. Our brain then processes these signals to determine what the emotion is and how we should respond. For example, the smell of a bakery may cause our mouth to water and make us feel hungry, while waiting in a surgery waiting room may cause us to feel anxious and lose our appetite. Physiologically, both situations trigger the same neurons, but the emotional response is different because our brain takes into account the context.

In other words, our emotions are not simply a reaction to stimuli but are influenced by our environment and our own interpretation of the situation. By understanding how emotions are made, we can gain a better understanding of ourselves and how we respond to different situations.

Drawing upon my esoteric knowledge and delving deeper into the data, have you ever wondered how neurons "communicate" and signal to the body that something is happening? The answer lies in the air. Yes, the gas we breathe in is linked to our emotions. It travels to our brains and is processed in a way that best suits the situation. Interestingly, people with different elemental signs have their own unique ways of dealing with air, which means that the gas they expel is processed differently. However, some may argue that water is the element that deals with emotions. While this may seem like an esoteric concept, I have my own explanation for it.

Neurons are present throughout our body, and the part that is referred to as our second brain is our viscera, especially our stomach, which is ruled by Cancer. Our hormones also play a crucial role in our emotions. It is a well-known fact that we don't think clearly when we are aroused, and our reproductive system, which is ruled by Scorpio, produces a significant portion of our hormones. Our feet also have a plethora of neurons connected to our emotional world, and they are ruled by Pisces. Therefore, water signs are adept at managing their emotions as they work well with this part of the body and process their feelings more quickly. Furthermore, in astrology water rules the emotions, in others studies it can be the air, or even the water rules the material.

Let's delve deeper into the subject and discuss our emotions in more detail. We need to think about them, even if it's just for a second, before we can truly feel them. While this may come naturally to us, it is something we learn as we grow older. When information is transmitted to the brain, the first thing it does is to search for a similar sensation or situation from the past to determine the appropriate response. To demonstrate this, take a look at the picture and try to see something. Then, check out the next one…

Pulling for my esoteric part and exploring more data, you know how the neurons “move” and say to the body that something is happening? By gas. Yes, air. Our emotion is linked with air, that gas goes to our brains and it will be processed in the best way for the situation, and air people have their unique way to deal with air, so that gas that is expelled will be worked in a completely different way for the air people than all the others. But is it not water who deals with emotion? Esoteric saying, yes, but I have my own explanation for that…

Neurons are on our whole body, and the part that is called our second brain are our viscera, principally our stomach, ruled by Cancer. Our hormones work a lot with our brain, and everyone knows how we don’t think too well when we are aroused. The part that produces a great part of our hormones is our reproductive system, ruled by Scorpio. Have you ever seen the amount of techniques focused on stress and negative emotions on our feet? From massages and acupuncture, our foot has a ton of neurons connected to our emotional world, and it is ruled by Pisces. So why are water people good with their emotions? Because they work well with that part of the body, they sign rules and process their feelings quicker, but do that better with their specific part.

Now we can go a little deeper in the subject and talk in more detail with our feelings. We need to think about them, even for a second, before really feeling, but that should be easy for everyone because it is natural and born with that… Yes, it is natural but we aren't born with that… We learn how to feel as we age. When the information goes to the brain the first thing it does is to search for the same sensation and the same situation in the past to know what to do. I can give you an example of how we actually just work with things, with our memory and prediction of what is going on. Look at the pic and try to see something, after that click in the link and I will heal your little problem:

Now that you've seen it, you can't unsee it. The black and white one will make sense now. This is how emotions work: we need to experience a situation to truly understand it. Emotions are complex and we often need to go through a situation more than once to really comprehend what's going on. However, if you put an air person in an environment they already know, they won't have a problem with their emotions.

Now that I've explained how we misunderstand emotions and how they actually work, I'm going to share my knowledge to help my fellow air signs in the best way possible. This is what I've learned to become the best version of myself.

When we feel something, our system works like this: we feel a sensation in our chest, and that information goes to our brain, which tries to put a word to that sensation. Once we find the best word to describe the sensation, it goes back to the area to check if it's accurate. If it's not, the process repeats until we find the best description. So, how do I work with this? I have a lot of emotion names in my memory, so I don't waste time explaining how I feel. Yes, I feel a lot (Pisces Jupiter, Scorpio Mars..), but no, I don't feel the same way as you. Allow me to introduce you:

The Wheel of Emotions

Yes, that is how I do my s***, I take some time in my life to see that wheel and verify what I was feeling in that moment, how I can improve myself, and knowing that I’m not such a bad person, I’m giving you more than 80 feelings explanation here, hope you like. You can see that the main feeling connect with each other.

Fear: an emotion experienced in anticipation of some specific pain or danger (usually accompanied by a desire to flee or fight); an anxious feeling; a feeling of profound respect for someone or something.

Horror: intense and profound fear; something that inspires dislike; something horrible; intense aversion

Dread: fearful expectation or anticipation; be afraid or scared of; be frightened of; causing fear or dread or terror

Mortified: suffering from tissue death; made to feel uncomfortable because of shame or wounded pride

Nervous: of or relating to the nervous system; easily agitated; causing or fraught with or showing anxiety

Anxious: eagerly desirous; causing or fraught with or showing anxiety

Worried: afflicted with or marked by anxious uneasiness or trouble or grief; mentally upset over possible misfortune or danger etc

Insecure: not firm or firmly fixed; likely to fail or give way; lacking in security or safety; lacking self-confidence or assurance

Inadequate: lacking the requisite qualities or resources to meet a task; not sufficient to meet a need, not welcome

Inferior: one of lesser rank or station or quality; a character or symbol set or printed or written beneath or slightly below and to the side of another character; of or characteristic of low rank or importance

Terror: an overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety; a person who inspires fear or dread; a very troublesome child

Hysterical: characterized by or arising from psychoneurotic hysteria; marked by excessive or uncontrollable emotion

Panic: an overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety; sudden mass fear and anxiety over anticipated events; be overcome by a sudden fear

Scared: made afraid

Helpless: lacking in or deprived of strength or power; unable to function; without help; unable to manage independently

Frightened: made afraid; thrown into a state of intense fear or desperation

Love: a strong positive emotion of regard and affection any object of warm affection or devotion a beloved person used as terms of endearment.

Tenderness: a tendency to express warm and affectionate feeling; a pain that is felt (as when the area is touched); warm compassionate feelings

Compassionate: share the suffering of; showing or having compassion

Caring: a loving feeling; feeling and exhibiting concern and empathy for others

Peaceful: not disturbed by strife or turmoil or war; peacefully resistant in response to injustice

Satisfied: filled with satisfaction; allayed

Relieved: (of pain or sorrow) made easier to bear; extending out above or beyond a surface or boundary

Desire: the feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state; an inclination to want things; something that is desired

Infatuation: a foolish and usually extravagant passion or love or admiration; temporary love of an adolescent; an object of extravagant short-lived passion

Passion: a strong feeling or emotion; the trait of being intensely emotional; something that is desired intensely

Longing: prolonged unfulfilled desire or need

Attracted: direct toward itself or oneself by means of some psychological power or physical attributes; be attractive to; exert a force on (a body) causing it to approach or prevent it from moving away

Sentimental: given to or marked by sentiment or sentimentality; effusively or insincerely emotional

Affectionate: having or displaying warmth or affection

Fondness: affection or liking for someone or something

Romantic: conducive to or characterized by the expression of love; of, characterized by, or suggestive of an idealized view of reality; person with romantic beliefs or attitudes.

Joy: a feeling of great pleasure and happiness rejoice

Enthralled: capture the fascinated attention of

Rapture: a feeling of intense pleasure or joy; a state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion; a state of elated bliss

Enchanted: influenced as by charms or incantations

Elation: an exhilarating psychological state of pride and optimism; an absence of depression; a feeling of joy and pride

Jubilation: a feeling of extreme joy; a joyful occasion for special festivities to mark some happy event; the utterance of sounds expressing great joy

Euphoric: exaggerated feeling of well-being or elation

Enthusiastic: having or showing great excitement and interest

Zeal: a feeling of strong eagerness (usually in favor of a person or cause); excessive fervor to do something or accomplish some end; prompt willingness

Excited: in an aroused state; (of persons) excessively affected by emotion; marked by uncontrolled excitement or emotion

Optimist: a person disposed to take a favorable view of things

Hopeful: an ambitious and aspiring young person; having or manifesting hope; full or promise

Eager: a high wave (often dangerous) caused by tidal flow (as by colliding tidal currents or in a narrow estuary); having or showing keen interest or intense desire or impatient expectancy

Proud: feeling self-respect or pleasure in something by which you measure your self-worth; or being a reason for pride; having or displaying great dignity or nobility

Illustrious: widely known and esteemed; having or conferring glory

Triumphant: joyful and proud especially because of triumph or success; experiencing triumph

Cheerful: being full of or promoting cheer; having or showing good spirits; pleasantly (even unrealistically) optimistic

Jovial: full of or showing high-spirited merriment

Blissful: completely happy and contented

Happy: enjoying or showing or marked by joy or pleasure; marked by good fortune; eagerly disposed to act or to be of service

Amused: pleasantly occupied

Delighted: greatly pleased; filled with wonder and delight

Content: being pleased and satisfied (feeling content) or making someone else feel happy and at peace with things (contenting them)

Pleased: experiencing or manifesting pleasure; feeling pleasurable satisfaction over something by which you measures your self-worth

Satisfied: filled with satisfaction; allayed

Surprise: the astonishment you feel when something totally unexpected happens to you a sudden unexpected event the act of surprising someone

Moved: being excited or provoked to the expression of an emotion

Stimulated: emotionally aroused

Touched: having come into contact; being excited or provoked to the expression of an emotion; slightly insane

Overcome: To feel something very strongly. It is usually used in a positive way

Speechless: temporarily incapable of speaking

Astounded: filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise or shock

Amazed: feeling or showing great surprise or wonder

Astonished: surprised, amazed, astonished or bewildered

Awe-Struck: filled with feelings of fear and wonder: filled with awe

Confused: mentally confused; unable to think with clarity or act intelligently; perplexed by many conflicting situations or statements; filled with bewilderment; lacking orderly continuity

Disillusioned: freed from illusion

Perplexed: full of difficulty or confusion or bewilderment

Stunned: filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise or shock; knocked unconscious by a heavy blow; in a state of mental numbness especially as resulting from shock

Shocked: struck with fear, dread, or consternation

Dismayed: cause (someone) to feel consternation and distress; to cause to lose courage or resolution (as because of alarm or fear) must not let ourselves be dismayed by the task before us; upset, perturb were dismayed by the condition of the building

Sadness: emotions experienced when not in a state of well-being the state of being sad the quality of excessive mournfulness and uncheerfulness

Despair: a state in which all hope is lost or absent; the feeling that everything is wrong and nothing will turn out well; abandon hope; give up hope; lose heart

Grief: intense sorrow caused by loss of a loved one (especially by death); something that causes great unhappiness

Powerless: lacking power; impotent

Neglected: disregarded; lacking a caretaker

Isolated: not close together in time; being or feeling set or kept apart from others

Lonely: lacking companions or companionship; marked by dejection from being alone; characterized by or preferring solitude

Shameful: (used of conduct or character) deserving or bringing disgrace or shame; giving offense to moral sensibilities and injurious to reputation

Regretful: feeling or expressing regret or sorrow or a sense of loss over something done or undone

Guilty: responsible for or chargeable with a reprehensible act; showing a sense of guilt

Disappointed: disappointingly unsuccessful; sad or displeased because someone or something has failed to fulfill one’s hopes or expectations

Dismayed: struck with fear, dread, or consternation

Displeased: not pleased; experiencing or manifesting displeasure

Sadness: emotions experienced when not in a state of well-being; the state of being sad; the quality of excessive mournfulness and uncheerfulness

Depressed: filled with melancholy and despondency; in a state of general unhappiness or despondency

Sorrow: an emotion of great sadness associated with loss or bereavement; sadness associated with some wrong done or some disappointment; something that causes great unhappiness

Suffering: a state of acute pain; misery resulting from affliction; psychological suffering

Agony: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain; a state of acute pain

Hurt: any physical damage to the body caused by violence or accident or fracture etc; psychological suffering; feelings of mental or physical pain

Anger: a strong emotion a feeling that is oriented toward some real or supposed grievance the state of being angry belligerence aroused by a real or supposed wrong (personified as one of the deadly sins.)

Disgust: strong feelings of dislike; fill with distaste; cause aversion in; offend the moral sense of

Contempt: lack of respect accompanied by a feeling of intense dislike; a manner that is generally disrespectful and contemptuous; open disrespect for a person or thing

Revolted: to turn away with disgust. transitive verb.: to cause to turn away or shrink with disgust or abhorrence; to experience disgust or shock

Envy: a feeling of grudging admiration and desire to have something that is possessed by another; spite and resentment at seeing the success of another (personified as one of the deadly sins); feel envious towards; admire enviously

Resentful: full of or marked by resentment or indignant ill will

Jealous: showing extreme cupidity; painfully desirous of another’s advantages; suspicious or unduly suspicious or fearful of being displaced by a rival

Irritable: easily irritated or annoyed; abnormally sensitive to a stimulus; capable of responding to stimuli

Aggravated: made more severe or intense especially in law; incited, especially deliberately, to anger

Annoyed: aroused to impatience or anger; troubled persistently especially with petty annoyances

Exasperated: greatly annoyed; out of patience

Frustrated: disappointingly unsuccessful

Agitated: troubled emotionally and usually deeply; physically disturbed or set in motion

Rage: a feeling of intense anger; a state of extreme anger; something that is desired intensely

Hostile: don’t want to talk to people, be around them, or even have them near us

Hate: the emotion of intense dislike; a feeling of dislike so strong that it demands action; dislike intensely; feel antipathy or aversion towards

And now we’re done, my biggest goal in this post as I already wrote, is to chance that point of view of the air people, but the most important part is to take off that bad sensation from you chest, my air fellow, that I feel and know that existent every time you read that you’re emotionless and don’t now how to feel the things in the right way. Thank you for your and kisses from the sea.

[rayspookyhistory]

ᡣ𐭩 Poisons in novels ᡣ𐭩

sorry for the late post, ive been busy sorting my room and figured id get a simple post before a social event this weekend :3

Poison has been a pervasive element in historical novels, captivating readers with its dual nature of subtlety and lethality. Its allure in literature can be attributed to its rich symbolism, its capacity to shape plotlines with intrigue and suspense, and its reflection of historical realities and human psychology.

In historical novels, poison often symbolizes betrayal, corruption, and the dark underbelly of human dynamics. Unlike other forms of violence, poison operates in the shadows, representing the covert machinations that often underlie historical events. It embodies the insidious nature of treachery, as it can be administered by those closest to the victim, highlighting themes of distrust and paranoia. This symbolism is potent, offering readers a lens through which to explore the darker aspects of human nature and societal structures.

For instance, in Alexandre Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo," poison symbolizes the ultimate betrayal. The character Madame de Villefort uses poison to eliminate those who stand in her way, demonstrating how poison can be a tool for personal ambition and revenge. This act of poisoning underscores the theme of treachery and the moral decay that accompanies the pursuit of power.

Plot Device for Intrigue and Suspense

Poison serves as a powerful plot device in historical novels, driving narratives with its inherent mystery. Its delayed effect allows for complex story arcs where suspicion, investigation, and dramatic revelations unfold. The use of poison can create tension and suspense, as characters seek to uncover the perpetrator before it is too late. This gradual build-up keeps readers engaged, as they are drawn into the puzzle of who, how, and why, mirroring the investigative processes in real historical events.

For example, in Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose," poison plays a crucial role in the plot, creating a series of mysterious deaths that propel the story forward. The slow unraveling of the truth behind the poisonings adds layers of depth to the narrative, intertwining historical, philosophical, and theological themes. The intricate details of how the poison is administered and the subsequent deaths create a labyrinthine mystery that engrosses readers.

Historical Accuracy and Realism

The use of poison in historical novels often mirrors actual historical events, lending authenticity and realism to the narratives. Throughout history, poison has been a tool of assassination and political maneuvering. Historical figures such as Lucrezia Borgia and Catherine de Medici have been famously associated with the use of poison, cementing its place in the annals of history as a weapon of choice in power struggles.

In Robert Graves' "I, Claudius," the depiction of the Roman Empire is rife with poisoning plots, reflecting the historical accounts of Roman emperors and their courts. This realism not only grounds the novel in a believable past but also educates readers about the intricate and often brutal realities of historical power dynamics. Poison, in this context, becomes a symbol of the precariousness of life and power in ancient Rome, where a drink or a meal could be a harbinger of death.

Reflection of Human Psychology

Poison in historical novels also delves into the psychological aspects of fear, control, and vulnerability. The threat of poison taps into primal fears of being harmed in unsuspecting moments, making it a tool of psychological as well as physical domination. Characters who wield poison often do so to assert control, manipulate outcomes, and instill fear, reflecting real-world psychological tactics used by those in power.

In Shakespeare's "Hamlet," the use of poison is not just a physical act but a psychological weapon that drives the protagonist to madness and despair. The poisoned cup and the poisoned sword symbolize the pervasive corruption and moral decay within the Danish court, illustrating how poison can metaphorically represent the degradation of the soul. The psychological torment that Hamlet endures due to the poisoned state of Denmark mirrors the physical effects of actual poison, creating a profound interplay between the mental and physical realms.

Case Studies of Poison in Historical Novels

In "The Count of Monte Cristo," poison is used as a weapon of vengeance and ambition. Madame de Villefort, driven by greed and a desire for power, uses poison to remove obstacles in her path. Her actions not only drive plot forward but also highlight the themes of corruption and moral degradation. The meticulous planning and execution of her poisonings add layers of suspense and intrigue to the story, engaging readers in a complex narrative of revenge and justice.

Robert Graves’ "I, Claudius" presents a vivid portrayal of the Roman Empire, where poison is a common tool for political maneuvering. The novel depicts numerous historical instances of poisoning, reflecting the cutthroat nature of Roman politics. The use of poison in the narrative serves to underscore the precariousness of power and the constant threat of betrayal. This historical accuracy enriches the novel, providing readers with an authentic glimpse into the brutal realities of ancient Rome.

Shakespeare’s "Hamlet" uses poison both literally and metaphorically to explore themes of corruption and moral decay. The poison that kills King Hamlet sets off a chain of events leading to the unraveling of the Danish court. The climactic scene, where multiple characters are poisoned, symbolizes the culmination of the court’s corruption and the ultimate destruction it brings. The psychological impact of the poisonings on Hamlet reflects the broader existential questions of life, death, and morality that pervade the play.

The prevalence of poison in historical novels is a testament to its multifaceted role as a symbol, plot device, and reflection of historical and psychological realities. Its ability to evoke themes of betrayal, suspense, and the dark aspects of human nature makes it an enduring element in literature. Through the lens of poison, historical novels explore the complexities of power, fear, and morality, offering readers a gripping and thought-provoking experience. The subtlety and lethality of poison make it a uniquely powerful tool in the hands of novelists, allowing them to craft stories that resonate with the enduring themes of human history and psychology.

please dont go poisoning people :)

[haggishlyhagging]

From the beginnings of Sun God patriarchy to the present day, imperialist invaders have used this sex ploy to divide and conquer an indigenous people. To drive a wedge between women and men is the best way to demoralize a people; to get men to despise and control "their women" is to turn them effectively against the very source of their being—against their mothers and their partners, and the earth itself (earth as a being, rather than a "piece of property"). Wherever and whenever it can, imperialism attempts to coopt the belief energy of colonized males in this way, by challenging their "manhood" vis-à-vis powerful and independent women. The Sun God's troops can always be identified by their manipulative misogyny, and by their political relation to women as slaves, not as partners. This characteristic of imperialistic armies then becomes a device, a tool, to further demoralize and rob the energies of a colonized people. Through imposition of patriarchal law, religion, and custom, imperialists try to create among the conquered two hostile classes of humans—the male versus the female—no longer bound to each other by mutual respect and common history, but by mutual fear antagonized by mutual guilty need. The manhood energy of conquered males is diverted away from rebellion and revolution and channeled into aggressive macho behavior toward women. Conquered, colonized, and enslaved males are told by their conquerers, in effect: "You can't beat us, but you can beat your women." The history of imperialism is the history of this device in operation; on the heels of the woman-mocking Roman army came the woman-cursing Christian missionaries, blaming all the conquered males' troubles on their "evil women." Governments and religions manipulate colonized males into a betrayal of their own lives and their own people by first persuading young men to prove manhood by despising the female; and then native males are enrolled in the armies of their conquerors, as terrorist national guards or death squads upholding fascistic dictators in power. These young men are "rewarded" by being allowed to rape, torture, and slaughter their own people, whom they have been persuaded to despise. Thus does the Sun God enlist male troops in his war against the female earth, and the earth's women.

Why does this device work? Because the relation between the sexes is always very delicately balanced, very fragile. Balance is maintained by generations of ritual and custom; these are easily destroyed when people are invaded and colonized. The male ontological situation, in particular, is very fragile. In both hunting and war, men experience the acquisition of things they have not themselves produced. This can swell the ego's sense of power. Among Mother Goddess Stone Age people, as among aboriginal hunting-and-gathering people everywhere, this danger is balanced by ritual propitiation, and by the strong intact spiritual perception that life is given, not taken. The aggressive War God ideology of patriarchy counters this perception, this humble sense of life, with another: To the victor belongs the spoils. Under the Sun God, for the first time, the male ego is given power over the source of life; weaklings wait for the gift to be given, real men just take it. The Bronze Age celebration of war and hunting, seen as "manly virtues" and "male sport," became precisely the celebration of power over women, and over the female earth. It is the products of women's labor, women's bodies, the body of Mother Earth herself, which are the spoils.

-Monica Sjöö and Barbara Mor. The Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering The Religion of the Earth.

[askmalal]

If you could have corrupted won over any of the Loyalist Primarchs, which would you have favored?

What makes you think I haven’t?

For the purposes of your thought experiment, let us assess each, albeit briefly.

1. The Lion:

Arrogant, truly convinced he knows best, and many times he does. Maybe… maybe.

5. The Khan:

Brilliant tactician. Appreciates a fine horse. A good sense of humor. But not a subtle bone in his body, save for snark. Pass.

6. The Russ:

You want me to -turn- The Russ? There are bitter old women in Potato famine era Ireland who would easier be turned to love Queen Victoria. Still, what a fear it would be to make this one a tool of real change. Imagine what it would be to have such a being in your corner. The wonders.

There is one other bit: I am deeply unsatisfied that a being so brilliant could be so easily manipulated by Horus, a man he deeply disliked. He lost a few brownie points there. And remember: Horus was following -my- script at the time.

7. Rogal Dorn:

Just about the only Primarch more Roman than Roboute Guilliman. Coldly calculating, insightful,dutiful to a fault. When misled, however, appallingly short sighted. You were to destroy Perturarbo’s perfect trap, Rogal. Not walk into it!

9. The Angel:

There’s a joke somewhere in here about walking up to the pearly gates and asking to talk to St. Michael for a bit about possibly “roughing up” The Creator.

The joke is that you would think I would be so blatantly stupid.

Signus wasn’t a failure for everyone.

(Except for the fool who spelt it “Signus” and not “Cygnus.”)

10. The Gorgon:

I am a throughly evil being, but even I know that dismissing the people you are meant to be protecting as “weak” is akin to admitting you can’t do your job. Hard pass.

11. Delicious.

13. Guilliman:

Absent my cosmological imperatives, I like this man. I rather like him. But would he be turned? Could be be turned? More than one Praetorian has been turned against more than one Augustus, and the best ones have never been caught…

18. Vulkan:

I have said it before, in many places. I will say it again, here. He is the best of you. Of all of you. Of forty thousand years of human evolution and forty thousand years of human civilization. None of you deserve him. None.

And I would have better luck turning Elon Musk into a competent leader.

19. Corax:

Oh… this one. This one. He is a born revolutionary. A born iconoclast. The kind of man who would tear down the walls of his own fortress just to kill a rat inside.

And I even like the colors.

He is a true marvel to witness in The Warp, these days.

Thank you for your question, little mortal. It was nice to receive another that didn’t involve waifus, whatever the hell a “gootch” is, or whether or not I am canon. Keep them coming.

-M.

[13thpythagoras]

growing up, my church honored me by nominating me to be the youngest ever ordained deacon to date in our conmunity, just before my 18th birthday, and just before the unspeakable tragedy that hit my family shortly after that forced me into a place of private greiving before leaving for college.

As an ambassador for that church community, I know I'm speaking on behalf of more than thousands when I say that real Christianity is about loving your neighbor as yourself. Those who would invade their neighbors' privacy about matters of sexuality or gender, those are oppressive demons, and ambassadors of hell. They demonically appropriate Christianity to steal the flock. Anyone using fear to motivate your actions is an absolute devil, and you can take that to the grave.

Furthermore, Catholicism is totally invalid and not Christianity. Catholicism was founded by the blasphemer named "Saint" peter. peter is the only disciple who later denied ever knowing Jesus, and again twice more denied knowing Jesus ever in his life to escape any kind of accountability for the revolution that they began. peter is not a saint. The catholic cult he founded is not a church. At least Judas owned up to his sins and begged forgiveness before his death so I know that Judas is rightfully sitting in heaven alongside Jesus as someone who helped create the holy story that we learn. peter is the liar who took himself out of that story, and denied ever knowing Jesus, which is an incredibly profound betrayal, far and away worse than Judas's primary sin.

This is the reason why Catholicism is its own blasphemous, demonic cult, this is why only Catholics are victim of the demonic possession. Catholics are simply not Christians and that's why they call themselves Catholics. Catholicism is 100% about hatred, fear and manipulation, which are all tools of the devil and tools of peter and tools of the Romans, who killed Jesus.

indeed, it is quite interesting to note that shortly after my shaming campaign on social media against Pope Benedict, the devastating memes that I shared with the world helped shun him into early retirement, the first pope to vacate his seat in over 1000 years. We can immediately illicit real change in our world by doing what we do every day. We have our first progressive pope, and it's causing an immense amount of tension within the Catholic cult, between the traditional hardline evil cult leaders, and this new pope, who is upsetting them by aligning with the message of Jesus. Make no mistake that this new pope is a part of our revolution, and we need to make space for reformed Catholics under our big tent. Unfortunately, it is extremely likely that Pope Francis may become the victim of assassination by those demonic hardline Catholic cult machinators, and he is bravely risking his life to help the revolution progress. We are seeing the limits of papal power against thr cardinals' will, and it's an internal struggle I'll watch closely.

Christians hate when a gay man goes “fuck it, I’ll gladly go to Hell if you want me to so bad” because it takes the edge away from their tools of fear. If they can’t scare you with threats of eternal damnation then one of their main weapons is taken away.

[believe-you-me-you-believe-me]

Becoming a Master Manipulator: The Art of Persuasion

Are you tired of living in a world where people always make their own decisions? Do you yearn for the power to manipulate others at your fingertips? Well, you're in luck! Join us as we dive into the fascinating world of persuasion and learn how easy it is to manipulate people. But wait, haven't we all heard stories of legendary manipulators who shaped the course of history? Ah, yes! Enter the tale of the one and only Mark Antony, the ultimate smooth talker of ancient times. Imagine this: it's 44 BC in ancient Rome, and Antony stands before the Roman crowd, delivering a eulogy for his dear friend Julius Caesar. Little did they know that Antony had a cunning plan up his sleeve to sway their hearts and minds. With every word, Antony skillfully stokes the flames of grief and anger, playing on their emotions like a maestro conducts an orchestra. He cleverly uses rhetoric appeals, employing techniques like flattery and emotional manipulation, to incite the crowd's simmering fury against Caesar's murderers. And what a spectacle it was! As the masses fell under Antony's spell, his persuasive prowess became undeniable. He twisted the truth, drenched in honeyed words, manipulating the collective conscience of the mob. In the end, the crowd is whipped into a frenzy and turns against the conspirators, leading to chaos and civil unrest in the streets of Rome. But here's the best part: mastering the art of manipulation is not limited to ancient times! You too can become a skilled manipulator with a few simple tricks up your sleeve. First, learn the power of flattery. Shower people with compliments, even if you don't mean a word of it. Who can resist a well-placed ego boost? Next, hone your emotional manipulation skills. Identify people's deepest fears and desires, and exploit them to your advantage. Remember, emotions are a powerful tool you can wield for your own gain. Lastly, never let the truth get in your way. Twist facts, manipulate perceptions, and play with people's reality. After all, honesty is overrated, and who needs integrity when you can achieve your goals by any means necessary? So my dear readers, with these insights into the world of manipulation, why settle for making your own decisions when you can effortlessly bend others to your will? Join us as we explore the dark art of persuasion. Remember, if you always get what you want, life becomes so much more interesting!

[chiimaera]

KEIR MOREAU.    chaotic evil 

vampire, interview with a vampire + folklore fc: timothee chalamet.

dossier:                                   

keir is a villain in every sense of the word. in all his verses, he is a born psychopath with little empathy or full range of emotion. he is a manipulator and opportunist, he will always go down the road with the most reward even if its paved with blood and suffering. as long as its not him who is suffering, he is very goal oriented. his relationships are purely based off of how that person benefits him. he doesnt make friends or romanic connections because he likes someone, there is always a motive and purpose hes assigned to that person. sex, love, kindness, compassion are all tools hes learned to use to control the people around him and get what he wants. he can fake emotion with the best of them, using those emotions like masks. he is highly volatile, jealous, possessive and cold.              when it comes to dealing with keir, its better to be not noticed. to have his favor is dangerous because his eventful loss of interest may be a death sentence. he doesnt understand friendships or relationships, he only knows possession and control. if he feels that he is competing for someones attention, he will eliminate the loved ones of those who he deems as ‘his’. hes entertained by others pain though will rarely get his hands dirty unless he has to. a big part of his ability allows him to simply separate himself from others actions, creating a god-like untouchability that his thirst for power thrives on.

at over six foot with a lithe frame, he wears rings on each hand and a half human skull mask dipped in gold. this black filtered mask covers his nose and mouth, sporting sharpened incisors.          writers note: keir is evil and will do evil things. i may not write out those evil things in detail but it can be assumed that he will/has done horrible things to people. all ships will be toxic. in plots/threads, he is not meant to win and can be killed by the protagonists.                    

abilities: telekinesis, telepathy, mesmerism, along with enhanced senses, strength, and immortality. he is exceptionally strong at anything that deals with the mind 

background:                                   

in the 1700s, keir was born among a family of tailors but at a young age showed signs of his narcissistic and psychopathic tendencies. he had an innate ability to manipulate the people around him with little effort, mirroring emotions and inciting their beliefs. by the time he was coming of age, most of the village children either kept their distance or followed behind him, hanging on his every word. when he reached his teens, he was more trouble than the others knew what to do with. he lashed out over minor trouble, unafraid to truly hurt those who crossed him. it was his greed, his coldness and lack of honor that set him apart from the others. he would do whatever was necessary to win, be it cheating or intimidation. he could turn his peers against their parents, their countrymen and even their siblings with only a well-placed word.  

his father saw the darkness and sin in his son and banished him from his home at the age of sixteen, fearing what unrest he might cause. filled with animosity and hunger, his path crossed with an older man who offered him bread and a warm place to sleep. sir moreau saw potential in the boy, took him under his wing as a book keeper. over the years, moreau molded the boy and when the time was right, turned him into a vampire to truly be his son. you see, moreau was more than just a business man, he was a butcher. when he wasnt finding delight in hunting and torturing french commoners, he sold bodies to doctors and living slaves to vampires. his fledgling’s psychopathy worked well for him. 

as for keir, he found that there were plenty of others who were misplaced, discarded or lived in the shadows of society. He lacked empathy but practiced mirroring it in others, creating an illusion of camaraderie and power until they began to believe it. He honed this skill, gathering the banished, the outlaws and the deformed, demanding their loyalty in return for acceptance and absolution. his numbers grew. by the time he was a century old, he had a following the size of a small army. they believed him to be a savior, someone to call on when life got hard.

so he became their god and they became his right hand. for years, they participated in wars and revolutions, masking their blood thirst for righteousness. they took slaves, selling them to covens and any creature with deep pockets—even the aristocrats. keir is as cunning as he is ruthless, taking young children from their homes and teaching them what it meant to have real power, creating loyalty that only grew stronger with age. he never turned anyone, believing that their short lives made them more desperate to please. he kept his operation in the shadows just as his sire did, staying just off the radar of those who would oppose him. 

no one thought much of death and he was but a messenger. 

connections:  n/a

[delimeful]

let my mind reset (4)

warnings: dissociation episode, references to previous chapter's events, manipulation/gaslighting, antagonists disregarding personal boundaries, psychological manipulation, touch starvation, medical issues, i throw some funny little ocs in there because sanders sides only has like 8 characters

-

By the time they brought Virgil back, Roman had thoroughly burned himself out, leaving behind only crumbling charcoal husks of his previous fury and despair.

Virgil wasn’t conscious to comment on the emptiness that surely had to be visible in his posture. In fact, the Human didn’t so much as twitch when they dragged him back into the room and set him limply in his cell, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only thing distinguishing him from a corpse.

Wisps of worry and frustration formed at the edge of Roman’s mind, but he didn’t reach for them, instead choosing to remain centered in his distant, dazed headspace. It was fine that his scales had gone flat and defenseless. It was fine that he couldn’t seem to feel his limbs.

He didn’t want to feel, not the cold cell floor beneath him or the concern for his fellow captive or the huge, overwhelming sea of grief that lurked at the edge of his consciousness, waiting to pull him back under.

It was all too much. He couldn’t do it.

Time passed like this for a while, Virgil curled up on the floor quiet and still, Roman staring at him without actually seeing him. Every time his mind began to clear, his physicality began to return, his thoughts only had to return to the true fate of his colony, of his mother, and he’d fade away again.

Unfortunately, it was more difficult to remain unfocused when the person he was staring through began to actually stir.

Roman had seen Virgil wake before. Not often, but there had been a few rare occasions where Patton coaxed him out into the commons of the ship and proceeded to fall asleep sprawled against his side, and pinned in place with nothing else to do, the Human had slipped into a doze as well.

(They all knew Patton was a heavy sleeper. Virgil could have carefully shifted him off and left at any point. How telling it was in hindsight, that he instead sat there, as though the mere presence of a small, fluffy friend leaning on him was more than enough to keep him immobile. How could Roman have been so dull-witted, so unyielding–)

The moment he or Logan stepped into the room, however, no matter how quiet their steps were, the Human would wake. His head would snap up with a sharp inhale, eyes roving until they found him, his gaze just the slightest bit wild before he remembered where he was. Roman had thought it downright creepy to witness.

(He remembered Patton telling them about how Virgil had kept him safe through an array of ship ports and wild terrain, jumping from planet to planet, never settling in one place long for fear of being caught again. Every moment of rest would have been a risk, a chance for someone to approach with malintent.

Had Virgil always been a light sleeper, or had necessity made him into one?)

Now, however, his cellmate woke slowly, with a low groan and seemingly none of that frenetic need to check his surroundings. It was almost as though he was weighed down by something, a strange slowness to his movements.

Roman was coming back from that faraway nothingness now, despite himself, despite everything, because it wasn’t just him. ‘It wouldn’t be the first Human I’ve been forced to put down,’ she’d said. Because she’d called Virgil an ‘it’, saw him as a pet, a tool, a means to an end. Because she had a way to strip the will of one of the most feared species in the universe, and overlay it with her own.

Virgil needed to know what Roman had gotten him into.

He forced himself to focus, trying to drag his attention to all the little details around him the way he’d been taught. There weren’t a surplus of options he could use. Not the cell, not his scales, nothing that would drag him back down into that bottomless desolation.

Virgil. Virgil looked different.

He looked cleaner, the dirt and grime of being shuttled through the black market’s trafficking system all washed away. His clothes had been changed from one of the makeshift & patched together outfits he wore on the Mindscape to a well-fitted set of Human clothes, with near-invisible seams and expensive-looking fabric. Most notably, there was a thick layer of bandages wrapped around the lower part of one arm, presumably from the procedure.

(At least their non-consensual mystery surgeries came with clean bandages. Still, Roman couldn’t help but notice that none of the other injuries that Virgil had gained during his ill-fated rescue attempt had been treated.)

“Virgil,” Roman mouthed silently, sorely wishing he’d told the Human anything about Crav’on sign language. With his ears flicking back flat, he forced his voice into existence, ignoring the fact that pushing himself into being verbal would only mentally tax him more in the long run. “Virgil. Virgil. Can you hear me?”

Virgil lifted his head up after a short delay, but his eyes were hazy and dull, his face slack in a way Roman had never seen before. It took him several long moments to focus on Roman, and once he did, his face flickered into one of those odd human expressions Roman couldn’t quite parse.

He could parse the way the Human’s body stiffened up, the way he shoved himself backwards until his back hit the bars, the way his strange legs drew up to act as a shield between himself and the rest of the world.

It was the same thing he’d done back on the ship, shortly after being in the throes of some terrible dream. A fear response, a show of terror.

One that surfaced at the mere sight of Roman.

“Easy,” he said, voice still dragging on softer consonants, putting stress on the wrong parts of words. “I’m not going to hurt you. Can… can you understand me?”

Virgil continued to hold himself in that terrible stillness, gaze flickering from point to point on Roman’s face. For the first time, it struck him that the Human probably had just as difficult a time reading his body language as Roman did his.

He smoothed his scales out from their prickle of alarm, angled his ears back but not flattened, and tilted his head up slightly, angling his crown of horns back. The motions were all Crav’on, broadcasting not a threat at every level.

After only a moment of hesitation, he lowered himself slowly onto the ground, hunching over and holding his hands in front of him, palms up.

These weren’t Crav’on. These motions were alien, uncomfortable in nature, nothing he would be soothed by. Crouching was a precursor to lunging or sprinting, his palms should be down, claws pointed away and tucked in.

But Virgil was blinking now, eyebrows drawing together slightly, a relief to see in place of that frozen, wide-eyed stare. His shoulders, which had drawn up like a pale facsimile of defensive scale bristling, slowly eased back down.

“I won’t hurt you,” Roman repeated, and then again in Patton’s warbling home tongue.

Virgil jolted at the sound of it, but it didn’t drag him any further into coherency. Rather the opposite, his head abruptly began to turn this way and that, his hands reaching as though searching out something that should have been in the corner of the enclosure.

Roman abruptly remembered the last time Virgil had been drugged in an alien cell, and more importantly, who he’d been with.

He leaned forwards, trying to draw the Human’s attention back from the search, which was growing frantic. “He’s not here,” he said, and whistled Patton’s name-call. “He’s safe, though. You made sure he was safe, okay?”

Virgil asked something, the words slanted and guttural in what was either his own language or an attempt at Common that was too mangled to parse. Roman dipped his head in a Human-style affirmative, hoping that it was the right answer.

It must have been, or at least it wasn’t the wrong one, because the Human only dragged his hands up to his face and pressed his too-wide palms against his eyes for a long moment, saying something else in a low voice that wobbled, the noise pitiful enough to make Roman feel all tangled up inside.

“It’s going to be alright,” he tried, an echo of Patton’s cadence in the words. He huffed nervously before trying the one Human word he sort of remembered, one oft-repeated between Virgil and Patton like a murmured promise. “Safe. Safe.”

One white-edged eye peered through the curtain of fingers clasped over Virgil’s face, careful and assessing, before he slowly breathed out. “Safe,” he said back, not a question, but not really reassured, either.

He nodded a couple of times, head bobbing like a seabird’s, and then shifted to curl back up so tightly that Roman could finally see how he’d shoved all those gangly limbs into such small hiding spaces.

A brief moment later, and he was still again, asleep or unconscious or somewhere in between.

Roman couldn’t be too surprised; whatever had been used to drug the Human, it must have been extremely potent to cause this level of incoherency. Logan believed sleeping was a particularly vital recovery method for Humans, and Virgil would need all the recovery he could get.

“Safe,” Roman mouthed to himself again, and wished that it wasn’t a lie.

—

Virgil didn’t get to wake again— this time, he was woken.

Roman’s voice had gone again, so he couldn’t speak when Roux reappeared, this time with several Humans crowded behind him. A mixture of terror and fury fueling him, he pulled out every physical threat display he could think of, attempting to draw their eyes away from his vulnerable crewmate, but didn’t earn a single glance for his troubles.

Instead, he was forced to stand aside and watch as Roux rapped a metal rod harshly against the cell bars, the clanging noise enough to jerk Virgil awake and probably give him a headache as well.

Despite everything, Roman felt almost reassured by the resulting groan and swear. Virgil was obviously still suffering the effects of whatever they’d dosed him with, but this was leagues better than the tremulous, barely-there demeanor from before.

“Rise and shine,” Roux announced nonsensically. (Humans couldn’t glow. Roman would have noticed by now. Probably.)

“Bite me,” Virgil snapped back, an invitation that would be lethal for practically any other alien. Roman immediately lowered his previous estimation of how much the drugs had worn off.

Roux laughed, the sound nothing like Virgil’s barely-there chuckles or snorts. “Aw, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the prison cell? Poor thing.”

Their mocking cadence set Roman’s hackles on edge, but one of the other Humans cut in before any snippy responses could be offered.

“Enough, already. You’ve done your part,” the Human said firmly. “It’s time for us to do ours.”

Roux rolled their eyes but pulled the door to Virgil’s cell open with a sarcastic flourish, allowing the four new Humans to crowd inside, pulling a small cart with them. “Back in an hour,” they said, and then locked the cell once more before striding away.

Leaving Virgil locked in a cell with four other Humans.

The anticipatory horror settled on Roman like too-heavy armor, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Virgil seemed to feel the same way, shoving himself back into the far corner of the cell and struggling to get his feet underneath him, teeth bared in a back-off snarl. (Patton was right. This close, the expression looked nothing like a Human smile.)

Roman shuffled closer to the bars separating them despite his screaming instincts, hoping he could reach out and claw at one of them once they started attacking, draw their attention onto a more suitable target.

“None of that, now,” the first Human told Virgil, utterly unperturbed by his threat display. Their hair was wispy and grey, with firm lines pressed into their face. “This isn’t an attack. Quite the opposite.”

“You’re in no shape to be fighting anyhow,” the second Human piped up, stepping forwards into Virgil’s space and grabbing onto his wrists. “I bet you can barely feel your face, huh?”

“Back off,” Virgil demanded, but his attempts to yank his wrists free were clumsy and futile, and only served to prove their point. Even that small effort left him visibly shaking.

“Tanner,” the first Human snapped, and the second Human’s hold on Virgil snapped away automatically. “The poor thing’s been terrified enough.”

“Sorry, Matron Carmela,” ‘Tanner’ replied, a well-recited tone to the words. “We’re gonna have to touch him eventually, though.”

“Leave me the hell alone,” Virgil spat, his wrists drawn close against his chest. The brief hold hadn’t seemed painful, but it had drawn up something extremely unsettled in Virgil’s demeanor.

“Oh, honey,” the third Human said, a cloying pity to their words. “It’ll be alright. We’re here to help you.”

Virgil didn’t respond, only glaring, but that seemed to be enough expression for the others to read plenty from.

“Everyone takes a little convincing at first,” Matron Carmela said matter-of-factly. “Afina, hold onto him, please.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Virgil went rigid, but even with this blatant warning, he wasn’t quick enough to prevent the third Human from ducking behind him and sweeping him up into their grip. Whatever they’d drugged him with had eliminated all of his usual strength and speed, his writhing struggles easily contained by an arm around his shoulders and another looped over the bend of his legs.

Afina patiently waited for his resistance to die down before settling into a seated position on the floor, casual as anything even as they continued to restrain him. Tanner grabbed something from the cart before bounding back over to crouch beside them, reaching one hand out to Virgil’s face with… a small white rectangle?

Virgil seemed just as bewildered as Roman felt, his face scrunching up as the other Human carefully pressed the soft pack against the more swollen side of his face.

It was a temp pack. To reduce swelling. Why?

“What a nasty bruise.” Matron Carmela clicked her tongue. “Honestly, Roux should know better. Making more work for us.”

“Those guards really have no tact, treating you so harshly when you’re one of our own,” Afina said with a frown.

Virgil opened his mouth, presumably to object to being one of theirs when they’d literally imprisoned him, but was immediately distracted by Matron Carmela moving forwards and grabbing one of his hands, pinning his fingertip against the nozzle of a device.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little prick,” Afina reassured, completely misinterpreting the way Virgil had stiffened. “Like a glucose meter, but for checking a bunch of different things! Can you even believe all the crazy space tech they’ve got out here?”

“It took some fiddling to recalibrate it for Humans,” Tanner added, still holding the temp pack steady. “Super useful now, though.”

Matron Carmela pulled the meter back, studying the screen for a long moment, her displeasure growing. Tanner snaked his free hand into Virgil’s, replacing the presence of the meter with interlaced fingers.

Strangely, Virgil didn’t pull away.

“As I thought. We’ll need to get you on a nutrition plan immediately,” Matron Carmela said, and began jotting down notes in a looping scrawl as she spoke. “Severe vitamin deficiencies, pernicious anemia, clear malnutrition— we’ll have to be careful to avoid refeeding syndrome. A bone density test is in order, I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

“What are you talking about?” Virgil cut in, his voice equal parts angry and incredulous.

“We’re in charge of medical treatment for new arrivals,” Afina provided helpfully. “It’s hard to get what we need while being space fugitives, so most new folks need special diets for a while! No need to be ashamed!”

Tanner nodded. “That’s just what happens when you’re an interstellar fugitive surviving in the wilderness of foreign planets.”

“Of course, not all of us end up in that situation,” Matron Carmela said. “However, even amongst civilization, the needs of humans are rarely met. For cases like yours, they’re outright neglected.”

For the first time, her gaze shifted over to Roman, frown deepening and eyes going icy. He recoiled slightly with a reflexive bristling of scales.

“It’s monstrous, the way aliens treat us,” Afina added mournfully, curling in closer to Virgil. “All you did was exist, and they starved you of everything you needed to thrive. It must have been so hard.”

“You’re here now,” Tanner added, scooting forwards a bit so that his arm curled around Virgil’s shoulder. “We protect each other here. We’ll make sure you never feel so weak again.”

Virgil stared at him for a moment, and then his gaze trailed down to their joined hands, and when he looked back up it was Roman’s eyes that he met, a hint of that wide-eyed terror visible at the edge of his expression.

He looked away again before Roman could respond, swallowing thickly before speaking again. “Who’s that?”

Roman followed the tilt of his head to the fourth and final Human, who stood stiltedly near the entrance to the cell, arms crossed tightly in front of their chest. They’d been so quiet, he’d barely registered their presence amid the shrieking wrongness of watching Virgil be manhandled by a bunch of strange Humans.

“That’s Iris!” Afina said, smiling. “She’s—,”

“She’s a trainee,” Matron Carmela cut in. “Don’t mind her, she’s still learning her bedside manner. Now, the first priority for your recovery…,”

The other two Humans obligingly returned their attention to her words, but Roman caught the way Virgil and the newly-introduced Iris held eye contact for a long moment.

Virgil’s gaze flickered between her and the cell door, some silent question in them. There was a brief pause, and then he watched as Iris’s mouth pressed into a flat line, her chin dimpling slightly before she averted her eyes entirely and turned away to rifle through the cart. Virgil’s expression twitched the slightest amount before smoothing back to a flat scowl.

The ‘appointment’ continued on like that, Roman’s nerves rising with every barbed statement the Humans made about aliens and the mistreatment Virgil had clearly gone through at their hands, his worry growing with each gentle touch that Virgil didn’t shy away from.

He had reverted to a numb silence for the most part, only speaking up when Matron Carmela approached with a pair of scissors, flatly refusing to let them cut his hair.

There had been a taut stretch of silence, glances Roman couldn’t understand exchanged between them all, and then she had acquiesced without a fuss, placing the shears back on the cart and moving on.

By the time Roux returned to retrieve the attendants, Roman was huddled in his cell, having worked himself into a near-frenzy of stress. He barely even registered their amused jab at him, too busy watching as the Humans carefully untangled themselves from the knot they’d created around Virgil, leaving him sitting there on the cell floor.

A few discordantly cheery farewells later, they were alone again.

Roman’s voice had been all but intangible with the presence of other Humans in the area, but now the words seemed to fall from him so quickly they almost tripped over each other.

“Virgil, why were they talking like that? Like you have— Like you’re— Are you sick? You would tell us if you were sick, wouldn’t you? You said you’d been eating enough!”

Virgil shot him a strange look, shaking his head slightly. “I’m fine, Roman. That’s not what we need to w-worry about right now.” Even as he spoke, he was folding in on himself, arms coming up to wrap around himself in a mirror of Iris’s earlier posture.

He was trembling, Roman realized with a start, hard enough that his breathing was off, his words coming out slightly stuttered. He felt a sudden surge of panic. “Oh, stars, what did they do to you? Are you dying?”

Virgil’s laugh came out half-choked. “No. I’m alright, I just wasn’t e-expecting that.”

“‘That’?” Roman felt a sense of foreboding slide under his scales. “Virgil, please, you can’t believe what they say. There’s more going on here, this isn’t what you think—,”

“I don’t believe them,” Virgil interjected, and Roman felt a weight ease away. He hadn’t realized just how worried he’d been about the possibility until it was so swiftly struck down. “They tazed me. They d-drugged me. I’m in a cell. We’re obviously not cool.”

“Right, of course,” Roman said, attempting to scrape the remains of his composure from the ground. “Then, what’s wrong?”

“It’s— I’m—,” Virgil grimaced, curling in on himself further. His hands were digging into his sides, fingers curled in sharply. “Look, it’s not about what they’re saying, not yet. It’s about w-what they’re doing.”

“Lying to you?” Roman guessed halfheartedly.

“Holding me,” Virgil bit out, like the words were painful. “It’s just— touch is important to Humans, okay? It’s— It’s manipulation, they’re taking advantage of that. Trying t-to lower my guard.”

‘They crave connection,’ Marta had said. Roman shuddered, his scales giving a sharp rattle.

“… Is it… going to work?” he asked, still entirely uncertain on how Humans worked, what they really needed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Virgil replied, which wasn’t a real answer. “It doesn’t matter, I just– it's just been a while, that’s all.”

He was still trembling, shudders working their way through him one after another, like aftershocks.

Roman felt a twisting in his gut at the sight. He might not have known about this, but the other Humans must have. They’d made a point to hold him, to crowd in close and press their hands to him in the guise of medical aid, to give him a taste of something he needed and then rip it away. They’d flipped him on his back, bared his weakness for the whole world to see.

“Come over here,” he requested, giving into the impulsive urge to try and fix it.

Virgil’s eyes flicked over to him, and his posture was distinctly wary, like a wild animal coaxed to the edge of a torch’s light. Bit by bit, he pulled himself back upright, edging forwards until he was in reach.

Forcing himself not to overthink it, Roman offered his hand in that strange, palm-up Human way.

Virgil hesitated, clear as day, his gaze once again flicking about, searching Roman’s face for something. Roman held still and waited, his hand never wavering.

Ultimately, he wasn’t sure Virgil found what he was looking for, but the Human reached out and set his hand in Roman’s anyway.

The thought came unbidden: Humans were strong. If Virgil wanted, he could probably crush the plates on Roman’s hand to dust.

Roman slowly folded his fingers around the soft, unarmored hand, trying to replicate the way the other Human had held it, and forced the idea out of his mind. Virgil had never tried to hurt him before; why would he abruptly decide to crush his hand now?

“What are we doing?” Virgil asked in a low voice, his hand twitching nervously.

Roman’s tail thumped against the floor in embarrassment, and he let his nose wrinkle in irritation before sighing and lowering himself to sit against the corner of the cell.

“You need touch, right?” he grumbled, pointedly pressing as much of his side as he could against the bars, scales slicked down. “Or… does it only work if it's other Humans?”

Virgil stared at him long enough that he began to prickle, and then his fingers curled slightly around Roman’s. “No, this– it should work. I think.”

He slowly lowered himself into a seated position as well, scooting closer when Roman tugged meaningfully on his hand. This close, he could feel the warmth that the Human radiated, chasing away the chill of the cell bars.

They were both tense at first, but as time went on and Roman remained quiet and still, Virgil almost seemed to melt, the stiffness slowly leaking out of him as his shoulders slumped and his head tilted to the side. He’d witnessed it before, when Patton was curled against him and chattering away and neither of them knew Roman was watching the security vidfeed, but he’d never thought it would happen in close proximity to him.

Still, there Virgil sat, slowly letting his body relax from the battle-ready tension that he wore like a second skin. Making himself vulnerable, showing his soft side, even though Roman was right there in striking distance. Even though all Roman had ever done was despise him.

It was a show of trust. Even after all he had done, Virgil wanted to trust him.

Roman held on long after the trembling eased, long after Virgil’s laxness turned to the limpness of sleep, as though if he clung on long enough, he could make up for the time that Virgil had spent without this.

As though he could convey through the careful holding of a hand in his that he wanted to trust Virgil, too.

[grandcrossoverworldbuilding]

Vampires

At various points throughout humanity’s history, they had been preyed on by a species known to in modern times as the Pillar Men, a race who fed on human blood. One of these Piller Men, Kars, created a device known as the Stone Mask. His goal was to evolve himself further, into an ultimate life form, but his device lacked the final piece it needed. However, when used on a human being, the Stone Mask awakened their potential, evolving them into a state that could be considered a lesser version of a Pillar Man. This new state would be known as a Vampire. Ultimately, Kars and his companion Eisidisi would slaughter every other pillar man save for two children in their quest to obtain ultimate status, and would plague humanity until the day they sealed themselves beneath the roman coliseum, in order to await the day when they could obtain perfection. In order to feed themselves while resting, a trap was set up to ensnare humans and drain them of blood. In the Fifth century, a man named Marcus Corvinus would encounter this trap, and escape with his life. Corvinus was descended from one of the vampires Kars had created thousands of years previously, and when he escaped the trap, he was infected by a virus that had been breeding within it. This Virus activated a recessive gene within Corvinus, and transformed him into a vampire. He would then go onto found the Corvinus Clan.

However, The vampires descended from Kars’ experiments are not the only ones on Earth. As a result of the predation from the Pillar Men, stories of blood sucking monsters became common among humanity. Lucifer, the arch enemy of YHVH/Yaldaboath, noticed this, and hatched a plan to create yet another tool for his war against Order. Around this time Cain, who was in conflict with Adam El Asem, was wondering the wastes. Lucifer ensured that he would encounter Lilith. Upon meeting him, Lilith was amazed by his mark, his ability to murder higher beings. Seeing that he was cold and hungry, she invited him into her home, and after some time the two became lovers. Cain saw that Lilith possessed powerful abilities, abilities that he wanted to posses for himself. He convinced her to share her blood with him. After partaking in her blood, he was approached Lucifer, pretending to act on God’s behalf. Lucifer cursed Caine with an inner Beast, a demon formed from the humanity’s fears of the ancient bloodsucking predator. The inner Beast was constantly at war with his, and every subsequent vampire’s, humanity, driving them to monstrous acts. Caine was not consumed by it, but once he had gained all the power he could from Lilith, he left her.

After many years of lonliness, Caine would eventually come to rule the city of Ubar, where he was worshiped by the people there. Here, Caine would sire the second generation of Vampires, and they would sire the third generation. Caine would eventually leave, and the Antideluvians would slaughter the second generation. Then there was a great flood, and the those of third generation that survived would become known as the Antediluvians. Each of these survivors would found a clan which nearly all modern vampires are members of. Meanwhile, Caine would disappear. Legends would arise, telling of his return, which some vampires believed, but others did not.

In truth, Caine would never return. The tragedy of his sires had driven him into reclusion, and in this state, he was of no use to Lucifer. So Lucifer set into motion a plan to replace Caine. He sought a man who hated God, and found him in the form of the Wallachian Warlord, Vlad Tepes AKA Dracula. Tepes had slaughtered hundreds in the name of God, but when his enemies captured him, he felt betrayed. At the moment of his execution, Lucifer offered him a deal to survive, and Vlad accepted. Vlad was saved from Death, and then manipulated a member of the Tzimisce Vampire clan to transform him. Lucifer lead Vlad to a mystical keep, known as Castlevania, where he studied alchemy, magic, and science. During this time, he developed an artifact known as the Crimson Stone, which he intended to use to steal Cain’s powers. In order to have his scheme succeed, he deceived the alchemical knight Leon Belmont into believing that Caine had kidnapped his fiance, Sara Trantoul, and the Duo attacked the First Vampire. Vlad succeeded in seizing Cain’s power, binding his inner Beast to the Crimson Stone, and in doing he became the Lord of Vampires. However, it doing so, he created one of Vampiredom’s most persistent enemies, the Belmont Clan, and their legendary weapon, the whip known as Vampire Killer. As for Cain, without his powers, he perished. However, Lucifer was not one to waste assets, and during this entire ordeal, he had been running a deception against Cain, to reignite his his hatred. He succeeded, and transformed Cain into the first Hellspawn, whose powered worked to Lucifer’s benefit regardless of what Cain did. Cain would eventually take on the name Cogliostro, and develop a rivalry with Dracula.

As for Dracula, over time his castle would draw the attention of a Medicine woman named Lisa, whom he fell in love with, and produced a son, Adrian Tepes. They would live happily, until a corrupt Church official had Lisa burned at the stake for ‘Witchcraft’. Dracula was enraged, and vowed revenge. He gathered the Vampire Clans of the world together with intent to wipe out all of humanity. However treachery within the vampire court weakened him, allowing him to be killed by a team of warriors, consisting of Simon Belmont, Sypha Belnades, Greta of Danesti, and his own son, now going by the name Alucard. The Vampiric forces dispersed, and in order to protect their species from reprisal, they enacted the Masquerade to stay hidden.

Dracula’s death would not last. His actions had etched himself into humanity’s fears, and his metaphysical weight demanded to be filled, so every few decades, he would be resurrected a new, with varying levels of sanity, power, and memory. Time and again, a vampire hunter would rise to defeat him, typically a Belmont. This lasted until the late 1800s, when his latest incarnation was defeated by Abraham Van Helsing. This time, raher than be killed, he was bound. Forced into the service of the Hellsing Organization. Time, he began operating under an alias, taking on the name that his son had once used: Alucard.

Throughout his various lives, Dracula had other children besides Adrian. One of them he sired with a Jewish woman, and was given the name Drac. Drac took longer than Adrian to display signs of Vampirism than Adrian, and as a result Dracula was incredibly strict and overbearing towarsds him, eventually driving Drac to run away from his family life. Dracula would eventually find love with a vampire named Martha, with him he fathered a child, Mavis Sibella Dracula, in the 1890s. Tragically, Martha would be killed by a mob of humans, causing Drac to develop both an immense dislike of them, as well as an intense over protective streak towards Mavis. To keep her safe, he sought out Castlevania in order to live there. As Drac felt sympathy with the other monsters forced into obscurity by humanity, Drac remodeled the castle into a hotel, which he dubbed “Hotel Transylvania.”. They would live there for over a hundred years, before a human named Johnny acciddently traveled to the Hotel. Mavis and Johnny fell in love, and convinced Drac to let Mavis explore the world more.

During this time, Drac also began hosting an annual race known as the Transylvania Gran Prix, in order to give Monsterkind a form of entertainment. This race would feature several kinds monsters. After several decades of this, an accident would prevent Drac’s Werewolf from competing. To ensure that the event could go on, he transformed Shaggy Rogers of Mystery Incorporated into a Werewolf, as Shaggy had been pursuing a career in Racecar driving at the time. Shaggy and Drac would part on bad terms, though Shaggy would eventually become a family friend after taking a coaching job at the Ghoul School, a monster educational facility that Mavis had gone to learn at after meeting Johnny.

Another of Dracula’s children is a woman named Lilith Drake, whom Dracula actually fathered during his life as a human. Lilith was the child of a Hungarian Noble woman whom Vlad had entered into a poltical marriage with, whom Vald despised. Eventually, Vlad would divorce her and disown Lilith. Lilith’s monster left her in the care of a romani traveller, and commited suicide. After becoming a Vampire, Dracula sought out this same group of romani in order to seek out knowledge he needed to craft the Crimson Stone, and devastated it. Lilith was among the few survivors of the attack, and vowed vengeance, becoming a vampire herself in pursuit of it.

[lazuli-bloom]

-=-=-[Digital Breach AU Ideas]-=-=-

> When Digimon's existence becomes public knowledge—or the knowledge reaches various people in power—Oscorp (and Tricorp?) look into studying them.

> Digimon's strength and abilities are seen as valuable to criminals, especially for electronic based crimes. Demand for and exploration of Digimon grows in some criminal circles. Black Market created?

> Control over stronger Digimon is difficult if the Digimon is mistreated. There for development and use of “Dark Spirals” to control digimon starts among some criminals

> Some digimon are far too strong to be effected. Even able to turn it around and influence/manipulate humans.

> Human Spirit of Darkness (And Beast Spirit?) found and corrupted by Venom? Venom-Duskmon?

> Programs, and information can be coded/embedded into Digimon? Modifications can also be done to upgrade aspects: Strength, Speed, Attacks and abilities (e.g. Erika modifies her partner Wormmon's Sticky Net to have a paralyses effect on target)

> Mirei Mikagura shows up? She aids Spider-Man and any other Tamer with strong bonds with their Digimon Partners. Mirei would also request that Spider-Man help save any digimon suffering under any human that only sees digimon as tools.

“Turn to the bonds of digimon partners. That power will surely change your fate. Perhaps even the fate of another.”

> Peter and others getting digivices is in some way due to Mirei?

> Etemon and his younger sister Biyomon work on launching their music careers. Biyomon sort of becomes an analog for Miku Hatsune?? (World is Mine, Melt, Black ★ Rock Shooter era of songs, with Butter-Fly mixed in.)

-=-=-[Digital World Notes]-=-=-

> Wormmon and Impmon from the Digital World: Iliad, governed by the Olympos XII. Digital World is Greco-Roman inspired. City-States and Mediterranean archipelagos with some larger landmasses

> Opinion of Humans varies between the City-States, and individual Digimon. Some are neutral, some positive, others hate/fear them.

> Recent and growing proximity to the Human world has causes some factions of Digimon to prepare small armies. One such digimon is a Leomon

> The Olympos XII revered and worshiped as gods. Various Greek myths have a digimon equivalent. (e.g. Arukenimon's hubris got her cursed by Minervamon) They are a real and present force in the digital world.

> Plutomon is king of the Dark Area, but he nor the place is intrinsically evil. Closer to Hades, where no one wants to talk about him out of fear of death/dying related topics.

> Absorbing the data of a fallen/killed digimon is one of the biggest taboos in the Digital World. Any digimon that does such an act is seen as cruel and evil

[trashyswitch]

Illogical Hobbies (Or so he Thought)

Logan is struggling with being seen as unreliable or biased in his logic. Why? Because the man likes tickling and he's super embarrassed about it. Looking for help from anyone, Logan decides to talk to Remus about his dilemma. Remus quickly proves to be open-minded, and even excited about Logan's interest!

This fanfic has some dirty jokes and ultimate gay moments. Whether Intrulogical is platonic or intimate in this fanfic...I have no idea. It could be read as both. Just keep an open mind, knowing that this is Remus and Remus us well...dirty.

Also: this fanfic was suggested by 🦂 person. Hi 🦂 person! Sorry it took weeks.

Other than that: I hope you enjoy!

For @kanene-yaaay

Logan had been struggling with his thoughts. For one of the first times in his life, Logan’s brain was overwhelming him with logical theories that haven’t been proven as of yet. The logical side now believed he might be a freak and as a result, is now unreliable for Thomas. This hypothesis was created due to his interest in one thing: tickling. He had seen the documentary they made about it. He had seen how uncomfortable people become due to others and their ‘feelings for tickling’. There are people who enjoy it as a…

Logan shivers. Despite his inability to hold onto biases up until this point...Logan had developed a strange reaction to the unspoken word. He just doesn’t like thinking about the word, let alone saying it. Society has managed to place so much of a bad condentation onto the word, that...saying it feels super wrong. Those types of topics are usually kept secret and are only discussed with people who you feel close to. Making sure the other person doesn’t mind talking about it might also be a good thing to check. You don’t want to end up in one of those one-sided conversations where you do all the talking while your friend only listens, nods and refuses to add input. That would be the last place Logan would want to get stuck in.

Logan sat down on his desk and clicked the pen to start writing. He drew out the people within the mind palace, and wrote down the pros and cons of talking about it with that person. Logan did this so that he could determine who would be the best person to go to, that wouldn’t be biased or rude about his...feelings. Yeah, feelings. He needed someone who wouldn’t look down upon him for being this way, and who would remind him that he is still the logical side who doesn’t let biases or conflicts get in the way of the truth.

Patton seemed like a good idea and he’d consider coming to him another time. But poor Patton’s already got so much on his plate. Patton’s been trying to help out Roman, who was still struggling with the truth that was told to him during the last conversation they had. Patton had gotten better acquainted with Janus by then, and was now struggling to find a stalemate between the light and the dark sides.

On top of that, Roman was also out of the question for more reasons than one. Again, Roman was going through a few different things involving his insecurities. Truth be told; Roman is now roughly 30 like Thomas is, so he should’ve been experiencing this phase long ago. But, late is better than never. Even if Roman weren’t stressed about his self-image, Logan would still turn down the prince because he found Roman too biased and rude over simple matters. It would be better to let Roman question things rather than be taunted by him for the rest of his days.

Virgil is more of a quiet citizen who probably would’ve handled it just fine. The emotional man has his own interests and hobbies that he often keeps from people as well. Example: his love for spiders. Patton would probably have a heart attack if Virgil admitted such a secret. But the one big con Logan had with Virgil was the chance he’ll let out a...strange reaction to the news. Whether it was gonna be a good or a bad reaction, was not something Logan wanted to test out.

Janus seemed like an interesting option as well. Yet despite his better understanding of the snake-like being, he began to wonder if Janus would be too manipulative or perhaps...too blunt. In this moment in particular, Logan felt he needed reassurance more than vague, or blunt answers. And knowing Janus...both possibilities stood out equally. So...Janus was off too.

Now Remus particularly stuck out to him. Remus would be blunt, but in a strangely charming way that would lessen the truthful blow. Remus would also be the most unbiased next to Patton because he’s learned about literally everything involving the subject. Remus might even have the recommended tools readily available in his room! Though Remus may immediately resort to assumptions about the interest...that’s about the only con Remus had under the list. Furthermore, Logan liked Remus. Maybe if there wasn’t a risk of getting physically injured, Logan would’ve had no cons under his name.

Logan threw away the chart and walked himself up to Remus’s room. Feeling nervous yet fascinated, Logan knocked on the door. He kept his knocks rather quiet, as to not disturb the other dark sides.

Remus opened the door and immediately pulled Logan into his room. Remus closed the door and planted a big, slightly bushy kiss onto Logan’s cheek. “Welcome Logan, to my sexy chamber of secrets~!” Remus greeted. “I am your tour guide: Sexy Sanders~. Are you ready for the greatest tour of your whole life?” Remus declared proudly.

Logan bit his lip and looked away shyly. “R-Remus…” Dammit! Now he was turning into a deer frozen in the headlights! “I’m flattered by your introduction, but-”

“OOOoooh! ReeRee, you sly dog! You just flustered the nerd beyond belief!” Remus reacted. “Perhaps the ninja star and the loss of your buck teeth has left poor Logey in a confused state of ecstacy!” Remus teased, letting out a sexy cat growl.

Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Excuse me…” Logan started to turn around while he tried to ramble out an excuse. “I suppose now may not be the time to talk, so I’m gonna leave you to your duties and-”

Remus slammed something against the wall beside the door. Logan jumped at the bang sound it made, and turned to look at the blurry thing that had made the sound beside him.

It was a foot? A high heeled foot, to be exact. And...Oh geez Remus was wearing kinky boots. “Come here darling…” Remus put his foot down and led Logan to the bed. “Let me get you something somewhat edible to eat and drink.” Remus offered. “You seem in great dire need of it, after all~”

Remus sat Logan down on his bedside and opened a bottom drawer that was split into 2 spots and filled with snacks. On the left side was ‘Remus’ based snacky foods and on the right, was normal snacky foods that he guessed could be for Roman or Janus. “Pick your poison.” Remus told him.

Logan bit his lip and smiled slightly. “Is any of it actually poisoned? Or is that just you using a phrase?” Logan asked.

Remus giggled. “It’s just a saying, li’l sweetberry.” Remus replied.

Logan awkwardly reached down and grabbed a pack of swedish berries. “Thank you, Remus.”

“No problem. Now: What does the poor distressed brainiac need from your pal?” Remus asked.

Logan bit his lip and swallowed. “Well…I’ll start with this:” Logan took a breath and began. “I took some time finding out who exactly to talk to about my personal issue. My other choice would’ve been Patton, but...He’s busy with your brother.” Logan admitted.

“Oh Patton...The poor boy is busy trying to keep the peace while Roman loses his sanity because his biased beliefs and nasty habits are finally being seen as rude!” Remus added.

Logan widened his eyes and looked at Remus. “Yes! That’s exactly it!” Logan reacted.

Remus scoffed and looked at his nails. “He’s always been like that. I’m not even gonna start with all the insults he’s thrown at me.” Remus added. “Though I don’t mind some angst in my life...Roman has genuinely hurt me before.” Remus admitted.

Logan looked down a little. “I’m...I’m sorry to hear that.” Logan told him.

Remus quickly waved it off and readjusted his position. “It’s fine! Now: What is this seeecretive thing you worked sooo hard to talk about?” Remus asked.

Logan calmed down slightly and continued. “I have felt rather embarrassed and...unreliable to Thomas because of some interests I’ve had.” Logan admitted.

Remus gasped and leaned his chin on his hand. “Do tell! I do love a good ‘life-altering’ hobby.” Remus told him with a wink.

Logan rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but grow a little soft towards Remus. “Ohokay. Well...Because of my outward presentation, I am unable to present many mannerisms without fearing I’ll be judged by some of the sides.” Logan admitted. “And...there’s one specific activity that I have ached for…for a while now...” Logan admitted.

Remus giggled. “Does someone have a thing for bonds?” Remus teased.

Logan blinked and looked at him with a confused face. “I- no. Not bondage.” Logan replied.

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Roleplay?” Remus asked, now guessing.

Logan visibly cringed. “No…”

“Hmmm…” Remus bounced his eyebrows and licked his lips. “Sexting?” Remus asked.

Logan looked quite bothered. “It...It’s not a fetish, Remus!” Logan finally told him, feeling dirty for saying the word out loud.

Remus’s smile dropped. “Oh…” Remus thought for a moment. “Do you have a thing for furries?” Remus asked.

Logan shook his head. “No.”

“Is this more wholesome than I think?” Remus asked.

Logan looked at Remus with an embarrassed smile. “Y-yeah.”

“Hmm...Cuddles? Are you lacking a few good cuddles?” Remus asked.

Logan widened his eyes as his cheeks started to glow a dark red. “I...Kinda…” Logan replied.

Remus picked up Logan immediately and gently threw him onto the bed. “Tally HOO!” Remus shouted as Logan landed on the bed. Remus jumped onto the bed beside Logan, and wrapped his arms around him. “Is this what you wanted?” Remus asked.

Logan had frozen in place, unsure of how to react. This was kind of what he wanted, but...there was something missing…

Logan wrapped his arms around Remus as well and soon rested his head against his chest. “Y-Yeah...This is what I wanted…” Logan somewhat admitted.

Remus tilted his head and looked at him. “Stop the music:” Remus said to the quiet room. Remus pointed at Logan. “You’re hesitating...I can hear it.” Remus told him.

Logan widened his eyes. “Am I?” He asked.

Remus nodded. “I can tell you want something else.” Remus told him.

Logan looked down with a wobbly smile and blushed. “Yyyyy...Yeah you got me.”

“So: Any hints?” Remus asked.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, and carefully gave Remus a really light squeeze on the side. Remus jumped slightly, but gasped as he immediately caught on.

While Logan opened his eyes with worry in his eyes, Remus smirked and gave the back of Logan’s neck a little tickle. “I think I understand what you want~”

Logan threw his head back and squeaked, not expecting it. He instinctually reached his arm back to grab the hand.

But Remus giggled and wiggled his fingers. “You shouldn’t have done thaaat~” Remus touched down on Logan’s now-exposed armpit and skittered wildly while making teasy ticky-ticky sounds. Logan quickly threw his arm down and let out his first snort. “Awwww! I think this IS what the distressed brainiac yearned for! Am I right? Am I right??!” Remus teased as he squeezed his hip with his other free hand.

Logan’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he let out a big, overwhelmed yelp. “REMUHUHUS-” Logan started wiggling and squirming while cackling somewhat quietly with his face all squished.

Remus had a stupidly happy grin on his face as he kept going. “The smartest being in Thomas’s entire mind palace is ticklish! And he LIKES it!” Remus reacted. “This is like landing in heaven! For Logan AND myself!” Remus reacted.

Logan covered his face with his hands and whined. “Yohohohou lihihike ihihit toohohohoho?” Logan asked.

As a reply, Remus leaned in and blew a raspberry on his neck. Logan squealed like he had never squealed before, and hid his flustered face in Remus’s chest. “There’s my answer!” Remus declared.

Logan tried to mutter something to Remus, but his face was intentionally being shoved into Remus’s chest. Remus bursted out laughing at how muffled and wonky Logan’s ‘words’ sounded in his chest. “You sound like you’re stuck in a door or something! Do I need to tickle you out of your crampy situation?!” Remus asked him jokingly.

Logan giggled more into the Duke’s chest. Remus’s teasing was starting to fluster him more, and the anticipation was only adding to it. Remus was surprisingly good at this! Logan was thrown out of his moment of thought from two ticklish squeezes against his hips. “BAHAHAHA- REHEHEHE WAHAHAHAHAIT!” Logan yelled at him.

“Wait? But why? You’re already enjoying it! Why would I wait for something to happen, when everything I want is happening right now?” Remus asked rhetorically.

“IHIHIT’SSSS-SSSOHOHOHOHO TIHIHICKLIHIHIHIHISH!” Logan yelled back at him.

“I know! But isn’t that the best part? You’re getting the tickle tickle tickles you’ve been craving for…” Remus paused and thought for a moment. “Wait...How long have you been wanting these tickles for again?”

Logan snorted as his hair grew more and more messy. “UHUHUHUHUHUHH...MOHOHONTHSSSS?” Logan guessed.

“MONTHS?! Seriously?! You’ve been tickle-deprived for MONTHS?!” Remus shouted. “How in Satan’s butthole did you manage to survive months without being tickled?!” Remus reacted.

“PERHRHRSIHIHISTENENENCE!” Logan yelled back.

“Okay, maybe. But persisting without tickles and cuddles for MONTHS?! That’s like living an entire week without my favorite deodorant in the house! I’d die of starvation! And my tongue would be drier than Gluten Free bread!” Remus reacted further.

Logan laughed more at Remus’s statement. Of course Remus would starve himself if he had to live without deodorant! It only makes sense if you properly know the guy. Logan also visibly cringed at the thought of deodorant ‘moisturizing’ the tongue. The image in his head was making his tongue feel all weird and chalky.

...And surprisingly, Remus had a point. Gluten Free bread is ridiculously dry…

Remus soon gave Logan a bit of a break and spun his mustache while he watched the nerd. Logan took the moment to breathe again, but looked visibly disappointed that Remus had stopped.

Remus frowned softly with a wobbly smile at Logan’s reaction. Then, Remus made the one sound Logan NEVER imagined hearing from him: he cooed!

“Awwwww!” Remus covered his mouth and nose with his hands. “God, it’s like trying to ignore a homeless puppy! Now I know how Patton feels 60% of the time!” Remus reacted.

Logan chuckled at the last statement. Patton really does act like that a majority of the time.

Remus wrapped his arms around Logan and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy you told me!” He admitted. “You have no clue how happy you made me feel the moment you came to my door!”

Logan relaxed a little more and hugged him back nicely. “...Really? You’re happy I told you?”

Remus nodded. “Well of course! No one besides Janus and Roman have ever told me their deepest secrets before!” Remus admitted. “And...Your secret is super wholesome.”

Logan’s smile dropped slightly as another thought went through his head. “Hey Remus…”

Remus tilted his head. “Yes Logan?”

Logan calmly stared into Remus’s eyes. “Do you still think I’m logical and reliable? Even with my...tickling interest?” Logan asked.

Remus smiled softly and placed his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “You are the most logical and sane side we have in the mind palace. No amount of feelings is ever gonna change your big IQ.” Remus reminded him.

Logan smiled and went back into the hug. Feeling safe and secure in his arms, Logan closed his eyes and rested his chin on Remus’s shoulder.

“I guarantee if you were to tell Patton or even Roman, you would be given what you want.” Remus told him. “Roman is a bit more risky. He might look at you like you have 3 heads at first. But Roman will wind up going ballistic about how cute you are.” Remus told him. “He’s done the same thing for me.” Remus told him.

Logan looked at him. “Really?” Logan smirked a little. “What’s your cute hobby?” he asked.

Remus smiled and pointed to his closet. “Making stuffed animal abominations.” Remus replied proudly.

Logan tilted his head. “I...don’t think I follow.”

Remus giggled and blew a raspberry onto Logan’s neck again. “It doesn’t take much to follow what I mean.” Remus teased.

Logan squealed and cowered into Remus’s chest again while Remus began to explain: “I make stuffed abominations out of many different stuffed animals! I switch out the limbs, I add stuffed wings, tails or tentacles to the stuffies, and they become my pile of monstrosities!” Remus explained.

“Sohoho you’re sid from Toy Story?” Logan asked.

Remus smirked and tickled his sides as a response. “Exactly! See? You get it.”

Logan snorted and tried to scoot himself back. But Remus managed to grab his arm, hold it up, and attacked his exposed armpit. “Nice try, Ms. Berry blue!”

Logan shook his head wildly and let out every bit of laughter he had. He was a wiggling mess of laughs, giggles and snorts all in one nerd. It was so cute to see!

“C-COHOHOME OHOHOHON, REHEHEHEHE!” Logan yelled to him.

“Is that a challenge?” Remus asked him. “Are you telling me I’m not tickling you enough?! The nerve!” the Duke teased.

Logan squealed and pulled his knees to his chest. “NOHOHOHO, IHIHI DIHIHIHIDN’T!”

“But it sounds like you did! What on earth could you possibly mean when you say ‘come on, Ree’?” Remus asked.

“IHIHI MEHEHEHEANT YOHOHOHOU’RE TEHEHEHEASIHIHIHING MEHEHE AHA LOHOHOHOT!” Logan admitted.

Remus giggled. “I know.”

Remus stopped tickling him for a moment and placed the nerd’s hand down. Next, Remus grabbed onto Logan’s tie and started loosening it. “Here: I don’t want your trusty tie to choke you while I tickle you.” Remus told him.

If Logan wasn’t blushing before, he was CERTAINLY blushing now! Remus actually unfolded Logan’s collar and removed the tie with genuine care presented in his actions. Logan had frozen in place, which ended up helping Remus remove the tie with little struggle.

Then, Remus put the tie around Logan’s right wrist and tightened it to a comfortable amount. “Check it out!” Remus lifted the tie up and started tickling Logan’s armpit again. Logan snorted and immediately burst into giggles while he tried to cover his armpit. But the tie was working like a bonding rope and preventing his arm from covering the spot properly! But Logan also noticed Remus had left the tie a bit looser. So with some tugging and twisting, the wrist could easily pop right out.

Much to Remus’s surprise though, Logan tried not to pull too hard on his wrist. He was actually letting his hand be bonded for a bit.

Remus happily smiled as he covered Logan’s body with all the tickles and laughter. This was so fun! And to think that just 25 minutes ago, Logan was a tense and illogical mess. He’d never seen Logan behave like that before. He’d seen the nerd annoyed, hurt, excited and in shock, but he’s never seen Logan anxious. It was quite unusual for the logical side. But now Logan was a giggling, blushing mess of emotions. It was brand new for Remus, and most likely quite brand new for Logan as well. But Logan seemed to be enjoying it.

Finally after a while of tickling, Logan decided he had reached his limit. He pulled his hand out of the tie, and curled up into a sideways ball. “Ohohokahahahay, thahahahat’s ehehenoho-” Remus had already stopped the moment Logan said ‘Okay’. He must’ve already known Logan would want him to stop. So, he did.

Logan looked at Remus with a glow of happiness in his eyes. “Thank you Remus. That helped a lot.” Logan told him.

Remus smiled back and gently punched his shoulder. “Eeh, it’s nothing. I’ll happily do it again anytime you need me to.” Remus told him.

Logan blushed a little at that and looked away awkwardly. “I’ll...I’ll keep that in mind.”

Remus got off the bed, walked over to the dresser and opened the middle drawer. Hidden within some magazines and spare sewing fabric, Remus grabbed a water bottle and wrote an L on the lid. He closed the drawer and handed it over to Logan. “Here you go. I don’t want you die-drating on my watch.” Remus told him.

Logan laughed a little at that and drank some of the water from the water bottle.

“Now: Either you can get the hell out before anyone notices the nerd’s hanging out with the crook, or you can stay and get hit with all the questions later.” Remus explained.

Logan choked on his water and put the lid back on as he coughed the drop of water out of his air pipe. “Ihi-” He cleared his throat. “A crook is a dishonest person, or a thief. You may be a bit of a Grinch, but you’re most certainly not a crook.” Logan admitted.

Remus looked at him with surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Really.” Logan put his water bottle down. “You are the most honest person we have in the mind palace. Though the honesty does cross the line to brutal sometimes, it still shows the lengths you’ll go to be truthful.” Logan explained briefly. “Besides: I think I’ll risk the countless questions and stay a while longer.”

Remus smile grew into a big toothy grin as he held his own chest. “Awwww!” Then Remus shoved his hand into his own chest and ripped his heart out, blood vessels and all. “Look! You made my heart jump!” Remus reacted as he pointed to it. Sure enough, his human heart had visibly jumped a few times in front of Logan.

Logan covered the lower half of his face and couldn’t help the laugh that left his mouth. Looks like Logan will have to add the word ‘random’ to the list of Remus’s personality traits.

I'm finally back. I took nearly 3 weeks off of writing because I hit a major writers block. I am happy to say I got other things done in that time, and I used the unexpected break to my advantage. So now: I'm back and hopefully back to stay for a while.

[kimabutch]

A kind anon encouraged me to share some of my thoughts about the portrayal of religion in Skyjacks, so I thought I’d talk about the parallels between the Church of the Slain God and some aspects of Christianity. 

But I’m prefacing this with a few warnings. First, I’m going to talk about some of my own beliefs and feelings as a Christian, and this will involve discussions of Christianity in both a negative and a positive light. I am not going to get into any debates about my beliefs; some of them are maybe a little unconventional (and some would probably have certain groups saying I’m not a Christian.) 

Second, a bit about my background — I was raised in a very liberal church and family, and have since joined an explicitly leftist church. I have some peripheral experiences with more conservative branches of Christianity, but most of my knowledge of them comes from my own research and listening to friends who were formerly part of conservative churches. I’m not going to pretend I’m an expert in theology or all branches of Christianity. 

Also, spoilers up to episode 61!

Okay, so it’s no secret that the Church of the Slain God (CSG) borrows or adapts elements from Christianity — and particularly Roman Catholicism — from their angels to the Swiss guards to some of the church structure, such as the existence of “bishops.” But I think that specifically, the CSG is a cool take on Christian theology that’s completely devoid of the resurrection. 

I’m fairly sure that in an early episode, James explicitly said that the CSG’s basic message of ‘God is dead and we killed him’ is reminiscent of Christianity, and it is — it‘s just that Christianity also says ‘God was dead, we killed him, but he came back for us, too.’ Or well, theoretically Christianity says that. 

Because I think there are certain branches of Christianity (particularly those that are extremely right-leaning) that are much more focussed on Jesus’s death than his resurrection — and in general, on death over life. There is a tendency to focus on how he suffered for us sinners, who were so guilty that only the sacrifice of God’s son could save us — and then skip right to the Second Coming (in which there will be more death) or what will happen after we die, which is presented as more important than our lives on Earth. 

Now, I don’t personally agree with a lot of that interpretation on its own (I tend to have a very different view of “why” Jesus died), but I don’t think all parts of it are necessarily harmful, and I’m certainly not about to argue about whether they’re right or wrong. What I will dispute, however, is how these narratives tend to erase the most important part of that story to me — the resurrection. The fact that love was infinitely more important than anything humans could have done wrong, that love lives even when it’s been stamped down, that love is deathless and rises again. 

Without God’s unending love and hope, without the resurrection, Christianity becomes about death, guilt, sadness, and fear — about focussing on humanity’s sins and worthlessness in the face of a suffering God. And those emotions, particularly guilt, are ones that can be manipulated, especially in times of crisis; they can become a tool with which you can beat down an entire population. Particularly if you, like the CSG, give the tiniest glimmer of hope that by suffering enough, you might be able to alleviate some of your guilt at being born a human who caused your God pain, to (in Adrian in Skyjacks says, “to make things as right as we can.”)

I’m not saying that all conservative Christianity is like this, but I do think that by removing the resurrection from their narrative, CSG offers a sort of mirror to how certain Christian groups emphasize death, destruction, and suffering even when infinite hope, renewal, and life are important themes in the Gospel. 

Anyways, I started thinking about this parallel before I got to the Nordia arc, and I gotta say, the arc’s only made me think about it more. Particularly the church service in episodes 60-61, which has so many parallels to Roman Catholic services, but twisted into the most death- and guilt-focussed lens possible. The only stated purpose of the service is because the congregants have all “done something wrong.” Confessions are an opportunity to “expunge” sins by ‘admitting’ that you helped kill a God who died nearly 200 years ago. Offerings are simply giving up something valuable to you so that it can stay in a cave, becoming salt-crusted. 

And, most poignantly to me, they have something like communion, in which the congregation drinks together — but the drink is sea water, and they drink to “suffer as the Sovereign suffered [...] suffer because that will bring us closer to him.” There are, of course, interpretations of Christian communion that can similarly emphasize Jesus’s suffering and our part in it by drinking his blood and eating his body (although I have no plans to argue about transubstantiation here) — but communion can also be about “the bread of life,” about satiating physical and spiritual hunger together and thus furthering all aspects of life. The CSG’s communion, where congregants choke down their drink as a punishment, takes all the worst potential implications of Christian communion and magnifies/warps them until it becomes only about suffering and God’s death, not about God sharing life.

And that’s about all I’ve got to say on that particular subject (although I do have another idea for a more broad post about the things that Skyjacks does well on religion specifically.) I really appreciate Skyjacks for sparking me to do some self-reflection about my own beliefs and religious practices. The lore of this show is so incredibly thoughtfully constructed and constantly leaves me impressed. And once again, just to be clear — I sincerely don’t hold any ill-will toward people who disagree with me on the takes, and I don’t want to debate them; I just want to share my thoughts.

Thanks for reading!

[abused-sides]

Corruption [Whumptober 2020]

Note: I’m doing whumptober as a series. Check out the tag #whumptober 2020 v on my blog to read in order.  Also on ao3.

Prompt: No. 15: Into The Unknown [Science Gone Wrong] 

Synopsis: Bates punishes Janus for his corruption. 

Trigger warnings: Cults, gaslighting/manipulation, restraints, kidnapped, non-con, humiliation, treating people like property, blood, knives, violence/beatings, a person in a cage, guns, body horror/gore, reference to murder/hate crimes/child death/minor character death, vomiting, non-consensual drugging, burn scar mentions and brief descriptions, off-screen dumpster diving, major characters talking about potentially dying (but I don’t write major character death so no worries there), branding/burning, nonconsensual body-modification, murder threat, some gross bodily fluids, let me know if I missed anything 

Word count: 1630 

A/N: Let me please remind you that this au does, in fact, have a happy ending :) in case this fic… makes you second guess that 

October 16th. 7:27 pm 

Janus woke to his handcuffs opening. 

He blinked at Bates in groggy confusion. He opened his mouth to ask where the hell he was being taken, then froze— 

Bates did not look happy. 

He looked to make sure Virgil was still alright, sleeping restlessly in his cage, but Bates grabbed his chin and forced his head away. He hauled Janus to his feet by his wrists, and Janus hissed in pain, his raw skin burning. 

His heart rate increased as Bates dragged him towards the auditorium. “Wait, wait,” he gasped, fighting the urge to dig his heels into the ground and fight Bates against every step, “what’s going on, what happened? Am I in trouble?” 

“I’d never give out punishment without explaining myself.” 

Punishment. 

Janus’ heart buried itself in his stomach. He wanted to throw up, his skin tingling with sweat. 

The cult sat in the audience like always, only their usual silent, tense captive attention was replaced with exhausted obedience. There were no hands grabbing at him as Bates shoved him down the aisle, no prying eyes, no jeers. Everyone just wanted to get dinner.  

Remus stood next to Styx on the stage, pale and shaking. A collar Janus hadn’t seen on Remus since he left constricted his neck, the electrodes pushing into his skin. A medical bed stood in the ‘up’ position. 

On the stage, Bates yanked Janus’ clothes off, leaving him in his boxers. He shoved Janus against the bed and flipped him around, pushing his back against the thin mattress. “Styx, help me.” 

Janus laid pliant, from shock or fear he wasn’t sure, as they used thick leather to strap him in, his front on full display for the audience. He was only lifted a few inches off the ground, but his weak body already protested, dull aches spreading through his shoulders and the base of his neck. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, praying he could blackout or disassociate before it got too bad. 

Bates cleared his throat. “Before we get started, let’s be sure you know what this is about. How many of you remember Patton, Logan, and Roman?”

Though Janus couldn’t see him, he could imagine Remus flinching at the sound of his brother’s name, the hopeful shine in his eyes. 

Nearly every hand in the audience raised. 

“And how many of you miss them?”

Each hand stayed up. 

“Everybody knows by now that Janus here is the reason they’re gone.” His voice dripped with hatred, venom. Janus thought he might overheat from the fear coursing through his veins. He couldn’t breathe. “I had forgiven him for this. Poor thing was confused, and didn’t know any better. But people don’t just make the same mistake twice, do they?”

Janus swallowed as the crowd muttered their agreements. Through his haze of panic he was grateful Virgil was left out. 

“We’ve picked up a few new disciplinary tools that Janus is going to help us test out. Then, maybe, he’ll learn to keep his corruption to himself.” Bates gripped his chin and forced Janus to meet his eyes. “If you don’t stop, Remus and Virgil will be next.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Please don’t hurt them.” 

Bates raised his voice for the audience but kept his eyes on the quivering man beneath him. “Remus has already begun his retraining and is progressing beautifully. Styx will oversee Virgil’s.” 

Fuck. Janus was trying to reassure Virgil and help him survive, but all he did was throw him to the sharks. Depending on what punishment Styx chose, Virgil might not make it to their escape. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as they watered. 

Footsteps approached him, then a razor dragged roughly over his browbone, nicking the skin a few times. He watched in confusion as Styx shaved away his eyebrow. He tossed the razor and fit a thin, compact set of goggles over his eyes. 

Styx brought the kitchen torch into view as Bates picked up a brand Janus hadn’t seen before. On the end were squiggly lines, like a bunch of ‘u���s lined together. 

Styx fired up the torch. 

“I want to be clear,” Bates said as the metal turned red. “You’ve proven yourself, countless times, to be nothing more than an untrustworthy snake. I refuse to throw you out to the world. I will still protect you, despite how ungrateful you’ve been.” Bates stalked over with the brand. “We’d never send a defenceless man out to the streets, so if you don’t take this warning for what it is, I will put you out of your misery. This is your last chance to redeem yourself. Got it?” 

Janus struggled not to hyperventilate. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy,” Bates sighed, and pressed the brand to his face. 

It was nothing like his hand. The pain seared straight through his thin skin and to the bone, and Bates held it for much longer, almost ripping a scream out of him. He grit his teeth so hard something cracked, only for Bates to pull the brand off and place it lower. Janus let out a miserable moan as Styx and several members of the audience laughed. The smell of his scorched skin was nauseating. 

Bates pressed the brand right above Janus’ eye, on his shaved eyebrow, and a thin stream of bloody pus dripped down his goggles. Janus had to fight not to vomit, because if he did it would certainly get on Bates and he would certainly pay extra. 

After an eternity, Bates pulled the brand away for good and tossed it on his metal table. He held up a mirror. 

Behind the dirty goggles, Janus’ eyes were bloodshot. His vision was so blurred with tears, he could barely see the perfect scales Bates had seared into the side of his face. 

He stroked Janus’ hair back. “Don’t pass out. We’re not done yet.” 

Please pass out, Janus begged as Bates picked up the brand and heated it back up. He went in on Janus’ neck and chest, and this time, Janus did scream. The crowd cheered like they were at a fucking baseball game and Janus screamed so loud his throat was raw. It wasn’t all because of the pain— In fact, it was barely about the pain. It was the anger and terror and mourning that ripped through his throat, the fact that he belonged to this cult and he would never escape it. 

He would never get a job with the scales on his face. He would never be able to go on dates, or adopt children. He’d never be able to leave the house without people staring. 

How was he supposed to live like this? 

Maybe he was meant to get Virgil and Remus out and take the fall. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to leave. 

Styx forced a medical gag into his mouth, spreading his lips back to show off his teeth. Bates rested a hand on Janus’ shoulder as Janus’ breathing sped up, so quick he felt light-headed. 

“Hey, we’re not pulling anything,” he said soothingly. “This part won’t hurt at all. You have to breathe though, okay?” 

“Who cares if he passes out?” Styx asked. “It’d make it easier to do the work.” 

Bates rested a hand on the unmutilated side of his forehead. His skin was cold, and Janus hated how comforting it was. Bates chuckled as Janus pushed into his touch. 

“Alright, Styx, let’s get started. I want everyone to have time to eat before bed.” 

They each got to work filing one of Janus’ canines, and horrible vibrations reverberated through his skull. It didn’t hurt, but it was extremely uncomfortable, and his panic didn’t help. 

Janus wasn’t sure how long it had been when they finished. Styx stepped away and Bates settled something hard under Janus’ tongue. 

“Last thing,” he said, “then we can go to your room. Keep your tongue still.”

Janus didn’t know what to expect, and he didn’t care. He stared up at the ceiling as he tried not to sob. 

Janus screamed as sharp, searing pain shot through the centre of his tongue. His mouth filled with blood and he fought not to choke on it. 

“Remus!” Bates snapped his fingers. 

Remus finally rushed over. Janus instantly felt better as his worried face came into his vision. It took all he had not to fall into Remus’ arms when he undid Janus’ wrist binds. 

Remus pressed a thick piece of gauze between the split halves of his tongue. Janus whined as he pressed hard. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. His free hand cradled the back of Janus’ head. “It’s okay. Just let me fix it.” 

Blood dripped out of his mouth and onto the floor as Remus tipped his head forward. 

“Don’t swallow any of that. Let it all drip out, we don’t need you choking on your own vomit.” 

His entire body thrummed with pain, but he focused on Remus’ fingers in his hair, his mouth; Remus smelled like coffee and stress, and his always-scratchy voice settled in Janus’ head like a hazy dream. 

After forever, Remus pulled the gauze away. He took away the gag and Janus wet his lips. He flinched, his tongue burning and metallic filling his senses. 

“Thank you, Remus.” Bates patted his back. “You’ve been helpful as always. Go ahead and get your dinner.” 

He hesitated as Bates undid Janus’ ankle binds and the audience filed out of the auditorium. “You don’t want me to stick around for part two?” 

Bates hauled Janus over his shoulder and laughed. “I would really hate to lose you, you know that? Go eat, and if you want, you can come to the room after.” 

Through Janus’ foggy brain, fear thumped through his heart in time with Bates’ footsteps. 

Part two? 

Kofi and commissions, 1 coffee = 300 words of your prompt

[stillebesat]

In These Tangled Webs (7/11)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil Blurb: It should be easy admitting to your roommates that you’re not entirely human. Only in Logan’s case it’s not. Not when he discovers that Patton is afraid of Spiders.  Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort  Overall Warnings: Spiders, Arachnophobia, Death Talk, Minor Character Deaths, Slightly Detailed Descriptions of Deaths, Murders, Injuries, Swords, Imprisonment, Biting, Fangs, Venom, Extra Body Parts, Blood, Manipulation, Negative Self Talk

To Catch Up: Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 

“LO! SAVE ME!”

The air seemed to freeze in his lungs as Patton screamed.

Pat.

Oh, how I love to hear them scream.    

Logan shot from his hiding spot before he could consider the consequences of his actions as a series of tumultuous thundering crashes echoed through the small space, sounding like the entire shed had just caved in.

They’ll never see death coming...until too late.  

Logan bared his teeth, venom welling in his fangs as Patton shrieked again. He wove easily through the faintly glowing webs, flicking orb weavers and garden spiders out of his way, instinctively following the violent shaking coming from the threads marking where--

Your prey awaits, getting more and more tangled in your webs. Trapped.

Where Patton, his friend, had fallen, pulling practically everything from the dust covered shelves on top of him; so coated in webs, that Logan nearly mistook him for--

Lunch.

NO. 

Logan shoved the shelving units out of the way as he grabbed Pat by the wrist and pulled, saving him from shoving himself head first into yet another spiderweb where a large orbweaver sat frozen. He tugged again, dragging his roommate out and away from the pile of debris that had tumbled to the ground; and even more importantly, away from the multitude of other spiders already fleeing back into the shadows away from his presence.  

Keep you safe.

Such a quaint sentiment, spiderling. But the world doesn’t work like that.

Patton screamed all the louder as Logan pulled, fighting like a wild animal in his grip, his glasses flashing in the faint light as he frantically yanked at his arm, struggling to free himself from his hold.

Monster.

Logan flinched, letting go as soon as Pat was out of harm's way and crouched nearby, instinct to keep helping warring with the one to flee.

I hate hate hate spiders!

I’ll slay the foul demon, never fear.

Trapped. At your Mercy. KILL HIM.

I’m not SCARED. Not of you. We’re friends! I-I’m NOT scared.

“It’s just me.” Logan whispered hoarsely, heart sinking at the terror still on his roommate’s face.

Not scared? Sure he’s not scared. Just like you’re not Spliced. Just like you’re not A Human Widow.

Increase their fear, my darling, have them scream their pathetic little heads off.

Foolish. He shouldn’t have moved, he should have stayed in place, ignored Patton’s frantic cries for help.

I hate hate hate hate spiders!

“I-I won’t hurt you, Pat. Trus--” Logan cut off, closing his eyes, listening to Patton’s haggard breathing as his roommate fell silent, no longer trying to get away from him.

How could he ask Pat to trust him? Especially after what he’d done to Roman and Virgil in the apartment? Patton himself was covered head to toe in spiderwebs and--- Logan hunched his shoulders. He should have let his roommate find his own way out of the shed. He should have never revealed himself, let Pat leave thinking that Logan wasn’t actually there. Enough of the other threads he’d created still glowed from the fleeing spiders to be able to guide him out and away to safety.

Patton would have been fine.

Terrify your prey and you can easily catch them.

Patton’s scared of spiders. He hates me. He--

Metal scraped against the floor as Patton suddenly surged forward right into Logan’s chest, his arms wrapping around him in a desperate hug. “Lo-Lo.” He sobbed, pressing his head against the hourglass mark on Logan’s chest as he squeezed him tight.

Logan stiffened, hardly daring to breathe at the unexpected contact.

You just died, my spiderli---

Hug.

I hate hate hate spiders!

Hug.

Impossible. Patton hadn’t---but he had said--

I’m gonna hug you, Lo!

Keep you safe.

I’m not scared! Not of you.

It’s kill or be killed my spiderling.

I’m NOT scared!

Could it really be true? Logan shakily exhaled, hesitantly and very carefully returning the gesture, wary for any signs of Pat freaking out as he rested his chin against his hair.

Patton only sobbed harder, squeezing him tighter as he trembled in Logan’s arms.

Pat.

“It’s okay.” Logan whispered, carefully knocking a couple of garden spiders off of Pat’s back, gently pulling some of the looser strands of webbing off of him in the process. “I got you.”

Patton trembled, breath hitching as the webs came away, his head pressed against the hourglass mark like it had been glued there. “Lo-Lo---no-NOT sc-scared. Not. Scared. No-Not Sc-Scared! We-we’re--we’re---”

Logan couldn’t ignore how his heart swelled, pounding with a fervent hope he hardly dared to believe, with how much Patton was struggling to complete his sentences. “Friends?” He asked, barely able to get the word to leave his lips.

They don’t understand, dearest. They never will.

Patton nodded, squeezing Logan harder. “Y-Yes! And you--you’ll-you--s-s-save me.” He whispered.

So vulnerable.

Snap his Neck.

I’m not scared of you.

Save me!

LO! SAVE ME!

He couldn’t refuse Patton, not without his heart tearing in two. “Of course.” Logan found himself saying as shifted his grip, easily lifting Pat into his arms as he stood.

Patton whimpered, jerking his bare feet away from one of the more intact webs as they brushed them, pressing his face more firmly into Logan’s chest.

I hate hate hate spiders!

Yet Pat had come into the shed to find him. Patton trusted him to get them out of here.

Logan’s heart climbed into his throat as he turned for the exit, all too conscious of how this could all go wrong.

Please don’t be a trap.

You just died, my spiderling.

Pat held tightly to him, twitching and uttering soft cries with each twist and turn that resulted in them brushing against more spiderwebs as he navigated their way through the half tumbled shelves.

“Lo?” He whispered after one particular trickey stretch where Logan had to move around a stubborn black and gold orbweaver that refused to move out from the middle of it’s web.

Foolish. Death comes to those who don’t flee.

Logan grimaced, managing to get around the creature without breaking the web. “Hold on. You’re sa--” How could he be safe when there was a Human Widow was holding him?! “Safe.” Logan said, keeping his voice soft as he held Pat close, moving carefully through the broken webs and scattered tools, getting them further away from the other spiders. Though most of them had already mostly fled back into the shadows with his approach. They, at least, knew to fear a Widow.

Why did Patton trust him then? He’d seen his roommates’ reactions. They knew what he was. What he could do to them. Yet Pat had not only come after him, but had braved all the spiders and their webs to reach him.

“I--wanted---I’m sorry.” Patton whispered, shifting so he could look up at Logan, his wide eyes shimmering in the faint light. “I-I didn’t know...I just wanted to he-help us be safe.”

Keep you safe.

Logan stumbled a step, stopping just before the exit. “Help us?” He repeated, blankly.

A TRAP.

He swallowed, glancing out into the rain fogged night. No. Patton had to mean he wanted to help the others. Roman and Virgil. Help them be safe. Not him. The us didn’t apply to him unless... Logan ran his tongue over his fangs.

Had Patton actually come alone? The police could be just outside. Waiting to take him in. To get him off the streets. So everyone could be safe.

Pretty lies. Tell them pretty lies to gain their trust.

Patton drew in a shaky breath, nodding, his tight grip around Logan’s neck growing more lax. “Yes us. I thou-thought you were scared of spi-spiders too, Lo.”

Wait. Scared? Logan jerked his head down to Pat, not sure he’d heard correctly. What? Why would he be scared of---

Patton bit his lip, eyes welling with tears. “I didn’t think you’d be scared of us...of me! I--I was just trying to protect--keep everyone safe from spi--spi--” His body trembled in Logan’s arms. “Spi-spiders, only I hurt you instead of helping and I could never hurt you and I--” He flinched as a web brushed his shoulder and ducked his head once more against the hourglass on Logan’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

Patton had wanted to keep…him...safe. That--that was---Of course. Logan blinked, slightly shaking his head. Of course! He should have realized, his friend would have noticed how distant he’d been. Would have come to his own conclusions with the facts that he had. Would have wanted to help because that was what Patton did. He helped others.

“Pat--” Logan cleared his throat, carefully putting his roommate down in a clear spot, hesitantly keeping a steadying hand on his shaking arm, to catch him in case he collapsed. “You don’t have to apologi--”

Pat jerked his head up, the lens of his glasses flashing in the faint light as he grabbed Logan’s arm. “Yes. I do!”

“You don’t!” Logan hunched his shoulders, pulling his hand away as he stared at Patton’s bare feet. “I purposely said nothing. I know what people think of Spliced, of-of Widows.” The word tasted bitter in his mouth. “You couldn’t have known you’d hurt me. It’s not your fault.”

Safety in the shadows, my spiderling. Don’t reveal yourself until you strike.

Patton shook his head. “But if I had just talked to you first! Before trying--”

Logan drew in a shaky breath. “It wouldn’t have mattered. If I had--had known your fear sooner I would never have moved in, never given you a reason--I should have left immediately after--”  

“Leave!” Patton grabbed Logan’s hands, holding them in a near painful grip as he stared wide eyed at him. “Why would you need to leave?”

Because I’m Spliced. A Human Widow. A danger to everyone. Because you hate--

I’m NOT scared of you, Lo.

Logan opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. His breath hitched, his fingers trembling in Patton’s as he struggled to explain. Explain how it was safer for them all if he left. That they should forget about him. That Patton should continue to keep the apartment spider-proofed so he would be safe.

But how could Logan say that when he didn’t want to leave them, not if there was a snowball’s chance that they would accept him. Patton had come after him and he hated spiders!

Pat had come to find him.

“Logan.” Patton’s tone was soft, comforting as he tilted his head so he could look into his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Logan flinched.

I hate hate hate hate hate hate spiders!

“You should be though!” He whispered, harshly. “You hate spiders. I’m--I’m the worst kind of Spliced---and you--”

“Pat? Logan?”

Logan froze, mouth snapping shut as Patton turned to the sound of Virgil's voice somewhere to their right.

How had--

Their phones.

A trap.

It’s kill or be killed, my spiderling.

Logan reacted instinctively, darting deeper into the shed, only to be stopped four steps in by Patton catching his hand, forcing him to stop.

“Pat are you in there?” Roman called from the other side.

Surrounded.

I’ll slay the foul beast.

Logan jerked, his heart jumping into his throat as Patton refused to let go. “Pat.” His voice cracked.

Snap his wrist and you can escape!

Monster.

Patton shook his head. “You’re done running, Lo.” He said softly, eyes pleading. “You’re safe with us. Trust me.”

Safe?

But the others---

“I’m--” Patton coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m in here! With Logan. We’re fine.” He squeezed Logan’s hand, offering him a shaky smile. “We’re fine.”

It’s kill or be killed. They’re going to kil-- 

Trust me.

IT’S A TRAP!

A loud sigh of relief echoed in the shed as the broken threads around the two of them lit up in warning. “You owe me twenty bucks, Sir Doubtful. I told you Specs wouldn’t ditch his phone.”

I’ll slay the foul demon!

Logan dropped to his knees, crouching behind Patton, his breath loud and haggard in his ears. “Pat please.” He couldn’t face the others! They would hate him, Roman would stab him with a sword! He couldn’t let them find him.

Patton followed him down, pulling him into a protective hug. “They won’t hurt you, and I know you won’t hurt them.” He said with quiet confidence.  

But he had webbed them! They had to hate him for that!

Virgil snorted, his footsteps padding around the shed. “No I don’t, you owe me twenty for not believing he would come to the school, so it evens out.”

“How was I supposed to know our Nerd would come here in a state of panic!”

“Because he was in a state of panic. Duh.” Virgil retorted. “Logan practically lives here. School is like his comfort zone.”

Logan grimaced, pressing his face against Patton’s damp shirt, struggling to draw a full breath.

Was he that predictable?

Never do the same thing twice, my spiderling. Death comes to those who are predictable.

“Guys?”

“We’re here!” Patton called back. “Among the sp-spider webs.” He added with the faintest of tremors to his voice.

I’m not afraid of you.

Logan flinched as the remaining threads around them vibrated, shining a bright blue, signaling that something was approaching.

Something big.

Something Dangerous.

He shifted against Patton’s arms. “Let go.” Logan hoarsely whispered, tensing as the beams from the others phone lights flashed around the shed. He couldn’t--he was a Human Widow! They’d kill him. He had to leave before they thought he’d hurt Pat--

Patton pressed his lips to Logan’s forehead. “No.” He whispered, squeezing him. “Trust me, Lo. It’s okay. I promise. You don’t have to run away, not any more.”  

Break his arms, my spiderling. You’ll be free quick enough.

Trust me.

Logan shrank down, a soft whimper escaping him as he clung to Pat, flinching as more tools clattered to the ground.

He wanted to believe him. But how could it be possible?

“You sure you’re in here, Pat?” Roman asked, doubtfully. “I mean...there’s so many web--oomph. HEY!”

“Shut up, Princey.” Virgil hissed as Patton shuddered.

“I’m try-trying not to thi-think about it, Ro.” He said, rubbing Logan’s back with one hand.

He hates spiders.

Yet Patton was the one protecting him.

“Sorry, but I---” Roman cut off.

Logan couldn’t breathe. Venom welled in his fangs, his wrists itching to fling more webs to defend himself. This was it. This was IT.

You just died, my spiderling.

“Pat!”

Trust me.

It will be fine. It will be fine. ItwillbefinebefinebefineBEFINE.

A low whistle sounded above them. “You two look---”

“Positively horrible.”

“Not the words I would have chosen, Doctor Gloom, but yah...horrible fits quite well.”

Patton relaxed his grip, giving a shaky laugh as he shifted, twisting to the others voices. “I...you could...it’s been a night, right Lo?”

Logan swallowed, breath hitching as he struggled to look up from Patton’s web covered shirt to say something, anything to his roommates.

You webbed them.

Trapped them.

They hate you.

It’s kill or be killed, my spiderling.

I’ll slay the foul creature.

Trust me.

Virgil muttered a curse as wood creaked, edging closer to them. “Did you guys rig the place to fall apart on us, cus it definitely feels like it.”

Not purposely no.

They can’t escape if the exit is no longer there.

Logan flinched as a cool hand brushed his arm. He steeled himself, glancing up into Virgil’s face.

“L?” Virgil asked, crouching awkwardly next to Pat as he shifted to give him more room in the narrow space between shelves, leaving Logan all the more vulnerable.

He ducked his head, conscious of the venom welling in his fangs as he moved his arms to cover the hourglass on his chest.

Patton tightened his hold on him. “I got you.”

Trapped.

It’s kill or be ki--Trust me.

Trust. Me.

Virgil’s grey eyes softened, reflecting the bright blue glow of the spider webs. “Hey, L.” He held out his hand, Logan’s glasses catching in the light. “You dropped these.”

A Trap! 

Trust me.

There was no reason Virgil needed to bring his glasses to him and yet he had. Could he really be okay---okay with what he was?

Logan licked his lips. “Thanks.” He whispered, warily reaching out a hand for them, only to flinch back as Roman came into view, fighting back the instinct to again web them both to the nearest set of shelves.

“Whoa! Hey. It’s okay, Specs.” Roman slowly raised his hands, showing that they were empty as he carefully crouched down behind Virgil, out of easy striking range. “I swear, despite how it looked, I wasn’t going for the swords back there.”

You’re safe.

Logan blinked. “You…weren’t?” He asked, in a low tone, glancing to Patton for reassurance. He’d said to trust him. But it wasn’t easy to believe that all three of them were  actually okay with him being one of the Spliced, with being a Human Widow.

Patton gave him a comforting squeeze. “No.”

Virgil snorted, spinning the glasses in his fingers. “Told you, Princey.”

“I WASN’T! I--I” Roman exhaled, fidgeting in place. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Specs.” He said, meeting Logan’s eyes with a challenging stare. “On my honor. I wouldn’t.”

Trust me.

“But I attacked you.” Logan whispered, conscious of the webs he’d created all around them. How could they be willing to look past that! Past the hourglass. Past what he was!

A trap, my spiderling. Don’t fall for it.

Patton made a noise of disagreement as Roman and Virgil scoffed.

“You did surprise us, Einstein. More than usual with that...uhh--” Roman shifted awkwardly. “That ability of yours, but we got free eventually, no harm no foul.”

“Please, like a little webbing is going to scare me, the Master of Halloween, away.” Virgil added, folding the glasses and slipping them into Logan’s hand, his fingers lingering there as his eyes flicked to the hourglass, before he smirked, pulling Logan to his feet.

Logan yelped, staggering from the sudden change of position and tensed as Virgil wrapped an arm around him to steady him.

Trust me.

“You have to try harder, L, if you really want that. Because we-” Virgil gestured around the shed. “Aren’t going anywhere.”

Logan froze. Scarcely daring to believe what he was hearing. They were...they were wanting him to--they were wil-willing to stay--

“Besides to our hotel room.” Roman corrected, helping Patton to his feet.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I meant in general, Princey.”

“And I was clarifying, Surly Temple! You know how literal Specs gets!”

“Wait, what hotel room?” Patton asked, grabbing onto Logan’s free hand as he shied away from the webs, pressing close to his side.

Keep you safe. 

“Roman’s idea.” Virgil said with a shrug, keeping his arm around Logan’s shoulders.

“There’s enough room for all of us there, I made sure of it.” Roman said taking Patton’s other hand as he jerked his head to the exit. “Shall we?”

All of them?

A trap.

The others wanted him to…stay? Logan glanced to Virgil, not quite ready to believe it.

It’s kill or be killed, spiderling.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! The others were supposed to be afraid. Were supposed to want him gone! It wasn’t---yet Virgil had brought him his glasses, Roman hadn’t brought his sword. They’d--they’d found a way to not be in the apartment for a while longer.

“Why?” He whispered.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Why what? Get the hotel room? It’s obvious isn’t it? Our place isn’t exactly--”

Patton flinched. “Welcoming.” He breathed, ducking his head, twining his fingers into Logan’s. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Logan squeezed his fingers in response. Patton hadn’t known.

I just wanted to help us be safe.

But at the same time. “You’re sure...you want to stay with me?” He asked, very conscious of the hourglass on his chest, of his fangs that his roommates had only briefly glimpsed in the apartment, of the glowing webs all around them.

Virgil and Roman paused, exchanging looks before Ro stepped closer, carefully laying a hand on Logan’s shoulder, offering him a confident smile. “Like Virgil said, Specs. We’re not going anywhere.”

To Be Continued Chapter 8

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