#Freedom But At What Cost? (Aftermath) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leftistfeminista · 4 months ago

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Jane Vanini, a committed militant of the MIR (Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria), was a Brazilian revolutionary who arrived in Chile in 1971, seeking asylum from the brutal dictatorship that reigned in her homeland. Before her time in Chile, Vanini had been an active member of the Ação Libertadora Nacional (ALN), a militant group dedicated to combating Brazil's military dictatorship. Her life was marked by her unwavering dedication to the fight against oppression and her belief in a liberated, equitable society.

Upon her arrival in Chile, she quickly integrated into the MIR, where she became an integral part of its revolutionary activities. She also worked as a secretary for Revista Punto Final, a publication known for its courageous opposition to fascism and its support for leftist movements. Jane's commitment to the cause made her a key figure in the Chilean resistance during a period of immense political turbulence.

On December 6, 1974, at just 29 years of age, Jane Vanini’s journey reached its tragic end. She was cornered in her home in Población Lorenzo Arenas, in Concepción, by armed forces of the Navy, who intended to capture her. True to her revolutionary ideals, Jane refused to surrender. In a fierce act of defiance, she fought back, firing at her attackers in a desperate bid to resist. Her courage was not enough to overcome the overwhelming force of her enemies. Jane fell in combat, her resistance marking her as both a symbol of unyielding bravery and the high cost of fighting for freedom.

The aftermath of her death was shrouded in the same shadow of brutality and secrecy that characterized Pinochet's dictatorship. Jane’s body was taken away to an unknown location, leaving behind a haunting silence and unanswered questions for decades. It was not until May 2005 that her mortal remains were finally located, bringing a measure of closure to those who had sought to honor her memory and her sacrifice.

Jane Vanini remains etched in the annals of revolutionary history, a woman who lived and died for her ideals. She stood as a bulwark against the tide of fascism, her life a testament to the global fight against dictatorship and oppression. Her name continues to inspire generations of activists, her courage a reminder of the sacrifices demanded by the pursuit of justice.

In eternal memory, Jane Vanini.

The Letters of Jane Vanini During her time in exile in Chile from 1971 to 1974, Jane Vanini kept in touch with her family and friends in Brazil through writing. Over this period, she wrote 37 letters, detailing the challenges she faced living in secrecy, especially as a woman in a predominantly male environment marked by political repression. In these letters, Vanini expressed her anguish, anxiety, hopes, and longing for her homeland.

In some letters sent to her nephew, she explained her desire to change Brazil's reality and its social inequalities, justifying why she was fighting against the dictatorship. At the end of one such letter, she affirmed her lifelong commitment to justice and equal rights:

"(...) One day, they called me a communist because in the newspaper A Voz do Aluno (The Voice of the Student), I complained about the rising prices of milk and meat, which many people could not afford, despite these being basic foods for good nutrition. Later, I learned what communism was and that to reach communism, a long stage called socialism was necessary. I discovered that many countries were already socialist: the Soviet Union, China, North Vietnam, Korea, and many others. Most importantly, I learned that here in Latin America, there was a country that was an example of socialism: Cuba. Cuba, like the others, achieved socialism by fighting with weapons in hand — the entire population — against the privileged minority who had everything, and the army that defended those privileged. And so, like many other comrades, I decided to fight to establish socialism in Brazil (...)."

Exile was the only way for Jane and many other Brazilians to escape oppression, being banished from their own lives to stay alive. Forced to leave her homeland, her clandestine life abroad transformed her vision of Brazil. She expressed this in a letter to her godmother (undated):

"(...) You might wonder why I am abroad if I care so much about Brazil. I'll explain: We belong to a continent generally referred to as Latin America. This entire Latin America shares the same racial origins as us Brazilians, speaks a very similar language, and shares the same roots. We suffer from the same ailments: illiteracy, hunger, premature aging, rotten teeth, and most importantly, we have the same fundamental enemy: the Yankee. It is the North Americans who exploit all our riches: oil, copper, coffee, cattle, gold, culture, fruits — everything. And the North American does not exploit us for free. Our governments pay them to exploit our mines, our workers, our culture, to take raw materials to the U.S. at dirt-cheap prices and export them back as finished products, like soluble coffee, machinery, and so on, at exorbitant prices. Meanwhile, they keep their wealth in reserve in the U.S. When we, the underdeveloped, have nothing left to offer, they will still have their own resources. Us? What do we matter, as inferior beings, half-developed monkeys, who only mimic the customs of superior peoples? I am Latin American and love equally the mestizo, the Creole, the Indian, the Black, the Asian, and the White who make up our heritage. My siblings are all Latin Americans, and for them, I am willing to give the only thing I truly own: my life. Once a person sees what I have seen and makes the decision I have made, they own nothing but the desire to change everything, no matter the cost. As a Latin American, it is the same for me to be in Chile, Brazil, Venezuela, Mexico, Bolivia, or any other country because every liberated country hastens the freedom of others. Every liberated territory is a front to continue fighting (...)."

Art historian Laurent Jeanpierre (2008) noted that despite constantly moving between these two worlds, Jane Vanini could not truly cross into either. She lived in a liminal space: captivated by Chile's landscape and the dream of a socialist government but deeply connected to her Brazilian roots — its food, fruits like mangoes and cashews, as described in a letter to her godmother, signed by her alter ego Ana, dated June 12, 1973:

"[...] Don’t forget my recipes. Sometimes I want to make a cake or Brazilian food, but I don’t know any recipes. The only thing I’ve learned to make (and it’s delicious) is feijoada. But it’s missing kale and flour, which don’t exist here and are unknown. I miss mangoes, cashews, and papayas, as these fruits don’t exist here. Send me a bottle of cachaça, okay? [sic] It doesn’t exist here because sugarcane doesn’t grow. We have grape and apple chicha instead, which is delicious, but it’s not the same."

By 1973, Jane had met her second husband, journalist José Tapia Carrasco, and disclosed her new romance to her family in just two lines:

"Now I want to tell you something I’ve been ‘hiding’ for a year and a half. After I separated from Sergio, I got married again. José (Pepe) and I have been living together for a year and a half. We think alike and do the same work."

Throughout her clandestine time in Chile, Jane's family was under constant surveillance in Brazil. Her sisters were forced to testify to the Operação Bandeirante (Oban), a military intelligence center, and her apartment was raided by the government. In a letter to her nephews, she raised their awareness of the censorship and repression they lived under:

"(...) As we were winning, the ease of things made us complacent. Meanwhile, the Yankees began paying people to torture revolutionaries. Many comrades could not withstand the brutal torture and talked, leading to others falling. That’s how we got to where we are now. But history does not die. One day, the people will again understand it’s time to fight, and we will fight until we win. That’s why I am far from you now... I am sentenced to five years in prison, in addition to tortures that aren’t reported in the newspapers or in my sentencing (...)."

#chile #marxism-feminism #Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria #Ação Libertadora Nacional #marxism leninism

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lexosaurus · 7 months ago

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Everything Was White: Part 24

[see all chapters]

read on: [ao3] [ffn] (please read tags)

Summary: After being accidentally revealed to the public and taken away by the government, Danny deals with the aftermath of his time with the GIW.

****

Danny tossed a low-powered ecto-ball between his hands, letting it trail across his flowing aura before pushing it back the way it came. Back and forth, over and over again.

It was exactly the sort of monotonous task he needed while he thought.

The primary issue Danny had with his new partnership with Drew was that he, admittedly, was broke.

Very broke.

He'd spent the last of his measly savings account on Christmas gifts for his family. And even if he asked his parents to reinstitute a chore chart that he could feasibly do now, even then, his $20-per-week allowance wouldn't come close to what buying opioids from Drew was going to cost.

Which, as it turned out, was a lot. Danny had no idea how expensive oxycodone was, but as he found out, it was way more than he thought it would be.

Thankfully, Drew seemed to be at least a halfway decent guy and informed Danny that hydrocodone or Percocet might be a little more in his budget. And sure, they weren’t as good as oxy, but right now, Danny would take anything.

But considering his current savings of zero dollars and zero cents, even a single hydrocodone pill was too costly.

It would have been so much easier if he could publicly be Phantom. Because then, he could just do what other celebrities did and host an occasional livestream on social media, giving bashful shoutouts when people donated money. With as huge of a celebrity as Phantom was, it wouldn't take long for him to get a month's supply of medication.

But no, Phantom was still a secret, and Fenton was pretty unemployable right now too. And that was a problem. A huge problem. It meant that neither Phantom nor Fenton could get money for drugs.

Which Danny needed. Badly.

He hadn't slept last night. It was his first night without in weeks, and he couldn't sleep.

Drew had texted him that morning that he could come by anytime today and pick up as much as he wanted. The issue was, all Danny had to pay with was a blossoming headache and the whining of his increasingly angry nerves.

He couldn't just rob a bank. They all had so much anti-ghost security; they probably had ecto-signature readers and shields. Not to mention, if he got caught, he could kiss his freedom goodbye.

He didn't sleep last night. He needed those damn pills. At this rate, his heart was going to beat out of his damn chest.

Tomorrow was his IEP meeting where they planned to talk about switching him to a full school day with regular classes. He was going to be a normal student again, or at least partially.

There was no fucking way he'd be able to get through that meeting without support.

But what could he do? He had no money.

Then, a snake-like voice wormed into the darkest shadow of his mind and hissed, But your parents have money. They're famous now too.

His breathing stopped.

He stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, the ecto-ball fizzling out in midair.

No. There was no way he'd just thought that.

There was no way he'd even consider it. His parents worked hard for their money, and stealing from them would be a new low Danny didn't think he'd ever be able to come back from.

But why? the voice asked. It sounded innocent in the most insincere way.

It disgusted him.

They were his parents. They were the ones that got him home! They cared about him!

All their money they have now? That's because of you, Danny. That's because you're their son. Why should they get all of it when you were the one who sacrificed his body, his health, everything to the Guys in White? Why do they get to profit off your fame while you get nothing?

No, people were buying their designs. He'd helped them become a recognizable brand, sure, but at the end of the day, people bought their tech because it worked.

And it works because of you. Phantom was their muse. Phantom was the reason they designed half the pieces they did. You deserve compensation for your work.

No.

But I'm right, Danny. You know I'm right.

The voice was right, but that didn't mean that he needed to stoop to that depravity and steal from his fucking parents.

He was a good person. He wouldn’t do something like that.

But did he really have a choice?

They owe you. You wouldn't need to do this if they’d let you be Phantom.

That was true…but still…

Why fight me? You've already made up your mind.

No, he hadn't. The voice was right, he needed to do this, but…but…

What if they caught him?

They won't notice. You know how they get when they're all wrapped up in a new project.

That was true.

Just this once. Just until you can figure some other way out.

Okay. Just this once.

Danny released a shuddering breath.

Just this once.

He transformed and grabbed hold of his intangibility and invisibility, slinking through the floor into the kitchen. Hovering near the ceiling, he looked down, the knot in his chest only releasing once he saw the coast was clear.

Of course it was clear. His parents were glued to their work.

If they saw him, they'd hate him. They'd send him back to the hospital, or ground him, or do a mix of both. They'd install the new chip in him and never take it out.

He needed to be quick.

He darted to the living room where, on a side table against the wall, there was a fruit bowl containing a few key rings, a mini ecto-gun, and a wallet.

His dad's wallet, to be specific. Jack Fenton had a habit of misplacing his wallet and wasting precious time tearing the house apart to find it just when the family was in a hurry to leave, so this fruit bowl was installed. Now, upon entering the home, Jack always dropped his keys and wallet in the bowl.

It was just sitting there. Waiting for Danny to open it up and glimpse the goodies that lay inside.

He wrapped delicate fingers around the worn leather wallet, unfurled the sides, and almost cried with happiness.

A hundred and fifty dollars now rested in the palm of his hand. It wouldn't buy him much, but it would buy him time. And if he was smart and rationed appropriately, it might buy him enough time to figure out what to do about Phantom.

He was going to be okay.

Breathe.

It was going to be okay.

****

Rain pattered on the roof above him. Around him, voices hushed to a lull.

Danny relaxed into his chair. His head felt light and clear, and his previous nerves had been swept away by the passing breeze of two little white pills on his palm.

Glancing around the conference room, he recognized some faces in the dim light. Mr. Lancer and Ms. Perez settled into their chairs, exchanging pleasantries with his parents and a woman Danny didn't know.

Or maybe, he had met her. He wasn't sure. There was a lot from last fall he didn't remember.

Fatigue edged his vision, and he fought the yawn, losing briefly. He couldn't help it. It was rare that his body was just so relaxed.

He hoped he wasn't being suspicious. He just needed to be convincing enough for these perceptive adults to place him in a normal classroom again. That meant no nerves, no shaky voice, nothing that could make them doubt for a second that he didn't belong with his peers.

The voices settled in the room, and a few people muted their phones and slipped them into their pockets. The woman Danny didn't recognize with frizzy brown hair and glasses nodded to the group and said, "Thank you."

The last of the wandering attention had snapped onto her now, and she began. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for being here for Danny’s IEP meeting. Today, our goal is to review the current plan and Danny’s progress in the learning center, and update his IEP for his transition into the inclusion setting."

Danny glanced around the table, and everyone else seemed to be nodding to her words like this were rehearsed.

“Why don’t we start with introductions?” the woman said. “I’m Lina Fayed, the special education coordinator.”

“I’m Sam Morin, the school psychologist.”

“I’m William Lancer, Mr. Fenton’s homeroom and English teacher.”

“I’m Jocelyn Hill, the speech-language pathologist,” said a woman Danny had unfortunately become familiar with.

Although, he’d never known her name.

…and just like that, it was gone from his brain.

“I’m Yasmin Perez, Danny’s special education teacher.”

“I’m Maddie Fenton, Danny’s mother.”

“I’m Jack Fenton, Danny’s father.”

It was Danny's turn, but fatigue was pushing at his eyelids, and he didn't feel like speaking. He supposed he should have been embarrassed, but he was too busy enjoying the feeling of his muscles melting into the cushioned seat under him to feel much of anything at all.

"I'm Danny Fenton," he said with a buttery tongue.

If only it could always be this easy to speak.

“Alright! Thank you, everyone, for the introductions, and thank you, Danny, for being here with us. We always encourage students to attend their IEP meetings when they enter high school. To begin, the purpose of today’s meeting is a reassessment of Danny’s IEP to determine his placements for the next semester. We will review Danny’s current levels of performance, which will also include his evaluation results, strengths, weaknesses, concerns from team members, progress toward goals, proposed goals, placement options, and services for access in the general education classroom. Before we start, are there any time limitations today?”

“None for us,” Maddie said. “And again, thank you all for meeting with us.”

“Of course. As I said, we all want the reintegration process to go as smoothly as possible for Danny. Just a reminder, if the IEP reconvene cannot conclude today, we will schedule another meeting as soon as possible. But with that out of the way, let’s continue the meeting!”

They didn't have to worry about that because they wouldn’t need a second meeting. Everyone was going to see how well he’d progressed, how calm and confident he now was, and they would release him into the normal, general ed classroom.

The coordinator was now discussing legal rights and handing some pieces of paper to Danny’s parents. It was probably a load of word salad, likely said to cover the school’s ass. Maddie had warned Danny that these meetings could get a bit official, and a bit boring.

But again, they didn’t need to stress about any of that. They could just shove him in a classroom, and he was sure he would adapt without any complications.

“…are there any discussion areas you would like to add to the agenda?” the coordinator asked, though more to Danny’s parents than to him.

“None that we can think of.” Maddie shot a questioning look at Jack, then to Danny himself.

It took Danny a second to realize they were looking at him expectantly. He shrugged.

“Alright, continuing, decisions about Danny’s placement and supports are made through a consensus. Although team members may have varying opinions on certain decisions, consensus is built when all team members come together for the final decision. Does everyone agree and support this?”

All heads around the table nodded.

The coordinator gave what Danny assumed was supposed to be a warm nod, though she looked slightly stiff doing it. Perhaps, she was nervous because of what he was. Which, if that was the case, she shouldn't have been.

Phantom was the town's protector. He was the good guy.

See? It was okay.

His core twinged in dissent, and it took him a moment to remember that he hadn’t actually done any protecting lately. But just when his brain began to spiral, the medication took charge, shushing him and lulling his fears back to sleep.

There was no reason to be stressing about that right now.

So, he tuned back into the conversation where the coordinator was now addressing Danny's parents directly.

"Here is a copy of your Parent’s Rights and Procedural Safeguards. Please remember that it is very important that you are actively involved in the educational planning for your child and that the IEP team will make no changes in your child’s program or services without your input, knowledge, and consent. Do you understand your Parents’ Rights? Would you like to review or discuss any part of them?"

She handed some papers to them across the table and said a few more legal buzzwords. Danny's parents responded, though Danny couldn't really hear them. Not because they were being quiet, but just because his brain had decided to take a small break.

They tossed words back and forth, at one point looking at him like they wanted something, though Danny couldn't understand what or why. So he simply said, "Yeah."

There was a pause, and then Maddie supplied, "Danny, you understand that you can provide input too? That since you're in high school, everyone at this table will consider your opinions about your education seriously?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He yawned.

He hoped he was conveying exactly how calm he felt about this meeting. He was all better now, he was all healed, he was truly a normal student and could be in a normal classroom.

See? Look at him, all confident and mature. If he were truly drowning in PTSD, could he be sitting here so nonchalantly with all these adults discussing his problems?

“Alright, so now diving into the drafted IEP, I'd like to begin by going over the current Transition Plan and update it with more of Danny’s input. The point of the transition plan is to look at the next one to five years and develop a vision for what Danny would like his life to look like after high school. Danny has begun working on his vision statement in learning center with Ms. Perez. Danny, would you like to share your current vision statement?"

Danny could only vaguely remember working on a vision statement in learning center, and he was pretty sure he hadn't finished it.

Still, he looked down at one of the sheets of paper placed before him, searching until he saw his chicken-scratch handwriting. Although he hadn't noticed it before, his handwriting had definitely improved since last fall. Where before it was barely legible, now at least he could read it without too much squinting.

"Um..." Danny's tongue felt heavy, but his head was light. "I'd like to get better at math. I missed a lot of math this year and I don't want to have to repeat algebra two next year. I'd like to earn my high school diploma and attend either a community college or a regular college after high school. I want to work in a field with space or engineering, but I'm worried that my—my current issues might prevent that from happening." He glanced at his parents, who at least appeared to be listening to him. "I'd like to be in all general education classes by the end of the year."

To his delayed surprise, his mother smoothed his shirt sleeve as she praised him. "Good job, honey."

Something stirred in his stomach, but he was drifting too far from his body to decipher what kind of emotion it was.

It likely wasn't important anyway.

"Thank you for sharing." The coordinator beamed at him. “It's really important for the team to remember, as we continue through this meeting, that ultimately, our decisions regarding Danny's placement next semester and accommodations should all be in service of helping Danny work toward his goals both in and after high school. Danny, we understand your situation and history, and we understand that this has made the transition back to an academic environment tremendously difficult for you. Our goal in both this meeting and through this contract is to help provide the tools necessary to ease some of that stress.

"So, now for the present levels of performance. With Danny's injuries still healing, as well as the benefit to the healing process that his, uh, ghost half gives him"—Danny was impressed that she was able to say it so casually—"much of our assessment data from the fall may now be out of date. Typically, we retest every other year, but because of the nature of Danny's injuries, we will be conducting a full re-eval next fall at the beginning of the school year. So this IEP meeting will be using the evaluations from last fall. However, we do have observational data from the BCBA that she's kindly summarized for us, as well as samples and reports from Mr. Lancer and Ms. Perez."

Danny didn't remember ever being observed. He wasn't even sure what a BCBA was or what she looked like.

That meant that people were watching him while he didn't know. Hopefully, she had only seen the good things, the times when he'd been doing his work and paying attention and sitting still with a relaxed and calm face, just like he was doing now.

Hopefully, she hadn't seen those other times, like the other day when he took a nap in the middle of the learning center instead of doing his math work. Or that time when one of the footballers had asked him a question about Phantom and he'd been so thrown for a loop that he stuttered nonsense instead of responding like he normally would.

Well, if she had seen those things, then everyone was probably really confused because his data may have painted him as emotionally unstable, but here he was, the perfect picture of mental health.

At this rate, his parents would have to give him the okay to have full access to his Phantom form.

"Presently," the coordinator continued, eyes glued to the sheets of paper in front of her, "Danny is a very bright young man receiving supports for health, academic, and social-emotional needs. Danny's able to come to school for half of the day to complete his schoolwork in the learning center with Ms. Perez. He's able to access the eleventh-grade core curriculum with significant modifications to his schoolwork, including a reduced workload, modified curriculum, and aide support for executive functioning. He is able to take his tests and quizzes in the learning center with an aide or Ms. Perez proctoring and assisting and redirecting as needed."

Ms. Perez took over, giving him a gentle grin as she did. "Yup, Danny's been working with me in the learning center for most of his current school day, and has been working both on his own, with a para, and with myself and various teachers who have prep and availability to visit our room during those hours. He’s been making steady progress catching up with the curriculum, but since he's only in school for half the day, he is behind on most subjects. Though, we have made some steady progress these last few weeks with the hopes that he will be able to finish out the year in the classroom."

"Yup! We're hoping Danno will be able to finish this year strong too! Right?" Jack turned to Danny, who had to remind himself that he was supposed to be making eye contact with the adults rather than studying how the scratches on the table were disrupting the reflections from the lights above.

"Huh? Yeah."

Jack beamed. "Atta boy!"

"That’s great!” the coordinator said. “And today, we’re going to discuss classroom placements for next semester, so I think a good segue into that would be to go over the current performance data we have on Danny. I'm going to go over both the evaluation scores and the recent data collected from Ms. Perez and the BCBA.

"In the psychoeducational eval, we assessed cognitive, academic, social-emotional, and behavioral functioning. Both Danny's parents and Danny's teachers reported global challenges across all areas of academic, internalization, externalization, and behavioral symptoms. According to the Weschler score summary, Danny's results indicate that verbal comprehension, processing speed, and working memory are all significant areas of weakness, although visual-spatial and fluid reasoning scored below average too. The academic achievement testing results showed that Danny could benefit from direct and explicit instruction across all subject areas, with areas of focus being reading and math..."

The coordinator's voice drifted off, becoming noise with the air vents and the puttering of raindrops against the roof. Danny could see her lips moving, he could see the other adults around nodding at what she was saying, but at this moment, he just couldn't find it in himself to care.

So what if some test results said something about how emotionally unavailable to math he was? Why should it matter?

Life was short. There was no reason to waste it thinking about what a silly little test said.

And besides, he was Danny Phantom, wasn't he? Getting a job after high school would be a cinch.

He leaned back in his chair and let his head loll. It would have been such a nice day if not for the rain washing away the light dusting of snow they'd gotten the night before.

It hadn't been a snowy winter. Maybe that would have been odd, but then again, it had been an odd year all around.

The woman was still talking.

Wow.

It was kind of incredible how long people could talk for.

He wondered if he was supposed to be saying anything. But then, maybe it was better to remain silent because then maybe everyone would forget about those assessment results and his brain injury that was affecting his speech and making him sound more disabled than he was.

So he sat there. The adults talked. At one point, his parents had looked at him in confirmation, and he'd nodded. They seemed pleased at that, which was great because pleasing his parents meant he was following their instructions, and following their instructions meant that maybe they'd realize he was mentally sound enough to handle having his ghost half back.

"...I've noticed that Danny tends to shut down when he encounters a difficult problem, or when he gets stuck on an assignment and gets frustrated. He does respond relatively well to redirection, although some days are tougher than others," Lancer was saying.

"I can get better at that," Danny interjected.

He must have been sitting in silence for a while because a few of the adults seemed surprised that he spoke. The speech counselor, however, gave him a thumbs up. She was always praising him for what she kept calling "self-advocacy."

Maddie glanced at Danny. "His doctors believe this to be a side effect."

A side effect of what?

"And we agreed as well, which is why we chose to list that as one of the updated IEP goals. Do you agree, Danny?" the school psychologist asked.

"Sure."

See? Easygoing and calm.

"So, Danny will respond to redirection with no more than two prompts eight out of ten times as measured across a six-month period," the coordinator recited. "And to help with this, along with the other listed accommodations and goals, we recommend he receive aide support in his general education courses for the remainder of the semester."

Danny blinked at the coordinator.

He was pretty sure his brain was behaving a little slower than normal because, for a second there, it sounded like the coordinator had just said the words "aide support."

"We completely agree," Maddie said. To Danny's bewilderment, she put her hand on his arm and began lightly stroking his sleeve with her thumb.

"As do I," Lancer said.

Danny's jaw opened, and he couldn't tell whether he should stare at Lancer in awe or betrayal. His brain was too jumbled to piece together any tangible emotions anyway.

For a second, he almost wished he weren't high. But then, that was a silly thought. Because if he were sober right now, he might have started yelling.

Perhaps Lancer was worried about these diminished emotions in Danny bubbling to the surface and causing a scene, because he held Danny's gaze as he said, too seriously and compassionately, "This is not a punishment, nor is this a one-on-one. You will still be a normal student. There will be another adult in all your classes. She will help you when you need it, and she’ll leave you alone when you do not."

When Lancer put it like that, it was fine, wasn't it? Maybe that was the denial talking, or the fog shielding his brain from the shadows, but it was okay.

“There are lots of students who receive inclusion support,” the psychologist added. “You’re not the first, nor the only student in the building.”

Yeah. He was still going to be a normal student attending normal classes. No one would have to know that the aide was there for him. Not if he did all his work in a timely manner and focused and took notes and raised his hand and always paid attention to what the teacher was saying and...and...

"Danny understands," Maddie said. She was still rubbing his arm. "Right?"

"Right."

"See? It's all okay!" Jack said.

And, right. It was all okay. Right now, he had nothing to worry about.

He would be fine. He was going to be so fine. He was going to do good in classes—great, even! He was Phantom after all, and Phantom was cool, popular, and everything that Fenton had always wanted to be. Aide or no aide, he was going to be fine.

So, he let himself bask in that delusion under the safety of the fog, and he was very calm and behaved appropriately for the rest of the meeting. No outbursts, no crying, because everything was wonderful!

Everything was so wonderful.

If he just let the drugs take the wheel.

****

Danny lay on the roof, staring up at the partially cloud-covered sky above him. The air smelled of rain, earthy and electric, and felt of decaying humidity. He tried to admire the way the stars twinkled, he tried to differentiate the red ones from the white ones to play his old game of which was moving the fastest toward and away from Earth, he tried to find Mars and Saturn, usually visible in the sky.

But everything seemed so…

He didn’t know.

He never, never thought that he would seriously be the student who had to get…this. Whatever this was in that stupid, twenty-thousand-page contract.

Were all IEP documents that many pages? Or was it just Danny’s?

Ms. Perez’s learning center had a para. He remembered there being a para in his history class last year too. This annoying, mousy woman who joined midway through the year and kept harassing Danny to “stay in the classroom, please, don’t leave! Where are you going?”

But he never seriously thought that he would be the sole cause of an aide joining a class. Or all his classes.

Would the other students know? Would the aide always be hovering over his shoulder? Or would it be like last year, where the para walked around the room and spent most of her time with the rowdy boys in the back of the class?

Danny had so many questions. And so many fears. None of which could be solved by a white pill.

Which, judging by the steadily increasing burning in his chest, was just about due.

But that would require getting up. It would require going home. It would require turning back into his human form.

All things Danny didn’t want to do.

So he stayed there, trying to ignore the prickling in his chest, distracting himself with the preview of the night sky he could see through the clouds. He ignored the fact that he didn’t understand why he didn’t want to go home.

And he lay there until a slightly muffled voice, one that drove spikes into Danny’s stomach, piped up from behind him. “Phantom? Danny?”

Shit.

It was just his freaking luck.

He debated turning around and offering his friendly, signature Phantom wave that he used to give back when he was trying to win her over.

But he just didn’t have the energy for that tonight. And besides, there was no point. There was nothing left to win.

“Danny,” Valerie repeated, though not a question this time.

“S’me,” he responded dully.

She landed beside him, retracting her hoverboard, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as she twisted her gloves together and studied her boots.

Good. Let her feel uncomfortable for once.

“Hey. You have your ghost form back?” she tried.

“Yup.”

Despite his internal voice begging him to try a little, he did not sound enthusiastic at all.

“Oh. Um, that’s nice.” She took a hesitant step toward him.

Was she afraid of him?

“Sure is,” he said. If possible, his tone was even blander than before.

His chest was really hurting. And he was tired. Something dark was beginning to crawl in the corners of his eyes. He clearly wasn’t up for this, so maybe they could wrap this conversation up?

“Um…the tail…it’s—it’s—” she stammered.

His eyes narrowed.

“You know, I wasn’t sure—”

“What, if I’d have legs as a ghost? Well, I’m sure it’s really pleasing for you to see that I obviously don’t.”

Danny couldn’t see her expression under the mask, but judging by how she stepped back, he guessed he’d struck a blow to her confidence.

After all the shit he’d been through, she could take one measly little dig.

The silence stretched between them, dark and twisting, pulsing like a wave filling Danny’s hollow body with all the resentment he’d been burying for months and years. His skin prickled while shadows loomed over his eyes, and suddenly, it was too much. Hiding was too much.

He pushed himself upright to mimic a seated position, his glower snapping to her because really? After everything he’d been through, she was going to bring up his paraplegia? That was how she really planned on opening this conversation?

After she’d tried so long to eradicate not just his lower half, but his entire fucking body?

His brain quietly pinged that he needed to leave now. He didn’t feel right. It was going to get too dark soon.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to say that.” She held her arms up, placating. “I—I never wanted…”

Her voice trailed off, and for good reason. Such a good reason, in fact, that Danny snorted. “You’re such a liar, Val.”

His tone was a deathly sharp dagger slicing whatever clumsy air simmered between them. Raw emotions spilled out, ripping both their histories to the forefront and pouring them all on the ground between them.

“I know!” Valerie slapped her helmet, her hand trembling as she exclaimed, “I know last year I was trying to…to…ugh!”

She crouched low on the gravel, and her fingers dug into her carbon-fiber head.

Danny didn’t say anything. Just watched. He didn't understand this emotion bubbling in his chest. Why it made him want to snap, lash out, hurt Valerie.

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t leave.

“You never told me who you were,” she said, her voice like sand on stone. “How was I supposed to know? I would never have hunted you if I’d known.”

If anything, her words further deepened the hole that leaked his stock of patience from his body. “If that was supposed to be reassuring, it sucked. Oh, so I’m sup—supposed to be thankful now that I have a human heartbeat, because if I—if I didn’t, then what? You would have no remorse killing me? Well, guess fucking what, Val, I don’t have a heartbeat in this form.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, but he really didn’t give a shit. Valerie was many things, but a snitch was not one of them.

Valerie dropped her gloves from her helmet screen, and Danny could imagine her dumbstruck face locking eyes with his.

Good.

He spread his arms out wide, giving her the best shot he could. “If you want to fucking blow my brains out, here’s your opportunity!”

But she didn’t move a muscle.

“Well?” he said, after the silence was beginning to turn awkward. “What the hell are you—are you waiting for?”

Another beat, then a quiet, “You were my friend. No, my boyfriend. I broke up with you because…because…”

“Because of Phantom."

“And you let me.”

“What, did you seriously expect me to just—just out myself to you like that?”

What should have been an easy “no” left Valerie in silence.

“Come on, Val, you of all people should know why I couldn’t say anything. You were at my fucking house. You saw…”

Danny couldn’t finish. You saw me, he wanted to say. You saw everything they did to me.

She finally sat on the roof. Not right next to him, of course. They weren’t ready for that yet. She gave him—or herself, Danny couldn’t tell—several feet of space. But she was sitting, where before, she would have been attacking.

“I was so mad when you were revealed. So mad.”

Darkness nipped at his cheeks, and he bit down the urge to snap at her again.

“I had made a whole speech I was going to give you when you got out. Had rehearsed it in the mirror and everything.” Her voice grew weak. “I was so stupid to believe what they were saying. That it was just an imprisonment.”

“You were,” Danny said, not kindly, because really, she should have known. “You'd heard them before. You knew what—what they were going to do to me. You wanted to do that...too, I bet."

“Nothing like that,” Valerie snapped. “Even in my worst moments, I would never have done anything like that.”

The darkness slithered up his throat, and he didn't fight it when it took control of him and snarled, “Well, I guess I should—I should be flattered, then. You wanted to kill me, but at least you didn’t want to torture me on the way out!”

“You ruined my life, Danny. And your parents always talked about how evil ghosts were. What the hell did you expect?”

Oh, so they were going there.

“I ruined your life, how—how, exactly? Because now you know—you know that I don’t have a dog, Val. So whose dog was that?”

“Just because he’s not your dog doesn’t mean you don’t babysit him all the time. I’ve seen those TikToks!”

“That weekend? In Axiom? That was the first time I’d ever met Cujo!”

“So he has a name, now?”

Danny wanted to scream. “Of course he has a name! He’s a dog! He’s a dog that your dad killed!”

“Shut up!” Her helmet whipped over to him again. “Don’t you dare talk about my dad!”

“Well, it was! Your dad’s security system replaced Axiom’s last one. Wanna know what the last secure—last security system was? Because it wasn’t a piece of—of technology, Val!”

“Shut up!” Valerie’s voice broke.

Danny should have felt like an asshole, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked numbly as Valerie’s chest moved erratically, and listened as her cries ripped from her throat. And all he could feel was the urge to scream that he needed to leave and go home because it was going to be too dark soon, and he didn't understand what that meant but just that he knew he needed to flee.

“No, no, no. My dad—my dad would never do anything like that,” Valerie said through clenched teeth. She retracted her helmet finally, her hands mopping her eyes and runny nose. “He would never.”

But Danny didn’t stop. “Cujo was just trying to get his squeaky toy back from one of—one of the closets inside. He was looking for it. He wasn’t trying to do—to do anything else. Once he got his toy, he…he left. He went back to the Zone. Whatever happened to your dad, that wasn’t my fault.”

He always fantasized about the moment when he could finally sit Valerie down and explain himself. In all his daydreams, he approached her with empathy and understanding, and they ended their discussion with an embrace.

So what the hell was wrong with him tonight?

Why did he suddenly remember all the months she spent hunting him down, shooting him with every weapon in her arsenal, consequences to his body be damned. More than one night, he’d had to stitch his skin back together because of her.

Sam was always the one angry about that—not Danny. Danny always had excuses for Valerie. She didn’t know he was Phantom, she was going through a hard time, he didn’t figure out what Cujo was after soon enough.

But deep down inside, had he always been this angry?

“Fuck,” she murmured.

She was right. This—no, they were fucked up. Their relationship was fucked up. Danny was fucked up.

And Valerie had seen that, the day she visited him in his bedroom. Back when he used to trace the cracks in his wall because without that, he couldn’t be sure he existed at all.

“Why did you come visit me that day?” Danny finally asked. “You knew I—I’d just gotten home from the hospital. You knew—”

“I didn’t,” Valerie said, wiping her eyes. “I mean, I knew you’d gotten out of the hospital, but I didn’t know, really. I mean, I didn’t know the extent of…it.”

Danny cocked his head. “I thought I was all over the news? That’s what they told me.”

“Yeah, but not you. Just people talking about you. Or old videos of you. There were rumors online, but nothing substantial.”

“So that—that’s why you thought it was just an imprisonment.” Danny stared down at the foggy mist that was his spectral tail.

“I was in denial," Valerie said.

“Yeah.”

He wondered if he would ever get his legs back in this form.

This darkness was beginning to get suffocating.

It was stemming from his chest, he realized.

He heard his voice ask, “Did you like what you saw? That day in my room?”

“That’s sick, Danny.”

But again, he didn’t care. He didn't know why, but he didn't care. “What? I didn’t put—put on a good enough show for you? All drugged up like that?”

He wanted to stop. He was a good person; why was he saying this? His words didn’t even have any bite left to them. They were just…hollow. Just like the rest of him.

“You know that’s not true. Just stop, please.”

Was he an asshole?

No. No, he wasn’t.

“Sorry,” he conceded with.

He really needed another pill. He should have taken one with him before he left. He was so stupid for leaving all of them behind.

The darkness agreed with him.

You should take another pill now, a voice said in barely a whisper.

The darkness growled. It sounded like a dog.

“What was the trial like?” he asked, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

“You mean you haven’t seen it?” She sounded startled.

"No."

"Oh..." Valerie shifted awkwardly. "Um...I don't really know. It's on YouTube, you know?"

"I don't want to see it."

He should have gone home. He should have listened to the darkness.

There's still time for you to save yourself.

"Yeah, I got you. Um, I don't know, though. The legal jargon slipped over my head. And it was pretty fast, you know? There was a big celebration in town when the judge ordered you to be freed."

That was ironic, he realized. That while the town was celebrating, he had been dying from the final incision.

"What did they do to you in there?" her quiet voice said.

The air was getting darker now. Soon, the stars might be gone from view.

And the shadows were beginning to eat his skin.

So instead of answering, Danny turned invisible and flew away.

****

previous / next

****

Thank you to @imekitty for betaing the chapter!

#danny phantom #everything was white #my writing #if you've never read this fic before #this is basically Danny Has A Bad Time: The Fic

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ask-the-friendly-ink-demon · 1 year ago

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the moment the friendly ink demon heard an familiar voice AND someone calling him by his name, he instantly turned, and perks up as he felt the hug of someone familiar, before his eyes widened and sparkled upon remembering who it was, grinning widely as his tail sways slightly, the golden streaks on his neck, the yellowish spines running down his neck and his tail, the more dark colored clothing to his attire, minus the red bowtie and brown shoes and belt, along with an yellowish bade like logo shaped like his face along with now pure black and white colored gloves instead of the original green, all in all, he looked like an complete black and white coloration of his standard outfit, with some changes here and there, though, it was still the same old him, his piecut eyes widening as he remembered Modern "Mod!" he says, instantly giving the smaller demon an hug of his own, an bunch of explaination and hearts coming out of him as his smile beamed, genuinely happy to see an old friend once again, as it felt like FOREVER since he even seen him! more than forever even! as with the question, the Friendly Ink Demon perked up, humming softly as he shrugs slightly almost laughing for a moment "ah! things have been going great! well... uh... as great as things can be anyways! but im managing! as for new adventures? hm....." he brings a hand to his chin, an bunch of question marks popping up as he thinks really hard, before shrugging "can't say i remember any! been mostly stuck in the lodge for most of everything going on, but, it's good to finally actually be out! and seeing you again too!" Prowler said, grinning happily, of course their friendship goes way back, during the early days, but, just like how he thought, he thought of the other as a brother as well, if Modern needed him to back him up, he'll always be by his side no matter what

Welcome To The Show: @ask-the-friendly-ink-demon liked for a starter

"Well I'll be, if it ain't Prowler!"

The demon gave a big toothed grin and gave the other toon a good ol demon hug before pulling away and placing his gloves hands on his own hips, thoroughly examining the toon before him. How long had it been?

weeks? months? years? Okay maybe not that long, but it sure felt like a millennia.

"It's good ta see ya ol pal! So tell me, how things been with ya? What new 'ventures ya been on? Anythin new?"

He didn't want to start hounding questions at him but he was just way too eager, it had been so long since the last time they spoke that he just couldn't contain himself.

Bendy, or rather Modern in this case, and Prowler's friendship actually went a good ways back. They had the type of friendship where you could basically consider them 'brothers' in a sense. Maybe not ink related, but enough where he would be willing to fight anyone who dare even leave a scratch on him. If Prowler needed him, Modern was there to back him up.

#WE ARE SO BACK BOYS #THE DUO HAS RETURNED #THE BESTIES YOUR HONOUR #{°IC: Lil Devil Darlin}#{°Modern World; Verse}#ask-the-friendly-ink-demon #Modern Reflection; Little Devil Darling (Prowler Bendy Stein)#Show's On The Road! (RP)#Two Demons Alone Together; What Can Go Wrong? (RP with ask-modern-demon)#Freedom But At What Cost? (Aftermath Verse)#Late Response #I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LATE THIS REPONSE WAS I DIDN'T MEAN TO RESPONSE A FREAKING YEAR LATER AAAAAAAA-#Terrors Of The Inky Past AU

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asciendo · 3 months ago

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Resurgence of the Falling Chapter 5

Summary: Eren Jaeger is resurrected centuries after the Rumbling, only to find the world still in turmoil, with Eldians oppressed and Marleyans in control. The Jaegerists ask for his help in protecting their people, but there’s a catch: Eren must be bethrothed and father an heir with the power to end the cycle of Titans once and for all.

content: eren jaeger x female reader

Warning: smut, violence, swearing

Tag list: @vlsquuu @faerie-soirxx @amanda08319 @bl3333h

Chapters: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4

was a wound he couldn’t heal, a reminder of everything he had destroyed in his pursuit of freedom. And now, standing in the aftermath of yet another broken connection, he wondered if freedom was worth the cost of all the people he had loved and lost.

Yet, as he stood there, something deeper stirred in him. He thought of Y/N—not just her resemblance to Mikasa but the fire in her eyes, the way she challenged him, the way she didn’t shy away from the truth even when it hurt. Yes, it had been her resemblance that drew him initially, but deep down, he knew it was something else. There was a strength in her, a light that he hadn’t seen in years.

And now, the fact that she could see his memories—that she could bear the weight of them—only proved what he had been too afraid to admit. Y/N wasn’t just someone who reminded him of his past. She was someone who had the power to shape his future.

#mikasa ackerman #bertholdt hoover #connie springer #reiner braun #erwin smith #hange zoe #armin arlet #attack on titan #sasha braus #shingeki no kyojin #aot #eren jaeger #eren #eren x you #eren x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x reader #jean kirschtein #anime

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mariacallous · 8 months ago

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Today, Aug. 31, Estonians and Latvians celebrate 30 years since the departure of Russian troops from their territories, which ended half a century of occupation. The ongoing war in Ukraine is a daily reminder for Russia’s neighbors that their freedom must not be taken for granted. History suggests that Russians only withdraw from occupied territories for one of two reasons: Either they are driven out by force or their own cost-benefit calculus compels them to leave. In the latter case, the only major territorial withdrawals in Russian history have happened when regime collapse has radically changed this cost-benefit calculus. If Washington fails to recognize this long-established pattern and continues to severely constrain Kyiv’s defense in hopes for some future reset in relations with Moscow, the next wave of Russian aggression is all but ensured.

The Russian empire—whether the tsarist or Soviet variant—collapsed twice in the 20th century: in 1917, when a communist coup dethroned the tsar, and in 1991, when another, unsuccessful coup was the final death knell for the Soviet Union. Both events created a window of opportunity for many smaller nations to break free. Moscow withdrew from many of its non-Russian territories not because it no longer wanted to have an empire, but because it no longer had the means to keep these territories under its control.

Russia is currently occupying more than 42,000 square miles—about the size of South Korea—or approximately 18 percent of Ukraine’s territory. Ukrainians aim at regaining all of it and see full restoration of their territorial integrity as an essential component of a just peace. Yet their hopes to reconquer much of their land have withered, not least due to strict limitations imposed, mainly by the United States, on the Ukrainians’ use of Western weapons. Ukraine’s surprise incursion into Russia’s Kursk region and quick capture of about 500 square miles of Russian soil has changed the outlook: Now, an exchange of territories may become an element of eventual negotiations. Russian leader Vladimir Putin’s calculus is still in favor of continuing the war, but the Ukrainians are finding new ways to increase the cost to Moscow and upend the narrative that Russia is marching towards an inevitable victory.

The historical experience of Russia’s neighbors provides some clues to Ukraine’s chances to regain occupied territories or achieve peace through territorial concessions.

The last Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, decided to let the Soviet satellite states in Central and Southeast Europe go and allowed an unprecedented degree of openness within the Soviet Union. But even the great reformer Gorbachev was unwilling to give up any of the Soviet republics, including the three Baltic states. A leader of the Estonian national movement at the time, Marju Lauristin, recalled a personal conversation with Gorbachev, in which she explained Estonia’s aspirations for independence and received a straight reply. He could not give away what the Russian nation had gained, she recalled him saying.

The Baltic states grasped the chaos and aftermath of the 1991 Soviet coup to restore their independence, but that was followed by a tense three-year struggle to achieve the withdrawal of Russian troops. Diplomatic efforts took place in parallel with the departure of Moscow’s forces from the former satellite states, including more than 330,000 soldiers leaving East Germany by 1994. As we know, Russia’s withdrawal from Germany was a most humiliating experience for the young Putin, who was traumatized by the East Germans’ peaceful uprising against their communist regime while he was stationed there as a KGB agent.

Estonia was the last European country to secure the departure of Russian troops through a July 1994 agreement between the two countries’ presidents at the time, Boris Yeltsin and Lennart Meri. Both leaders took considerable risks by agreeing to a deal that was unpopular in their respective countries. Many in the Russian opposition, diplomatic establishment, and security services were highly critical of Yeltsin’s decision. On the Estonian side, the deal involved painful concessions, notably allowing retired Soviet military personnel and their families, altogether more than 10,000 people, to stay in Estonia and enjoy social benefits. Similar unpopular conditions were also accepted by Latvia. Although the departure of occupying troops was a dream come true for Estonians, Meri faced criticism at home for the concessions. It took great diplomatic skills and political courage to achieve the final stage of de-occupation, which paved the way for Estonia’s accession to NATO and the European Union.

The motive for Yeltsin was most probably his wish to maintain good relations with the West—especially the economic and financial support on which Russia depended at the time—while the United States and Germany put friendly pressure on him to withdraw his forces from the Baltic states. Any such motive is utterly irrelevant for the current Russian leadership; there is no chance that Western countries could persuade the Putin regime to deliberately leave Ukraine in hopes of improved relations or economic benefits such as sanctions relief.

For some of Russia’s neighbors, giving up territory was the price to pay for independence. However, territorial concessions without being prepared to resist further Russian demands has not been a recipe for stability. In 1939, then-independent Estonia gave in to Soviet demands to establish military bases on its territory in the vain hope of avoiding war. The concessions did not help, and the Baltics were soon occupied and annexed. Finland refused similar demands for the stationing of Soviet troops and was attacked by the Red Army. Yet eventually, Finland sustained its independence after fiercely fighting for it. The Baltics learned a bitter lesson. Today they are prepared to fight back from the first moment of aggression.

Finland gave up one-tenth of its territory as a result of its two wars with the Soviet Union, but it would be wrong to present this as an example of trading land for peace. The Soviet Union did not stop fighting because it was content with the concessions; it stopped because it was unable to defeat the Finns and conquer more land. The Red Army became too exhausted to carry on, not least because it was also fighting on other fronts of World War II.

As part of the armistice agreement that ended the Soviet-Finnish fighting in September 1944, Finland leased to the Soviet Union the strategically valuable Porkkala peninsula, located just 20 miles from Helsinki. Although the lease was set for 50 years, the Soviets returned Porkkala in 1956, which looks like a rare example of a voluntary Russian withdrawal. The decision was part of the thaw under Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev, who succeeded Joseph Stalin in 1953. The case shows that a new leader who is critical of his predecessor may sometimes be favorable to new openings.

However, in subsequent years the Kremlin continued attempts to subsume Finland under tighter Soviet control, successfully interfering in its domestic politics and forcing it to align much of its foreign policy with Russia’s but failing to push the country closer to defense cooperation. Finland achieved Soviet recognition of its neutral status only as part of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe held in Helsinki in 1975.

Another Russian neighbor, Japan, has also learned that Moscow does not give up territories under its control as a gesture of goodwill. Under former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, Japan made extensive efforts in the 2000s and 2010s to foster friendly and mutually beneficial relations with Putin’s regime. Abe aimed to finally settle the two countries’ territorial dispute over the four southernmost Kuril Islands, annexed by the Soviet Union at the end of World War II. In the hope of splitting the difference and regaining two of the islands, Japan went to great lengths in courting Putin and avoiding any criticism of Russia, including after Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea and the start of the war in eastern Ukraine. In March 2022, Russia announced that it did not intend to continue the talks and practically ruled out giving up any of its territories, with Russian Security Council Deputy Chairman Dmitry Medvedev stating that “negotiations about the Kurils always had a ritualistic character”.

So far, the West has been surprised by Russia’s ability to bear the heavy cost for its invasion of Ukraine. In Western societies, human life is priceless; in Russia, it is cheap. The Russian regime has been able to rely on seemingly endless waves of expendable soldiers and a harsh redirection of its economy to defense production in ways that would be far too costly for any democratic leader. What can be fatal for a Russian leader, however, is any perceived weakness and the failure to uphold Russia’s greatness. Most Russians want to live in a great country that dominates others, and they are ready to accept sacrifices for this cause, as documented in detail in books by Svetlana Alexievich, Jade McGlynn, and others.

Western leaders have talked a lot about the need to raise the cost of Russian aggression. But they have failed to effectively implement economic sanctions and have still not allowed Ukraine to use Western long-range weapons to attack military targets on Russian territory. By bringing the war to Russia nonetheless, Ukraine has proven that there is space to be bolder and more innovative in making the Russians pay a painful price for their desired greatness—a greatness that is built on invading and occupying other nations.

Russia is not going to withdraw from Ukraine unless it is forced to go—or to pay an unbearable price to stay. There is absolutely nothing in Russian history or recent behavior that suggests Moscow could be expected to negotiate in good faith to reach a compromise. Some territorial concessions from Ukraine may eventually be the price worth paying for peace and freedom—but this remains moot until Russia first gets to the point where it believes that further aggression can bring no gains.

Full restoration of Ukraine’s territorial integrity will likely require another collapse of the Russian empire. It may be years ahead, but Russia’s historical trajectory suggests that it will happen at some point, as the country has shown itself to be incapable of correcting course through evolution rather than revolution. A Western “reset” with the current regime will not be possible without sacrificing Ukraine’s independence and the core principles of the European security order, including the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity.

Whether losing Ukraine will be the final death toll for the Russian empire, only time will tell. And even then, Russia’s neighbors will always have to be prepared for its violent imperialism to rebound.

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unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240 · 1 year ago

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Genuine question for those of you who say that you want the dissolution of all states. What do you envision in place of states in terms of:

Logistics (i.e. making sure every area has the basic resources it needs in order to function and people not die for lack of water, food, fuel, medical supplies, etc.) Like not assigning these things necessarily but literally just getting them to various far-flung places.

Security (how do you prevent people from outside the area coming in and taking everything including resources, land, people, etc.) How do you prevent authoritarian groups coming in and occupying your formerly peaceful, non-hierarchical society?

Supporting people outside of affinity networks or within rigid social systems (a lot of disabled people, queer people, and other people on the social, familial, and religious outs are gonna die without some kind of appropriate systems in place to meet these needs.)

Addressing major environmental challenges that require cooperation over vast areas of land, if not global cooperation.

Rule of law, especially when it comes to human rights, freedom of movement, freedom of religion/culture, dispute resolution between governing bodies of whatever variety that doesn't involve war, etc. but also just like, basic laws governing interpersonal relationships (preventing rape, murder, theft, etc. and addressing the aftermath of those things in a humane, just way.)

Peaceful transition from states to whatever it is you imagine taking their place, without hemorrhaging lives from the most vulnerable populations.

And like, there's more that I'm sure I'd have questions about too, but these concerns are so basic that I just cannot continue the conversation without knowing what the plan is for these essential tenets of an organized society.

Don't get me wrong: I don't love states and wish we had a better system too. I am also painfully aware that states are failing many if not most of these all the time. However, what I would need to know is how what you are proposing is better than trying to improve what currently exists and isn't going to come at the cost of catastrophic loss of human life, human cultures, animal life, and land destruction. And not in a pie-in-the-sky way, a realpolitik way.

#yes this question was originally prompted by the ''I'm not [just] anti-Israel‚ I'm against all states everywhere'' leftists #but I'm not talking about that specific conflict in this post #I am genuinely asking what you envision in place of all states everywhere in the world and how we get there #it's not enough to just say ''states bad''#that's a long-range criticism that's valid but unactionable without a real plan that doesn't get people killed #if your answer is ''just dissolve [X]'' and you don't have a Plan B?#you are a deeply unserious person and I will be giving your geopolitical opinions the corresponding weight #if your answer is ''the future we work towards should have in mind the replacement of states with a different system but #for now we will try to improve things in [X] [Y] and [Z] ways'' then sure #I'm listening #if you have a plan for an immediate overhaul I'm deeply skeptical but listening

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permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 · 27 days ago

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The Abhorred | Adar/OC (part 4)

Summary: It is a moment Maethoriel never imagined, but the empty raiment at her feet proves that it had, indeed, come to pass. Sauron is dead. She should feel relief, but all that she knows instead is a sense of fear over a world that will see not only herself, but her companions as monsters to be eradicated at any cost. It is a fear that will pull her away from the only one who ever kept her safe. And she is hardly blind to how holding on to that fear almost certainly risks keeping her forever adrift from the one that she loves.

Warnings: angst, some hints of Stockholm syndrome, references to torture, creepy Sauron being creepy, mind games and manipulation, removal of free will, murder, some blood and gore, it's gonna get pretty dark in here, folks. Warnings will be updated as the series goes on.

Taglist: @humongousgalaxycoffee, @emo--chanel

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

Part One Part Two Part Three

The gray light of dawn filters down through the leaves overhead as they make their camp, and once he is certain his children are settling in successfully, Adar permits himself to venture further into the shelter provided by the trees in order to seek a few moments alone.

It is the first of such opportunities granted to him in what feels like an age, the nature of their travels since their enemy's death granting little time to do much but continue pushing on. Past exhaustion, and past their own misgivings, the disbelief many still hold that they can possibly be free seems determined to refuse to allow them even a moment's respite.

Adar knows that his children still hold fear in their hearts. Fear that Sauron will return, somehow, and that his retribution will be swift for their disloyalty. For their betrayal. In truth, a part of him knows this same fear, as well, though he clings to the hope that he need never face such a thing again.

Even witnessing Sauron's destruction with his own eyes, Adar still struggles to believe it. It is as though he is incapable of fully understanding or believing in their newfound freedom, after spending so many ages in torment. After being held captive under Sauron's will for so long that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to hope for another life.

Disbelief had been a part of what spurred him onward. It had been what pushed him to keep his children moving, despite ample evidence that all of them would benefit from a period of rest. But, confronted with that long sought after respite, now, Adar is beginning to realize that the constant movement of their travels had allowed him something else. Something he did not entirely expect.

It had allowed him the freedom from spending too much of his time thinking about her.

Maethoriel.

The woman he had left behind.

Something he cannot fully recognize twists inside of him at the thought of her. At the memory of how she'd looked at him, after it was done. After Sauron was nothing more than a pile of empty robes littering the floor. In her eyes, there had been grief. Uncertainty. Fear, and perhaps the faintest glimmers of hope, as well.

Regardless of whatever those glimmers had truly been, however, her absence at his side now provides ample proof that whatever it was, it had hardly been enough to keep her with him in the aftermath of it all. Whatever her seeming loyalties had been, before, something had changed. That something had wormed its way inside of her mind, to keep them apart.

It had taken every bit of strength Adar possessed to resist the urge to simply return for her in those first days after their flight from Dúrnost . To find her, and do what he could to persuade her that an uncertain future together was still far better than an eternity spent alone, but he had sworn that he would not force her allegiance. That he would not bind her to him as Sauron had, from the moment Adar had first brought her north.

Not for the first time, did he wonder if both of them would have been better off if they never had a chance to meet. If he'd never followed Sauron's orders, and laid waste to her former life. Her family. Her friends.

Would forfeiting the connection that had festered between them have made it easier to free his children from Sauron's control sooner? If Maethoriel had not provided him with the first glimpses of something other than a bitter sort of loneliness, all those years ago, would he have been capable of plotting Sauron's demise without fear of causing her pain?

As much as it troubles him to admit, Adar finds that the answer is a thing he simply does not know.

He'd been no stranger to how quickly Sauron had taken to keeping Maethoriel practically tethered to his side. To how he had seized upon the terror and grief she'd worn about her like a shield in the wake of her abduction, and twisted it to suit his own purpose.

Adar knew far better than most how alluring their master could be. How capable he was of feigning kindness, or even concern, when it would win others to his side.

Unable to do anything other than observe as Sauron slowly drew Maethoriel in, just as he had so many others, Adar had not expected to pity her. He had not expected to view her with anything save for the same indifference with which he had grown to view the others who proved themselves too feeble-minded to resist the darkness and its incessant call.

Something about her had prevented him from doing the same for her, however. From casting all thought of her aside, leaving her to make her own way so that he might direct his own attention to what mattered most. Securing the freedom of his children.

Maethoriel was a liability, or so he had tried to convince himself. If she had allowed herself to become Sauron's so easily, then perhaps there had never been a chance for her, at all.

Despite his best efforts, however, the more time he spent with Maethoriel, the harder it had been to dismiss her. To his surprise, her position at their master's side had not entirely succeeded in persuading her of Sauron's virtues. Through the many tasks they had been set to, together, Adar had learned that Maethoriel harbored her own doubts about their master, as well. That his treatment of her had started to sour, and that while she might remain at Sauron's side, she still felt the acidic sting of fear in his presence. It is a sensation that Adar himself knew all too well.

Somewhere in the amalgamation of horrors the two of them had been forced both to enact and to endure at Sauron's whim, a bond had formed between them. Tenuous, at first, though it soon became near to unbreakable, or so Adar had believed at the time.

And somehow, in the seconds it had taken him to drive the blade into Sauron's heart, that bond had slipped through his fingers as though it were made of nothing more than grains of sand.

Adar feels the loss as keenly as he had felt the loss of each one of his children who had perished already at Sauron's hand. Though Sauron had not killed them all with his own blade, or whatever dark magic he held in his employ, they had died for his cause. For his ends.

In much the same way, Adar views Maethoriel's absence in the same light. As ridiculous as it may seem, it is all but impossible to view it as anything other than proof that Sauron had taken her from him every bit as much as he had done with countless scores of Adar's children.

Now that he has allowed her to enter his mind once more, he finds that he is utterly powerless to avoid considering exactly what she may be facing, now, on her own. He wonders what dangers she may find, and what, if anything, she might do to escape them.

Knowing she was capable in a fight, after having overseen much of her training himself does little to assuage the worry of how she will fare alone.

Not even when he knows better than most that such a distraction will only endanger the ones he seeks to protect, now.

He cannot afford it. Allowing Maethoriel to take control of his thoughts in any capacity will serve no purpose to any of them, now, no matter how it pains him to consider forgetting her altogether.

Already, Adar knows that he has spent far too much time staring, unseeing, at the landscape that surrounds him. He knows that, in the time he'd spent consumed by his innermost thoughts, any number of threats could have found him and attempted putting an end to him before he had the chance to act.

It is enough to bring him back to the present abruptly, and Adar allows himself a moment to adjust to the reality of it. He allows himself a moment to grieve the thought of leaving Maethoriel behind, both in the sense of not returning to search for her, as well as doing what he could to keep her from his thoughts, as well.

Whether he could bring himself to understand it or not, she had made her choice. He could not begrudge her that, no matter how much he might wish to. And as he hears the distant rustling of movement through the foliage at his back, the footfalls falling in the familiar pattern of one of his children, Adar knows.

Given that Maethoriel has clearly made her choice, the time has now come for him to make his own.

Maethoriel had been sleeping for the better part of three days.

The weariness that had been her near to constant companion far before the moment she'd fled Dúrnost kept her nearly motionless upon the thin bit of bedding she'd been laid out upon. But for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, her would-be rescuers might have believed her to be dead.

Still, they tend to her as best they can, using damp cloths to wipe away the sweat that lingers upon her brow. Dripping some of the water from that cloth to her lips, parched and chapped though they may be.

Already worried she will never wake again by the dawn of the second day, the man and his wife share yet another glance as their son sidles up to the woman's unconscious form on the eve of the third. They watch as he dutifully wipes at her brow, and spares her a few more drops of water from the cloth not long after.

Not one of them knows what they ought to do. Though they are hardly willing to abandon her, the reality of their inability to improve her condition thus far remains apparent. And as attached as their son already seems to be to the woman, the prospect of her looming death is certainly a reality that they do not wish to face.

"Why won't she wake, Papa?"

"I do not know, son," The man replies, his words subdued. Almost hesitant, as though to speak them aloud were to commit some grave sin for which he might never be capable of repenting, "We do not know what she might have endured before we found her."

"You mean her scars?"

Nodding, the man extends a hand to ruffle his son's hair, the worried frown that mars the boy's otherwise youthful features pulling at his heart in a way that few other things ever could. He shares yet another glance with the boy's mother, noting her in her expression that familiar mix of affection and concern that he knew far too well.

Neither of them would ever dream to discourage their boy's tender heart, or seek to dull his ever-present need to look after others less fortunate than themselves. But it would be a lie for either of them to pretend that it was not a trait that could oftentimes land their son in a fair bit of trouble.

It is the prospect of that trouble coming about as a result of the strange woman's presence in their home that worries them, now.

A prospect that seems to be rather quickly coming to fruition, given that the woman is finally beginning to stir.

"She's awake!"

"Get back, son," The man cautions, a hand coming to rest upon his son's shoulder, while the other extends to pull his wife behind the shelter of his sturdier frame, as well. Carefully, he watches as the woman shifts weakly, her features seeming to pale even further as though even such miniscule movements were capable of causing great pain.

Dark eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones for a moment, before she is able to open her eyes completely. An event that is rather quickly followed by a trembling hand darting to where her weapons had once been belted at her waist.

"There is no need for weaponry here," The man assures, the effort of keeping his words steady even in spite of the sudden wave of apprehension that steals over him something that he did not entirely expect, "My family is no threat to you."

"Where—where are they?"

"They are safe. If you choose to depart, I will take you to them, but—"

"You will take me to them, now."

The words are spoken softly, though the man would not be so foolish as to pretend he cannot sense the determination that rests beneath them. It is a determination that soon has the woman standing in seconds, her frame wavering as she blinks past what is clearly a spell of dizziness brought about by so long spent unmoving. Unfed. Unconscious.

Her limbs clearly seem to falter. To betray her desire to remain upright in a show of strength that she clearly cannot afford. And although the man hardly knows what she will do when presented with the reality of his approach, he cannot fight against the instinct that has him stepping forward to reach for her, his grip upon her shoulders gentle as he guides her to sit upon the bedding she'd been resting on mere moments before.

"You won't make it three steps before you're out cold again, I'd wager. Perhaps it's best if you rest a bit before there's any more talk of leavin'."

He can sense the woman's reluctance, of course. It radiates through the space between them, made all the more apparent by how she almost immediately wrenches herself free of the meager contact of his hands with her frame as though she'd just been burned.

Her eyes seem to go dark, then. Darker than they were, already, and yet clouded by something that the man cannot entirely recognize. Again, he moves to reach toward her, desiring to put her at ease in whatever way he can, but the abject horror that overtakes her features in response holds him back.

"Get—get away from me."

Straightening to his full height, the man takes a few steps back to give the woman some space, sharing yet another look with his wife, who stands almost motionless, her hands gripping their son's shoulders to keep him at her side. He tries to manage what he hopes will be a reassuring smile for their benefit, but if the skeptical expression his wife wears is any sort of indication, the gesture rather clearly falls flat.

A glance back at the woman shows her still seated, her gaze riveted straight ahead without truly seeing. For all the world, it appears as though she is lost somewhere in her own mind, whatever holds her there clearly stronger than her own obvious desire to remain alert.

It troubles him, truth be told. Try though he might to continue giving her the benefit of withholding any judgment until learning her story—learning what had driven her to the point in which he and his son had found her—something about her presence pulls at his resolve to do precisely that.

The longer he spends watching her—noting the tension held in every trembling muscle, and the vacant glaze to her eyes—the more certain he becomes of a fact that is far more troubling than he cares to admit.

Whoever she is, and wherever she'd come from, the woman is clearly running from something. From something, or someone.

Whether the thing that haunts her will come after the man and his family in turn, is a thing that is yet to be seen.

"Without Sauron, you and I? We are nothing."

The words echo in the far recesses of Maethoriel's mind, ebbing and flowing in a way that effectively drowns all thought of perceiving anything else. Though she is still at least partially aware of her own surroundings, the familiarity of the voice garners almost all of her focus.

It is a voice she would know anywhere. A voice that still calls to her, whether or not she knows she would be far wiser to cast all memory of it aside for good.

For a moment, however, Maethoriel is tempted to cling to it, regardless. To find some way of holding its memory close to her heart, even in the face of what may come about as a result. In the back of her mind, she is still aware of the observation of her companions. A man, a woman, and a young boy whose presence tugs at her heart in a way she cannot fully explain.

Perhaps it is that small, lingering awareness, that enables the voice she so yearns to hear to fill her mind with altogether new words. Words that bear a warning that resonates through her very bones.

"Never let down your guard, Maethoriel. To do so now would be akin to openly inviting your own death."

The words are enough to pull her out of her own distraction. Out of the fog in which she had been seemingly imprisoned, almost without her conscious awareness. Warily, her attention shifts from the man who had been addressing her, to the woman and boy standing behind him. Her gaze locks upon the boy, and once again she is struck with that nagging sense of something she cannot yet place.

Of the three of them, that boy seems to be the most unhindered by apprehension. In comparison to his older companions, he does not seem to possess any sort of wariness over her presence at all.

She would be a fool to pretend she is completely reassured by such a discovery, but Maethoriel finds that the uneasiness that has plagued her since awakening begins to fade, bit by bit, replaced by the sense that, if these people meant to do her any harm, the child would not seem so calm. She allows herself to take a deeper breath for what feels like the first time in an age, and is surprised by how quickly whatever tension had been holding her upright seems to slip away in an instant.

Caught, for the moment, between her desire to heed the warning words still lingering in her mind, and the need to take stock of her surroundings in order to better formulate a plan for how to move forward, Maethoriel remains precisely where the man whose touch she'd shied from had left her. Perched upon the edge of what appeared to be a thin mattress, covered with an equally thin blanket, that sits beside a well-worn table and chairs.

It is the first time she has paid any attention to something outside of the haunted whisperings inside of her mind. To something that did not pertain to the three mortals still bunched together nearby.

It seems enough to render her capable of addressing them—truly addressing them—for the first time since she'd arrived.

"How—how long has it been since—"

"Since we found you?" The man supplies, seemingly reassured by Maethoriel's return to full awareness of her surroundings, if the slight shift to the previously taut line of his shoulders is any sort of indication at all, "Nearly three days."

"Three days," Maethoriel repeats, her stomach sinking at the thought of exactly how dire her condition must have been to lose so much time at once, "You should have left me where I was."

"Begging your pardon, but my boy wouldn't have allowed it."

"Even so, you took—"

"A risk, lettin' a stranger into my home?" The man interrupts, a faint twitch of something that might be an attempt at a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, "Figured, given your state at the time, you weren't all that much of a threat. No offense intended."

"It is not me that would threaten you."

As soon as the words escape, Maethoriel regrets them. She chastises herself for the harshness behind them, and her heart twists inside of her chest as soon as she observes how any lessening of the man's former uneasiness seems to come to a startling halt not long after.

Whether truly comfortable with the idea or not, Maethoriel is not so foolish as to believe she does not owe these people for their kindness. No matter what crimes she might have committed in her life, she is not so far gone as to know nothing of gratitude, and when it is due.

A sigh escapes as she shifts on the thin bedding beneath her, her gaze once again drifting to the young boy who stands behind his father, eyes wide. Almost hopeful, as though he truly wishes for a way to bridge the apparent gap that rests between them.

It is a realization that nearly proves to be her undoing, as she considers what forming any attachments in this new portion of her life might mean. The faint stirrings of fear seeps into her veins at the thought of what any who might be hunting for her could do, if they learned of the aid this family had provided her.

It is a fear that all but refuses to give her any respite, even when she does what she can to remind herself that any who would have been hunting for her are now gone.

Or so she hopes.

"Forgive me, I—it is not my intention to alarm you. I—I would simply hate to repay what you have done by placing any of you in danger."

"What kind of danger?" The man asks, the apprehension that rests behind the glance that passes between him, and the woman standing behind him something that Maethoriel would have been capable of sensing, even if she were blind, "What are you running from?"

"Nothing that will touch you. Not after I am gone."

The finality that rests behind the words troubles her. It gnaws a hole in the pit of her stomach, made all the more potent when she takes note of the boy finally wriggling free of his mother's grasp, and skirting around his father's outstretched arm to stand at her side.

Yet again, she is struck with the sense of something she cannot identify. A sensation that is not all that far from something poking at a long-forgotten memory, trying to break it loose. And as the boy reaches for and seizes her hand, without even a hint of the fear or caution that she might expect, Maethoriel finds that the well of emotion that comes about in response renders her scarcely able to speak.

"She can't leave, Papa! Tell her that she can't leave."

"She can, son. If she truly wishes to, none of us are in any position to stop her," The man disagrees, placing a hand upon his son's shoulder to deliver what is clearly meant to be an encouraging squeeze, though Maethoriel can tell in an instant that the boy is hardly pleased, "Though she'll not get very far without some food, drink, and more rest."

"It is hardly wise to remain here any longer," Maethoriel protests, once again attempting to stand under her own power, and doing her best to hide the reality of how quickly her balance nearly falters.

It is an occurrence that finally seems capable of breaking the other woman out of her reserved silence, her own wariness fading, at least for the moment, as she steps forward loop a steadying arm around Maethoriel's waist.

"I believe you are about to discover that my husband is anything but what one might call a wise man. Come. I will draw you a bath, and then we can see about some supper."

"You don't—I do not wish to be any trouble—"

"Then I suppose you would be best suited by staying," The woman persists, a small, albeit reluctant smile forming in response to the expression Maethoriel adopts in response to the words. An expression that cannot possibly demonstrate anything less than utter and complete surprise.

"If nothing else, a few more days spent recovering would do wonders to assure us that you were strong enough to wander around out there on your own."

Maethoriel is still hardly certain that staying is prudent. She still cannot entirely shake the feeling of being hunted, despite knowing that the true threat that might have chosen to act against her is gone, never to return.

The stab of guilt that lifts its head and begins coiling its way around her heart nearly drives her to her knees, but somehow she forces herself to remain standing. She forces herself to push aside that guilt as best she can, knowing that, whatever her regrets might be over pulling away, rather than following Adar as she always had before, there is little to nothing she can do to remedy any of them, now.

Though she has no intention of taking advantage of the hospitality that this family seems so determined to continue providing, Maethoriel is perfectly capable of recognizing that, in her current state, she would find herself in dire straits yet again far more quickly than she truly cares to admit. And although that realization might prevent her from leaving at the present moment, it does little to discourage her from making future plans.

As soon as she can stand on her own two feet without faltering, she will be gone.

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xavalav · 1 month ago

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hi, please tell me about The Character

HI HELLO I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THE CHARACTER!!!!!!

okay so recently The Character for me has been the hollow knight from the titular game hollow knight. i loveeeeeeeee that freak,, it has so many fucking issues and i'm obsessed. i have typed out novels about that funky bugg in a discord server w my friends bc i have been rotating it in my microwave for like a month now. actually i'm gonna put a bunch of stuff under a readmore bc i have sooooo many thoughts and feelings abt the hollow knight and their whole deal. but if you would like a tl;dr this image is pretty much what you're going to get under the readmore.

hello. welcome to it is 3am and i am exploding forever and ever abt buggs. i went through my discord to find screenshots of my rants bc they really encapsulate my thoughts and feelings abt that silly little thang

the aftermath of thinking about buges until 5am:

anyways these are all my rants bc i didn't wanna type them out again but holy shit. the hollow knight makes me froth at the mouth bc they are ultimately about devotion and deception and the suffocating lack of choice and personal freedom. and i like the pale king a lot too bc while there isn't a lot of concrete lore about him, he is the one who kicked the whole story off and gave the hollow knight sooooo many issues. i love the themes and i love the whole "no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering" thing in reference to the vessels because i am of the opinion that none of the vessels were truly hollow and that the pale king's plan was always going to fail. it's the futility and the sunk cost fallacy and "no cost to great" of it all <3 and just. man. the hollow knight was doomed by the narrative the minute they made it to the top of that platform.

here are sketches of my buggs that i've been doing too. i'm still fleshing out designs and details but they've been on da mind and i had to get them onto a page before they ate all my neurons

anyways. thank you for reading and looking at my long ass post with. soso much. and thank you for giving me an opportunity to go insaneo style about hollow knight bc i haven't gotten the chance to besides in private discords and reblog sprees. here's some funny silly messages:

#sorry it took me so long to answer this. i got excited to yap abt thk and went digging through my discord msgs to find everything #and also im the eepy sneepr and cannot stop eeping #hollow knight #pure vessel #the hollow knight #hk hollow #hk the hollow knight #the pale king #we do a little answering asks #moots!!#xav art #sketches and doodles

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ask-the-friendly-ink-demon · 2 months ago

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I'm going to hug the boy!!!

"r-really, im fine, b-but thank you for the offer though! it's what he would of wanted anyways!" Prowler says, putting his arms up in a bit of protest really

#my art #my drawings #terrors of the inky past au #batim #batim au #bendy #mun posts #The Friendly Ink Demon (Prowler Bendy Stein)#Memory Loss (New Arc)#Reign Of The False King (Lanky Arc)#Freedom But At What's Cost? (Aftermath Verse)#Local Neighborhood (The Town)#Stein Residence (The Lodge)#Roll Call! (Answered Asks)#You've Got Mail! (Asks)#sorry for how long this one took these asks have been sitting in the inbox for ages and i was feeling tired hours ago #after finishing this not that long ago so YEAH #anyways enjoy! one post for today really cause imma bout to pass out smh

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kanangul · 1 year ago

Text

After spending a childhood in isolation, Mikhail has finally been able to find freedom in academia. Pursuing the passion of their only solace; the forever gentle sound of song. Though, Mikhail has lived a life of naivety. A life shielded by the harsh faith of their church and family. Now Mikhail will discover the dark underbelly of the city of Vilyuchka — and what it means to be a composer in a city where crime and music are one in the same.

Demo: July 2024

The Garden Sanctuary is an 18+ horror, lesbian romance, and erotica interactive fiction. It takes place in a world built in Gaslamp Fantasy, with Art-Deco and 1920s influences. It is planned to be a browser-based visual novel style experience, with multiple illustrations and CGs placed throughout.

(Character bios and additional info can be found under the cut.)

CONTENT WARNING: The Garden Sanctuary is a HORROR and EROTICA interactive fiction. CWs include gore, violence, body horror, body dysmorphia, gender dysphoria, as well as internal and external transphobia, homophobia/lesbophobia, and ableism. The Garden Sanctuary also portrays critical views of the effects of CSA and incest from a personal perspective. (No on screen depictions, just the aftermaths of such events.)

MC: Mikhail Ilyushin - The Composer - They/Them

Mikhail Ilyushin was raised in one of the many churches of Vilyuchka who follow the single god of Lithos. From birth they were seen as sick, in body and mind alike. Thus they were sheltered from the rest of society in an attempt to protect their frailty from the outside world. During their time in the church they would occupy their dark upbringing with their passion for music. Mikhail had given up on the prospects of freedom. Until one day their overbearing family was contacted by a mysterious sponsor, who was somehow able to convince them to allow Mikhail to attend the University of Saint Yelena in order to pursue becoming a professional composer.

RO: Watcher Uriel - Patron of Pestilence - He/She/They

Watcher Uriel, the cursed angel forced to live on the outskirts of the city. Their very existence brings sickness. Her appearance is gruesome, no matter how hard she tries to mask her true form under a mortal glamor. In spite of the nature of their very existence, they long for only one thing: Love and affection. They are the head of a fanatic cult, obsessed with finding love for their holy angel. Nonetheless Watcher Uriel remains on the ceaseless hunt to find a soulmate. No matter the cost.

RO: Lucia Blackhart - The Violet Songstress - She/Her

Perhaps one of your only hopes of learning what the life of a composer entails. Lucia is not only a prolific melodist herself, she's also an extremely elusive detective. The catch: she only works with criminals in the Vilyuchkan Underbelly. Her allegiances are never set in stone. And while her services are invaluable, you can never fully set your trust in the Violet Songstress. Bonus Route: Because of her good natured relationship with Caim, it is possible to pursue a polyamorous route between the two of them.

RO: Caim - The Wonderland Ensemble, one of the Five Kings of the Vilyuchkan Underbelly - They/Them

Caim is a demonic being who surfaced in Vilyuchka many decades ago. Since then they have founded the Wonderland Ensemble, a ruthless crime syndicate known for its equal worship of pleasure and pain. Caim is an absolutely ruthless criminal, earning them the title of one of the Five Kings; a designation for the most dangerous and esteemed crime bosses in the Vilyuchkan Underbelly. Bonus Route: Because Caim is great friends with Lucia Blackhart, it is possible to pursue a polyamorous route between both of them.

RO: Headmaster Stelliana - Beholder of the Moon - She/Her

Headmaster Stelliana is the only companion you will meet on your journey that has the privilege of participating in regular society. She's a highly respected scholar, and lead of the academic group known as the Beholders of the Moon. Though she just poses as an intellectual elite, she holds a dark secret. Her and her fellow Beholders are apart of a cult seeking to resurrect the Old Gods. Only she and her fellow scholars know what this entails, and what fate this may bring about.

RO: ████████████ ████████████ ██████ ███ █████████

Something about this presence seems familiar. Yet foreign. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. Is it fear, or is it fiery yearning that I feel? Nonetheless something inside of me burns. Threatening to sear through my sternum and breach the skin along my breast. Until we meet again.

#the garden sanctuary #the garden sanctuary if #interactive fiction #if #interact if #horror interactive fiction #dating sim #visual novel #lesbian interactive fiction #sapphic interactive fiction #uhh maybe ill make more tags later i cant rember what to tag this shit #interact-if #twine #twine game

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months ago

Text

THE RESULT OF THE DISNEY SURRENDER

TCinLA

Dec 16, 2024

The thing many people miss in looking at Hitler’s takeover of Germany is how fast it happened. Within 30 days of his acceptance of the Chancellorship on January 31, 1933, the Reichtag had passed the Enabling Act in the aftermath of the Reichstag Fire, which enabled Hitler to rule by decree. Before real resistance could be organized, it had been kneecapped.

Within weeks after that, trade unions and the Christian Democrat, the Socialist and the Communist parties had all been declared illegal. Hitler had wiped out his political opposition by mid April. The first prisoners arrived at Dachau concentration camp the first week of May - they were all political prisoners; any Jew among them was there for politics.

A similar speedy move against political opponents is building within the coming Trump administration.

For years, Trump has brought defamation suits against news organizations who have demonstrated their temerity in accurately reporting his crimes. All have been unsuccessful because the organizations he sued said on being served the papers for the suit, “See you in court.” Trump always dropped the suit when it got to the point he was going to have to sit for a deposition, because every lawyer who represented him knew he couldn’t survive a deposition; on the very few occasions where he did sit for a deposition, he was caught perjuring himself.

Until this past weekend. Until Disney - a company with a market cap of $200 billion - decided that $16 million was “the cost of doing business,” chump change, and settled a suit they had every likelihood of winning, a suit Trump was likely to drop this week after a judge ordered him last Friday to sit for a deposition no later than this coming Friday.

Disney isn’t in the news business. They own ABC and a few other “news” organizations, but those entities are not major revenue centers. Disney is in the business of running parks like Disney World and Disneyland, and they are not interested in being targeted again as they were by Governor DeSantis in Florida.

So they settled. As Josh Marshall put it today, the $16 million was their initiation fee for joining TrumpWorld.

Several legal commentators have recently written about the possibility that Disney settled because they were worried that if they did win with the New York Times v Sullivan defense - which they almost certainly would have - that Trump would appeal his loss to the Supreme Court, where two of “his” six judges have already expressed a willingness to return to Times v Sullivan with a view to overturning it and getting rid of the “actual malice” rule regarding public persons suing for defamation.

A return to “ordinary” defamation, where all a litigant needs to establish is that the defamatory statement made is false, with no reference to “actual malice,” would mean that news organizations would pull back from aggressive investigations of individuals like Trump. We would experience a sharp drop in press freedom to publish.

However, Disney’s surrender also creates a precedent that leaves an opening for politically-motivated defamation suits. The result of this is also that news organizations will be reluctant to aggressively pursue a story, since their corporate owners who are not in the news business and do not care about freedom of the press, may not choose to support the news organization they own in such a fight.

In other words, heads Trump wins and tails Trump wins.

The Disney surrender is almost as good as the Supreme Court overturning Times v Sullivan in intimidating news organizations.

Saturday night, Steve Bannon spoke at the Gala put on by the New York City Young Republicans. The Guardian reported what he said:

“We want retribution and we’re going to get retribution. You have to. It’s not personal, it’s not personal. They need to learn what populist, nationalist power is on the receiving end.

“I need investigations, trials and then incarceration. And I’m just talking about the media. Should the media be included in the vast criminal conspiracy against President Trump? Should Andrew Weissmann on MSNBC, and Rachel Maddow, and all of them?

“We want all your emails, all your text messages, everything you did. You colluded in a conspiracy with Merrick Garland, Nancy Pelosi, Lisa Monaco and Jack Smith.”

Rachel Maddow may be “The $100 million woman” of progressive media, but she and others not as well-situated as she is have to wonder if their corporate overlords will defend them against spurious conspiracy charges, as news organizations would have in the days before the billionaires’ takeover of mainstream media. In Maddow’s case, would whatever is left of MSNBC - after the company was put in Brian Roberts’ “SpinCo” and separated from Comcast-Universal - have the resources to be able to do so? Would the Intergalactic Widgetmaker that purchases the “SpinCo” be willing to invest their resources in her defense? Would ABC risk having Trump’s FCC commissioners pull its broadcast license for defending Jake Tapper?

And after they’re finished ripping apart the major media, what happens to Meidas Network?

I am not advocating surrender. It will take awhile for them to work their way down to That’s Another Fine Mess, and in the meantime their corruption and incompetence in all else they try to do will be working against them. We of the new “alternative media” will likely survive by being the small mammals who stay out of the meadow where the big dinosaurs stomp.

I am pointing out that despite their corruption and incompetence, their inabilities to work and play well with others that will tie them in knots of their own making, there is a lot of chaos MAGA can create while they ultimately tear themselves apart.

And that chaos will only be strengthened by the willingness of billionaires like Bezos and Zuckerberg - who have bigger fish to fry than defending the free flow of information, and for whom a million dollar initiation fee to pay off Trump is couch change - and the corporations like Disney - to bend their knee to Trump the dictator. Their examples will encourage others to take the road of least resistance.

Trump has told us he intends to be a “dictator on day one.” He’s preparing to do exactly that right out in front of us, and the news media isn’t too likely to pay even as much attention as they have so far to what’s going to come.

[TCinLA]

#TCinLA #Disney #Authoritarianism #history #billionaires #dictator on day one #corruption #incompetence #That's Another fine Mess

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year ago

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Millennials and Gen Zs were raised to be entrepreneurs of the self, to believe that, if they simply worked and studied hard enough, success and security were waiting in their futures. Failure was a personal blight for refusing to invest their time wisely, for failing to grind hard enough. Post-2008, that dream was shot. You could work and work, but that did not mean that you would have job security and freedom from roommates by your mid-30s. Maybe this was what was meant by burnout culture. In the aftermath of the crash, middle-class people spoke of the death of the dream – the postwar ethos that, if you were willing to work hard enough and play by the rules, upper mobility and success were waiting in your future. If their parents had believed in climbing the ladder and just rewards for their hard work, this path was now closed to their children. These generations are also a product of the speculative environment they were raised in. Most of the day-traders were teenagers or children in the financial crash, or just graduating college. Fledgling adults in the COVID-19 pandemic. Born between the mid-1980s and early 2000s, their identity is shaped by the vacuum of post-communist politics (I, personally, was sent, age five, to a fancy-dress party styled as the Berlin Wall) or shaped by the speculation and excess of the dotcom era, or racked by the uncertainty of the 2008 financial crash. They’ve encountered the death of the American dream (or in Ireland, where I’m from, the optimism of the Celtic Tiger) and felt the withdrawal of the state’s contract in everything from mounting student debt to inferior healthcare to the rising cost of living. The postwar security and investment in public goods like education and housing their grandparents and parents enjoyed has been replaced by volatility and risk. Retail trading forums like WallStreetBets and NFT Discords are spaces where people trade crazy investment advice, but it’s also where they articulate their loss of hope in those same dreams. What replaced the fantasy of the good life? Dreams of prepping for life on Mars or in the metaverse? Of financial security through wild trades, or finding a good man to take care of you so you could leave the hustle behind? And who are these new dreams in service of? If the tale of hard work and upward mobility kept us yoked to our employers and our 9-to-5 jobs, the fantasy of the YOLO investment ‘Lambos or food stamps!’ keeps its subjects attached to the market. To risking it all. And these dreams feed the market, as in the crypto winter of 2021 where many vulnerable investors were left holding the bag, or the post-GameStop frenzy where, despite feelgood stories about David and Goliath, the significant profiteer was the market-maker behind the Robinhood trading app.

#cryptocurrency #finance #cruel optimism #american dream

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2baddiesfanfics · 8 months ago

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Ulterior Motives

Pairing: Arlecchino x Furina

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Cake, Virginity, Kissing

Summary:

As Furina struggles to find purpose in her life, an unexpected visitor comes to call. Bearing cake as a peace offering, Arlecchino attempts to smooth things over from their most recent interaction. When emotions flair, Furina ends up with an experience she won't soon forget.

Read on Ao3

It was odd. Furina had spent so much time looking down from her proverbial throne that the image of her humble apartment ceiling had now become strangely comforting.

There was no longer any need for theatrics. The archon Focalor was no more. She was just…Furina. Funny. After 500 years of keeping a secret, she thought she’d feel so much more relief.

Yes, a part of her did feel weightless. But not in a good way. More like an “aimlessly drifting through life day-to-day” kind of way. A “what’s the point?” kind of way. A “why am I even here?” kind of way.

Her stomach rumbled alerting her to the human need to fill it with something. Never in her time as a god did she think the one thing she’d miss would be having well-prepared meals at her beck and call.

I should really get up and cook myself something. What kind of macaroni have I not already made this week? Not like it matters. It all tastes the same anyway.

Her train of thought was unexpectedly interrupted by a series of steady raps on the door.

“Lady Furina?”

The blood ceased flowing through her veins. The only person who knew her new address was Neuvillette. This was most certainly not his voice.

This could only be the husky timbre of the Knave.

Shit! How did she find out where I live? Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll go away.

Her name was called a second time, only firmer.

Pretend you’re not here. She’ll give up soon.

“…I brought cake.”

Furina slowly opened one eye. Shifting off the bed, she brought herself to pull the front door open a smidge.

“What do you want?” She asked, irritation dripping from her words. “Come to gloat?”

“I only want to talk. Truly. May I come in?”

Heaving an overly dramatic sigh, Furina stepped aside. “How did you find me?”

Arlecchino moved about the sparse kitchen with a familiarity that slightly scared Furina. It was as if she knew exactly where to find what she was looking for.

“I’m waiting…”

“Patience, dear. We have all night to talk. Let me at least feed you. By the looks of things, you haven’t been eating well. Or treating yourself well, for that matter.”

She had her there. In the aftermath of the trial from hell, Furina had won her freedom, yes. But at what cost? Without her godhood, what did she have left? The people of Fontaine no longer needed an omnipotent savior figure to call on in a crisis. What was her purpose now?

Pulling a chair from the table, Arlecchino gestured for her to take a seat. Once she did, the Knave joined her.

“Now, to answer your previous question. Don’t be foolish. You know the House of the Hearth has its ways. Finding your address was child’s play.”

Furina rolled her eyes. Of course. Those three troublesome children of hers certainly knew how to make magic happen. She prodded her slice of cake with a fork, slowly feeling like she was regaining her appetite. Damn her and this rare confectionery treat.

"Look, Lady Furina. At this point, I don't think there's any more need to speak as diplomatic representatives. Allow me to speak to you now as just a Fontainian.”

Suddenly Furina wasn’t hungry anymore. She had heard Arlecchino speak these exact words to her once prior. Before she knew who Furina really was. The woman certainly had her suspicions and had come dangerously close to blowing the secret she had dutifully kept for half a thousand years.

“If you’re only here to taunt and berate me, you can leave now, Knave. I have no interest in revisiting the past. I’ve lived long enough to know it’ll never stop haunting me.”

Arlecchino pinned her with a glare that was intense enough to burn. “Furina, look at me.”

Realizing the woman had dropped her formal “lady” title, she shifted her gaze upward to meet blazing scarlet eyes that seemed to stare deeper than she was comfortable with.

“Since the prophecy is no longer hanging above our necks like a guillotine, I feel I can speak frankly. I came here to apologize for my behavior that day.”

Furina’s brow furrowed. An awkward pause filled the room.

“…What’s the catch?”

“It wounds me that you’d think I came here with an ulterior motive. After learning more about your…situation…I deeply regret calling you nonchalant and carefree. I realize now you hadn’t failed to take action, but rather, you couldn’t. I hope you’ll accept this sweet treat as an apology,” she concluded with a soft, sincere smile that looked out of place on such a sharp face.

While Furina certainly wasn’t about to turn down the delicacy, she couldn’t help a surge of rage from bubbling forth like acid.

“That’s it? You think a fucking piece of cake is going to make up for the humiliation you made me feel that day in Neuvillette’s office?” She scoffed. “You knew right well I've never ignored the prophecy, nor was I passing the time in self-indulgence. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure, and yet you waltz in here uninvited as if my forgiveness was signed, sealed, and delivered. Don’t make me laugh!”

Arlecchino’s countenance turned dark. “My sincerest apologies oh great Hydro Archon. Or should I say…former great Hydro Archon? You’ll have to excuse my behavior at the time. I was at a loss for how to properly express my anger at your neglect. How was I supposed to know you had a mighty plan to save your people? Oh…that’s right. You had to keep those you had sworn to protect completely in the dark when it came to how they were supposed to survive in a land that, for all intents and purposes, would soon disappear beneath the waves," she bit back.

Furina’s chair screeched against the aging wooden floor of her apartment as she jolted upward in disgust and disbelief.

“You bitch! How dare you! I told you then that I had my ways and I'd been working on them for as long as I’d been forced into this archon-forsaken position! To this day, even if you look down upon me, you have no right to judge!" She bellowed far too loudly for someone of such small stature.

For a moment, nothing could be heard in the cramped space but the sound of Furina’s heavy breathing. Then…the soft yet seductive chuckle of the Knave permeated the tense atmosphere.

“Why, yes. I do suppose you’re right,” she stated, rising to her feet. Towering over her, Furina took a step backward only to realize her living area wouldn’t permit escape.

“The bottom line is we all survived, now, isn’t it? I cannot claim to know what you’ve gone through to bring about this result, but I can only imagine I have you to thank,” she continued as her arm trapped the girl between her lithe body and the wall. Furina shivered.

Arlecchino surveyed her through hooded eyes, a hunter on the prowl for something far more than an acknowledgment of her appreciation. Her face was now mere inches from Furina’s. The heat of her breath danced on her lips, already parted in anticipation for what she was sure was bound to happen next. She was prey, powerless against the intoxicating allure of the predator about to strike.

“…And those who work hard deserve gratitude and praise.”

Before she could respond, Arlecchino closed the distance between them swiftly. Furina let out a muffled yelp of surprise. Questions reeled through her mind. What is she doing!? I thought she hated me. Was she not just trying to win my favor for her own political advantage?

In the end, she decided she didn’t care. In all her 500 years, she had never been in the position she now found herself. As a god, the concept of love was somewhat foreign to her. Adoration she had experienced, yes. Devotion? She’d had her fair share of admirers come up to her after shows for an autograph or two, of course. But she was getting ahead of herself. Love? Who said this was anything but raw, aching need?

Her eyes faded shut as she fell deeper under the Knave’s spell. The woman’s tongue slithered out, seeking permission to taste her. Gaining access, Arlecchino sensed the reluctance behind her acquiescence. The laugh she let out reverberated against Furina’s mouth.

“What’s the matter?” She taunted between panting breaths. “Afraid?”

Furina’s eyes snapped open. Shimmering pools of light and dark blues that reflected her mastery of the hydro element stared back at the woman before her. She was one of the Fatui Harbingers. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t frightened. But Furina was no stranger to lies - she’d been living one longer than Arlecchino had been alive.

Mustering all the courage she could, she retorted, “You wish.” Wrapping her arms around the taller woman’s neck, she pulled her forward once more and continued their carnal duel. The Knave, caught off-balance by the unexpected bit of candor, tripped forward slightly, pushing her body further against Furina’s. The girl welcomed closer contact as she let slip a soft moan.

Grabbing her by the backs of her thighs, Arlecchino hoisted her up and guided her to wrap them around her waist. Navigating them both to the bedroom, she deposited her gently on the already rumpled sheets.

There was a part of Arlecchino that truly felt sorry for her. In no way could she relate to what Furina had gone through, but if the state of her bed was any indication, it was taking her time to transition to living a mortal life. While she relished the chase and was eager to introduce her to the many pleasures of being human, she realized she’d have to take her time with her lest she scare her off completely.

“Furina, darling…remove your clothing for me,” she murmured as her lips danced down her neckline. As her hands maneuvered to undo the buttons of her shirt, Arlecchino could feel a tremble in her movements.

Well, I did say she deserved praise. Let’s see how this works…

“Mmmm…such an obedient little thing,” she purred. Furina immediately stopped shaking and instead worked faster to clear the line. Arlecchino let out a throaty chuckle. Oh, this is going to be far too easy…it’s not surprising considering she probably has received very little acknowledgment for such a massive sacrifice on her part.

Shrugging out of her own coat, Arlecchino watched with ferocity as the former archon of Fontaine stripped down to nothing in front of her. Holding a seat of power herself, she was used to being the one in control. Seeing Furina so eager to do what she asked turned her on in a way she hadn’t experienced before. This was much more…thrilling. It was time to press further.

Crawling back over her, Arlecchino continued her exploration of Furina’s body. “Yes…that’s it. You’re doing so well for me, dear,” she whispered as her teeth gently sank into the sensitive skin of her breast.

“Aghhhh…Arlecchino…” she groaned, her head canting back.

“Oh, come now. That won’t do. I believe we’re well acquainted enough for you to call me Father.”

An intense blush spread across Furina’s face. She knew this was what members of the House of the Hearth called her, but there was just something so…taboo sounding about it. Nevertheless, she had to admit it fit the debonair woman looking down at her.

“Y-yes…Father.”

Arlecchino had to swallow her own moan at the use of this name in a setting far different than she usually heard it.

“That’s a good girl,” she managed. Her tongue circled a taught nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from Furina. Taking it into her mouth, Arlecchino sucked forcefully. Furina’s hips thrust upward in response, her hands twisting in the other woman’s hair. Deftly grabbing her wrists, Arlecchino collected and then pinned them above her head with one of her own.

“Ah, ah, ah. If I’m to make you feel good, then I can’t have you distracting me while I do so. Understood?” She chastised.

Furina nodded furiously, eyes hungry to discover what might happen next. Resuming her licking and nipping, she got her to a point where she knew she had to be ready for her. Her free hand sought the space between her legs, her fingers slipping through her folds with ease.

Arlecchino’s breath felt hot against Furina’s ear as she whispered, “Fuck baby girl, your pussy is so wet and ready for me.”

“Ahhhhh…Father…please…” Furina choked as she writhed beneath her, need evident in the sound of her voice.

“You’re so beautiful when you struggle for me like this…” she taunted, her fingers pulsing inside of her now. Tears, not of fear or hurt but of sheer pleasure, formed at the corners of Furina’s eyes. Arlecchino’s thumb moved in steady circles around her clit, drawing her ever closer to her orgasm.

“Yessss take it for me…I know you can…look at you…ready to cum so soon from so little stimulation…you have no idea what you’re doing to me…just like that…” Her words flooded over Furina until the dam broke.

“Father ohhhhh fuckkkkk!” Her body convulsed around her fingers as she shook under the force of her orgasm.

As Furina lay catching her breath, she detected movement on the mattress. “Very good, darling. Now, it’s only fair I get something in return. I know you don’t have much experience in these matters, but we’ll soon change that, hmm? Just do as I say,” the Knave commanded as she removed the rest of her own clothing. Shifting herself over her, she carefully took her position kneeling above her head.

“This should be simple enough. From what I’ve seen at trials, you’ve always been talented with your mouth. You’ll be the good girl that you are and help me out, won’t you?” Arlecchino purred down at her.

Furina did indeed understand exactly what was being requested of her. “I’ll do my best, Father.” The air of sweet innocence in her voice made the Knave tremble ever so slightly. Smoothing the tendrils of hair from Furina’s forehead, Arlecchino slid her fingers through her tresses as she lowered herself at just the right angle.

“Mmmm, how ironic. You may no longer be the Hydro Archon, but you sure know how to get me wet,” Arlecchino said as Furina’s tongue made contact with her clit. She began to move her hips back and forth, forcing her to apply more pressure.

Encouraged by the Knave’s praise, Furina mustered the courage needed to slip her tongue into the woman above her.

“Ohhhhh, archons…yes,” she cried out.

With a small smile at the more experienced woman’s moans of approval, Furina experimented with thrusts and licks of different paces and lengths. Sliding her hand between her thighs, she used two fingers she widened her lips to give her easier access to Arlecchino’s sensitive bud.

The Knave’s knees buckled. She wasn’t expecting that. “Fuck…that’s it…good girl!” she huffed as her hips began to move faster.

Furina swiped her thumb across her clit in a steady motion as she darted back in for another taste of her arousal. She felt the Knave tighten her grip on her hair as her legs shook and she lost control.

“Furina…fuckkkkk…” she ground out in time with her frantic thrusts. Having found her release, she shifted to settle at her side. The former archon flushed.

“I hope that was ok. As you noted, it’s not like I have an abundance of experience in this area,” she giggled sheepishly. There was something so pure about her that made it hard for Arlecchino not to grin back at her.

“Look at you. I’ve made a mess of your face,” she said apologetically as she wiped some of her slick from Furina’s lips with a gentle brush of her finger. Placing a surprisingly chaste kiss on her lips, she continued. “Archon or not, you look ravishing.”

Furina nuzzled closer to her, refusing to meet her gaze directly. “At the risk of ruining the moment…why here? Why now? Why…me?” A pensive look glimmered in the Knave’s eyes as she tilted Furina’s face upward by her chin.

“Because, my dear. While the people of Fontaine may no longer need Furina the archon, I need only Furina. The House of the Hearth does important work, but I cannot do it alone. Having someone who’s central to Fontaine would be extremely beneficial, and I believe you may be the one for the job. You’ve spent your years living for the sake of others. To have that ripped away in an instant must surely leave one feeling bereft of purpose, no? My only intention is to fill that void.”

Furina’s eyes gleamed. Perhaps helping raise those who had been forgotten by the world would bring her a sense of belonging. Lying around her dingy apartment by herself wasn’t exactly the life she had dreamed of now that she had her freedom. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a smirk.

“So…if the children of the House call you Father, does that make me Mother?”

Arlecchino rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, little one.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic #wlw #genshin #genshin impact #hoyoverse #mihoyo #arlefuri #arlecchino #knave #harbinger #furina #arlecchinoxfurina #arlecchino x furina #furinaxarlecchino #furina x arlecchino #fontaine

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