#Madness and Civilisation

[goingpostal1980]

The world MUST know about this.

If you're wondering who owns your copy of The Catcher in The Rye, it's me. I legally own all copies. My collection spans lifetimes.

Let's start off by saying... the real 'atrocity' is the spelling in this document. And total lack of any apparent sense... The world has to know what they've put me through... Everyone I know has already seen this. I'm very proud. I was ecstatic to receive this letter.

More than 8... less than 25. 25 is a little too far, do we think?

So I was put on the terrorist register for this... but it's okay because they took me back off. Pretty badass, right?

Tumbler is like my diary. It's so easy to post here. I love Tumbler.

Anyway, I felt so pathologized by this. And what a loss of dignity. The only way to combat this is to share it in a way that makes me feel that I have regained power... Is posting medical documents on the internet all good with you?

Note the logo at the bottom of this next picture. 'Young people friendly'. Funny.

The letter I sent the Psychosis Team about my life story was 5 pages long and contained printed excerpts from my journals spanning back to 2022. This didn't help. I guess I'll update you all on Wednesday.

Some have said my life is like a performance art project, I guess you could say that. I care a lot about my Public Image. It's important to Keep Up Appearances. Everyone, EVERYONE is sick of this stuff. It's too late now to stop, though.

Droped as a kid innit.

This lady asked me, 'Do you Google instructions on how to make bombs?'

I told them I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't currently self harm, I don't speak to strangers online, I don't have any social media, I don't have the means to make a bomb or cause destruction in any way, and I have no solid plans to do so. I told them 2026 and they put 2025. They sent me for an MRI scan. There was no MRI scan, just an interview with a Malay doctor who was shorter than me who asked me terribly worded questions... 'What do you hallucinate?' 'How many times a day does this happen?' (If I had a Malaysian Ringgit for every time I've been asked that)

I told the school nurse I was hearing voices telling me to hurt the people around me. I was told my self harm was superficial. I was told I had 'Generalized Anxiety Disorder' and 'Depression'. The family did not find CAMHS helpful at this time...

She asked me the HEADSS assessment questions - a psychosocial tool used on teenagers. My mother turns to me and asks me, 'Are you going to tell her..? About the... John Lennon stuff?' ...I tell her no. It's irrelevant. Did they think I had a brain tumor? Like the Texas Tower Shooter? Like Charles Whitman?

H- Home and Environment

I told her I have a good relationship with my mother. I really do. I swear. I feel that throughout my entire life I have been neglected. Our house is a wreck. I will never forget the things that have been said to me throughout my life with her. I I don't know if I can fix the impact of what has happened to me.

E- Education and Employment

Yeah, I love College. I dropped out of school, innit. I guess that's cool. Thanks for asking.

A- Activities

I don't know what these are, to be totally honest.

D- Drugs

I love getting high. I was given magic mushrooms at a party when I was 14. I love smoking weed with my friend winking emoji. I love to drink. I drink once a week or more, hard liquor or beer or whatever I can find. I smoke every day. I'm not planning on quitting. I will take whatever I'm offered. I don't think it's cool. I told her I'm not interested in that kind of stuff.

S- Sexuality

No, this one's true. I'm the Super Virgin. N.F.I. Not Fucking Interested. Don't you think I have enough on my Plate?

S- Suicide and Depression

I told her the last time I self-harmed was last year, in Winter. I told her I used to have suicidal thoughts but I don't anymore because I love my life. They left me with no support over the Summer for 3 months this year and I almost died. Nobody's going to find out about that. She tested my reflexes and put her hand directly on top of my scars. Bloody hilarious, I thought, as I had a heart attack and nearly died on the spot. She told me I looked very uncomfortable. No, I don't want to die, really.

She had an absolutely abysmal bedside manner. She told me, when I saw that I had a patient with psychosis, I was so scared you'd be... violent or something. But you're so nice. Or something along those lines. They made me wait for almost an hour in the pediatric X-Ray ward surrounded by crying children and snot and my mother nearly went batshit crazy. She said there were too many broken bones. The pediatric neurologist told me she liked my hair. Twice. She said I was 'Beautiful and Well-Mannered'. Isn't that nice.

There's a lot more I could say. I'll save it for another time... isn't it funny? I think it's hilarious. That this has eaten up 2 years of my life now and there's no sign of it stopping. I have become dissilusioned with the concept of 'Mental Illness' after reading some Foucault. It didn't take much to convince me. The real problem is what's around me, not myself.

I'll tell you all about the other stuff another time.

[whiskeysorrows]

guys can i say that edith hall personally ghosted me as a brag on my personal statement yay or nay

[agape-emo-eros]

@noknowshame 's tags

#love these lines bc for most of the show piracy is depicted as the antithesis of civilzation #but one of the most insidious parts of civilization is how it can actually -use- crime to uphold the system #(not to mention. if it were not for the economic system of civilization - what would the pirates steal?) #(it's such an interesting dynamic. predatory and parasitic and mutualistic all at once)

BLACK SAILS • IX. | XXXVI.

2.01 "So this is the lesson… the pirates of New Providence Island are incorrigible, dedicated to mayhem. To attempt to address this subject is doomed to defeat from the outset." "It's not him I wanted you to see. [No mercy! Go all the way to hell!] It's them." 4.08 "Those are the pirates. They've inhabited the east bank, across from Springett Island for years. The governor promises this is the year he'll chase them off, but there they are. Seven major shipping concerns in the city here. In less than 10 years, more goods will move through here than any English-speaking port outside London."

[lilacthebooklover]

Goobert and Father of Goobert

they're so precious

[prokopetz]

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who regards this as a personal victory.

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who's just as surprised as you are.

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who's mad about being left out.

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who tells a different story about how it happened each time they're asked.

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who, in their unguarded moments, admits it's probably for the best.

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who claims the others are "just resting".

Last survivor of an extinct alien civilisation who insists it's not their fault.

[catboyhdb]

me with a million books to read already: I need to read foucault

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 21 - Needy Fucking]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Seokjin x f. sub!Reader

Genre: married life!AU

Kinks: penetrative vaginal sex, needy fucking, oh lord they are so needy, strength & size kink (he is taller), hair pulling (m.receiving), choking (f.receiving), subby girl tears, praise kink, good girl kink, possessive dirty talk, breeding kink for the sake of possession NOT pregnancy, creampie, use of a plug to keep the cum inside afterwards, he playfully spanks her clit with it, hihih they’re so needy but they’re also in love <3

Wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: honestly, i don’t know what demon possessed me but i wrote this in like fourty minutes and it’s so unhinged JFJDAJF i watched outlander before that and they were being so horny so i think the language i used got a lil influenced by it jjfadjf have fun my loves 💗

“You’re such a good girl”, Seokjin grunts through gritted teeth, burying his heavy cock inside your dripping cunt over and over again. 

You are beneath him, writhing and moaning with your head far away in the blissful high of pleasure he has you on. 

It started off as a romantic evening. You and he wanted to do something special as husband and wife, have a little date and make it lovely. And oh lovely it was. You went for dinner to an expensive restaurant then had fun at an arcade until you even spent your last pennies on the silly machines. It was perfect. It was fun. It was romantic. And it was arousing. 

Being with each other like this - having fun and laughing together, spending time doing something you both enjoyed and seeing each other dressed up in pretty clothes - made the desire for each other so unbearable that you barely managed to drive home without taking each other in the car. In the middle of the road, causing trouble for others. Of course you didn’t. You were civilised like that. Ignoring, of course, the heavy make out session in the apartment complex hallway. Now, normally you and he are never that public with your skin ship, let alone with outright desire, but you needed each other so much. Seokjin kept panting and growling into your mouth, acting like a starved man finally having his taste of flesh again. You never witnessed him in public like this before, wanting him like nothing else because of it. If you were any less civilised, you might have ripped his clothes off his body right there and then.

But you controlled yourselves, stumbling into your apartment and right to your bedroom, undressing each other on the way so that you fell into the sheets both naked and wet. There was barely any, what others might consider as traditional, foreplay. No long exploring touching, no hungry mouths tasting the other, no grinds or needy rubbing. There were hungry kisses, strong grips and desperate begs for the other. It wasn’t long after you and he fell into the sheets that Seokjin was buried inside of you. Deep and in a merciless, maddening rhythm. And you loved it. You loved every second of it. 

You still do. 

You love it so much.

“Good girl, taking me so well. Being so pretty for me, fuck I can’t get enough of you”, he moans, showing you his honesty in heavy rolls of his hips. His cock is weeping, pleasure mixing with yours and covering both your groins in it. How sticky it is. How messy and wet and sinful. If he could, he would bottle this feeling so he can relive it whenever he wants to. He loves nothing more than to laugh with you, loves nothing more than to experience happy life with you and to see that you are enjoying yourself as well. Tonight you ruined him, you made him a mad man driven by his desire for you. You looked so beautiful, you were so perfect and funny and wonderful. Seokjin knew he had to make you feel eternal the moment you first smiled at him. 

And he loves that you want him just as much, that you are so wet and so warm because you are in paradise. Seokjin pumps his throbbing cock into you in a sensual roll of his hips. He keeps it there, writing his name on your most sensitive spot. He watches with a dizzy head how this turns off every single light of sanity in your eyes, leaving behind fiery, wild flames of pleasure. The only thing keeping the flames at pay are your tears, filling your beautiful eyes before rolling down your temples. 

“Jin”, you whimper, lower lip trembling and fingers desperately grasping his hair. It is as black and dark as the night, hanging into his beautiful face messy and damp from sweat. It sits perfectly between your fingers, twisting so easily as you hold onto it for dear life. 

“Does it feel good for you? Is this nice?” he asks you, mesmerised by the view of you. 

You nod your head, sobbing softly with your brows furrowing in ecstasy. 

“___ my sweetheart, I love being with you”, he gets out, making sure to keep the rhythm going. It makes you feel like this and Seokjin would be damned if he took this away from you. The tug on his hair grows. It burns and pinches, motivating him to keep going. It feels so good to have his hair pulled. Especially when it is done in a moment of passion. 

You do it gently and softly whenever you and he are making out. You do it mindlessly and rather shakily when he eats you out for a long and attentive time. And you do it harshly and desperately whenever he is buried inside you to the very hilt. 

Seokjin loves having his hair pulled in a moment of passion, riding on such a strong wave of pleasure that the feeling brings him to his fall tonight. 

His middle presses into you, rubbing against your swollen clit while his veiny cock still drills your puffy walls. His face falls into the crook of your neck and his left hand incidentally falls around your throat, laying there trembling and trying not to squeeze down. 

“Seokjin”, you sob, instantly wrapping your limbs around him. Your hips meet him in the middle, falling into a sloppy dance solely motivated by pleasure. It feels so good to both of you that you can’t stop it. So now you lie rutting and fucking in the sheets, holding each other so close that not even air could separate the two of you. 

He is taller than you, he has more muscles too. You always call him your gentle giant and your handsome protector. Whenever you do, Seokjin smiles to himself shyly and he seems to be cuddlier for the rest of the day. Sometimes when you lie together after a hard day, you love to rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. You feel so safe whenever he allows you to do this. When the weather is colder again, you sometimes like to cuddle into him until he wraps his jacket around both of you. You feel so warm and taken care of whenever he does this. And sometimes in bed, when he is barely awake, you lie beside him and trace the paths of his body until you made a map of it. You feel so blessed whenever he gives you consent to do this.  

Tonight, his tall, strong body is atop of you, spending you warmth and applying gentle pressure on your chest. You never felt more connected with him than you do right now and you sob because of it, begging him to seal the connection even deeper. 

“Choke me, please.”

His hips falter for a moment.

“Please my love, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please. I’m yours, just please make me yours.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make you mine in more ways than one, my love.”

His fingers close around your throat, cutting off the blood flow to your brain just enough that a warm dizziness spreads behind your eyes. 

“Holy fuck, Seokjin”, you moan, arching your back as best as his body on top allows you to, fingers twisting his hair in an attempt to handle what he gives you. 

“Is this what you need, sweetheart? Does this feel good?”

“Yes, good. So good, oh god, so good”, you sob and mewl, throbbing around his heavy cock.

“Fuck sweetheart, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you. Gonna breed you with the sole purpose of making you mine.”

“Seokjin, please!”

“The way you say my name, urgh fuck”, he gets out and growls, forcing himself back onto one elbow so he can look at your face as he makes you feel eternal. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your brows pulled tight and your mouth is agape. This is it. This is the face you make when you feel nothing but pleasure. 

Seokjin swears he tears up himself at the sight of you, applying a little more pressure on your veins. 

You wail up, arching your back off the sheets and reaching above yourself to twist the pillow. Your legs fall from his hips, shaking on the mattress each time he drills his leaking cock into you. 

“Say it again, sweetheart. Say my fucking name.”

“Seokjin”, you croak. 

“That’s right. Who makes you feel so good?”

“Seokjin”, you whimper. 

“I do, baby, I do. Fuck”, he grunts, struggles for a second then continues with even more passion, “and who do you belong to?”

“Seokjin”, you wail, grasping his wrists to squeezes them so tightly, Seokjin fears they might bruise. 

“You do, baby, you do. Fuck, you do. Mine and I’m yours. All yours, baby. With my body, heart and soul. Yours.”

“I’m cumming, please.”

“Let go, sweetheart. I’m right here. Your gentle Seokjin’s right here”, he soothes you and lets go of your throat. 

The blood shoots back to your brain, serving as the final blow to throw you over the edge. You make a little squeak then fall into silent screams, shaking with such vigour that Seokjin fears for you for just a moment. 

“Holy fuck sweetheart, what the hell? Baby, fuck. That’s it, cum for me. That’s it, such a good girl. Cum on my cock, such a good girl. You’re so pretty like this, my good girl, my pretty girl”, he chants, tongue acting quicker than his brain. He has no idea what he is spitting, but he knows that whatever he is saying to you in his delirious state, it comes from his heart (and maybe also a little from his cock).

“Please. Breed me”, you croak out with what little strength you have left as your orgasm shakes you, but to Seokjin’s ears it was as clear as day.

It breaks him. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he tried.

His eyes roll back and stay there, his back arches as far as the position allows it to. His legs feel like weak sticks, shaking between yours as his heavy balls empty themselves inside your tight cunt. He makes sure to cum so deep, to bury each droplet of his white seed in your walls so that they will know who they are allowed to welcome. Not that he has any doubt in your faithfulness, as you have none in his’, but it still feels so good to both of you to seal this promise of monogamy with a deep, sticky creampie.

He drops on top of you once your highs died down, burying you under his weight. Not that you mind. You hug him tightly, smiling happily with your head still turning.

“I fucking love you, Mister Kim”, you lull.

“I fucking love you too, Misses Kim”, he rasps, voice barely there after what he just experienced.

With your heart fluttering, you giggle. He giggles as well, kissing your neck softly. You enjoy it with tingling skin, making him feel good as well by tracing his spine gently.

“I can’t believe we did that.”

“Yeah, it was amazing. For me it at least. Was it-”

“Hush, of course it was amazing for me. You did everything right.”

“Yay, I’m glad I did.”

You laugh because he is a dork and you are irrevocably in love with him. You shift a little under him, groaning in disappointment.

“I don’t want to leak. I wanna keep you inside me for longer.”

“Mhm”, he pecks your cheek, “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then, don’t move. I’ll be back.”

He rolls off of you, giving your pussy a little kiss before he truly climbs off bed to hurry to the dresser.

“What on earth are you doing?” you ask him in a chuckle.

“Getting something so you can keep me inside.”

“And what will that be, mhm?”

He returns to you, climbing on top of you. You grab bundles of his hair, purring happily as he kisses you. The kiss lasts until your breath runs out, then it breaks and Seokjin disappears between your legs. You prop yourself up in your elbows.

“What are you doing?”

He lifts a clean silicone buttplug. You ogle it, gulping.

“I know your pussy’s strong enough to keep it inside for a little. Wanna have it?”

“Yes”, you say, opening your legs.

He takes the plug inside his mouth to wet it, letting go of it with a bop of his puffy lips. He connects it with your clit first, spanking it softly. You gasp and twitch, soon reaching down to his shoulder gently.

“Stop it you”, you laugh, “I’m too sensitive for your shenanigans.”

He chuckles and nuzzles his nose into your inner thigh, kissing your skin lovingly.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist”, he murmurs, giving you one last kiss before sitting up.

He connects the toy with your puffy hole and pushes it inside, making you moan softly and drop into the sheets in a sensual squirm.

“Mhhhm that’s nice. God, I love being plugged up with your cum still inside.”

“And I love knowing that something of mine is inside that warm heaven of yours”, he rasps, kissing a path up your body, “now come and let me kiss you.”

“Is it just me or is someone not sated yet?”

“When it comes to you? I’m like a spoiled house cat never happy with what its fed.”

You fall into the kiss laughing and smiling, twisting his hair gently.

[branwinged]

Will you accept a mad dany arc if grrm does it in a different, more sensical way or would that always narratively suck for you?

it has nothing do with my personal feelings regarding the character. i dislike speculation of dany having a downfall arc because it reveals a misreading of the text and the narrative role she plays within it. i don't believe it can be done in a satisfying way because she was always intended to be a heroic character. the 'mad dany' reading relies on certain initial assumptions about her character that are being problematised within the story—which is difficult to discuss because grrm's intent regarding dany is at odds with the orientalist framework he employs in the construction of essos, but i'll try to be comprehensive about it. so dany is an exile, homeless and perpetually seeking a home. she was told by viserys that westeros is "our land" but she's not culturally westerosi the same way the rest of our cast is because she's also never known westeros. all she has are second hand, romanticised accounts from viserys (These places he talked of [...] they were just words to her). dany has lived her entire life in essos and absorbed their cultural norms and slavery is normalised in most of essos (There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves), it's especially apparent in her first chapter which pointedly draws attention to the various slaves serving at illyrio's manse, something dany doesn't express any moral objection to, because nobody has taught her this is wrong. and that understanding only comes after viserys sells her to drogo and she personally experiences a similar loss of autonomy.

Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I . . . my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid? DAENERYS II, A Storm of Swords

and when mirri reveals to dany that her act of 'saving' her was no saving at all. rescuing her through the offer of a place in drogo's khalasar is a meaningless gesture since it does nothing to address the systems that have enabled mirri's enslavement in the first place. yeah, she's fourteen and possesses no power in her own right and is not complicit in drogo's crimes but mirri's presence in the story is meant to teach her that lesson. dany does not arrive already possessed with a political consciousness that opposes slavery, she learns and reorients her worldview just as jon did once he became familiar with the free folk. this is an important detail because without it her crusade in slaver's bay is no longer a story about a former enslaved and sexually abused girl being provided the means to begin a revolutionary counter-struggle against a culture of dehumanisation, but about a civilising mission where a culturally westerosi (westeros, where slavery is outlawed. westeros which is clearly imagined as the occident to essos's orient) character with superior ideals travels to foreign lands to educate the barbarians—which would've made her a straightforward white saviour figure. this IS undermined by the way her storyline is rife with orientalist tropes and i'm getting to that, but my main point is that dany's character is very deliberately written to be someone who is stateless and doesn't belong anywhere. she is an other. which is compounded by her targaryen heritage—the targaryens are narratively imagined as white enough to co-exist with the rest of westeros but they're also being othered because they're a family originating from the east with 'depraved' inbreeding and blood magic practices (practices that are reviled throughout the whole continent), which simultaneously makes them too other to ever fully assimilate despite the family being culturally westerosi in all the ways that matter. this especially comes through in the coin quote, every house has had occasional despots for rulers but people only bother to pathologise the targaryens and that's because they're foreigners. "the gods flip a coin" is presenting this dichotomy of targaryens as either mad - violent barbarians from the east, or great, in which case they're exoticised as otherworldly, above the laws of gods and men. and the final thing that serves to other her is her association with the dothraki. the dothraki are initially introduced as violent savages, but that view has been challenged since then as dany adopts dothraki customs and comes to love their people as her own and even sees herself as more of a khaleesi than a queen. and i must emphasise that this is no way done well because a) the dothraki are constructed out of offensive stereotypes about steppe cultures b) five books later grrm hasn't bothered to give any of them interiority because he clearly doesn't care about the dothraki, they're an afterthought in his narrative about dany and c) i think the subversion of their introduction as the inferior racial other basically amounts to "they're noble savages".

so you see all this at work when in-universe those who revile her speak of alleged violent tendencies, that she's coming to burn the continent down, that she hatched her dragons through foul blood magic and that she tricked her khal husband into murdering her brother and has acquired an army of savages, that her court is made up of foreigners and 'honourless' westerosi men (jorah, barristan, and soon tyrion), while others talk of her supposed otherworldly beauty ("The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world.")—the mad dany reading of her is taking all this at face value, it's falling for that in-universe narrative her enemies have come up with, which associates her and her allies' foreignness with moral depravity. (this is also what the show did, which i said "achieved her s8 ending by fully leaning into the horror of the savage oriental horde come to oppress the civilised westerosi landowning class" and that hysterical randyll tarly speech "at least cersei wasn't a FOREIGNER"). a very early example of this is in the first book. robert wanted a teenager dead because she was a targaryen: aerys's daughter, rhaegar's sister, because she married a khal and adopted dothraki customs as her own. and it was ned who put up a fight against this. ned is flawed in my ways but do you suppose the narrative will diminish ned's legacy in this, in his stance against dehumanisation. and asoiaf is primarily about that, every major character has had experience with being othered (cripples, bastards, and broken things is about this) and within this narrative dany is meant to be The Other who is working to end institutions of otherisation. her upcoming invasion of westeros is not playing into the the threat of the foreign invader but raising questions of whether westeros is also in need of some reform (at one point tyrion directly compares a serf to a slave, something that might be narratively painting westeros as not culturally superior at all for having outlawed slavery). the problem, of course, being that the way grrm subverts the image of essos as the inferior racial other is by first populating it with orientalist stereotypes. he parallels some of the violence found in ghiscari culture and the dothraki raid of the lhazareen village with ramsay and amory lorch and gregor clegane et al operating in the riverlands in acok but the ghiscari are also portrayed almost as a monolith, as uniformly morally suspect individuals because our only introduction to them is through the slavers. it's the way dany is the only active abolitionist with a narrative voice in essos (there's the shavepate. but he's also a scheming violent extremist so), i said her story is not a civilising mission but when you fail to give any of the ghiscari oppressed a voice it doesn't result in great optics. and it is undeniable that the story is About Westeros, dany's great narrative destiny lies over there, when the long night arrives—an apocalyptic threat meant to affect the entire world—the battle for the dawn will also take place over there, i doubt the essosi will play a role in that.

[pricklyjim]

AU Timeline Of History and Key

Past Events:

The Death of Zeta Prime & the Lost Prophecy:

New Cybertron is thrown into chaos when Zeta Prime, the first Head Prime, is killed in an attack from an outer world threat.

Among the destruction, a prophecy written by Primus himself before the primes had even been created was partially lost.

Some fragments of the song remained in written records, whilst some of it Sentinel Prime recalls from memory.

[Prophecy Lyrics Preserved In Documents]

“To my children, I grant to you,

The beacon of my holy truth.

I have found one to bear the weight,

For he alone can cleanse his plate.

Let him lead, his vessel is pure,

Guided by vision, steady and sure.

And along with him, a spark untamed,

A fire that’ll burn, wild, unclaimed.”

[Lyrics Recalled By Sentinel Prime]

“A Prime in red to lead the way,

To banish darkness, keep it at bay.

A silver knight, with moonlit might,

Will bring ruin in the dead of night.

A gladiator, mad and bold,

Whose scriptures will reshape the world.

The silver gladiator shall only fall,

When the leader in red stands mighty tall.”

The First Bearer of the Primus Beacon:

In the wake of Zeta Prime’s death, the first wielder of the Primus Beacon is chosen:

Ultra Magnus.

With the guidance of Sentinel Prime and Ultra Magnus, Rodimus begins training to succeed as the next Head Prime.

The Rise of Two future leaders: Megatron & Orion Pax

During this time, two Cybertronians are born/created into very different lives.

D-16 a miner

and

Orion Pax a scribe in training.

Orion, the younger of the pair, grows up sheltered but eventually leaves his mentor, Alpha Trion, to take up a somewhat solitary role as a high position scribe within the Hall of Records.

Meanwhile, in the mines.

D-16 a poet, begins writing under the pen name of Megatronus, exposing the struggles of the lower caste people, however he gains unwanted attention from Sentinel Prime, who does not like how loud he is being about his views.

He is forced to be reborn, and along with this his poems being sent to the hall of records, now classified.

Now stripped of his past identity and sent to Kaon, Megatron is condemned to fight in the pits—brutal death matches overseen by Sentinel Prime, where criminals are pit against one another for survival

But, despite their vastly different paths, both Megatron and Orion begin to rise in popularity.

Orion’s thought-provoking writings from the archives gain recognition, whilst Megatron’s speeches after every victory in the pits uplifts the oppressed.

Observers begin to take notice quickly how both seem to share similar ideals but pursue them in entirely different means.

Orion, who advocates for reform through knowledge and diplomacy, and Megatron, seeks change through action and force.

[The Coronation of Rodimus Prime & the Decepticons Uprising]

After grueling years of training under sentinal, Rodimus is officially crowned Head Prime and given the matrix of leadership.

However, his ascension marks the beginning of higher intensity Decepticon attacks, specifically targeting high-caste districts, and even prime monuments and buildings.

The Primes, Prima specifically, become desperate to stop the unrest, and they turn to the prophecy created by Primus for guidance

Believing Rodimus must fulfill Primus’s song, the Primes send him to kill Megatron. However, the mission ends in disaster when Rodimus is presumed to be slain, his death sending ripples of panic across cybertrons civilisation.

[The Fall of the Primes & Megatron’s Ascension]

In the wake of Rodimus’s death, Magnus relinquishes his role as the bearer of the Primus Beacon. Soon after, Megatron is discovered standing in a very well know public square, the Primus Beacon now permanently fused to his spark.

At his feet lie the bodies of the fallen Primes—And with the primes now dead, the old caste system collapses, and Megatron seizes control.

[The Present: Cybertrons Shattered Unity]

With the Primes gone, Megatron establishes a new government under his rule.

However, an opposing faction called the Autobots, quickly rises to power, and at the centre of it Orion Pax, who leads the Autobots against him. Both manage to claim equal parts of territory over Cybertron, but this locks the planet in a tense stalemate. Neither side being able overpower the other without all out destruction,

To solidify this, the struggle between their leaders ideologies—

Order through all means necessary.

versus

Order through unity.

keeps Cybertron divided.

Now, in the present, the fate of Cybertron rests in the balance...

[p0orbaby]

Hi , Hope you are doing well

So a little arsenal/barca teen who is very possessive about her food blurb " if you guys keep touching my yoghurt , i will officially declare world war three"

-

You're sitting at a table in the canteen, fiddling with the spoon in your hand, minding your business, when Mapi reaches across the table and dips her finger—her actual finger—into your yoghurt. You watch her do it, completely dumbfounded, your mind spinning, but you say nothing. Not at first, anyway. Just sit there, staring, as if witnessing some small yet world-shifting act of betrayal. The spoon you’re gripping is practically trembling in your hand, though you try to keep your composure. Your yoghurt is sacred. Everyone knows this. Everyone.

“Mate,” you say, deadpan, “if you guys keep touching my yoghurt, I will officially declare World War Three”

Your voice is flat, but it cuts through the room. Conversations stall. Aitana, sitting across from you, chokes on her water, and you see her wipe at her mouth, eyes wide like you’ve just casually threatened to end civilisation, which, to be fair, you kind of have. You didn’t even raise your voice.

Mapi looks at you like she doesn’t entirely get it. Doesn’t understand the unspoken rules of food and boundaries and personal space. But then again, Mapi doesn’t exactly do boundaries, which is why you once had to hide your protein bars under your bed for a week because she kept nicking them, just small, annoying little bites that went missing daily. You had to lie, saying the box ran out when you knew exactly who the culprit was.

“You’re serious?” Mapi says, smirking a little like you’re joking, like there’s no way you could be this protective of something as small as a cup of yoghurt.

You lock eyes with her. Don’t blink. Just take a slow breath and glance at your yoghurt, the spoon now resting carefully on the table like you’re preparing for some calculated strike. “Deadly”

Claudia, who’s been sitting to your left, eating her salad like she’s trying not to exist in this moment, just mutters, “We’re really doing this again?”

And you are doing this again, because this isn’t the first time you’ve had to give the food speech. No, the first time was when Ingrid thought it’d be funny to take one of your hard-boiled eggs without asking, as if eggs grow on trees or something. You had nearly combusted on the spot, but instead just sat there, stone-faced, while she apologised profusely like she'd run over your dog.

The thing is, they don’t get it. They don’t understand what it’s like to grow up in a house where your food always went missing, where you had to protect your snacks like they were state secrets because if you didn’t, someone else would get to them first. Older siblings. Friends. Even the dog, for God’s sake. So now, it’s instinct. A Pavlovian response. Touch my food, lose your hand.

Alexia’s sitting at the end of the table, watching the scene unfold like a slow-moving car crash. She raises an eyebrow at you, calm as ever, but there’s a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She’s seen this before. You before. Knows how this is going to go.

“You know,” Alexia says, tone smooth as silk, “there are other yoghurts in the fridge”

“Yeah," you respond, cutting her off. “And they’re all mine”

Mapi finally gives up with a little laugh, wiping her finger on a napkin, like she’s conceding to your madness. The table erupts in quiet chatter again, but you're still watching them, your yoghurt held in a near-death grip, spoon hovering over it like a defensive weapon.

This is war.

[justascrollingghost]

Xaden: she was jealous that I’d been with Cat

Bohdi: right? so what did you do about it? Flowers? Chocolates?

Xaden: well she was too mad to have a civilised conversation about it

Garrick: so?

Xaden: so I got on my knees and did something I’d never done with Cat to prove a point then we talked..

Bohdi: that’s -

Violet: GENIUS IS WHAT IT IS

Imogen: I hate to agree but it was a pretty smart move

[dredgesnails]

I love to imagine the magic mountain bases all actually existing completely separately from each other in completely different time periods (almost), despite being physically in the same location.

In the ancient world, pyramids are constructed at the base of a huge volcano to honor the dead and worship old gods. A wide path leads to an entrance into the volcano, far enough in that the heat gets dangerous. Inside, sacrifices are made to the gods, to their king, offerings given up for the benefit of them all. The king is kind and forgiving, loyal to his people, asking for little and giving as much as he can. The gods however, are cruel, and all civilisations must fall eventually. For this one it's after a great eruption, one that shakes the earth with all the fury of the gods, that the pyramids become abandoned, left alone for centuries to erode. Over time new life grows, and thick jungles begin to hide the pyramids from view, until eventually, they’ve become a part of the natural landscape. Venture far enough in, however, and you might find remnants of the ancient civilisation: old writing in a language no one knows anymore, praises given to their old king; the remnants of ancient weapons and armour; the shapes of people who once lived forever preserved in ash and pumice.

~

It's the start of the industrial revolution, and rumours start spreading of an eclectic man and his steamrail full of exotic animals from across the globe. He’s a travelling zoo, of sorts, appearing in the strangest of places (as long as there's a railway line, he'll be there), areas it logically shouldn't be able to reach. He’s got all sorts of animals, from dolphins and turtles to strange, mysterious beasts. Where does he keep them all when they're not on the train? Some say he doesn't exist. others insist he does, that he lives underneath a mountain no one dares to visit. It's an active volcano, they say, dangerous to go near. If anyone dared to explore they might stumble upon the largest, most diverse collection of animals they've ever seen, and, most bizarrely, a large steam locomotive that runs on its own railway track, seemingly on a loop through the volcano itself. The tunnel is so dark the train disappears into it entirely. a young exploration group decide to find out for themselves, years later, and at first they think there's nothing there, until one of them stumbles upon the obvious remnants of a railway line, no longer in use but not so old that it's started to break down. Maybe he did exist after all...

~

In the late 1800s, a small fishing community establishes itself by the mountain. Electricity is new, and with the new machines and motors available to them the community quickly grows into a small village. Something is wrong, though. The rocks embedded in the mountain appear to resemble a skull more and more by the day, water streaming from one eye socket as though it’s crying. Underground passages and tunnels are found by the new residents, all leading to strange chambers. There's something in the water. A young man, one of the first in the village, disappears for a month, and when he returns, he's changed. He insists the ocean speaks to him, to everyone through him. He fishes for hours, days, weeks on end. When his madness begins infecting others, most gain the sense to stay away from him, but not everyone does. There's something in the water.

By the mid 1920s, the small fishing village is still standing, although most of the residents from four decades ago have since left. A young woman, traveling alone in her tiny fishing boat, docks at the village in need of repairs. What was meant to be a one night stay turns into days, then weeks, then months, as she begins to notice strange happenings in the village. A local artist has locked himself in his house, gone mad from something he found in the ocean. A scientist is experimenting with strange materials, and sometimes at night strange noises come from her house. There's something in the water. An older man speaks in tongues, driven mad by the sea. There's something in the water. The young fisher sees him occasionally, staring through her, unseeing. She's begun dreaming of ancient monsters in the depths of the water below her, reaching their long arms out and crushing her and everyone else. When she looks into the sea she can't see anything. It’s just inky blackness.

(No one knows how the village gets destroyed. One day it's here, and the next it's turned to rubble, razed to the ground by forces beyond human perception. It appears no one survived, but strangely, there's no trace of the small fishing boat the young woman had arrived in, nor of her body, and if anyone stopped for long enough in the wrecked city they might hear mumbling at night from underground, the mad ramblings of a man who has seen too much.)

~

Magic mountain row thrives in the early 2000s. They’ve beaten the Y2K bug (it really wasn't that much of a problem, anyway), business is booming at all the independent stores, and the local economy is better than ever. It doesn’t matter that not many people want to live here because new tech keeps Big Ron busy, and Willie Jr is old enough to start working at his father's shop, preparing himself to take over the business. The safe storage containers are always a little open, but nothing ever really goes missing, because no new people means everyone knows everyone. A young boy visits his neighbours for the last time before he leaves with his family; his dad's got a better job somewhere far away and they have to leave now, and besides it’s safer not to live by a barely-dormant volcano (it’s not as cool, though). His new neighbourhood has a lot more kids his age, but he can't help but miss the eccentric nature of his old neighbours. He returns to his childhood home twenty years later to find it empty. Most of magic mountain row is empty now, actually. There are a few places still open: Big Ron refuses to close up shop because Willie Jr, who has taken over the business now that his father's passed, still needs his help from time to time. Anyone still living here is merely clinging to a past they remember so fondly they can't adapt for the future. They're happy, though. They’re happy to remain here until it's their time to go.

~

In the not-so-distant future, a dense city is formed on the mountain. It started out as a smaller town, with traditional architecture and shrines dotted around the place, but as technology advanced and society progressed it grew and evolved into towering skyscrapers, holographic billboards, a rail system that winds through buildings and above streets. Elements of the past still remain - lush gardens lined with cherry blossom trees, the old shrines and temples still standing, a mark of the city's history and longevity. The city stands the longest, weathers the strongest storms, grows and evolves and changes, but all must come to an end, eventually. A rumbling in the earth, a once-dormant volcano waking from its slumber. They have the tech to know it's coming, now, so they all flee before it can hit. Only one man stays behind. This is his city. This is his home. He built this entire place from the ground up, and he’s not going to leave it behind. He makes his way to one of the shrines. Praying to his goddess, he leaves her one final offering, and when the ash settles all trace of him is gone.

~

The apocalypse happens in a future beyond our reckoning. A city lies, abandoned by most, on top of the ruins of civilisations that came before. Once a lively hub of activity and tech and innovation, the city has become a ghost town, occupied only by the artificial intelligences that had driven humanity out. They wander aimlessly, mimicking the behaviours of the humans they used to watch and help, protecting the inner core of their city that keeps everything, including themselves, alive. The humans reside elsewhere, in a bunker resembling the old world, with more vegetation and life than the city had despite being hidden underground. The city’s architects reassure everyone that they’ll be able to return someday soon. The one who designed the robots, a man more cyber than human by this point, just needs to fix a few issues with their programming. He doesn’t want to destroy them but he might have to. His partner, who designed most of the city, will need to commence repairs before anyone can live in the city again. So they leave, vowing to fix the city so that everyone can return to society. No one knows they will never return.

[killerpancakeburger]

Dating Soap HCS: (Combatant!Reader)

A/N: Shoving in there all the thoughts I've had about him and couldn't squeeze into my current fic ideas.

When I say Combatant!Reader, I mean they can fight/kill/use a gun but aren't part of the Task Force nor a soldier.

SFW:

Two words: power couple. You guys could take on the world if you wanted, so good for the world that you’re part of the good guys.

Soap is one of those freaks who’s out of bed by 6 a.m on his days off and starts the day with a jog. He can’t help it, he’s got energy to spare and is addicted to the endorphin he gets from it. Before meeting him you’d have said that a partner up so early was a pain; but how could you be mad at him when he takes such care to not wake you up, and has coffee and a mouth-watering breakfast ready when you emerge? You enter the kitchen where he rewards you with the luscious view of his sculpted body covered in sweat, having already shed his shirt, then sneaks an arm around your shoulders to press an adoring kiss against your temple, along with a “G’morning, Bonnie.” before heading to the shower.

Sometimes you show up unannounced on base - well not completely unannounced cause you’d get shot -, barge into the sparring room like you own the place - and considering the company you keep, you might as well -, and hit all its occupants with a “What’s up losers?”. Before anyone else can react, Soap’s already leaping over the ring’s ropes and running to you, hugging you with so much enthusiasm that your feet leave the ground. “Ye didnae say ye were comin’!” His voice booms with unadulterated joy. “Yeah, that’s called a surprise MacTavish. Now let go of me, you stink.” He throws you a cocky, challenging smirk at that: “Make me.” His voice is way lower, intended for your ears only this time. The glint in his eyes, as he’s staring right into yours, is just as provocative as his smile. You retort with your own. “I could, but I would hate to humiliate you in front of the new recruits, Sergeant.” Cue Ghost, joining you by walking like a civilised human being, and already sick of your flirting. “If you two are done makin’ a spectacle of yourselves, we could have a smoke outside.” There’s no real heat to his words though.

During some evenings at the base when Ghost snuck up God only knows where, Soap, Gaz and you compete to see who can do the best impression of the Lieutenant. Soap’s in the lead with the advantage to be the one having exchanged the most words with Simon, but you’re confident you can turn it around.

Will touch you all the fucking time (except on missions), whether it’s an arm around your shoulder, or your waist, or a hand in the back pocket of your pants, or holding your hand. Will restrain himself if you’re against it but if he can’t cuddle in private he will be sad.

No PDA on missions, but he will definitely flirt over coms. You’re both skilled enough that you can afford to fuck around a bit while still doing your job expertly.

Talking about flirting, he is smooth… until the other person reciprocates. Then he needs a moment to get back in the saddle after short-circuiting. 

Fervently loyal. If someone comes onto him, he will reject them frankly. And if they dare to bad-mouth you, they’re getting an earful from him.

The rare fights you have are intense but brief. He always wants to apologise as soon as possible afterwards but he gives you your space if you need it. 

You patch each other up after missions. One day you pore over each other’s scars during a lazy morning in bed, asking how the other got them.

He loooves seeing you put assholes in their place. He’s so fucking proud and aroused. Tend to snap at them faster than you though. And if you’re not in the mood to fight, he will gladly take over. “You know I can fight. Pleaaase let me fight”

Your #1 supporter. Will Smith showing off his wife.meme. He admires you a lot. Not as much as Ghost, sure, but that’s still a lot. If you wanna try new things, especially thrills inducing ones like canyoning or bungee jumping, or push back your own limits in the gym or in combat prowess, he’s always down and so, so enthusiastic. First because he’s so thrilled to share these with you, and second because he relishes in seeing you become a better version of yourself and/or the person you wanna be.

He’s proud of his job and will rant about it for hours if you ask about it. Especially explosions. Your idea of a romantic evening is taking in the sunset with a couple of explosions fireworks. 

He’s a freaking sunshine and sometimes the light feels blinding. You worry you’re bringing him down. He has such an optimistic outlook on life, and you… simply don’t. You also fear that one day he realises he’s too good for you, whether it’s in terms of looks, personality, morals, or mental resilience… he’s always quick to appease your worries though. 

Not getting along with the TF would be a deal breaker. Not that he’s expecting you to become BFF with Ghost or anything, that role is already taken by him

Will not hesitate to use his sad puppy eyes on you. Or even pout. To get what he wants.

He demands a kiss for good luck before every mission, a bit lOUDLY, which makes Ghost rolls his eyes and Gaz makes gagging sounds. Price is just like "Lord Give Me Patience".

NSFW:

Don’t be afraid to (wo)manhandle him: pulling his hair, slamming him against a wall, grabbing his jaw… that will make him moan more often than not. 

Call him a good/pretty boy, praise him, tease him, make him beg… He will tease back to challenge you but it just means you should keep going.

He’s a good soldier, he follows orders well. Do with that what you will.

Endless stamina. Will wear you out first every time.

Gets off when he gets you off.

Did I mention that he’s terribly competitive? Will ask you what’s the highest number of orgasms you had in one night and will immediately try to beat that record. 

If he doesn't make you laugh at least once during the do, he has FailedTM 😔

[funeral]

The ego strives to find its place amongst the crowd and denies the spirit its journey, stumbling blindly, distracted by the noise and confusion. By civilisation's own rules it is often a madness that frees the man, a fall from grace that silences the ego. Delusion melts away and in the distance we start to see the answers, they were there all the time and like so much Craft knowledge, hidden within plain sight.

De Mattos Frisvold, Serpent Songs: An Anthology of Traditional Craft

[pennyellee]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, deception, mention of attempted suicide, miscarriage, the sacred letter opener, mention of a gun, mind distortion, hallucinations, decapitated finger, graphic content, distortion between imagination and reality.

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 3,5K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

author's note: will be at the very end! please read.

m.list 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

summer 1942

The wind carried the scent of summer rain, thick and heavy, like the monsoons she once watched from behind lattice windows. Y/N sat by the harbor, watching the lights flicker along the water, her hands resting idly in her lap. A freedom she had fought for, bled for, manipulated for, lied for, stretched out before her in the hum of the city. And yet, it did not feel like victory. Not entirely. Not until she healed from all the demons he summoned in her.

She might not have succeeded. There was always the possibility. For that, everytime she woke up, her mind repeated the same words all over again. Nightmare. It was just a nightmare. Not a reality. Yet she cannot live peacefully, not until he is somewhere out there, still looking for her. Last time she heard, he proclaimed whether she is to be found by anybody, they will be rewarded graciously. Elevating the search to different merit. But he would not find her. She kept saying that as her daily mantra, as believing was easier than knowing just how close he might be to discovering her everyday. He cannot. The darkest place on earth is under the lamp in the end. To run her whole life until he gave up, which he would never do, was not an option. Someone would eventually see her and that would lead to her doom. But, let us put things in the correct order for once. 

She would have to lie, if she said that her freedom was self-earned. Since the birth of civilisation, noone ever did something of such merit alone, woman and a man entre holy matrimonial bond, consumate their marriage, sire children, who hopefully grew to adolescence, enter their own matrimonial bonds, multiply and so on so forth until there are several generations of a clan. All sparked just so they are not alone in this vast dark world. Similarly to the raven and dove and the generations before them. Said operation takes discipline that Yoongi lacked, but Dove possessed, even though it seemed opposite at times. Thus, she extorted the madness in her soul and used it to its brink, although not entirely without an aid of terrestrial and above higher powers.

Her heart clenched when she ran through the crowd towards the tighter alleys, praying to God to grant her this wish, straight towards the waiting car. She could still turn around and run for the bridge to Chosen hotel, let herself be found, say she could not find him in the chaos of the crowd, because that is where he would expect her to go when they were not so forcefully separated. But she had decided long before that, so even when the cold crept to her bones, oddly resembling the long long time ago when she ran from her motherland, yet she had nothing but determination.

It took a long time to orchestrate but she had nothing but herself and her thoughts, but it was as if the Lord himself has laid a path under her feet to walk on. Thus, a series of events altered the concluding sequence of her reign as the third Buin of Min clan rather naturally. Unless, there was nothing natural about it. After all, who can endure and bury the hatred for such a long period of time and puppeteer on that man's arm while quietly counting her days. What kind of a woman can do that? One in a rage. Vengeful one. Angry one. Broken one. Choose what you wish.

But Y/N long stopped hating him. She did not hate him. She only hated what he made her do. Who she had to become to get away. And this realisation came along the healing once she found love. Within her.

She wanted him to feel the pain she had when he took her soul peace by peace because she was very much aware that she is the core of his own being. His muse. His purpose. His peace. His havoc. His demise. His doom.

He was the one who presented himself to be in God's favour. How their union is thy Lord's will. Albeit, it was she who was in his favour. Especially when the most devoted brother of his betrayed his own kin.

He helped her. He could have stopped her that day. He could have run her down if he wanted. He had known anyway. And yet, he let her go. He might have been loyal to his brother, but he knew she needed to go. The memory clung to her, a weight she could not shake. His face portrayed a one of hurt when he realised she was not running to hide from the gunshots but towards them, that one of losing a friend. The same one he had when he found her in the ambulation, with Xiaoli's and Seokjin’s wife's medical files. He knew that was the moment they lost her. For good.

"Give me your coat and purse." And she had given him the ring too, what he planned to do with it, she did not have to know. All she needed was to-

"Go," he had said, the word barely a breath. "Now."

Hoseok had let her go.

She mouthed a little broken "thank you" and had not hesitated since. She had not. Because if she had, she would not have left. He had known anyway. But he himself rather lived in the belief that she had taken the road. Believing was easier than knowing. Something that she will tell the generations after her, if there will be anyone to tell the tale. Ever.

Y/N exhaled, leaning her head against the bench, letting the late evening hold her secrets. The world thought she had been kidnapped which was easy to plant when Luen Hanyu implied the idea into the Kkangpae's mind at her father's funeral. Of course, something had to transpire at the funeral that slipped Yoongi's attention.

Luen Hanyu was the next in line after his father and an older brother to Doctor Luen Min-ho. A figure she never spoke of. Never dared to acknowledge their existence in front of Yoongi. In front of anybody, there was no existing string tied between them. She tried to do the same for Chen, however, that was an unfortunate event she did not plan for and did not expect to happen at all. First love never dies. But Chen had not been her first love. Luen Min-ho, not a doctor at the time they first met, was her first love. Her green-eyed boy with dark hair she kissed under the cherry blossom tree. Reunited once she stepped on the academia soil. The youngest Luen son had given her the key to her survival back than and is still outstretching a helping hand. A name she could use. A passage through their territory in the north, first when she ran from her father, and second from her husband. She had erased every trace of how she had crossed through their territory in 1938 when she ran from China.  The only loose thread was her late father. And now he was not among the living anymore. Killing him had been a salvation. His death had been the closing of one door, the unlocking of another. Yoongi, unfortunately, admired her for both.

"I'm pulling you out of here, Y/N."

"Not yet." She said to Min-ho at the funeral, her husband was occupied, distracted. She had never met Min-ho, nor any of the Luens, that is what they believed, thus there was no reason to be cautious when he walked her way, trying to hide a smile, the same one he had each time they met at the university labs, and express his sincerest condolences.

"But be ready."

His face had the same smile when she reached the car, hidden in a corner alley, gunshots resonating in the distant square in front of the government building. In different circumstances, she would fall for him all over again. Yet, she cannot.

She had spent some time, tucked away in Luen's safe house, and only after Yoongi actively started to engage in destroying the Luens, as he drew himself mad to believe she could not run away but be taken from him, she relocated. Otherwise he would have found her by now. That is what he delusionally believed. The easier option. To believe. Apparently, he was drowning in the delusion and even Kim Namjoon could not save the day with his cleverness anymore. She wonders whether he told him about the deal he had not even the slightest intention to uphold. The Min empire, however, kept standing. Good. This was only ever about his misery and even if she boldly said to his face that he only ever loved his clan, she knew that would never hurt him, as he fell too deep, too hard, for her. Fuck his empire. It can flourish for all she cares, as long as she is no longer part of it.  

It was a well-placed rumor that had reached Yoongi's ears, twisting the truth just enough to send him into another clan war. Distract him from running to find her. As if he did not search half the continent and the other. She had known, from the moment she stepped into his world, that there was only one way out. To make him feel what she felt. To make him lose something that could never be replaced. He would look for her everywhere, but not close. He would search in Europe, in China, in Japan, even in America, in places far removed from the life she had led. But never here. Never as close to the ghosts they had both created.

She had done everything she needed to survive. And she had done everything she needed to make him suffer. But freedom had come at a cost. And she had paid it in full. With her mind. The sleepless nights were never farce, the frenzied pacing, the sensation that her body was still trapped even when she had been miles away. She had won. She had lost. She was free. But she was caged by a memory. 

After all, what woman would slit her own throat, with a precise cut that will draw the blood but won't touch her windpipe, nor a cut that would be too deep to not stitch, to hurt him like he hurt her. What woman would kill her own father, what sane woman would manipulate a master manipulator that Yoongi was and is. What woman would agree to carry a child of that monster? What woman would starve herself to later appear to gain weight. What woman would falsify pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage. She. The answer is she.

Timing was beyond being crucial. Her own mother and brother were at stake and she could not leave them behind. She bargained with him to send them to Maryland, where she had bargained to send her cousins before. She had waited. She had waited for the right moment. Until he sent her mother and brother to America, believing they would be safer there, away from the chaos of everything that surrounded them. 

He demanded a child in exchange. Greedy bastard.

Xiaoli was too far gone. And unless she found a way to mend unmendable, she could be of no help to her. But she was safe as Taehyung's wife. Now, as Min-ho said at their last encounter, a very pregnant wife.

Daiyu had known. The moment they stepped onto American soil, they had disappeared from the radar. It had been planned long before, long before Y/N ever made her move. Daiyu had understood what needed to be done. Once they were in, they vanished. No contact. No trace. The final chain tying Y/N to her past was severed. They will live. Away from all her sins.

But, to intrigue you further, pretending to be pregnant was the easiest in comparison to the miscarriage she had to act. Xiaoli unwillingly outed her and she never thanked her sister for anything but that. It opened another path. Complicated one, but worth taking. There is no way Min Yoongi would let his pregnant woman run for the hills so easily, nor as she expected leave the safety of sanctuary. But the pregnancy was needed in order to broker the deal between them. And she had absolutely zero intention of getting pregnant.

The beginning of the war was supposed to be her salvation, more of a doom in the end, as he was determined that his pregnant wife was too fragile to see the world in shambles. Thus, she needed to sin even more.

She had planted the idea with precision, knowing how gossip would weave its way through the hanok like smoke, so it is not like Yoongi would doubt if others noticed too. The maids whispered about how she moved slower, how she touched her stomach absentmindedly, how she refused wine one evening with a quiet smile, how she gained weight. Eating meals repeatedly, eating meals that made her bloat to imitate the little swell of her belly, enough that they noticed. But she never uttered the words herself. 

No "I am with a child" ever curled on her tongue.

Note that, and that is a technicality she thought through. Yoongi never questioned it. He was overjoyed. He forgot, he forgave, he never thought to demand proof. His love, his obsession, blinded him.

Faking the miscarriage had been trickier. She had stolen the transfusion blood from the infirmary, Seokjin would not notice, it was her job to keep the tabs. Hiding the vials beneath the floorboards in their room, rationing them until the moment came.

The day she decided it was time to elevate the narrative, she made sure the pain in her voice was raw, real, laced with panic. When he had come running, the blood already spilled, staining the sheets and huddling them to look like a tiny bundle stained with blood. He never looked. He never peeled back the layers to see the deception. He held her, murmured reassurances, swore he would never leave her side. And she had let him, pressing her face into his shoulder, whispering apologies she never meant.

She gave him something that is never supposed to die. Hope. And when it was time, she stung the knife deep and ran.

Singapore had been peaceful. A city where no one knew her name, as this was Luens' extended territory even the Mins could not reach, as noone knew whose power extends here. She moved through the crowded streets as just another young woman with no past. She had found a small apartment, modest but safe, above a tailor's shop owned by an elderly couple who never asked questions. She worked quietly over the years after she finished her studies in London rather quickly. The war needed physicians, even women if praise be. Now she was assisting at a local clinic where Min-ho had secured her a place. Under a false name, of course. Falsified documents. She never spoke too much, never shared too much. Silence had become her greatest defense.

The quiet hum of a long shift still weighed on her as she walked home through the dimly lit streets, her nurse's uniform clinging to her skin from the humidity. The old man downstairs greeted her with a nod, handing her a brown paper-wrapped package, held with a string, a little dove painted in the right corner.

"Another one from your friend, Doctor" he murmured, giving her a smile that did not reach his eyes. She bowed down to thank him and scurried up the stairs to her apartment. The love she felt for Min-ho was different. Not romantic to be correct, but one of respect, gratitude even. But her mind was far gone to be with him. She could not anyway. He was a man of a name, and she… she was a renegade now.

She carried it upstairs, expecting another book or vinyl from Min-ho. Standing by the small table she had the gramophone stationed at, she cut the string with a letter opener and unwrapped it, revealing, what she predicted to be a vinyl. She placed it on the player, waiting for the needle to catch. Placing the box sideways, she gasped, looking at her bloodied hand. Did she cut herself? Confused, she glanced back into the package, lifting it to see it soaked in one corner where she was previously holding it. Her mind too tired to notice. She lowered it to throw the papers that surrounded the vinyl out, halting when the gramophone started to resonate through the sound horn, a melody, or more a cacophony she wished to never hear again.

Horror gripping her throat. No, this is just a coincidence. Min-ho has no means to know what this song means to her. That it echoed in her head each time she witnessed the resurrection of the evil Kkangpae Min Yoongi was. He never actually considered she could get away on her own. But he wanted her to know that there is nowhere to go. And she wanted to prove him wrong.

Very slowly, she glanced down to see what was under the crunched papers. Letting the box fall with a loud thud to the floor, pressing her hand to hide the shriek she let out upon seeing the decapitated hand inside, one of its fingers wrapped with a gold ring that had Luen's insignia, one of a deer. No.

This must be just her imagination, hallucination even. She must be having a lucid dream, as she often had them since her departure. Nightmares. Real ones this time, not the Greek tragedy she performed in front of Yoongi so later in her narrative he thinks she has healed.

Soft footsteps. Measured, unhurried, deliberate. The sound of leather soles against the wooden floor, moving with a certainty that sent ice through her veins. Closer. And closer. Did they underestimate Yoongi's reach, or was there an internal betrayal? They protected her. Just what made Min-ho slip down. Or is this even Min-ho’s hand? Did they torture him? He never became her lover just like she used to dream about back in the day. She understood that loving him would make her vulnerable, but the friendship they nurtured made her realise just how lucky she was that he felt all the same to help her get out of there. This must me a hallucination.

Her breath hitched. She did not need to turn around. She did not want to admit her defeat. You must understand that she was always ready to defend herself, to flee when needed, as she never made the mistake of underestimating him, just like he did underestimate her. To fight she was ready for. He already has one large scar, what is one more? Did he want to toy with her? Could he have attacked her sooner?

"There you are."

This must be a dream. She will not accept this as her reality anymore. Yet, her breath hitched upon hearing the baritone voice. In a single, fluid motion, her fingers brushed against her thigh to pull out the letter opener, from the pocket of her uniform. She spun, the blade slicing through the air—a desperate attempt.

It embedded itself in the wooden door frame, just inches from his head. Her aim was always perfect how come she missed now? Was he even there to be aimed at?

He did not even flinch. He simply smiled, just as wickedly as she remembered, tilting his head, to glance at the blade that she grew fond of as it seems. Twisted sentiment.

Only if she had a split of a second to open the desk's drawer to pull out the small revolver, if only. No. He was too close, he would catch her faster than a lightning would strike.

But if this is a dream she could reach it in time right?

And in the blink of an eye, she is back—trapped once more in the hanok of nightmares, where shadows breathe and the past refuses to sleep, screaming for her to wake up.

His hair was shorter now, the unruly waves tamed, though strands still fell over his forehead. A scar cut across his eye was just as she remembered. His black leather coat hung unbuttoned at his broad shoulders. Yet, he is all the same in her mind.

‘Get out of my head. Get out!’ she cries, but the words splinter in the air, swallowed by the very darkness that lurks within her.

The voice calls out once more, and the fabric of reality trembles—its borders blurred, its edges unravelling. She no longer knows where the nightmare ends and the waking world begins. A wound that never healed. Lacrimosa.

"I've been looking for you, Dove."

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

final author's note: my dear dark romance fairies, allow me to utter some last words before you'll descend me to hell if you possibly misunderstand. Lacrimosa was never meant to give you answers. Only possibilities. I wrote this story with one foot in the dark and one in the light, where the line between reality and nightmare stays blurred. A narrative that is unreliable. This story was never meant to deliver a neat ending wrapped in clarity—it was written to leave space, a pause between breaths, where you decide what lingers in the dark and what was merely imagined in the quiet between heartbeats. To not be sure if the story truly ended. Thank you for walking beside her my fairies. For staying through the silence, the sorrow, the unravelling.

Is this the reality she wakes to, or the nightmare she never escaped? Was it all a dream? A descent? A warning? That, my dear readers, is yours to decide.

Let her fate rest in your hands. And maybe, just maybe—she’ll find peace in whichever version you choose.

So close the final page gently. And if she’s still dreaming… maybe don’t wake her just yet.

Special thanks to @chaoticpuff17 who is not only brilliant beta reader but a dear friend of mine. Your insight, intuition, and unwavering honesty helped shape the bones of this story and for that I am so so grateful, endlessly.

Special thanks to all of you who stayed till the very end and to you who will just descend to hear the music reverberating through the dimly-lit streets. To see the tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

lots of love, p.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @floooring- @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567- @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjkk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneybunny - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts - @seonghwaexile - @catlove83

[moondans-writes]

SAGAU-adjacent not-Creator Creator 4

Summary: You knew, viscerally down to your bones, that you did not create this world; Teyvat had no grand creator, no single hand designing its wonders. It did, however, have something of a catalytic agent, without which it would not exist.

You.

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You separated from Diluc that morning. Despite Alatus -- Xiao -- offering to teleport you straight to Liyue Harbor, you preferred to take your time. It had been untold millennia, after all, since you had experienced a world’s bounties for yourself, and even longer since you had a physical body to do it with. You wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

Walking through Guili Planes was... an experience. The crumbling ruins were of a different style from the civilisation you saw upon your arrival, but it was a grim reminder that Liyue, like Mondstadt, had not been wholly peaceful during its existence. Unfortunately, you had the feeling that the rest of Teyvat was similar.

Xiao was ever present by your side. He would occasionally divert you from your path, which you assumed was to avoid monsters, though it wasn’t necessary. You allowed it for several reasons: one, the poor guy was stressed enough; two, he didn’t know of the affection Teyvat’s creatures held for you; and three, you did come across corpses, meaning someone was in the area killing them.

For your part you were wholly unworried -- slimes had already proven their refusal to harm you and you expected other creatures born of Teyvat to be the same. It was humans, and creatures born of humans, that you were concerned by.

(To your slight surprise, this included hilichurls. Despite being classified as monsters by Teyvat at large, they were too human, too sapient, to be overwhelmed by Teyvat’s love for you.)

It wasn’t a shock for you to eventually come upon the one slaughtering all the monsters in the area. What was a surprise was that it was all done by a single person.

You watched a ginger-haired young man wielding blades of Hydro rip his way through a hilichurl camp. He was a storm in motion, striking then dancing away from retaliation, every step trailed by an eye-catching red scarf. Beneath you, Geo rumbled, Ajax Tartaglia, child of the devouring deep, Hydro, more Abyss than human.

Xiao tensed.

As soon as the last hilichurl fell, the man pivoted to face you with a relaxed stance, one hand still absently spinning a Hydro blade. “You know, if you wanted a show, I’d be plenty happy to show you up close and personal,” he leered with a pointed swing of his blade.

“Impertinent,” Xiao hissed, looking like he was one taunt away from lunging. The man only laughed.

You looked between the two of them. There was bad blood there, you could tell. ...How interesting. “Who is he, Xiao?”

Surprisingly, the adeptus was able to tense even more. Slowly, flatly, he replied, “He is the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, and dangerous.” Unsaid was his intense desire to take you elsewhere or drive him away.

Instead of acknowledging that, you turned to the Eleventh Harbinger. “That’s not a name,” you observed.

“Tartaglia at your service -- but please, call me Childe.”

He certainly suited the name. Pretty, boyish, young; there was a madness in him too, one that was incompatible with the Teyvat around you but might not be out of place in the depths where you slumbered. Maybe, if he was amenable to a trip home, you might have a companion on your journey to the world’s roots. “A pleasure to meet you. I am--”

“The sun is setting,” Xiao interrupted. It was such a change from his previous deference that you just blinked at him for several seconds.

“...That’s true,” you said slowly when he didn’t continue, “are we close enough to Liyue Harbor to get there tonight?”

“Oh definitely not,” Childe said, now strolling closer while completely ignoring Xiao’s darkening expression. You were sure that the only thing stopping Xiao from violently removing Childe was your presence. “So why don’t we share a campfire for the night? I make a mean seafood soup!”

You didn’t know how you ended up sitting by a fire with two men glaring daggers at each other. Or rather, Xiao glared daggers while Childe responded with goading smirks.

Dinner had been as delicious as promised, though it looked more like a scene of carnage than you had expected. It held only the basest of resemblances with the Calla Lily Seafood Soup you remembered from Mondstadt. Xiao, for some reason, did not receive a portion.

Childe’s actions did make you curious. Mondstadt’s people had greeted you with a festival and Xiao with deep respect, which had made you suspect that everyone on Teyvat could recognise you as their supposed ‘Creator’ on sight, but Childe hadn’t. Either he was the only person in the world who didn’t buy into the cult, or there was something else going on.

...On reflection, the people without Visions whom you met during your first day in Liyue didn’t treat you as anyone particularly special either, while those with Visions tended to be friendlier. As evidenced by Childe. Mondstadt didn’t count, you had been presented to them as the Creator from the start.

You were presented as the Creator, that was the key. They probably didn’t possess a mythical Creator radar. Fortunately.

But someone had to have sensed you, otherwise you would never have left the island you woke on. As a dragon, Dvalin wasn’t a surprise, and Venti... the Archons. Of course. Didn’t you note the traces of your power in Venti and the statues of him and Morax yourself? There were sparks of it in the Visions too, but nothing as strong as those in the Archons and Statues of Seven.

If the Statues held enough of your power for you to resonate with them, and the Archons were connected to the statues made in their image, everything could be explained. The only mystery was why Morax didn’t show up in person.

He couldn’t be dead, because Liyue still stood. He couldn’t not know of you, because he sent Xiao. And if he was busy directing preparations for your celebratory feast, as Xiao had implied, then that showed a gross miscalculation of priorities uncharacteristic for someone who had ruled this nation for nigh on 4000 local solar orbits. You weren’t offended -- there was no such thing as a Creator in the first place -- but you were quite curious.

The next day, your group expanded from two to three. Childe insisted on tagging along, to Xiao’s consternation, and couldn’t be chased away. They got along like cats and dogs and it was entertaining to watch.

The bickering lasted all the way until you reached the hill overlooking the bridge leading into Liyue Harbor. Every building was bedecked with lanterns and banners as far as the eye could see, just as festive as Mondstadt yet with their own distinct style. You stopped in your tracks.

Childe shrugged. “They got this done in the last few days, not sure what it’s for. There’s still a few months until the Lantern Rite.”

You did not want to walk through the streets to be gawked at, whether that be due to your own identity or those of your companions. You turned to the adeptus among you. “Xiao, can you bring us straight to the venue?” you requested.

He nodded and held out his hand, but only after you looked pointedly at Childe did he reluctantly grip the Harbinger’s arm as well. You would take what you could get.

“Hey, wait--”

Before Childe could voice the rest of his objection, you took Xiao’s hand and the three of you disappeared on the spot.

You rematerialised in an octagonal plaza facing a large building, which a plaque informed you was Yiyan Temple. Behind you, Childe stumbled, to Xiao’s audible ridicule; you knew without looking that Childe must have gestured something rude in return.

Two people in armoured uniforms saluted and opened the doors. You could sense significant amounts of Geo pulsating out from something within, as well as sparks of your power emanating from Visions among the crowd that glittered like stars to your senses. There was also a torch’s worth of your power -- an Archon. Morax. Though you hardly registered their appearances, luxurious as their clothes were, as Geo clamoured to introduce these personages to you.

Morax, earth dragon, Geo Archon, adeptus, a void where there was once god-heart-gnosis.

Ningguang, human, Geo, born of Liyue.

Cloud Retainer, crane, Anemo, adeptus, bound to the Lord of Geo.

Keqing, human, Electro, born of Liyue.

There were more, and you filed each of them away even as Morax and Ningguang bowed simultaneously, followed shortly by everyone else. “Your Grace the Primordial Architect,” Morax said in his deep voice, “this one is honoured to welcome thine self to the land of Geo.”

“Your Grace?” Childe repeated, quietly but with feeling.

Right, you had never actually introduced yourself to him because Xiao had interrupted. Withholding a sigh, you ordered some Anemo to whisper in his ear, “In short, I’m not the Creator, there is no Creator, I’ll explain later.” Then you turned your attention to the Archon. “Please, rise,” you said to all of them. This reception was getting a little more intense than Mondstadt's.

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