#TLDR you grow up sick to your stomach.

[ardentpoop]

very close to crying tonight, after a long bout of numbness

[thingsarentgreat]

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people.

I keep reflecting to determine if there's something more within me that's causing me to still feel so incredibly sick by it all. Really trying to expose the raw roots of the feeling to see if it stems from some kind of selfishness. And I suppose it does. But to reduce it to just that would also be lying, because it's a combination of poisons down in that soil. It's betrayal and a feeling of isolation amongst a group I thought I once knew, and then that selfish and bitter root grows in like a weed. I can only quietly observe to myself: "ah. this is where the radicalization and rampant nationalism come from. this is why I see it flowering in my family."

It's because I feel my trust breaking all over again each time I forget about it and try to go on with my business. I remember that I still can't mourn publicly without someone educating me on why obviously if I'm mourning, I must have Insert Political Alignment Here. I remember the utter silence and the downright celebration of more civilian deaths because "oh, fuckin Yaya or whatever deserved it after what Israel does."

For the record, Yaya-Or-Whatever didn't deserve it, and I still remember the lead dropping into my stomach upon hearing that from a friend. No one deserves it. No one ever deserves it.

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people.

Maybe that's a quote leftists recognize, but I realize now that few of them actually stick to it across the board. And I'm admittedly selfish, because I hoped that leftists could at least have a moment to care about my people suffering too before getting back to helping the people who currently need the most help. But instead we got "Yaya-Or-Whatever Deserved It." And I've been laying here for months watching everyone on the left just go back to the usual armchair activism as if they didn't just fucking say that, and when I do bring it up, suddenly I'm the problem for pointing out that it was fucked up.

You won't erase it, fyi. We saw you say it. Some of you said it with your full fucking chest. You were callous and let the antisemites into the bar by openly celebrating Jewish death. Then you pretended we were talking about Palestine when we pointed out your antisemitic actions. You know that's not what we were even pointing to as an example. But it's very convenient for you to pretend we don't know the difference, isn't it?

I don't know. It's just a reminder that most of you are actually all talk and virtue signals. There's no actual substance behind your ideals, you're just adhering to the party line, same as conservatives do. I guess I was naive to think otherwise. It's disingenuous for you to wonder why people leave the leftist movement as a whole and "suddenly" flip sides. You know why, and it's reasons like this - you're just covering it up and pretending it's a totally different, more convenient reason.

Tldr; you're hypocrite ass leftists and fuck you. You should be ashamed of how you acted.

[gloriousncss]

{hande ercel, thirty, cis woman, she/her} We are so glad to see you safe, SULTANA DILARA ABDUL of TURKEY! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are FAIR and KIND-HEARTED enough to handle it. Just don’t let your REGRETFULNESS bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU ARE SICK AND DYING.

Basics:

Name: Dilara Abdul Title: Sultana of Turkey Age: 30 Birthday: June 30th (cancer) Sexuality: Heterosexual Marital Status: betrothed to Emperor Kaito Toshiko Positive Traits: Fair, just, warm, kind-hearted, selfless Negative Traits: Regretful, tainted, stubborn, intolerant Hobbies: Writing, gossiping, fashion, jewelry Family: Sultan of Turkey (brother), Sultan/Sultana of Turkey (sibling-in-law), Crown Sultan Rostam Abdul (brother), 1 elder siblings, 2 younger siblings, Crown Sultana Arshiya Qajar (sister-in-law).

Physical Attributes:

Height: 5 feet 6" Hair Color: Dark brown Hair Length: Very long Hair texture: Textured and wavy Eye Color: Chocolate brown Markings/Tattoos: None Accent: Turkish Languages Spoken: Turkish, Arabic, English Skin Texture: Soft and gentle

The History (tw; illness, disease, death):

Most would say that the name Dilara, meaning "one who delights in the heart", was an ironic name to give someone so cold and cruel. Growing up in an ambitious and cutthroat dynasty of a family was a lot to live up to, and the pressure of being the perfect Sultana weighed heavily on her shoulders. Often, when she'd fail to meet those impossible standards, she'd act out and galavant around with friends and lovers until the consequences of her actions caught up to her, turning friends into foe and lovers into strangers. All of that changed two years ago when the fatigue set in, the stomach aches, the loss of appetite, the occasional fevers... there was something wrong with Dilara and only so many physicians could identify the problem. All they knew was that these symptoms were slowly killing her. It was working slow, so she would have years left, but it changed the trajectory of her life. Suddenly, her behavior changed. Dilara was an entirely new person, vowing to spend the rest of her days being remembered by her family as one who loved them very fiercely, above all. It was no longer about pleasing her family, but about showing up. The Dilara they've known for the past two years has been supportive, sweet, caring, and is always focused on the warmer side of things. Arriving in India has meant three very important things to her. The first was finding out who killed her brother-in-law and being a steadfast support for her brother, Rostam. The second was solidifying the ongoing engagement plans that her eldest sibling was working on with Japan's rulers, for if she could secure this marriage alliance, then her siblings would be set with funds long after she's gone. The third is finding any other physicians she could. With doctors, healers, and apothecaries coming in from all over the world... surely one of them must have an answer.

TLDR: Dilara was the messiest in the land, to be sure. She was very wishy washy for choosing to meet her family's demands or her own desires. She has a TON of people who hate her for abandoning them (friends, lovers, etc) due to this inner conflict. But when she got sick, she turned all of that around, knowing she wouldn't have much time left. She's here to support Rostam, hopefully solidify things with Kaito so that (if she does end up dying sooner rather than later) her siblings are secured, and find a doctor/healer/apothecary who might be able to help her.

SIMILAR CHARACTERS: Persephone (Greek Mythology), Miriam (The Prince of Egypt), Odette (The Swan Princess), Princess Yue (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Belle (Beauty and the Beast), Beth (Little Women)

WC'S

Ex-friends/ex-lovers. Dilara did a lot of galavanting around the world, supposedly running away from her responsibilities and avoiding the pressure from her family. They'd be friends for a bit of time before she'd disappear without saying goodbye, for the most part. Sometimes she would have to confront it and just cut them off i the harshest way possible.

New friends. Dilara is starting anew. Though her reputation certainly proceeds her, she's spent the last two years turning over that new leaf. She'll certainly have to work hard to get anyone to trust her these days.

[mysticalwaterdroplet]

WARNING! Looooooooooooong venting ahead about why d/h sucks. So if you ship it and have somehow Goren lost in this tag, turn around, cuz if you continue you might get hurt. You have been warned. Also I guess language warning and mature themes...? Just to be safe. I'd also like to give y'all a little side note: I guess I am what people would call a Hawks stan. I personally really like his character and find him intriguing, however I am completely capable of admitting that Hawks has done sum fucked up shit. I still however "stan" Hawks, so I'm going to show why d/h is shit from a logical Hawks stans point of view. Anyways, without delving too deep into the whole Dabi vs Hawks stuff, since I'm not here for it, I'm here to talk about the shitshow that's dabihawks. So, first of all I'll give y'all a lil back story as to why I'm here. Long story short: I accidentally stumbled upon some d/h art and people who still defend the ship (with already debunked theories mind you), I felt kinda sick to my stomach, so I need to vent. Like they were referring to the fight where Hawks killed Twice and basically said: "DiD yOu SeE hOw HaWkS wAs OnLy LoOkInG dAbI iN tHe EyEs ThE wHoLe TiMe. 🤪 ThAt'S sO gAy!?!?!??!??" Bish, where was Hawks and Dabi supposed to look at? THE WALL??? They were fighting! Of course they have to keep an eye on each other. They were also talking about how "DaBi JuSt GoT jElLy CaUsE HaWkS wAs HaNgInG oUt WiTh TwIcE, aNd Is JuSt ClAiMiNg HaWkS!" And they were saying so much more nasty shit that I'd like to write here, but I don't think I physically can, and I also want to spare everyones brains, cuz I already took the L, like if any of y'all know how to get back my brain cells hit me up. I also noticed a common theme of people making Hawks the bottom to like a point where they thirsted over the idea of Dabi "destroying" Hawks' insides, if you know what I mean. Which seems to be the opposite for many of you guys here with finding stuff where Dabi is the bottom? I mean I know many of you guys probably don't like Hawks, but you gotta admit that it's fucked up to think that these shippers think it's hot that one of the people in their makeshift relationship gets seriously hurt in the act without consent. Whether it is Dabi or Hawks they put in that position is irrelevant, they literally like the ship because it's toxic and someone gets hurt. Like in what world would Hawks let Dabi willingly even get close to him or vice versa. We all know damn well that they despise each other. Horikoshi has literally shown that these two never trusted each other, never even tolerated each others shit, so why oh why did this become a thing?! Also, and I know that this can sound annoying to some people... But as a Hawks stan, I don't understand how people can say: "YeAh, I sTaN HaWkS UwU 👉👈, hIm AnD dAbI dEsErVe eAcH oThEr AnD aRe So GoOd ToGeThEr." "ThEy DeFo FuKiN'! Is CaNoN! 🤪" Like:

So... Are we just gonna forget that Dabi literally burnt Hawks' wings off? (Which was understandable looking at the context.) Or how Dabi sent some goons after his mother? Or the fact that Hawks literally idolised the very man that Dabi hates with a burning passion? The shippers: "Oh, BuT hIs WiNgS wIlL gRoW bA-" Bish! The fact that Hawks didn't die or that his wings are allegedly growing back doesn't mean the ship is relevant again. Hoooooo... it's like I can't catch a breather once in a while. How are people trynna stan someone and then say: "Yeah, let's pair our favourite person with the person that is trying to hurt them." HOW!? My initial reaction when Hawks and Dabi interact is: "Fuck. Someone's gonna get hurt." Like if I could have it my way Dabi wouldn't be anywhere near Hawks, they are a danger to eachother. There is no damn way I'd want to see the character I stan for hurt, so why do so many damn stans ship it! I just can't wrap my mind around the "appeal". I just don't see the sexual tension that these people talk about. Anyway I could probably write a whole ass book as to why I personally don't like this ship

but frankly I don't wanna waste your time since it's toxic.

I would like to however debunk a couple of already debunked theories that people use justify the relevance of d/h.

The "childhood friends" theory: Yup. People still cling to it. However Horikoshi literally trashed, stomped on and lit the theory on fire. We saw that Touya went to a regular school and was trained personally by Endeavor. While Hawks was in the commission. There is no way that they knew each other. The way Dabi got Hawks' real name was through his mother. Dabi ain't dumb, he's actually smart and calculating to a point it's almost a little scary.

The "Dabi freed Hawks and Hawks will turn into a villain": Boi.... Dabi didn't free Hawks off anything. Dabi tried to kill him and exposed Hawks and his wrongdoings to the world. That ain't love. Hawks isn't even Dabi's main focus, Hawks is literally just one insignificant part of Dabi's plan. Also, like Horikoshi has wonderfully brought into light, Hawks would never turn to villainy. He didn't even kill Best Jeanist. And he's still, after everything, saying "Endeavor is in trouble." Clearly insinuating that he's going to still help Endeavor. This man is the last person to just become a villain. And people have the audacity to say he'd become a villain because of Dabi. I have no words.

Besides even if for example the childhood friends theory was true (which it isn't, but let's humour the thought) or even IF they were foils, it wouldn't change shit. We'd still be in this situation where they despise each other. Childhood friends wouldn't automatically mean that they'd get along as adults.

-------------------------------------------

Anyways, if you made it this far, you're a damn trooper. Thanks for letting me vent.

And as a short note to end on: I hope I didn't come off as too aggressive. That's not my intention here. Also the text is way less polished and thought out than I'd like it to be, but I honestly don't have the time or energy to give y'all a publishable version of "Why d/h sucks": the Book. So instead you get this. A hastily put together vent cuz I saw sum shit alright.

TLDR: People with a brain can see that these two aren't in love. There has to be some major mental gymnastics in play to get any whiff of chemistry from these two.

[zet-sway]

@the-wip-project day 46:

What does your editing/revision process look like?

GREAT QUESTION LOL (ʘᴗʘ✿)

It's a mess. It's a god damn shit ass mess. I can slam down 1k words in an hour if the mood strikes but I will, without question, second guess the everliving fuck out of every last word.

So I write a scene and then spend like 1 week minimum nitpicking it.

Editing fanfic! Its a thing I do until it makes me literally sick. Sometimes I know I'm done with something when I just can't fucking stand to read it anymore. Holy hell you guys just don't have any idea how heavily edited all of my work is.

The method is: draft first, fix later.

So usually my WIPs are stuffed into Tumblr's drafts thing. And I pick at them a few minutes at a time, multiple times a day.

While I'm at work

When I get home

Before bed

When I wake up

When I'm taking a shit

You know, downtime lol

In fact I often start editing the work before I even finish writing all of it.

The number one thing I find myself doing when I'm revising work, is taking the second half of a phrase/sentence/paragraph and cut/pasting it in front of what was once the first half. I don't know why but most of the time, when I rearrange words like this, I like them better.

I also keep the fucking thesaurus handy. Because I'm not confident in my vocabulary. One of the shitty things about writing a lot of smut is this oppressive feeling of "sameness" that permeates each work. It's all smut. Mouths, hands, genitals, sensations, feelings, intimacy. There are only so many words to describe how it feels to be touched. And I don't want to reuse the same idioms from scene to scene cause then it just feels like "I wrote the same smut but remixed." I'm trying to incorporate a heavy focus on dialogue these days and that's helping a lot, but wordplay is challenging when you're writing oral sex for the third time in two months. At that point I often find myself banging out a non smutty scene just to like, loosen up a little.

Side note: I found this "sexy thesaurus" online that listed "heart of her arousal" as a way to say vagina and I'll be honest I've never heard this one and I really love it so yeah expect to see that more lmao

And one of the biggest things I do when I'm editing is distance. I have to take breaks from the work, to write something else, or just to do anything else at all. Sometimes I read other fanfics which is a double edged sword because it's inspiring but also makes me think "fuck why didn't I think of that???" But I'm trying to distance myself from the notion that I can't "borrow" from other works. I can borrow. Borrowing a "train of thought" is not plagiarism. Borrowing one word used near another word is not plagiarism. If I don't try out new words, I will never grow as a writer.

And don't even get me started on dialogue. It's funny because I find Shepard's character a pain to write but her dialogue is very easy for me. She speaks with my voice (not literally but in terms of words). Thane I find easy to identify but harder to dialogue. I revise his words a lot. There's a fine line between his ample vocabulary and his direct way of speaking. For instance in Taste of Victory, I revised these lines at least five different ways:

"What do you hope to gain by poring all night over strategic data?" - I struggled with what exactly Shepard was looking at. I wanted her to be doing some small, pointless thing that made her feel like she was still contributing to the war while tired as fuck, but I didn't want to use the words "war assets."

"The whole galaxy could be on to us and I could not find it in myself to care." - I wanted him to say "I have no fucks to give" in the most Theloquent way possible. I just made up the word Theloquent - Thane + Eloquent. I'll see myself out LMAO

"Ah, the legend herself, assassinated in the fortified heart of her own warship?" - this line was originally way too long. I wanted to keep the words 'legend,' assassinated,' and 'warship.'

Thane in particular is very easy to "overdo," in my opinion. It's easy to put too many big words in his mouth and even easier to tack "Siha" on to every single line of dialogue. In my headcanon, he calls her Shepard just as often, usually saving Siha for more private moments but not always. Actually he sometimes calls her "Dess" too, as a shortened version of "December" (thank you spookyvalentine for that nickname!) but I don't use my Shep's name as a general rule. But yeah I don't want Thane to sound like a thesaurus.

The absolute hardest thing is second guessing the "plot." I'm dealing with a lot of that now. If I change an idea for something that hasn't been written yet - while simultaneously working on a scene that comes AFTER that event - oh my god it just makes my stomach flip with anxiety. I could fix this by actually writing in a linear fashion. But that's so fucking hard to do lmao. That's one reason I haven't finished my long ass WIP yet. I'm happy with the interlude scene but I keep thinking I want to slow burn it more - it's important because both Shep and Thane make direct references to events that happened previously. Events that I haven't written yet. This is me clutching my fucking head in my hands and screaming into a pillow lmao (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

So TLDR my editing process is extremely nonlinear, time consuming, and exhausting. I have this ingrained idea that "there's always room for improvement." But often by the time I'm done editing I can't see what's good about the work anymore. I know which moments I like but I can't see it from an objective standpoint anymore. Coming back to fanfic after years was an incredible experience because it was the first time I ever read my own work from a completely clueless perspective. It gave me inhuman confidence to write again, and I have to remember that because I'll second guess myself into the ground if I'm not careful.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I should maybe try and calm down a bit lol

[katsidhe]

Hello as a long time silent lurker with post notifications on, and someone who has been very into the minecraft roleplay for about 9 months, I am oh so incredibly intrigued on your thoughts! I hope you don't mind if I ramble a little. Sam (both minecraft and spn, but in this context the minecraft one) is one of my favourite characters because he's so incredibly complex. The prison story has sparked so much discussion and conflict in this fandom, so I would love to hear your thoughts if you want to share!

oh noooooooooooo don’t enable me. (Jk <3)

I’m putting this under a read more for those of you who don’t want to be inflicted with my minecraft roleplay brain worms. I would apologize but I think we’re well past that.

So, like, full disclosure that I am pretty new to dsmp and am surely missing out on big ol swathes of Essential Character Content, etc etc. But I do know the basics, and I’ve (naturally) watched all the Torture Box Content, because I mean come on, that’s my brand.

k so First of all, THE most essential part of any media: x-coded y girl. Dream is a textbook Cas-coded Sam girl. Sam (Minecraft) is a Cas-coded Dean girl. Quackity is a Dean-coded Sam girl. I’d say Tommy is Dean-Dean. Techno is, hmm, Cas-Cas. Okay, important part done.

Minecraft Sam is very fun! I find it absolutely delightful that he clings to moral high ground while torturing and starving a prisoner. And at least from what I’ve seen, there’s a lot of room for interpretation as to the level of guilt and involvement he actually feels about what’s being done to Dream. He goes back and forth between justifying the treatment as something Dream categorically deserves, and justifying it as a means to an end. Whether that end is the book itself, or whether it’s Quackity’s cooperation/satisfaction, or whether it’s some twisted and bloody sense of justice and duty, seems to vary wildly. On top of that, of course, is the irony that Dream was the one to give him this commission and this job in the first place: in every respect, it’s a duty to Dream (to punish him; to secure him; to uphold his rules) that Sam’s fulfilling. Dream isn’t the only one to suffer from Sam’s inflexibility surrounding the entire concept of Dream: Tommy and Ponk do too.

And yet it’s not the inflexibility that ends up hurting Dream the worst: it’s the gaps in that rigidity. If Sam had kept the prison operating as apparently originally commissioned, it would be inhumane but just about bearable: hardly the level of absurd, over-the-top war crime that it’s reached by now. His choice to begin starving Dream in earnest seems to have been mostly an emotional reaction, after Tommy’s death. (Ironic, too, that Tommy also suffered the result of this choice.) And this is fine, because it’s not active: it’s passive, something that’s happening by inaction. Same with giving Quackity specially made weapons and total carte blanche.

The level of trust that Dream has in Sam’s sense of duty is also fascinating. Even as late as the most recent stream, after the guy’s been permitting him to be tortured for months, Dream appeals to Sam’s need to keep Dream static, in one place as his prisoner, in order to save his life. Incidentally, I do think that convincing Sam to keep Quackity from straight-up murdering him is the only concession Dream was actually hoping to win with that conversation. because like, food and a courtyard visit? after a jail break? Like hell is Sam going to grant that, even before the stunt he and Techno pulled, and Dream knows it. I think that the rest of that conversation was just to deflect, and keep Sam from questioning Dream more sharply about whatever he and Techno have planned. Bringing up Tommy and letting Sam go off on his predictable diatribe about morality and just desserts seemed similarly strategic: Dream knows what Sam thinks about what kind of treatment he deserves. He’s had months to figure it out, and it wasn’t exactly rocket science to begin with.

Anyway, that trust is the same reason Dream appealed (unsuccessfully) to Sam when Quackity first showed up: it devastated him to realize that he’d miscalculated the degree of Sam’s willingness to set aside his duty in this one particular way. Quackity in general represents a HUGE blind spot in Sam’s otherwise completely rigid inflexibility: so huge it’s almost baffling, given what Sam was ready to do to Tommy and Ponk and Ghostbur. But Quackity represents a loophole Sam badly wants. He badly, badly wants some good old-fashioned vengeance, without dressing it up with any pretensions of procedure or justice, but he can’t allow himself to actively act on those impulses—or else he would be Bad, and he can’t have that. He has to believe himself to be Good, and he wants to indulge himself with Dream’s suffering anyway. So he explains that, actually, Dream’s treatment is Dream’s own fault. It’s hilariously deluded.

Which brings me to Quackity, because what makes Quackity fun is that he’s actually NOT hilariously deluded—not about this, at least. Unlike Sam, he’s not laboring under the insane mental acrobatics necessary to convince himself that torture is Good Actually. He knows that what he’s doing is terrible, but he owns it: he’s fine admitting that he enjoys it, that he’s doing this for personal gain and personal vengeance and not for reasons of high-minded civic duty. He’s justifying the torture with brutal simplicity: Dream has hurt him and Dream has something he needs, done and done. He seems to be a firm believer in vengeful and disproportionate retribution, just as with his whole Butcher Army thing. To which I say, neat and fun! I also really really enjoy the power dynamic between him and Dream. Dream is someone who commands respect and fear and power, who could murder Quackity with one hand tied behind his back if they were on equal footing, and who probably barely spared him a thought as a threat. Quackity lives in terror of the thought of Dream escaping and wreaking his vengeance. And Quackity is trying his very best to wrestle that power away from him.

He seems to be pretty unpracticed and ineffective at torture, too—like, yeah, I get this is Minecraft and props are limited, but torturing someone long-term with an ax and a sword is going to be more than a bit unwieldy. and did he even bring in health potions his first day? It’s pretty telling and hilarious that Sam is the one who offers the shears, a far more practical choice of tool. Not to mention that the entire premise of his interrogation gives Dream massive, massive incentive to never give Quackity anything. Quackity straight up admits to Dream that the information he wants is the only reason he’s letting Dream live, which is utterly counterproductive if he wants the book sometime this year. Functionally, he needs to torture Dream not merely into admission, but into suicide. And as the days and weeks and months pass, he’s still got nothing to show for it but growing vindictiveness, paranoia, and frustration. By the time of the latest stream, he’s completely lost the plot—his threats don’t even make sense, his violence is ineffective and unhinged and indiscriminate. He’s lost all leverage and he’s needlessly (re)made a powerful enemy in Technoblade.

So, like, characters like Lucifer are fun because they’re good at torture. Characters like Quackity are fun because they’re bad at torture. But that doesn’t much matter. He doesn’t need to be particularly talented, or strong, or skilled to make Dream’s existence hell: the bare facts of the situation are more than enough for that. What does he learn, over the course of these visits—what skills does he hone, what kinds of violence does he discover that he can stomach? What depths of ruthlessness and creativity and hatred does he discover within himself? What threats does he make that he finds himself following through on before he’s even thought through the implications? It’s a learning curve, for him and Dream both. They’re learning each other, they’re learning the corners of this little hell together. Dream wasn’t expecting him to be capable of this degree of hostility or violence. Quackity is sick of being underestimated.

Which brings me finally to Dream. My general and hastily-gleaned impression of the fandom gives me the distinct impression that there is somehow a school of thought convinced Dream’s earned this treatment? Which baffles me. not only in how its absurd extremity (daily torture in a tiny box for literal months, jesus fucking christ) isn’t something even the most terrible villain could earn, but also in how Dream himself strikes me more as a morally gray fallen/falling antihero type than anything else. I was honestly completely prepared to find him to be a straightforward Bad Guy pre-prison, but that’s not at all my impression. He’s clearly got people and things he cares about and wants to protect, and big picture goals he’ll ruthlessly sacrifice anything to advance (ahem Cas-coded Sam girl). Really, it’s more that roleplays don’t tend to lend themselves easily to those types of narrative classification: nearly every character is a POV character; consuming the content from every perspective is nearly impossible. There aren’t super neat ways to sort antagonists and protagonists in essential terms, only in their relationships to one another. In terms of manipulation, war crimes, power-grabbing, and general destruction, practically everyone on the server is guilty to some degree or another. Dream’s treated Tommy pretty damn terribly, but that hardly makes him unique. What does make Dream unique is that he’s been singled out for near-universally-agreed-upon confinement (which oh so conveniently aligns with him being held as a tool, for information). And that’s neat!

…Look, tldr I just like it when people are in torture boxes. more media should have torture boxes, they are good and fun. 

[deviationdivine]

Be The One Destroyed (RK900!Prompt Request)

TLDR: When your ex makes an unexpected appearance Nines decides to show you what you really mean to him...

Word Count: 4.4k

TW: Fluff to Smut, Language, Mentions of Abuse

A/N: Follower/Reader Appreciation Drabble | Prompt: “Ice King? More like spice king.” - @tropfenlady request! Here we go baby! Thanks for putting in your prompt request! Could it be fluffy/protective Nines? It just might be! 

I'll never see what you wanted, love

RK900′s protocols are state of the art. He analyzes data at utmost accuracy. Sampling DNA at crime scenes are much more proficient than this burning sensation he feels. Deep in his artificial gut a fire spreads. This inferno is agitating. Furthermore it melts a perpetually stoic facade into heated anger. Showing emotions is not part of his repertoire. Deviancy is a means of feeling. He does so. Others do not need to see it for their pleasure however. 

Curiosity is an abomination of this human race. While adept at integration just as his predecessor it hardly means he wishes to “chit-chat” with these fools. 

Does it stop his interest in you? An officer who works quiet but diligent filing piles of paperwork. At first he assumed you were simply another typical leech such as Gavin Reed. Most do not seem to take proper consideration of time management. It would seem they are not actually working as detectives in a precinct. 

Nines’ attitude does not make easy conversation. Yet that did not stop you conversing with him. The first time he imagined you somehow mistook him for Connor despite several glaring clues to the contrary. To say this stern android was taken aback at your genuine interest to converse with him is - frankly undesirable.

Or so he thought – until he spies you one afternoon in presence of another man during a lunch break. Enjoying such at a cafe located several blocks from DPD, Nines similarly found himself in the area following a locally reported incident. He took notice easily through shop window. 

Something stilled him where he would otherwise continue without distraction. Witnessing your downcast exterior, lips drooped and not that insufferable smile he replays to memory. There is an odd atmosphere surrounding your company. Unwanted company from body language and RK900 is equipped with all the latest technologies. Reading humans is part of his programming but you-you are…different. 

The android also does not like another male around you. He sneered, entering shop without a care. Eyes glued to him instantly. A tall imposing figure standing out in white stepping foot in an all human establishment will create a circus for them. He scoffed before deciding to interrupt your ‘date.’ 

You were the one rising from seat. Not giving him a chance to come over but practically hurrying to reach him. 

Nines’ indicator became a glow of amber. Deciphering your actions only seemed to be more difficult. It makes him uncomfortable. Is that the correct word for this strange feeling cast inside his gut? 

“Nines!” You smile automatically washing away whatever anxiety is left in your body. Seeing him spurs life into you, warm and safe. 

“Detective,” he greets curtly. “You are needed back at the station.” 

Blatantly the android lies. He glowers at the back of the man who does not turn around. Merely sitting with hunched shoulders but presumably listening. His death glare snaps away from your unknown companion under a snag of your hand. Fingers dance at the cuff of his sleeve. Warm digits brush atop synthetic skin as you pull him back outside. The event comes to haunt his system. There is something uneasy surrounding you but it is not due to him. 

He casts a look back into cafe. Seemingly aware of the culprit it may not be as he suspected after all. “Is there something you require?”

“Is that how you’re always going to talk to me?” Poking at his chest under that emblazoned RK900, you can’t help grinning up at him. His face holds this permanent resting bitch face. You’d like to kiss it right into submission if you’re being honest. Still, android Darcy is at his finest playing hard to get in genial conversation. 

Nines’ eyes shift down. Fingers catch in his before pulling away and he feels how stiff you freeze. Your eyes float up to his and he gently allows freedom to your soft hand. 

Clearing your throat isn’t cutting it. What was that? Can’t tell if he was annoyed that you poked him or-? 

“You’re not very sociable are you, Nines?” 

The playful tone suggests you are teasing. Perhaps flirting would be an appropriate alternative. A tiny smirk curls lips but he forces them to a line just as quickly. 

“I am programmed for sociability if it is required of me,” he bites back. “Perhaps you would prefer Connor’s demeanor for idle conversation.” Part of his statement is a test to see if you hold interest outside this vexing meeting inside cafe. 

Is that jealousy? Please. Please, let your ice king be jealous. That’d be so good. “Um, don’t get me wrong. I love Connor. He’s just a cute bunny. One that can rip my head off but… So could you. Probably worse. But I prefer your company - Ice King.’ 

Letting it roll off your tongue for the first time leaves no shame. You hope it riles him just a little bit. 

While the android does not show his hand it does exactly what you wish. He believed this is the moment he gives you proper permission to approach him more. While he does not elaborate or confess any strange sensation building up in him, Nines unfortunately does not realize what you need from this cordial relationship. 

  “Perhaps if you paid proper attention none of this would have happened!” Invoking frustrations to the end results of this case leaves Nines in a state of fury. A simple apprehension would have been by the book and most assuredly productive. If it were not for your senseless distractions! 

“Shoot me for having a bad day once in my life!” Shouting back in his face only amplifies stress. You feel it piling on some days. This-this is not helping! 

Why does he have to be the one to say it’s a fuck up? Why can’t someone else do it? Why not Connor for once?! Just let the very android that you’re growing so goddamn attached to be the one to crush you in his bare hands. 

Those hands could do unspeakable things. Oh, how sure you are. Too bad fantasizing at work doesn’t get you past this friendship. Is it even that? Sometimes you wonder why you bother! 

“Suffering what you refer to as a ‘bad day’ is not an excuse!” 

You seize to the spot. Having to listen to this is too much. “You know what Nines!?” 

“Pray do tell!” He snarls. Leaning closer, eyes sweeping over you as if prey ready to be caught on a live hook. 

Something stirs in your stomach that hasn’t taken over in a while. It’s not good. It just makes you feel sick. You shrink back from him. All too aware that your flighty reaction will only make you look worse. 

“Never mind,” you whisper quietly. Anger dissipates too quickly not to cause a swirl in his indicator. He is scanning isn’t he? As if you asked for that or-or him to latch on. 

Is he truly attached? No. You continue to work frustrated with how easy it is to fall. When his attitude is hardly pleasant most times with others around why do you continuously go for the asshole type? Depends which type but-but maybe it isn’t fair to compare. Honestly there is nothing at all to compare. He wouldn’t…

The android snaps straight at your abrupt departure. His gaze glues to you until there is no more hesitation. 

Something drives this advanced android to follow. Unaware of how much this will change things. Perhaps unaware of how much is to change. No. He does know. The RK900 wants you. 

  Slamming locker door only rings in ears causing your pounding headache to worsen. Banging your hand into the metal surface won’t cure it but it will make you feel better. Just beat something in since that was such a great way for that motherfucker to do when he-

A sob chokes. Coming fast along with your slide down to bench you land in a huff. Isn’t it enough that work gets to you sometimes? Added personal drama doesn’t help nerves and insecurities. 

God. You were so over this. Just because that son of a bitch starts popping up again. He blew the city a long time ago while you were still a weak wisp compared to now. You work at the damn DPD. If you wanted to you could punch that bastard in the throat and he wouldn’t be able to take you down. Not like he used to knock you down… 

“Y/N?” 

Your head snaps up. Realizing your current state is on full display to the last person you want to see you fall. What is he doing? Did he need to add more to a list of offenses you perpetrated today? According to him the list must be a mile long. 

“I heard you already, Nines. I don’t want…” 

“I am sorry,” the android interrupts firmly. Can you stop speaking for one minute?! “Is that not what you wanted to hear?”

Wanted to hear because what? He doesn’t mean it? 

You get up. Finding inner strength is easy. “Oh, that’s funny. I thought you actually wanted to come down here and apologize. Not tell me what I want to hear as if I’m some…!” 

Nines’ fingers snag around your wrist. Pulling you slowly to him, he narrows steely ice searching for a true answer now. “Why were you crying?” 

Zero hostility floods his voice. He genuinely wants to know. Why tell anyone? Why not tell anyone? At least tell the android…man…that you’ve fallen in love with. 

“Do you remember the cafe that one day?” 

An unnecessary question, he finds, for a prototype who stores information. However, he nods without adding more words that may upset you further. 

“That man at my table,” you explain disgusted. “Who I didn’t want to sit down? My ex.” 

Ex? As in ex partner. RK900′s lip twitches nearly curling a sneer. 

“Just kind of popped back around. Another reason why I wasn’t exactly focused today.” Where does this bastard get the gall anyway? As if you’re that stupid? Anybody who goes back to that type of situation is just beyond getting out. “I just - want to not have to see that scumbag. After what he…” 

Nines does not have need for an elaboration. Flinching away from him previously offers insight into residual trauma. It would appear this so-called ex laid hands upon you at one time. 

“Y/N,” his voice softens. Uncharacteristically he allows the facade to fall entirely for you. “I would never harm you.”

Tears run freely in a river of personal woes. Problems should be hidden in some capacity while working. Have a bit more self respect for yourself why don’t you? You find a small laugh suits. 

Fingers brushing streaks off your cheek is unexpected but not unwanted. For a haughty one he sure makes your heart thud. 

“OK.” Trusting him is easy because he’s different. Even if he is a smug hardass, Nines is something special. “Ice King.” 

The RK900′s brow creases sharply at such an endearment. He scoffs. How strange and beautiful you are. 

I was the one that you needed, love

Snowflakes never looked prettier dotting his head of rich dark hair. Resembling dollops of whip cream atop steamy cocoa it sure touched your sweet tooth. Craving his lips is nothing new. They do know how to zap breath right out from your lungs. Lately you’ve been really craving him and not just those spicy make outs. 

Maybe it’s time to take this to another level? Dating Nines is definitely a roller coaster, a safe one that won’t derail any moment. Doesn’t mean it’s dull by any stretch. 

Who would’ve thought you’d wind up falling for a chiseled, pompous prince? He meets all those standards and more. 

Grabbing his hand is perfect since he clearly hates PDA. In this frigid atmosphere he does not disentangle. He heats up those systems just a bit. His fingers are warmer now against your chilled digits. Mister advancement likes showing off subtlety. 

“Is this necessary?” he huffs impatiently. 

“Don’t tell me my big, strong android is afraid of a little snow.” Teasing relentlessly produces such a smolder. Nines can ravage you with his eyes alone. They are so beautiful. Silver chimes tinkle goose bumps all over your body. “You’re not going to melt, Nines. Unless you suddenly became the wicked witch of-” 

The android halts you. Sweeping an arm around your waist drags you to him. For this moment he will forget the derision he holds for public display. The more you move your mouth the more Nines wants to devour the curve of lips. 

Breath hitches divinely and his eyes are fire. “Ice King? More like spice king.” 

Leaning up on toes settles you directly against his warmth. His lips melt softer than snow. Into yours, savoring and teasing with teeth as he nips your bottom lip for access. Willingly parting lips for his tongue sends you somewhere distant. 

For being against PDA he certainly is holding snug to you middle of snowfall. Dotting atop your figures, creating a frosty cocoon and this is the warmest you will ever be. 

 “Y/N?!” 

Breaking the kiss prematurely wipes away this cozy moment. Dropping down on level after leaning to exceptionally tall boyfriend attention falls to one witness that inherently makes your blood run cold. You shift towards Nines instinctual and also a means to prevent something happening.  

You already know this is not going to go well. The tension in Nines’ arm is clear beneath your fingers. Still you squeeze in hopes he will not kill someone. 

“It is you.” Your ex laughs a bit before nodding at the android. “Who’s this guy?” 

“Who do you presume I am?” The RK900 detaches from you with a snarl on his breath. 

“Wait, a minute. You’re an android?” Squinting at the LED glowing in the snow your ex couldn’t help laughing. It was particularly gut busting. “Are you fucking kidding? You’re with a goddamn android? Wow. How low can you go? I mean, I always knew you were a hard up, worthless…” 

Before another word drops from his breath Nines has him slammed into the nearest chain link fence. It comes so swift there is no reaction time. 

“Nines!” You move quickly over snow. Trying not to slide on any unsuspecting ice this is just great! 

“I will gladly rip the tongue from your throat!” The android growls ferociously. 

“Let go. Nines, just don’t. It’s not worth it!” Is he even listening? No! He’s not listening! As much as you hate this piece of shit you don’t want anybody to have their limbs ripped out of sockets. There is no doubt Nines could do it effortlessly. “Nines…please!” 

Drawing his gaze to you relinquishes the flood of rage in his system. Stress levels are higher than normal. For you he will do anything and if you do not wish him to pulverize this leech so be it. 

“If I ever see you near Y/N again,” the android twists his collar threateningly. “I will destroy you. Do I make myself clear? You pathetic worm?” 

“Y-yeah! I-I won’t bother Y/N. I won’t!” 

Nines wrenches him clear of fence. Boosting him along makes the human stumble but he continues a speedy exit. “Shall I escort you home now, My Flower?”

You shake your head. He’s not going to say a word about what just happened? “I swear to God, Nines!” 

I was the one when you needed love 

Throwing a coat down doesn’t stop your nerves. Everything’s haywire when things were just fine. Of course it goes south. What else did you expect? 

“You should not have stopped me from squashing that pathetic insect.” 

Just what you want to do is argue, right? Twisting around, you watch him drape long black coat and pull sleeves up forearms. The black sweater is snug definitely warm to look at. Eyeing his arms through material does offer a pleasing sight. 

Let it be known you are attracted to strong forearms. Make that strong everything. Never would’ve guessed while dating that scum years ago. “It wasn’t worth doing. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be a detective? We both are.”

Incessantly stubborn you are for a morsel he desires on his artificial tongue. He says nothing. Moving towards you is all the words he will speak. 

A shiver runs teasingly down spine. Nines’ wolfish gleam makes you weak in the knees. Already he is there sweeping you against his hard body. You have nothing to protest just succumb. 

Lips on lips, hands clawing, pinching; his teeth nibble your earlobe sending a wave straight between legs. 

“I want you,” he hisses into the grind of your hips. “I will show you how precious you are.” 

  “Nines,” a whimper crawls up throat.

He too crawls, slithers cool fingers between your legs. Swiping delicately, his eyes train upon your face. Watching eyelids droop for him in surrender and he pushes your knees apart. 

All that DNA sampling you witnessed him do never prepares you for how smooth his tongue actually is. Running up your slick trembles sweetly through your body. Your hips rock on this wave. Reaching to pull at the hem of your shirt to get it off while your android boyfriend goes down on you so passionately it’s about to get interesting. 

“Oh. Oh! Nines!” 

His head lifts at the frantic grab of his hair. He removes his fingers from their deep stroke. “Do you want me to stop yet, Little Bite?”

“No. I want you to come up here.” Reaching down for him nothing stops his slink up your figure to oblige. He pauses before making any move to kiss. You watch him shift to unbuckle dark jeans and completely shed himself of any remaining garments. Biting your lip is the only thing you can think to do when appraising him. 

Cyberlife designers must be perverts because he’s delicious. 

You laugh when he grabs onto your hips. Cupping his face drags him into you for a sweet kiss. There is still the essence of you inside hot mouth. You moan past his lips, shifting legs to give him access. 

His thick waist welcomes the squeeze of your thighs. Welcoming him in return, wanting his torso between legs for all eternity. You come undone, naturally accepting him sinking up to the hilt in all of his thick glory.

Your head falls back.

The android lies heavily against your heat. Creak of the mattress beneath your supine form a soundtrack stuck in his audio processors. A naturally human aura to find in a bed with you sprawled, naked and unafraid of his android exterior. Instead you plead for him and Nines aims to deliver. 

“Please,” begging him to move is futile. Peering up into his eyes they are silvery wisps, morphing a glacial hideaway for a mere mortal loved by power itself. Swiping hands along his hips you can’t help but tease that modeled perfection. Even his ass is a sculpted wonder. 

Digging fingers there into the flesh finally gets his hips moving. You sigh. Wrapped up in how good he feels shuts thoughts off to the world. 

Those hands are to die for. Clutching in sweeps and drawing you further down to deepen this tantalizing connection. Nines curls fingers beneath your thigh. Forcing your leg up props the limb against his shoulder opening you up further for his pleasurable snap.

Your lips part breathless. The more he fucks into you the more you lose whatever worries plague the heart. This is more than that. This is all you want. 

“N-Nines, please.” 

“I want to hear you say it.” The android groans delectably within your clenching walls.

“I-I’m going to…”

“Not yet,” he hisses, snapping his body. 

A sculpted piece he hovers serene in his shivering euphoria. Experiencing this rush through his system overheats but coolant releases itself automatically to stifle this burn. His advancement allows for many things. 

Tonight he will simply show you what these inane emotions have done to him. They are as real as this deviancy but never more true than you are. 

Protesting any upcoming ideas is farthest from mind. Questioning your android lover might not end well for this night. Depending on how one from an outside perspective views this relationship. They may think so. Not you, never you because an unwell end means the most satisfying, spirit rendering fuck you will ever receive. In your life he makes you like a cloud floating on horizons distant, euphoric in cosmic heavens.

Gladly your body responds as he grips onto your hips. Hoisting up from where you lie on back, your arms drop around his neck. His eyes lock onto yours glimmering. 

“Oh,” you huff against his lips. “God, Nines.” 

He moves with your body attached to his. Carrying you center of bed as his knees sink into mattress under weight of a muscled plastic frame; he is alive, precious to your heart. Bringing you down atop his lap now rests your bodies in a comfortable entanglement. Wrapping legs around adjusts you better onto his hard body. Despite that inner shell his synthetic skin is creamy. 

Caressing him with lips is a dream become reality. Often imagining what he might taste like. Kissing the broad curve of his shoulder doesn’t disappoint. There is something too natural about androids. Honestly it gets things going even more. 

His hips move up into you as he groans sharply into your collar. Such a beautiful sound rumbles deep from that chest you dig nails to. Swirling a thumb to circle the android’s nipple heightens his growl. The sound gets you off better. Knowing he feels everything just as you do. This is beautiful. He is a beautiful being and you rock hips to swallow him whole. 

The android grazes teeth along your flesh. Nibbling at your skin he takes time to flick tongue over each mark he imprints. Causing your moans to heighten, his fingers dig into your hips hard and possessive. 

“Mmm. Yes. Nines, you’re so good to me.”

  Slipping in with you brightens a smile. Tugging at your swollen lips, snuggling into him you do not fear rejection. Where he began cold he warms you every night. You completely come into contact with this muscled android. He allows you just as he allows this peace.

Others might find it strange. Smug Nines with his penchant to turn nose up at most people whether they are android or human. Hardly matters when he has the indifference against the world. With you though? This man is the best lover you ever had. Not just when it comes to his bedroom skills, which are plenty amazing. He is just strength, sheltering and today proved that.

Whisking you off after running into your old ex. Nines barely managed out of that without murdering the asshole. Upset after did no good but this-this is everything.

“Are you well after our session?” 

An uncontrollable giggle slips out. Who calls it that?! Oh, you love him. 

Everything stands still battling these fantasies of the mind. This is reality. Finally being together this way but does he mimic those very words desiring escape? Confessing may ruin it all. Always a story told with you the main character; you twist away to break transparency untold. How it shines so brightly in your eyes. He will read it then. Only thing left is turning a cheek to the one. An android of all beings in the world.

Silence does not bode well for an android as meticulous as Nines. He shifts. Silver sparkles in glacial heat making your entire body fidget. Soft rustling of blankets, sheets do little to hide. 

“I love you, Nines,” professing undoes the world. 

Inside his space you feel mighty. A shield cast of steel not once dented even though you most certainly were before. He comes as a crystal knight riding the palest steed. He is a handsome prince not of sunshine or rainbows no not he; one of pursed lips, naturally harsh brows. Never is he harsh with you. Power that can crush in those wonderful, large hands if he so chose. 

He chooses to grip, caress and fondle you into oblivion. Ecstasy pours from fingers, wine spills from his smooth lips; your heart cannot stand it. 

“I’m sorry if you…” Shuddering breath slips your tongue at cool fingers. Gently kissing skin of cheek, strokes to calm erratic thrums of your heartbeat. Does he realize that will not work? Touch alone arouses wonders in you that never rose to the surface until this. 

He makes you feel wanted. He makes you feel worth. You deserve actual love and protection. Why did it take so long to find? 

The android does not speak. Simply using action to seal an oath as he already did by taking you every which way you desired. Many more ways will come. Many other times he will make stars come alive in the hues of your eyes that capture his human side. Deviancy will be his to share. 

Nines captures soft lips. Hungrily he cages your form pressing beneath his sturdy frame. The tangle of your leg with his sends a delicious shudder in an otherwise unsettled shell. He cracks under sweet pressure of you. 

“Nines,” a number craved mumbles wet.

Vibrating on the android’s tongue flicking against yours does not end this affection. While he pleasured you any way you asked it’s still amazing to feel those edges go soft. Kisses with him can be ravenous but also sweet. This is a mixture of both sides. Two coins clink together in harmony. 

The RK900 does not shun your confessional. He does not detach because it is too late. You are part of his circuitry. Lifeblood of thirium could not power his existence more. Even if he bled every ounce Nines will continue to function…live for you. 

Resting forehead against yours, drawing fingers to dust gorgeous curves, tracing delicate. He will show you that nothing will come to tarnish your beauty again. None will touch you, inflict harm upon you without swift retribution.

“I love you as well,” the android reveals in your shared solitude. “I will always protect you. My Flower.” 

Tag List: @elydith  @your-taxidermy  @tropfenlady  @connorswink  @tommy-10-k

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, CAS! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE with the faceclaim of ANYA CHALOTRA. What is there to say, really, about Vasylia? What isn’t there to say? She’s marvelous. She’s everything I wanted in a WOF app that I felt was necessary to display their conflict, which is centric to who they are as a character. You hit every point, you crossed every T, and you sure did dot every single I you came across. I kept on thinking that it couldn’t get any better, but the farther I scrolled, it did. You have put, on full display, someone who is rotting from the inside out and is helpless to do anything save for watch, and I am genuinely overjoyed to have you with us. Vasylia has such a broad stroke of potential -- I can’t wait to see what you do with her.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC NAME: Cas PRONOUNS: She/her AGE: 22 TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: BST / I tend to work during the day and write at night, but that suits me since everyone else tends to be a good five hours behind me TMZ-wise. As I’ve recently learned, I’m not actually very... quick when writing haha but I log in every day and try to post a reply at least once every other day. Always around and contactable on Discord for plotting and chatting! I’d say 7/10. TRIGGERS: N/A ANYTHING ELSE?: I tried to write around The High Priestess as much as I could but given they’re responsible for The Wheel of Fortune’s way of life it was difficult to avoid her, so happy to revise any details with the player. Also my background is so long I’M SORRY but tysm for reading uwu This application includes mentions of death, child death, self harm, blood, strangulation and suicide ideation.

IN CHARACTER SKELETON: The Wheel of Fortune NAME: Vasylia FACECLAIM: Anya Chalotra, Diana Silvers, Victoria Pedretti (in order) AGE: 35 (appears 12 years younger) DETAILS: I think what drew me to The Wheel of Fortune was that it would be easy to make their character all about Necromancy. About this sickness they can slowly feel settling into their bones. But they’re a person too, with a name and a history. Their relationship with magic is more complex than feeling the ache of it and the decision to stop it. There’s a heaviness to their story, a burden that they must carry, and I had fun experimenting quite how far that extends beyond the weight of their abilities. I believe it’s important for them to be a person before all this, because they have to have something to return to; there has to be something pulling them back from numbness, from giving the pieces of themselves away. The skeleton is a mirage of contradictions: numbness and intensity; resignation and sheer will; anxiety and power; death and life. I’m always enamoured by characters who inherently contradict themselves. Who, try as they might, cannot reconcile themselves to a single thing. The Wheel of Fortune has clearly shifted between these opposites their entire life, sometimes without even knowing it, and in spite of this dizzying dance from one extreme to another, there are moments where they feel paralysed. I find that so compelling, because as a card The Wheel of Fortune is all about movement, change - and yet, I can’t think of a better way to characterise them. Dealt upright, the card is chance, opportunity, destiny. Reversed: misfortune, disappointment, the loss of one’s way. All these facets are scattered in their body, and this will continue to be so until they carve out their way. They are always in the grip of a power they can’t quite reconcile themselves to, seized by the piercing thought that only lifetime after lifetime of static numbness awaits them, and that they must endure it alone. This power of theirs is a balancing act, and balancing requires commitment, devotion. They’re a conduit, almost, for this raw energy to pass through, and it takes its toll. Already, they have carved out a space in their own heart and, very slowly, it is being filled in with black, rotting dust. You’d have to be a monster not to feel for them; after all, they spent much of their childhood spilling their soul into things that didn’t matter because they were told to. Because they had no idea of the consequences. Necromancy in this world is such a profound experience, at once ingrained in the very essence of humanness and the severing of any real feeling. It goes beyond that, even; some lose their fingers, their limbs, and some are forced to drag their body across this world until the Undying God finally takes them. What does it feel like to feel the movement of life, the very energy that creates animals and people and worlds, the soul of everything, pass through your fingers? It must be one of the most intense feelings in the universe - and yet, it’s deadening. After a while, that raw power can no longer be felt merely in your hands. It’s floating in your body, your hands cut from you, and now all you feel is the heaviness of it, with nowhere to store it except between your chest. This skeleton really resonated with me. I really believe that without passion and heart and intense feeling, the world would be a very dull place. I like the idea of The Wheel of Fortune being totally stifled by this process, swallowed up by uncertainty and receiving very little support to navigate that. It’s a fate they accepted for themselves, willingly, and just as Necromancy lingers hesitantly at their fingertips, they’re not sure they have the strength to pull away. Even further, they are not even certain that’s what they want. Out of gratitude or for their own sake, this is the path they’ve chosen, and it is one they feel obligated to complete. That is the truth they choose to stomach: learn, without sacrificing who you are. Be both. But they’re slipping through the cracks; hesitation hangs at the back of their throat and chokes them. It’s a frightening thought to think that you must simply swallow the void, because all of this must be weathered. All of it must be endured, because that is the price you pay for power. Tldr; they’re a deeply tragic character but, like their card, there is opportunity for change. Their soul has been chipped away, bit by bit, and the weight of their power is beginning to settle into their bones. But it doesn’t have to be that way. The beauty of The Wheel of Fortune is that, with enough tenacity, their future is their own. Stay, leave; give in, break away. All depends on which way the cards are facing! BACKGROUND: I. THE FOOL, UPRIGHT innocence, new beginnings, free spirit The first thing a child sees in its life is its mother, and you are no different. The first thing you know is her, penniless enough that your infanthood would have been nothing short of unremarkable but provided for enough that she could have kept you if she’d wanted to. She has had children before, and she’s felt the billowing warmth that childrearing lends her, but you are stealing something from her. Your mother cannot quite place the feeling, cannot understand what it is you’re doing to her, but when she holds you in her arms she feels her limbs growing heavier, her muscles deaden. You must be, she determines, a punishment - so she resolves to rid herself of you. More important than that, she resolves to make an offering of you. The woman makes the long, arduous journey from Tyrholm, averts road bandits and street beggars and pardoners swearing by religious forgeries; she pushes herself halfway across Markholm with only her conviction to drive her. She commits you to the Temple of the Undying, and this is something she wants known. She wants the great, bipartite deity to know that this largesse of hers is an immolation, a symbol of her devotion. In return, she would have the punishment lifted. And you never see your mother again. The temple names you Vasylia, assuming the role of a strange, distant mother who plucks the word from between the stars. You have no surname and therefore no genesis, nothing to remind you where you come from and who you are. Of course, as you well know now, none of that matters. As soon as you pass the threshold of that sacred place, it forges an identity for you. (Your heritage is a secret that tucks itself away from you, like a shadow that shies from the light. You are the result of a union between a travelling merchant and a beautiful, beautiful woman, and this is all your mother has to protect her in life. Those who covet beauty, who wish to steal it away and display it among their wares, are always equipped with a lie or two. The lie is this: he loves her, he does; devotedly, honestly, purely, and he wants her to join him. To travel with him over pale waves and into the cove of pirates. Perhaps he’d believed in that at first, but it ends as all things end; in fiction. He leaves her as all men leave her, with an enormous pouch of gold. Your mother settles in a village at the border of Volkan Forest. You do not live there long. You never learn your mother’s name. Her name is Estrid.) Life at the Temple is, for the most part, simple. Dull, pedestrian, but simple. Abandoned, you are raised as one amongst many, a single child amidst a whole throng of neglected children. It quickly becomes clear to you that some wield magical abilities, shielded from a world which harshly forejudges them, and some arrive with nothing to them at all. Like you: not even a name. Some of them are sickly, a few of them are malnourished, and far too many of them are the reluctant offspring of poverty, charily offered to the Temple by parents who lament of their penury. But you are not sickly or malnourished or magical, even. You wail out in the dark of night for a mother who doesn’t want you, but which child here does not? At least at first, there is nothing particularly special about you. You are still a child waiting to grow into yourself, and, well, there is nothing unusual about that fact. Your childhood is, in a word, unremarkable. The Temple does its best to inspire loyalty in the offspring yielded to them - you are, after all, an opportunity for life-long indoctrination. Your earliest days are structured by a conformity which they shake into your bones: the Temple teaches you of the wolves and the snakes and the annihilating body they make as one. On magic, their position is less clear. Messages are mixed. Necromancers are a chosen, sacred few. But the other magi are being punished, cursed for a cycle of blasphemy and adultery and theft and anything else they can conjure up. As with all children, you assume the first thing you hear as gospel, but as the years gallop past you, you find yourself cordoned off by a low drone. The Temple is not so united as it seems, and there are people who whisper in disagreement. You think you are beginning to notice the resentment growing around you, but you are still a child - you know nothing. You determine that it is safer to be ordinary. You cannot quite be called pious, but you rise with the morning light. You work hard. You devote time to your prayers and you comply with the codes of silence which linger between them. You restock ink and parchment for the Clerics working sedulously at translation. You trim the rose bushes at the edge of the forest. You are untroublesome and, for the most part, amenable; shapeable. You offer a hand to help wherever it may be required, because that is what you’ve always been taught to do. You are nothing much like some of the other children, boisterous and ambitious, hungry for stories of politics and warfare. Hankering to feel the weight of a bronze rapier in their hands, to run their fingers through enemies’ blood and call it an act of cleansing. The Temple is not cruel, but it is cyclical, and the pattern is not enough - for them or for you. But you do as you’re told, your life moves in a progressive rhythm, because what else is there? You have always needed a hand to guide you. When life drifts in a sequence it all blurs into one, so you find solace in the small things. You revel in the sanctuary of the forest. Its trees keel into spirals, bent by the weight of their branches. You like the stillness of the air, the way that the birds settle on the branches so completely at peace - unaware of the eyes watching them. You learn that silence is not solitude, that the reticences observed by the Temple do not always bring you peace. In fact, they rarely ever bring you peace, and at times they have the tendency to strangle you. You marvel at the way the water refracts in the moonlight, bending with the shape of its brilliance. It moves furtively and secretly, as if beneath the surface there is buried a whole other world that it hopes to keep concealed. You are never the sort of girl with fantasies mirrored from the vellum of a fairytale book, and you never touch things so delicately that you look to be afraid of them. You would never call yourself a dreamer, but there’s an intensity to you which makes it hard for you to stop staring at things. There are only a couple of children in the Temple you ever feel particularly close to, and when you think back, they are the only things you feel are worth remembering here. Curled up on a stony ledge, watching a religious darkness fall over the ancient rock. Organising altars and scrubbing floorboards and observing silences with a dash of humour. You have never truly felt like you belong anywhere, except when you lay down in the grass or you sit on the cold stone and run your fingertips through the water, imagining that you are somewhere else. It makes this place feel a little less dull. II. THE HIEROPHANT, UPRIGHT education, knowledge, beliefs It is perhaps no coincidence that it’s during your sixteenth Summertide that you first raise an animal from the dead, completely by accident. A butterfly, crushed beneath the weight of a snow which is only now beginning to thaw. You cannot describe what brought you to pick it up. Beauty? You have always looked beneath the surface. Macabre as the very idea of it may be, you cannot not help but take it into your hand. You feel its limp body balance in your palm like parchment: you want it to be beautiful again. And as if by magic, it shifts in your palm, it wakes. Half-amazed and half-afraid, you watch how its wings unfurl themselves and its body cracks and distorts itself back into shape. But you are overcome by something strange: the insect sits in the centre of your palm, learning about the world again, but if you were blind you wouldn’t know it. You can’t feel it there. By instinct you clasp your hands around it and bring it into the Temple and, perhaps foolishly, you show them what you have done. The Temple determines that it is no coincidence that your gift for rebirth, the very echo of Summertide, should reveal itself now. It’s an ancient celebration of renaissance. Fate twists, and the Temple has two Necromancers already, devoted to the craft and resolved to educate you. Educate perhaps puts it generously: they test you, push you, assign you tasks to complete without any tangible goal in sight. They never teach you what it takes, what you must sacrifice, what it truly means to excavate that void between life and death. This is the truth of it: you have been chosen by the Undying Herself and this gift is yours to own, but as with all things we take, it demands sacrifice. A piece of you, snapped off from bone; it lingers there at your side. They teach you that you are different, you are special. The other magi can manipulate solid matter and regenerate limbs, but you are sacred. They will not see twenty-five years, but you? You can live for hundreds of years. Your schooling begins small. Insects, mice, small woodland creatures. But it’s a demanding, exhausting process -  still, you continue to work hard. When you’d brought back that butterfly on the third day of Summertide, it had seemed so easy. A case of simply wishing and being. But things are not so easy now. You find it difficult to pour that same longing into the creatures put down in front of you; you are more sophisticated, less candid. But you do as you’re told, make as many successes as you do failures, and for whatever end goal the Necromancers have in mind for you, you progress. Then, as if you have not already experienced enough change, the world spins carelessly on its side. You are eighteen and you have been under the tutelage of the Necromancers for just under two years. You feel you are drifting away from the green beauty of that first instance, the first time you bartered with the universe and it chose to answer you. But you are still just a child and your teachers have lived for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, you learn that Necromancers are dangerous, they’re volatile, they’re lethal, and that includes you. It takes little more than the impetuosity of a boy sat next to you at dinnertime, for him to waggishly swipe the bread roll from your plate - as children are mischievously wont to do - for you to wreak tragedy. The action irritates you, infuriates you, even, because you have less patience for things now. You snatch the roll from his hands. Without warning, he collapses, body limp on the floor. You are puzzled at first, you’d scarcely touched him, but as the Brethren roll his body over on the stone, you realise what you have done. The boy is dead. The boy is dead, and you’re learning your emotions have consequences. But this you’ve forgotten. You’ve scrubbed it from your skin raw, as if that will absolve you. Things are accelerating. You perform your lessons largely in isolation. You are kept away from the other children, particularly those who hope to take vows, because you are dangerous, you cannot be contained. Your tutors take the opportunity to teach you more diligently, more industriously. Your accomplishments are growing: frogs, small birds, rabbits. But the hours are slipping away and you don’t understand what it’s all for, bringing back forest animals contentedly buried beneath the moss. Nevertheless, you move forward. You think you are getting better at this. When you have lived for twenty years, they bring you live animals; they show you how to drain them, how to cleave to your youth. The work you are performing is an honour. You have always needed a hand to guide you. Something has changed in you. The forest recedes from you. You wake and you learn and you perform and you dream empty, hollow dreams in an unbroken cycle. More often than not you lie awake for hours, allowing your eyes to rest on a rotting mark in the corner of the ceiling. You smile still and you try to laugh, but as each chuckle worms its way up your throat you feel it strangle you in the process. Sometimes you cough up blood, thick and hard, and you stare at the red spot in confusion. One day, you catch your hand on a piece of shattered glass and feel nothing. You don’t even flinch. At the wound you simply stare and, out of curiosity perhaps, or a pointed desire to hurt at something, you pick up a shard of glass and feel the weight of it in your fingers. And with all the force you have, you burrow it into your flesh. That, you feel. You drop the glass, wincing, and a hot tear rolls down your cheek. You lie in your bed and wish on a comet for somebody to steal you away from this place. You whisper it into existence. But in the morning you wake and everything is the same. A blur settles into your bones. Things are a cycle, so much more so than when your life had begun. But you know nothing else. You stay. III. THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE, UPRIGHT change, cycles, inevitable fate In your life you have learned much. How to raise animals from the dead. How to canalise energy away from the living and into your bones. You have learned that things change, of course they do, but they also stay the same. For people like you, life motionlessly moves from one event to the next. You remember the day that your life had spun so carelessly on its axis once again with such precision that, at times, you are sure that you are back there. You think that you are back at the Temple, raising rabbits and drawing the lifeforce from dandelions. You think that the clouds are weeping into the earth with salted rain, and the chill of your salvation buries itself into you. By now, you know she is not your deliverance. There is nothing holy in her but power, and how she revels in it. The woman alights on the Temple without a horse, without a thing to carry her here, and if you had ever been a foolish sort of girl you might have assumed she’d undertaken the journey on foot. But you have never been a fool. You are twenty-five years old. A solemn cold which seems to swell in her at once brings you a much-desired quiet and chills you to the bone. To your surprise, all bow to her. Cower from her. Even your teachers are beneath her. With purpose she pulls you aside, ungloves your hands and takes them in her own, and she promises you that the two of you are the same. She does not fear you, and you have no cause to fear her. You are cut from the same dust and made from the same bones - there’s divinity in that. Like you, she can raise the dead, and what’s more: she’s good at it. Perhaps for the first time in your life you are asked what it is that you want. You feel like the decision is yours. She offers you an ultimatum: remain here, raise rabbits and mice and crows, be nothing; or join her, learn the craft, study beneath her, become something. While you are torn between your desire to flee this place and a thick, breathless lump which lingers at the back of your throat unexplained, it is never really a question. It is an answer. You pack up everything you own: garments, mementos, fear and desire, all. You accept willingly, unthinkingly, blindly. You pass through the egress and step into a shimmering new world. Even now, that is the only way you can think to describe this place. This new world you have chosen for yourself coruscates beneath the light as if in dance. It’s a world that winks like glitter - Castle Tyrholm is so unlike anything you’ve ever known. By now you are so accustomed to rough hems and the bland taste of food on your tongue that you have forgotten there was anything else. You only know things bland and bloodless, humble devotions. But here? Here, they dress lavishly. Here, they eat lavishly. Here, they live lavishly. You stand at the fortress’ great, impressive windows and you contentedly watch the way the pale waves lick at the black stone, the way the castle bends over the waves and balances on top of the rockline. It’s more than regal: it’s thunderous, luxurious, rich. Of course, you know a little better now. You know that glitter catches in the corner of your eye. It has the tendency to blind you, to force you to look at things between the sequins of a kaleidoscope, all twisted and torn out of shape. You have been under The High Priestess’ tutelage for two years now, and you feel your life bisecting into two distinct worlds. You must reconcile yourself to that. Statesmanship has very little in common with religion, and unfortunately, that’s all you know. Religion is devotion, fidelity, constancy. Whatever fidelity you see before you has been rigorously shaped, re-wrought in the shadows for years, and that is the only constant here. Still, it does not shake you. Your first lesson is this: you must cut the history of yourself out into stone. You do. You become a silhouette which cleaves to your mentor’s side, a thing that can’t be shaken. Like a shadow you observe the way your mentor manoeuvres; the way she holds her tongue and the way she weaponises it; the way she plumes and crows and deceives as if she’s been doing it for a thousand years. You watch the way that King Septimus’ hands move with hers, shifting in mirrored gestures - like she has attached strings. You become an accepted prerequisite at her side, a creeping outline which follows her devotedly. Part of your status, you brush shoulders with some of the king’s most trusted advisors - you attend assemblies, convocations gathered in the throne-room. You are so far from home now; wherever your home is, wherever it was. You are beginning to learn the meaning of diplomacy: one keeps a knife permanently unsheathed beneath their cloak. Your instructor resolves to fill in the gaps that the Temple left barren: you learn what you must give up for this gift, you learn of all the grief it has caused you. This is a magic you watch her lean into so deeply at times you think she’ll splinter apart - but, of course, she never has. Never will. This is a truth that lies uneasily in your stomach. It lies heavily on your lungs and it chokes you. You can feel your heart climbing up and down your windpipe - you aim to seize it in your hands, to still it, but you can only retch at it. You’ve lost count of all the creatures you’ve poured yourself into, and you wonder where all those pieces of you are now. The fading feeling of your bones makes sense now, at least; the universe is a glutton and it has been stealing from you. You never even knew the rules of the game. The king’s physician brings you animals to practice upon. The High Priestess teaches you the most painless portions of yourself to sacrifice: you learn the things you need and the things you can go without. Your abilities are growing, and with that you feel the weight in your chest shift a little - things are becoming easier to swallow. You learn the importance of giving back: to creatures, to people, but also communities, dynasties. Yours are regular faces in the Farmlands which edge on Tyrholm. Here, you resurrect animals, livelihood; they are indebted to you both. One day, a farmer’s son slips from a ladder, cracks his skull open on the coarse ground. The High Priestess takes the opportunity to teach, to have you bring him back. But too much of you clings to the Temple, the way its cold was settling into your bones. The High Priestess’ dissatisfaction is evident. You’ve been studying beneath her for three years now, and still you have not raised a body. She wants you to look at this world without Necromancy directly in the eye: destruction, death, misery. You cast your eye down to the boy and swallow the lump growing in your throat. Grief. As painless as breathing, your teacher brings their son back. The world is better with Necromancers, she has resolved. Dutiful, devoted, you have resolved that as well. You have always needed a hand to guide you. As part of your schooling, you ride out with your mentor and Tyrholm’s great military army. To squash rebellion, to quell revolt. The two of you are never far from each other - you are a shadow clinging to a shadow. There’s something about the way that you both sit, regal and harrowing above your white horses, lingering like death at the rear of Septimus’ forces. You are a lethal sight, but your power is not enough. Not yet. You arch over the body of a fallen soldier, but something is stopping you. You try, you really try, but you fail. Half-alive, he blinks back at you. A lungful vibrates at the back of his throat. His chest rises and falls with air, but is nothing in his eye to suggest he recognises the figure bending over him. It is half a failure - but half a failure is still a failure. You have given him nothing human. As if flowing over water, your mentor dismounts her horse and puts an end to her experiment. She doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at you. Sometimes, you can’t bear to. But your failures do not last forever. When you are thirty-two, you animate a body. At last. It has taken you seven years, seven long years of unlearning the Temple’s way, but at last, success. Of all the places you manage it, it is on the battlefield, and you are in your element. Surrounded by blood and warfare and death - ah, always death. You are getting better at this. At night, you rest your head down on your pillow and you dream. You dream of your hands, reaching out. The Undying God reaches back. You feel you are becoming one with Her. IV. THE HIGH PRIESTESS, REVERSED repressed intuition, confusion, dissonance You are a vault of fears, but you have spent these last ten years bent on throwing away the key. For the last decade you have been following your mentor indiscriminately, almost blindly, and while you are finally beginning to make progress, you are also beginning to feel that haze gather around your fingertips, weighing down your wrists. You feel yourself swallowing the sensation at times. You don’t like to close your eyes. If you do, you think you are back at the Temple, raising creatures injudiciously, feeling your soul taunt you in the air between you. A cold is settling into your bones again. Your dreams turn themselves inside out and empty themselves when you finally fall asleep, and when you wake in the morning you are confronted with a sense that your emotions have slipped out of you in the night. That you have slipped out of you in the night. Your fingers pressed to rotting flesh, you decide that the bodies you have brought up in halves are warnings. As their eyes roll demonically back into their skull and the listlessness of their breath catches at the back of their throat, you cannot help but think that your half-failures are warning you. That this is what awaits you should you consider to amble down this narrow path. Not death, but instead life: long, death-defying, rotten life. A life of nullity stretches out in front of you, like a void that opens its black mouth and eats you raw. Impassibility is creeping into you, settling into the spaces between your bones and lungs. The taste of blood in your mouth has recently returned to you, though you only notice it when you can taste at all; you cannot determine whether being able to feel it flip thickly over your tongue brings you a sense of peace or horror. When you slip your rings over your fingers, heavy with all the ore you could never have afforded when you were young, you can’t feel them there. You feel ancient impressions dig their way into you. Perhaps you have been foolish. You have been believing that carefully handpicking the parts of yourself to sacrifice can go on forever; that you will never feel the weight of your earliest years again. And while that’s true, you have been slicing off the most unforgiving parts of yourself and offering them up to the Undying God, you feel yourself recede from Her. They are determining that these pieces of you are not enough, and They would have you offer more. When you travel out with Septimus’ forces to quell revolts you feel eyes on you: The High Priestess’ eyes, impatient. In the battlefield you are anxious to stop your hands from trembling. Perhaps you can’t bear the pressure. Perhaps you can’t bear yourself. Your teacher is always left to clear up your mess, always left to do the brunt of the work, but she is never cruel about it. Sometimes you wish she was. Then, you might be better. And yet, you are not all failure. In the last two months you have successfully resurrected five bodies, breathing and seeing and living, and that in itself is commendable. The High Priestess brings you to orphanages, and it is there that you set about your reanimations. While, like always, your mentor bears the brunt of the work, you manage to resurrect four bodies. Three girls, three children, and a boy who has been bound to these walls for too long. At Koldam, much to your own mystification, you bring back another. A Lieutenant, a real piece of chainmail in the king’s military armour. When his undead eyes finally settle upon your face, noticing the way that you lip quivers at your achievement, he breathes a sigh of relief. He looks at you as if you’re an angel, sent from the Undying God to rescue him. You are sent by Her, this you concede, but you are no angel. Whispers of a coup have been present for as many years you have been beneath The High Priestess’ care, but they are thickening now - they are becoming more difficult to ignore. Still, you ignore them, as you must. You are not ready for Septimus to be toppled, you are not ready for the throne to keel over into the pale waves beneath the black rock. You don’t want to watch it drown, you don’t want to watch it to be torn apart like some; more than anything, you want it to stay put. Every time you squash a rebellion, every time a coup fails, you allow your heart to settle in your chest again. But it only lasts a moment, because treason is always being whispered, mutiny is always being accounted for. What you think of Septimus is irrelevant: you aren’t strong enough to fight for a place in whatever new world results from it. There’s still so much you can’t do, so much you don’t know if you want to do, and even now all you want is balance. It is a line you have toed your whole life and it has always got the better of you: religion and politics; life and death; permanence and impermanence; the girl you were and the girl you are becoming. You want the world to stop spinning. You want stability. You can’t know what you want if everything you know keeps changing. You are only loosely beginning to learn the sort of vacancy you have inside you. Perhaps if you knew better, if you were better at knowing what you want, you would say: the world is creeping away from me, I am creeping away from me. Do you still need a hand to guide you? PLOT IDEAS: METAMORPHOSIS: What she wants is stability. If she will live for centuries, she must have something to endure with her. Vasylia’s loyalty is very intricate. She doesn’t quite block out the throne’s transgressions in the same way that Temperance does, but there’s still a degree of selfishness to her fealty. She calls herself a Loyalist not because she believes Septimus is genuinely deserving of her love, but because her body cannot bear the instability. I’d like to see that shift very gradually, though. She can’t cling to this dream of stability forever, not when the path she’s chosen is so weathered by impermanence - and the dream will only become more impossible to uphold if Septimus grows in cruelty. I’d like her to realise that slowly. It begins small: she focuses her attention on those who bear the brunt of his mistreatment. I can see The Star, The Hermit or even The Hierophant factoring into this. And then it grows - whispers intensify. The king’s mistakes become impossible to ignore. Maybe he orders heads to be put on spikes on the castle barracks. Turncoats are beaten and hung as if crucified in the main hall. Equally, it could have nothing to do with violence at all. She may simply determine, like her mentor, that the throne doesn’t suit him. Either way, I’d like Vasylia to move with the developments of the game. She wouldn’t fight for Septimus, but she does tend to ignore whispers of coup. Right now, she is trying to balance the parts of herself she feels at war with; she can’t handle another one. Nevertheless, I want her to be forced to grapple with the fact that this is bigger than her and that she may have to act. I don’t know whether she’s likely to have confided in Vasylia of her intentions (depending on the player), but should the divergence become evident, questions of loyalty would certainly be pulled into the fore. Would she follow her mentor into revolt? There’s an opportunity here for conflict - but also for growth. Growing into the person The High Priestess wants them to be: willing to fight, to take, to reconcile yourself to your powers, hardened to the consequences. I want to see her really become a part of this war rather than hesitating at the edge of it. NO MORE FALSE HEAVENS: The High Priestess never hesitates, she leans into this gift as deeply as her body is able without prying itself apart, and Vasylia believes that this has always been her way. The same can hardly be said for her, though. She is hesitant, at times she has misgivings, and the sight of a corpse almost always makes her tremble. The High Priestess has been guiding her for ten years now and in that time she’s discovered a lifetime’s worth of arcane knowledge, twice as much power as the Temple ever bequeathed her, but there is still so much she can’t do. What causes her to fail is hesitation, placing one foot in the art and one foot out of it. I suppose this is an alternative to plot #1, depending on which way things develop, but I’d like to see Vasylia turn away from The High Priestess. When she looks at her, at The Sun, she recognises what she might become. It is a fate she wishes to escape, and if she is truly committed to that, she may be forced to act. It’s no easy feat to kill a Necromancer, even one as wavering as herself, but severing ties with The High Priestess could breed disaster. She has always needed a hand to guide her in life, but it’d be fascinating to see her break away from that. The world opens its jaw and waits to swallow her whole, and The High Priestess is certain that without her guidance she’ll falter, but she needs to make herself more than what other people have made her. I’d like to develop her self-sufficiency, her willpower, but most importantly, I’d like to explore her desperation, to develop the recklessness which would no doubt begin to grow. Leaving The High Priestess’ tutelage is a make or break moment: and unless something considerable changes within her, it is likely to be the latter. Over time, she needs to determine whether she wants to be a Necromancer or a human-being. How far is she willing to go to excavate that small part of her, and is the act her genesis or her epilogue? THE DARK MARK OF ME: As a Necromancer, she’s used to instilling at least a bit of apprehension in others. The Lovers’ eyes scan Vasylia’s skin for evidence of a pulse, a suggestion that, even now, she is alive. More importantly, though, The Emperor goes out of his way to make himself available to listen to her. Listen maybe isn’t the right word, to have his curiosity sated is probably more apt, and in moments of weakness, her secrets spill out of her like a river. He’s used to getting what he wants, and she will not stand in his way. But the very act of this is dangerous; it could breed conflict, consequences, even bring about Vasylia’s death (!?) should information fall into the wrong hands. I don’t think Vasylia has shared her hesitancy to continue down the path that The High Priestess has forged for her with her mentor - there’s no need to, it’s as easily distinguishable as ink spilled on skin - but there could be disastrous consequences should her concerns spill out. Not from The High Priestess, I don’t think, because I don’t see her as having an aim in mind to destroy Vasylia. Her resolve at least appears to be motivated by cutting away the thorns and making space for her prodigy to grow. Yet, Vasylia’s vulnerability is a weakness, and weaknesses can be exploited. While the dynamic between The Emperor and The Wheel of Fortune is… by far one of my favourite character dynamics you’ve written, perhaps The Emperor’s player would like to use this to his advantage in some way. The Emperor certainly isn’t The High Priestess’ first choice for the throne. So, I’d like to see these words come back to bite Vasylia, to further complicate her oscillation between this path or that. She’s no fool, but she by no means has the experience of her mentor. She studies underneath The High Priestess and lauds her propensity for manipulation and schemes, and while in her experience she’s picked up more than enough tricks, her hesitancy is weakness. She sacrifices her feelings and anxieties freely - because he coaxes it out of her, but also because she needs to purge. Over time, I’d like to see Vasylia’s actions breed consequences, over and over and over, to the point that she can’t run from them. She can only follow them blindly down a path she was always meant to. Maybe this is less of a personal plot point and more of a worldbuilding idea, but given that Necromancers have the ability to kill, I’d like Vasylia to dabble in that in the future. It’s something The High Priestess can do as second nature, as if she was born with the gift, and while Vasylia is better at drawing life into her than pouring herself into things, it’s not something she’s easily reconciled to. Still, I’d like to develop her skill here, figure out if it could be of use to The High Priestess or Septimus (because she serves the former first, the latter second). There’s an opportunity here to flesh out a dynamic between Vasylia and The Sun, who of course kills for a living, but I certainly think it’d be an irreversible path for her to walk down - one that, should she give herself over to it, solidifies her fate. Again, more worldbuilding, but if The High Priestess is the type to gather secrets in her plotting against Septimus, it could be interesting to have Vasylia drop by places such as The Rosewood Maiden in disguise. To gather secrets in a place where secrets are spilled like blood. She wouldn’t even need to disclose her plans to Vasylia if the player didn’t want her to, but I’d love an opportunity to branch out beyond the castle. Much of her life has been limited, either by the Temple or Castle Tyrholm, and it’d be interesting to feel her form an opinion on the ‘outside’ world; to get an idea of the sorts of people she’d be fleeing to should she leave The High Priestess’ care. Alternatively, it could be a good way to turn Vasylia away from her neutrality/loyalty and into the company of revolters. Depending on how things shape up, I’d love to see Vasylia finally become an advisor. Perhaps not to the same degree as her mentor, but in some shape or form, I’d like to have her officially offer advice to the Crown. While The High Priestess’ intentions in extracting her from the Temple are, of course, ambiguous, it’s what she’s been training towards. What would make this even more interesting is: who will she be advisor to? To Septimus? Well, that spot is already taken by her mentor. The Emperor? Well, that depends whether his father can hold onto the throne until he dies. The Chariot? The World? Two vastly different options, but I suppose it depends which of them The High Priestess hopes to install on the throne. Vasylia is already quite content with the notion of serving The Emperor, and that could breed conflict, but it could also change. While Vasylia is getting better at nominating the more sacrificable parts of herself every time she uses it, the sickness is spreading. She’s heard rumours, though. Rumours of a mage with the inexplicable ability to draw from two bodies of magic. I think The Moon could be a source of real fascination for Vasylia. If she fears anything, it’s that she’ll turn herself so irreversibly over to Necromancy that she loses the essence of who she is. Given that The Moon’s abilities lie in healing, I’d like Vasylia to investigate. If there is a possibility of regeneration, she wants it. It could be an opportunity to rehabilitate her self-image, to reconcile herself to this fate of hers, or even to break away from it - depending on what she discovers. CHARACTER DEATH: It depends on when, but yes! Given there’s opportunity for development. WRITING SAMPLE (This can be purely hypothetical if it doesn’t fit into character interpretations and histories, I just really like the idea of Vasylia being at Koldam and bringing someone back on the battlefield!) The air rings with the song of swords, each clang and crash a melodic note copied from a manuscript soaked in blood. Koldam’s men fall like flies and Vasylia watches them from a distance: stumbling backwards, defending themselves clumsily, raising their swords above their heads in such a sweeping motion that she can only think them pitiable as The Emperor’s men bend beneath them. She watches how, as if in dance, Tyrholm’s forces encroach upon their wildly underprepared assailant with efficiency and onslaught. One by one, in a diagonal line, the soldiers thrust their swords into bellies, eyes, hearts, throats. She watches the revolters cry out in pain for a moment and then fall, limply, to the grass as corpses. The grass here has been dry for some time, Vasylia can feel it. It’s been reaching out to her, entreating her, but now it can drink at last. It feasts on blood and looks all the better for it.        “You were right,” Vasylia muses, as if she had ever doubted it, her words melding with the sound of clanging horseshoes and battle. The two women hang at the back of Tyrholm’s defence ahorse, side-by-side. There aren’t many of them in the field, only thirty or forty of The Emperor’s most trusted paladins thrust into the fray. The magi will lend a helping hand should it at all be asked of them. Vasylia would try to lend a hand. She would try to wash past failures from her mind, she would try to think of only life and death and the space that lives between it. “You were right,” she repeats, “Some of them are only boys. The Emperor will bring the King of Koldam’s head to the block and strike it from him.” Her words don’t warrant a response. It’s a statement, an echo, even, of words already made sensible to her. For a moment, The High Priestess is silent. She only reins her horse into a step and around the edge of the battlefield, lingering like the stench of rotting flesh. The woman has been grimly quiet this campaign, like the muscles she no longer feels in her face are holding something back. A thought, a point. Vasylia thinks nothing of it. It’s not unusual. By way of nature, like a shadow she follows.        “That is what you get without careful preparation,” The High Priestess answers, not quite to her apprentice. An ode to the fallen men, a lament to blood staining grass and gore hanging from swords. An afterthought dedicated to the revolters who deigned to dream. By now, Vasylia is well acclimated to her teacher’s manner of speech. There is a sense that her words are not made for the likes of men and mortals, that they’re fashioned for the Undying God, cut out by her tongue like a knife. But the two of them have not ridden out with The Emperor’s forces to remark retrospectively on shortfallings of men, on dead husbands and sons and lovers. There will be enough time for that. What remains of Koldam will pen songs to parchment with their legionaries’ blood and perform them to a pile of ashes and rubble. They are here to resurrect. To bring back what few men they expect to lose, to ensure that such a resounding victory is marred by nothing, not even death. Vasylia has been doing this for years, now, hovering with her mentor at the rear of a military army like two prophets of death. Watching over men who breathe their last breath, selecting those who will rise up from the dirt again. Vasylia supposes that neither of them are much needed here: while they’ve ridden out to clashes of arms that have certainly relied upon life made anew for victory, the swing of bronze here is decisive. Still, The High Priestess had insisted. She has eyes everywhere, but sometimes there are none better than one’s own. Vasylia is familiar with battle by now. Somewhat absently, running her fingers through Hel’s pale white hair, she watches as the blood alloys with the air and she ruminates on her failures. It’s a shortfalling of hers, she thinks. She’s been getting better at raising bodies, at blowing her own breath into the mouths of corpses and watching them animate. The last body she’d brought back had only been an orphan; a girl. As it were, she’d seen a piece of herself in her. A fragment, locked into the body of somebody else, long gone from her. Vasylia’s mind turns; towards failure, towards her own incompetence. She had been in a battlefield not too much unlike this one once, her hands earnestly pressed to the chest of a soldier long gone from this world, blood still seeping from his porous body. One might call it a half-success, she supposes. He’d lived, technically. But what is life when you are nothing more than marrow and bone, flesh and muscle and blood? She had watched in horror as his white eyes rolled up into the back of his skull, how they stared at nothing in particular: the way the clouds had swept through the sky that day and cut into it like an executioner’s knife, opening up a rain which poured down on the earth in judgement. Half-alive, Vasylia was bringing back bodies and never souls, and for a time that simply looked to be her way. The fighting would go on until Koldam was broken and mastered, the hooves of their war horses galloping on the dirt until the ground became a wasteland of torn earth. This is what it takes to hold on to a crown, she thinks. This is what it takes to keep Septimus on the throne, she rephrases, fitting the words into her mouth. Vasylia hopes that such an unambiguous victory would bring her some peace, some balance. But the throne seems to swing perpetually off the bank of a precipice; as if it delights in the sensation of feeling the world ripped from underneath you, suspended in the air. She would pray for Septimus to keep his throne, for The Emperor to inherit it on his death. There was a sense of permanence in that, in things being passed down in natural succession. Vasylia stares in the distance as The Emperor slams an enemy with the flat of his sword in one hand, winding him, while slitting the throat of an enemy with a knife in the other. He’s a strong fighter, a strong warrior - she hopes that when his time comes he’ll be a strong king, too. The air shifts. Out of the corner of her eye, Vasylia watches one of their Lieutenants pierced through the chest with a long blade of steel. Rolling from his horse, he falls motionlessly into the dirt. Something stirs in her. Patriotism? Determination? Grief? Whatever it is, she feels a strange sensation inherit her body and, as if predestined, she dismounts from Hel with such sheer force that the horse almost bolts from her. Vasylia feels the hem of her dress drag through the dusty dirt and, by the time she has reached the man, well, he’s no longer a man at all. Whoever he was, he’s nothing more than a body. Vasylia feels the stare of The High Priestess sear into the back of her head like molten iron. She is watching her, as she always is. Curving over his body, Vasylia breaks apart the chainmail which covers the stab wound, tears at the linen beneath it. She presses her hands to the torn flesh, trembling. On contact they still themselves a little, as if this is where they’re meant to be. She winces as she feels a piece of herself crawl out of her lungs, up her throat, like a sharp, piercing thing with black lacquered claws. When she raises her hands from the corpse they’re painted red in blood, but she has achieved nothing. Determinedly but, as always, with hesitation, she pushes her hands into his chest and tries again. She feels the same claws ladder in her throat, but this time its nails are ice cold, as if turning her insides fleetingly to stone. Is this magic or is it hesitation? Vasylia falls silent for a moment, her hands still planted in the breastbone. She feels the stare of her mentor still burrowing its way into her skin. But then: a splutter of red, a gasp of air which extends infinitely into lungs, eyes, flinching open. Vasylia rolls the body over in the dirt to avoid the soldier from choking, keeled over the body, breath bated. The soldier takes a moment to naturalise himself, for his eyes to come to terms with this foreign world again, for them to peer past the blur and see her. As if by divine providence, a heavy rain descends upon the site and Vasylia feels the thick mud form around them. When the soldier looks at her, blinking away the rain, really takes her in - he does not seem afraid. As a matter of fact, he sighs in relief, allowing a weak chuckle to escape his throat. He takes her wrist in his calloused hand, non-threateningly, as a silent moment of appreciation. Of gratitude. His grey eyes look at her as if she’s an angel, as if she had descended from the Heavens to become his deliverance. But, she thinks, what sort of angel has black wings?        “Lady,” he says, “You ought to cover yourself. You’ll catch a cold.” Vasylia cants her head to meet his gaze through the slit of his helm, eyes the colour of gunmetal grey. She’s drenched in rain; she smells like salt. There’s something animal about the way the salt of his tears creates a tincture with sweat and blood, and though she has seen it many times before, it provokes something in her still. Vasylia is stirred from a pithy moment of intimacy by the tolling of swords and shields, the metallic ringing of warrior’s voices calling for blood. By now, almost all of Koldam’s forces have fallen. Her vision blurs a little as she makes out the figure of The Emperor, whetting his sword on stone. One of his soldiers strangles Koldam’s king at the neck, towing him through the dirt. His crown had fallen from his brow long ago, buried by the bodies of his own men. Vasylia turns her head back to the Lieutenant. She has felt things colder than this. She feels it now. “No,” she hums in response. “It’s only water.” EXTRAS Pinterest board here and mock blog here. Any headcanons which involve other characters are purely suggestions and can be adjusted or removed if they don’t fit! I was gonna make a playlist too but ran out of time but just… just know that I listened to Florence + The Machine’s discography over and over while writing this. The only info u need to know. 01. When Vasylia stands, she does so straight and imposing, but her posture lacks the peremptory impression of The High Priestess. Nevertheless, when she walks through a sea of people they tend to part for her, hesitant to brush hands with Death Herself, perhaps, but this all depends on the vanity of the pool she is passing in. Vasylia’s mannerisms have always been subtle, and that hasn’t changed. You must look closely at her body language to interpret her: wooden shoulders when she’s paying attention, a cant of her brows when she’s interested, the twist of a half-smile when she’s amused. The way that she wrings her wrists at the side of her thighs when they tremble. Many consider her perplexing, at times even inscrutable, as if buried beneath dirt. The High Priestess is perhaps the only person cognisant enough to truly read her, to truly translate her, but for many she emits an air of strangeness. For the most part she keeps to herself, but exceptions have been known. Her language is at its most colloquial when she speaks with her mentor, but it never loses its inflected formality; having lived a life first of religion and second of statesmanship, she has always been like this. When she points things out she rarely indicates with a finger, but rather nods her head towards her subject. Eye contact with Vasylia has the tendency to feel intense, as if her bright eyes are burning into you, but this isn’t a corollary of her magic; this has always been her way. When she speaks, she has the tendency to tap her feet in uncertainty, and when quiet falls between them her breath grows almost silent. More imprudent nobles may have cause to wonder if she’s still breathing. At her most nervous, Vasylia bites at the dead skin of her lip, but this is never done in the public eye. She wears lipstick at all times: red in battle, pinks for stately events, and neutrals in-between. When she passes you by, you think you detect the scent of bergamot following her; only slightly, never distinctly, as if day-by-day the fruit shrinks in size. 02. Marking five years under her tutelage, The High Priestess bestows Vasylia with a glass pendant, shaped to look like a coffin. Inside is a rose which moves cyclically between life and wilting and death entirely of its own accord. The High Priestess reminds her the sequence is an echo of their power, the ability to make and unmake life as easily as breathing. The rose itself is the ensign of Undeath, a blend of snakes and wolves. Vasylia wears it around her neck at all times, as devoutly as a married woman wears a ring, and it marks out her powers.  +  This is something The High Priestess’ player is more than welcome to discard if they don’t see it fitting their interpretation, but I think The High Priestess could be so much more to Vasylia than a mentor. Her motivations in stealing her away from the Temple are clearly self-serving - the possibility of shaping a Necromancer from their youth, making them in some way indebted to you, is just too delicious - but I could see her attempting to make the connection between them more intimate at least. Whether that’s borne out of narcissism or something akin to affection (as much as she’s still capable of the feeling) could be something we could discuss. 03. Vasylia is only able to syphon energy from plants, animals and human beings through touch. Perhaps this is something The High Priestess can do as easily as breathing, as simply as being around life and feeling its energy burrow itself into her, but Vasylia isn’t so capable. She has to make physical contact with her source. It’s what made her mother’s bones feel so heavy when she held her in her arms, it’s what caused her mother to surrender her child. It comes easier to her than raising the dead, than sacrificing a piece of herself and returning it to the universe, but she still has much to learn. 04. For the last ten years, Vasylia has ridden out on the same horse to join The High Priestess and Tyrholm’s military forces: a pale white horse named Hel. She wears a saddle and bridle of deep blues and golds, Valmont’s grassy sigil ironed into the side. The horse learns quickly but stirs at danger - still, she’s been a constant, a companion to her these years under The High Priestess’ tutelage, and she’s fond of her. She thinks her thing worth sacrificing a piece of herself should she ever need to. 05. Vasilya certainly feels the damage sustained to her body, but it’s slight. She occasionally loses the sense of taste; when she coughs she has the tendency to choke up a little blood with it, and this is an effect which has only recently returned to her since her tutelage at the Temple. Vasylia’s sense of touch is at times limited, but it returns as quickly as it leaves her. Her tear ducts aren’t completely dried out, but sometimes in a fit of melancholy her face scrunches up as if in tears but no water flows. Her sight, sense of smell and hearing are all unaffected, and she bears no physical disabilities or wounds. At night sleep often evades her and she rarely manages to achieve more than four hours or rest per night. She feels a great big hole carved out in her, and while that is a sensation she cannot ignore, it isn’t a permanent development. She endures enough that the consequences of the path she’s chosen for herself becomes evident, flaring up to remind her, but she has not lost herself. Not yet. 06. In the Temple, as a result of the incident in the dining hall, Vasylia was forced to wear gloves. Not out of cruelty, but for all their holiness, children blessed with the gift of Necromancy are dangerous. The gloves are made of leather and they protect other members of the Temple from her touch. As she’d quickly learned, emotions have consequences - they would ensure that she wouldn’t have to pay for any more of them. When The High Priestess steals her away from the Temple, she strips her of them. She teaches her never to limit her power, but to control it. 07. In her more introspective moments, Vasylia is wont to visit the castle’s Greenhouse, sitting amongst the foliage. For practice, or perhaps simply by habit, she pushes the blossoms around her over the barrier and back through it, watching them fluctuate between death and life. They’re a small, insignificant feat, thus they rarely sap much from her. Sometimes she simply sits, admires the growth of life. Here, she can think of everything and nothing, and she answers to no-one.

[minishmarbles]

Long vent, strap in.

When I was born, I was named Abigayle Kristynn Rayne Gibbs. To break down that name, Abigail means "father's joy," and my parents did that white people thing where they spelt it wrong. Then Kristynn means "follower of Christ." This was not a planned thing, my parents just thought it sounded cool and it was similar to my sister's name, "Korrynn." Rayne was after "The Rainbow Connection" a Muppets song my mother loved growing up.

I was supposed to be the rainbow at the end of the storm for my parents.

My mom and dad had lost a baby before I was born to birth complications.

By birth complications I mean the nurse was a bitch and called my mom a liar because she was giving birth two weeks before expected, the doctors made my mom wait two days in the worst pain she'd ever been in and when they finally performed an emergency C section, Korry had wrapped her chord around her throat while trying to be born, suffocating her and resulting in a stillbirth.

Korryn, the baby that my mom and dad were so excited to welcome into this world, had slipped through their fingers, and was lost on Friday, December 13th. Korry Gibbs didn't breath a single breath before it was all stolen from her lungs by doctors who didn't give a shit.

Thus I was born. A sloppy replacement, and a hope for my parents that they could go back to normal and be happy again. I was born in Las Vegas on October Tenth.

Then, my little sister was born two years after me. The family that was once broken apart now had 5 children in it, my older brother Kyle, my older sister Angelyka, my older sister Kayla, me and my younger sister Isabella.

But even though I was there to help my parents heal, instead of being a cast on a broken arm, I was a bit more of a bandaid on a laceration. My mom was still broken to pieces, and my dad was barely hanging on.

It was never exactly hidden from me that that's why I was born, but it was said in much nicer and optimistic tones. Stuff like "that's how you got your name! Because you made your dad so happy, and we know you will forever!" And "Korry would be really proud to have you be her sister" were. Small.

The small things gathered and I began to realise what they really mean. "We need you to be happy!" "We expect a lot from you!" "We really can't handle you being what we don't expect!"

And even though my mom and dad never realised that's what they were saying, that's how I read into it. If i was sad i didn't go to my parents. If i was making trouble that was my fault. All of the pressure wasn't put on my explicitly, but it was there.

It got worse when I got into school, and turned out to be very good at it. I never needed to practice counting, I never had to practice writing, never had to read the whole story to know what would happen. I was good at drawing, i was good at thinking, I got As ans Bs and was in a special class for Gifted students called GATE (Gifted And Talented Educations) i had it all. Sure I wasn't the best at reading or talking but that was okay, I was smart. At least that was my train of thought.

Every ego booster was more to add to the pressure to keep it up. The more people expected the less i felt i was putting on the table.

By third grade I was almost completely quiet, and never spoke unless spoken to. If I spoke, I could be wrong, and that would be bad. I didn't raise my hand and I had a hard time telling people if i felt sick or upset (that being said, I still went home sick a lot. The nurse knew me by name and we talked a lot. I knew her daughter too.)

In fourth grade I made friends. Their names were Lauren and Emily. I don't feel ashamed saying it now because they have very unoriginal names. Abigayle isn't much better frankly, but no ones going to single these girls out ever bc you really can't.

Lauren was half South Korean, and was a swimmer. She was very smart, and looked a lot more like her dad than her mom.

Emily was a redhead with glasses and was also very smart. Her mom was a teacher.

I was close friends with them, and we would talk a lot about nothing in particular. Emily and Lauren were closer to each other than to me, but that was ok, i was okay being the third wheel.

Now a little bit about me in 4th grade. I was very tall, taking boxing, kinda scary looking and very quiet. This made it easy for what Lauren and Emily did to me to succeed.

Sometime after winter break, Lauren and Emily started to spread rumors about me bullying them. Insulting Emily's red hair (which was bullshit, my mom has red hair and I later dyed my hair red) and making fun of Lauren for being Korean were just two of the things they said I did.

No one wanted to be friends with me, because I was "mean" to Lauren and Emily. Even though it had never happened. I was isolated.

The rumors got so bad i was taken to the counselor's office, were she told me for 20 minutes I was lying and being mean. I went home that night in tears. I lost all of my friends for something I didn't do.

I would be lying if I said I knew why they did that. But it sort of sparked a fear in me. If this is how it was when I wasn't mean, imagine how it would be if i WAS. from then on, i was paranoid every action I made was mean.

In middle school, I had no friends from Elementary, and I moved across town. Puberty hit before I knew how to deal with it and I got my period without knowing what it was. I was alone again, and only really liked my sixth grade art and science classes, my seventh grade history and my eighth grade math.

During middle school is when my relationship with my mother took a nosedive, and it had a significant impact on how I did in school. All the normal teen angst was multiplied by how bad my arguments were with my mom, as I watched her mental health decline while dragging down my own and no one else in my family paid attention.

My grades sucked for the first time ever. I wasn't perfect. I went down a spiral of self loathing and confusion, and came to the conclusion I was stupid.

In 8th grade, at a time I had no friends I talked to outside of class, after an argument with my mom, I attempted suicide. It was a stupid attempt at overdosing, i tried to use the only thing i had, a bottle of alergy meds. I threw up, went to sleep, and even though i had terrible muscle spasms and felt sick to my stomach and very tired, it obviously didnt work. I would go on to attempt overdosing five times, none working.

Upon hearing i had attempted to kill myself, both my mom and dad threatened me with physical violence and being forcefully sent to a hospital. Even though i had been talking to them constantly about my mental state and how I needed proffesional help or even just someone to talk to, they acted as if there were no warning signs even though i had been very clear i was having suicidal thoughts. They forced me to do the dishes while i was dizzy and still spasming.

The only friends I reaally had were online. I had no one to talk to irl. So i began to overshare where I was anonymous.

In Highschool, not much changed, but my family began to notice my mom was nuts too and i got like. 2 friends only one of whom and im still talking to.

My mom and dad split in 2019, and the night before my dad and my and my sister left, my mom said she wished I'd died in birth instead of Korry.

Im still depressed, im not going by my birth name anymore, and im still super fucking suicidal. Oops.

Tldr : im a failure oops.

[oscyllarus]

Hey. Unpopular opinion ahead, I guess.

So I didn't realize that there was a whole lot of hate for political centrists until recently, and...honestly I wrote an entire post musing gently over the issues I have with this + the understanding that I have as to why this has happened + rebuttals to the inevitable "BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS SITUATION", but fuck it, it's late.

1. There's a difference between socially and fiscally conservative/liberal. What the fuck do you call yourself if you're, say, socially liberal and fiscally conservative?

2. Why the fuck as a species have we decided to make neutral labels into insults? This goes way beyond politics, but fuckin Jesus Christ in heels I can't refer to someone's ideals as libertarian because instead of the original meaning (liberal in both social and fiscal terms) now it's a fucking slur.

3. Holy fucking shit, why are moderates/centrists now a slur??? Like I get it, no one wants to sit down and make a deal with literal Nazis, but why the fuck do we think that /tearing the population apart/ is acceptable instead? Do ya'll think "driving the Nazis out of America" is actually a viable plan?

4. And let's get into the real problem I have: by fucking dividing ourselves into internet armies, we don't fucking talk to each other and find out why the fuck we're literally getting up in arms at each other. Like fuck! I thought "Horseshoe theory" was just an interesting sociological footnote until the husband had a Twitter conversation with a literal white nationalist and I was goddamn sick to my stomach because the rhetoric was practically the same.

Instead of going "Golly gee, I wonder what would cause someone to have these ideals", we demonize them and drive them into extremes - and I mean both sides. How many people here have gotten angrier because of an encounter with alt-right? How many have moved a step further towards intolerance ("of Nazis!" I hear you scream. Yes. On the other side, faintly, I hear "Of Illegals!") and general rudeness and unkindness because someone was a dick to you?

I get it, though! No one fucking has the time and patience to wear down the other side's anger. It's so much easier to divide the world into fascists and socialists and sheeple and whatever else. It's easier than pressing your imagination to come up with a valid reason for the anger. It's easier to get pissed because of human atrocities committed than to ask why they're being committed.

And I'm not saying we should simply lie down and tolerate it. What I'm saying is that crackdowns on gang violence rarely fix the issue...because it doesn't address the underlying problems. Crackdowns on people you despise? They only make the survivors more extreme, because they feel more justified in their hate. There's a reason they're being intolerant asshats, and until that reason is addressed, all we'll get is ramping violence and an increasing split populace that'll grow even more restless under the next, more extreme politician elected into the White House.

TLDR: got annoyed at the nastiness being directed at moderates, wrote a huge rant people not addressing underlying issues + increasing extremism in our two-party system and how it'll impede progress + fucking. Just be kind to people. Even if they're shit. You don't have to roll over and take their abuse, but you don't have to abuse them in return because it rarely if ever actually makes anyone change their views.

If anyone cares, the major reason for all this pissy intolerance is the increased productivity per person (mostly via automation) and the job loss that occurs because we need less people to produce things. It's real easy to scapegoat immigrants and kick off a nostalgia for the "good old days." I might write a post about how shit's been going down since the 80's if anyone gives half a fuck.

[erynstraveldiary]

we’re all we need

Summary - Recess Week: INDIA! Traveling with allergies, sleeping in the desert, and learning to get around 

If you told me two months ago that I would be spending my recess week in India, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. 

But India made me grow up in a way that Japan and Singapore and anywhere i’ve traveled to never could. I traveled abroad to step out of my comfort zone and this trip showed me that I could do just that (I had never even eaten Indian food before and now I ate it at every meal!) At the end of ten days i was just getting used to the bugs and dirt in the hostels and hotels, the cold showers, the constant sounds of honking, the cows and elephants and camels walking through the street... and then it was time to go home. When I first left the airport and got to the first hostel that we were staying at, I was wary if I would be able to do ten days living out of a duffle bag and navigating through a large country that I knew basically nothing about. Long story short, even if you’re just thinking about going, go for it, but be willing to step out of your comfort zone and learn to adapt. We covered (some more than others) Jaipur, Jaisalmer, Agra, Delhi, Vrindavan.  On allergies: I’m allergic to peanuts and certain types of shellfish, and I learned that traveling for this reason could be kind of scary. But it’s definitely doable if you’re willing to do a little more extra work. Just to make a comprehensive list here (I’ll add to this if I go to other places as well just for peanut allergies!)  Singapore: “Everyone in Singapore speaks English!” is almost true, but I would caution just when you’re going to certain hawker stalls or cheaper areas. I’ve never had to use this thus far, but it might be helpful to have a translation in Mandarin or Malay too. I did have an incident with peanuts when I tried vegan ice cream that was offered for free in my dorm hall. I did ask them if it had peanuts; however, I should’ve took extra steps to confirm. Luckily I had benadryl on me and although it was a rough and sickly night (incredibly bad for the fact that I had two licks max of the ice cream) I was good by morning.  Thailand: This was one that I was really scared of because it’s just traditional for a lot of Thai food to have peanuts in them. However, I was able to try Pad Thai (a dish well known for containing peanuts) in Thailand (the best!) without any problems. Here’s the translation I used from TripAdvisor which is pretty severe, but better to be safe than sorry. I heard google translate translations work well for Thailand as well  ฉันแพ้ถั่วลิสงอย่างแรงถ้ากินหรือสัมผัสอาจถึง " ตาย" ได้ กรุณาอย่าใส่ถั่วลิสงและเครื่องปรุงที่มีส่วนผสมของถั่วลืสงในอาหารกรุณาอย่าใช้ช้อนหรือเครื่องปรุงและเครื่องใช้ที่อาจมีถั่วลิสงติดอยู่กรุณาอย่านำถั่วลิสงวางใก้ลหรือสัมผัสกับเครื่องดื่มขอบคุณ “I have severe peanuts allergy if eat or touch I may die please DO NOT cook or put peanuts or any ingredients that may have peanut in my food.Please DO NOT use any utensil or cooking utensil that may have trace of peanuts or come into contact whit peanut.Please DO NOT place peanuts near my drinks” India: This one was pretty hard. I asked hostel staff at the place that we were staying at if the knew a translation but not all people read this language, so sometimes communicating to shop people was hard. However, normally I said it in English and if your waiter didn’t understand, they were very diligent in finding someone who could. I’ve also had my tuk tuk drivers explain to restaurant staff for me as they could speak pretty good English from their constant engagement with foreigners (not all, but some). Oh also: I went vegetarian for 10 days while in India! No meat, chicken, fish, etc. This is mostly because I have a weaker stomach and you can’t really trust the cleanliness/cooking style of even the nicest restaurants (and culturally, they don’t eat a lot of meat so don’t expect most people to know how to prepare it well) and it was super easy to do in India. I normally love steak but I had no problem going without it at all. 

Sleeping in the desert (and other odd places): One of the coolest things that I did in India was get to go on a camel safari and spend 30 hours riding camels and sleeping on literal mattresses on the floor. We chose to go with adventure camel safari and I would put a recommendation on this one because the blankets that they provided were so warm (India actually gets chilly in mornings/evenings unlike singapore), fresh unlimited water, and good food (although, honestly, I was eating sand mixed with my veggies, but its unavoidable).   While in India, I also stayed at a round of hostels for the first time in my life. We were paying about USD$1-5 for a hostel bed per night in a mixed dorm, but just keep in mind that your expectations should match the price you’re paying. Even the hotel that we splurged at (USD$153.70 for four people for two nights) still did not fit what you’re probably used to (however, this heavy price increase could’ve been because we were tourist celebrating holi in one of the most authentic places). There are bugs in the room (mosquitos are the worst), the sheets and bedding might not be the cleanest, the pillows are rock hard, nowhere will give you shower stuff like shampoo and body wash, and you’re showering with cold water. Advice: Bring your own towels, deal with the cold water, use a lot of bug spray. Also adding onto the weak stomach thing, you (as an American) probably can’t drink the water as it’s not filtered as we’re used to. I exclusively stuck to bottled water for the duration of my trip (even to brush my teeth) but I do know some people who used the water and turned out fine. I would just say err on the side of caution.  Learning to get around: I love tuk tuks (https://www.google.com.sg/search?q=tuk+tuks&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjS3rvfvtfZAhUKQI8KHVj5A2YQ_AUICigB&biw=997&bih=743) I think they’re the cutest thing ever, and they are a huge method of transportation in India. However, you’re traveling in open air so maybe if you have problems with dust or dirt, wear a scarf around your mouth (I definitely wish I did this on the camel safari because I got flu-like sick for a few days after), You can rent a tuk tuk to yourself in Jaipur (fits like 3 people) for 750 rupees, or the equivalent to USD$11.52. We also took busses that look like they were falling apart for twelve hours with no bathrooms on it and learned how to get through. I can’t tell you how much things are supposed to cost; you need to figure it out when you’re there and try to tell when you are getting ripped off. You can bargain on almost anything but I am not a good bargainer so I can’t give you advice for that. We also took an airlines in India called Spice Jet (sketchy sounding, I know) and I actually preferred it over Scoot or Air Asia haha. 

TLDR: I highly recommend India if you’re willing to adjust to the mindset and culture for the time that you’re there... just be very prepared and know when a price/person sounds sketchy. But you’ll have so much fun and learn a lot about yourself and the culture,  If you want to see a video I put together, find it here: https://vimeo.com/258765518

And as always, here’s some pictures! 

we’re all we need // above & beyond

[fortune-failing]

Day After Bday Skit Part 1

(Hiatus Hell Day 2.)

[TLDR: London writes bad Faedon fanfiction. It will all make sense in Part 2. Faedon actually banged?? or did they.. nsfw.. we didnt even censor it. its not full smut but uh i think the worst that happened is vagueing some kink and giving a bang report card. not to spoil or anything]

(This is more than a little ecchi)

Faelian

Faelian woke up early the next morning and dug around in his bag right away. He had been looking for some water to drink because his throat was dry from the previous nights drinking. It didn’t take him long to find the potion and he held it in his hands staring at it intensely. London had made his choice sometime that night? He had chose to grow old and die.

Faelian didn’t really understand but at the same time he did. For a human, living so long probably felt like a curse… but still.. It hurt a lot to know that he’d have to watch London grow old and weak in front of his eyes. He couldn’t help but cry. He cried silently as he didn’t want to wake the other up. Eventually he calmed himself down with a shaky sigh and wiped his face clean. He placed the potion back in his bag and drank some water. All he could really do was hope that he came to terms with it eventually so that it would hurt less when it started happening.

London

Partly due to staying up so late, and partly due to the drinking, London woke up late that day as the sun's heat slowly took over the desert. "Ugh..." He wasn't feeling well. He assumed it was because of the drinking, but it was actually because of that and the rotten marron glacé he swallowed. What a bad idea. Too bad he'll never reason this out. "Morning..."

Faelian

Faelian had been looking out over the scenery when he noticed London stirring awake. He looked over at him right away and gave him a small smile. "Good morning, London. Did you drink too much?" He had made that ugh sound after all so maybe he had a hangover. He himself wasn't feeling too bad at the moment but not too good either.

London

"I don't know.. How much is too much?" He yawned as he sat up.

Faelian

"You just kind of sounded like you felt bad. Are you feeling bad? It has been a while since you drank after all."

London

London looks around to notice they actually finished off the last of Faelian's mead. "Hm.. Maybe we did have too much." Then he covers his stomach. It's not looking too good. "It's so hot...Aaaagh..." He lies back down.

Faelian

Faelian watches London as he covers his stomach and lied back down. "Once you feel up to moving let's go back to the inn. I want to wash up and I have to return this suit." He gets a water bottle out of his bag and hands it to London. "Here, it'll help your throat."

London

"Nng.." London grumbles and takes off the suit jacket before drinking the water. Then sighs looking at his shirt.

...

"Faelian, were either of us keeping guard overnight?"

Faelian

Faelian suddenly looks grim. "Oh.. I think I drank too much so I slept more deeply than usual..."

London

London looks at his bag. It appeared untouched. Then examines its contents to be sure of the fact. "Hm, if anyone saw us in the desert like this, they probably wouldn't think we were worth stealing from. We do look like kind of a mess." Butler suit aside.

Faelian

Faelian laughs at hearing that. "Yeah. I didn't really bring anything worth stealing honestly."

London

"Let's get to the inn." He put on his long sleeved shirt and scarf while suffering.

Faelian

Faelian gathered up his empty bottles and put on his suit jacket. Once standing he dusted himself off the best he could. "...Alright, ready." He stopped suddenly and moved closer to London. "Hey, wait. How's the tattoo looking? Does it feel better?"

London

He touched his neck. "The tattoo didn't even cross my mind, so I think it's okay..."

Faelian

"If it doesn't hurt then it should be fine. You should wash it off if nothing else once we get to the inn though just in case there's sand on it."

London

"Yeah, let's go!"

--Fast travel--

Faelian

Once at the inn Faelian put his bag on the table and gathered up his clothes from the bed where he had left them. "Hey, did you want to use the shower first or can I go on and use it?"

London

London lied on the bed enjoying the cool indoors. "You can go ahead." He said with his face in the sheets.

Faelian

"Alright, thanks." He headed into the bathroom and started himself a shower right away. He took his time like always and once he finally came out of the bathroom he was wearing his usual blue and grey outfit minus the hat. He carried the butler suit in his arms and it looked a little cleaner than before. "You can go now if you want, London."

London

London was dead.

Or acting like it anyway. "Uuugh. I don't want to move..."

Faelian

Faelian put the butler suit on the table and headed over to sit by London on the bed. He gave his back a few soft pats. "Want some more water?"

London

"I think I'm going to be sick.." He probably shouldn't be talking.

Faelian

Faelian rubs London's back a little before trying to cast cura on him. He isn't sure if that helps with hangovers and stomach aches but it's worth a shot.

/r 1d20+4

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20+4 = (15)+4 = 19

London

London's breathing settles and he sits up. "Thanks, Faelian.. That actually helped, wow." He still wasn't perfect, but at least he could shower now. "I'll be right back."

Faelian

Faelian smiles proudly. He's glad he could help. "Hey, wait a sec. I think I'll go return this suit real quick while you're in there."

London

"That doesn't involve waiting." London stepped in.

Faelian

"Alright, I just wanted you to know so you wouldn't wonder where I headed off too. I'll be back soon." Faelian headed off.

London

In the bathroom, London stared at the mirror thinking about how he won't be able to show his tattoo off now because Faelian left a hickey on his neck. What a shameless elf.

Faelian

Faelian returned the suit and headed back to the inn.

London

London was sitting on the bed, letting his clothes dry, and wondering what to do. "Welcome back. Sorry about earlier. I'm feeling a lot better now. Oh, also thanks for yesterday!" He blushed. "It was really fun."

Faelian

Faelian smiled and joined him on the bed again. "Thanks.. sorry about what?" Was he apologizing for being sick? He had no idea. "I'm glad you're feeling better too, i'm surprised that actually helped."

His cheeks blushed in return. "It was no problem. I'm glad you had fun." London really was talking a lot. Did he feel nervous or something?

London

He smiled and scooted closer to him on the bed. "So now that we're a couple, what do you want to do today? I still think I owe you.. You went way out of your way to do so much for me this past week. Now it's my turn to spoil you. Any ideas what you might want? I can be your butler next, if you want." He nudged Faelian with a laugh.

Faelian

"You really feel up to doing something today? Is your stomach feeling that much better?" He smiled softly and played with London's hair a little. He laughed softly at the suggestion of London being his butler in return.

"Hmm...that does sound tempting but I’m not sure what I’d have you do if you did. Honestly I don't really know what to do..I feel like I’d be fine with anything really. Although.. maybe we could go eat somewhere nice..but.. I’m pretty broke now. It's a pretty hot day so maybe we could go swimming instead?"

London

"Swimming right after we took showers?..."

Faelian

"Oh yeah.. that would be a silly idea, huh? Nevermind. We can just go eat somewhere really nice." He wasn't really thinking straight apparently and looked embarrassed over suggesting it now.

London

"The beach isn't far, though... Maybe we can ask the others if they want to all go together sometime for a break."

Faelian

"The beach just sounds really nice to me today for some reason. Maybe because I was looking down on it all morning. Maybe after we give August his delivery we can all go... We have a lot of time until the upper keep lands anyway, right?"

London

"We don't know how much time we'll have, but we'll see.." ... "So you really don't mind doing it in water?"

Faelian

"Yeah, I don't. Why?"

London

"I'm not even sure how it would work... is it even possible? Maybe if it were a pool it would be easier.."

Faelian

"Sure it is?" He's sure people have before. "Why wouldn't it? Oh, do you mean because you need leverage? I just assumed we'd be kinda near the land? At least somewhere our feet touched the ground at maybe some rocks nearby to lean on or something... Some kind of pool would be easier probably."

London

London blushed. "Y-yeah..." How could Faelian talk about this with a straight face? "I don't know how we'll find a good spot for that soon... Wait you didn't ask to go swimming just for this, did you?.."

Faelian

He smiles. "Haha, no. I was just thinking about swimming since we're close to a beach looking place. Yeah, it might be a little hard. If it's easier we can just make our first time blindfolded like you wanted." He really doesn't seem that embarrassed when talking about this kind of stuff casually.

London

".... You really don't mind? I know before you were insistent our first time be in full sight..."

Faelian

"Hm.. well I really wanted to see you while it was happening but you seem to want it to be kind of hidden either way.. I'll get more chances to see you anyway so it's alright.

London

"I mean... I don't want you to have to cave in to my wants. It will be an important moment for both of us, right? I'm sure we can find some compromise where we'll both be happy." His cheeks grows redder by the minute.

Faelian

"Yeah.. it will be." He smiles and puts his hand on his chin while thinking. It makes him feel happy that London was blushing and considering his feelings too. Not that he didn't expect him to but London could be pretty demanding sometimes.

"Ah.. what if we start off blindfolded and then take them off at some point? Maybe halfway through or something?" His own cheeks are slightly red now too.

London

"No. I'd rather be blindfolded the whole time. In the dark."

Faelian

He pouts and crosses his arms. "You just said you'd compromise."

London

"Well, I don't want to compromise with the blindfolds. I think it would be way funner to know your body through touch only the first time. Going swimming without blindfolds was my compromise, I guess."

Faelian

He sighs heavily. "Don't suggest compromising if you're just going to shoot my ideas down. At least say the compromise before I come up with something."

"Anyway.. the blindfold stuff sounds nice... I'd still rather see you the first time though. If we do it that way though the second time has to be.. lights on, eyes open." And himself leading.

"Actually.. I'm really worried if we do it with blindfolds on I'll end up getting too excited at some point and ripping it off. Probably near the end." He flushes darkly at the thought.

London

"Um, well, let's see..." London lowered his eyes trying to consider another idea for a compromise, and then got red and glanced away. "I forgot, I meant to say.. you know I was drunk last night? I didn't mean everything I said..." Out of what he thinks he said anyway. "Don't press the details because I hardly remember anything at all."

Faelian

Faelian scratches at the back of his neck some as he watches the other. "You're trailing off now and I’m not really sure what you're talking about. Yeah, I know you were drunk. I was too. I do remember you offering me a deal though.. something about me doing everything you wanted... but I suggested a return deal and you shot it down."

London

"Huh? Did that happen?" Wow, he doesn't remember this at all. "Uhm, well, now that we're sober, if you have any deals you want to offer, I guess now is the better time. So in regards to this last deal you made.. I'm not sure. I'd rather talk about how we handle things in bed one banging at a time."

Faelian

He nods. "Some details are fuzzy but I do remember a lot of what happened last night. I guess it's an elf thing." He laughs a little. "I'm not sure I have any deals in mind at the moment. We don't really need to plan for that kind of stuff most of the time anyway."

"I don't mind making our first time blindfolded either but like I said.. there's a very very high chance I'll pull it off close to the end."

London

"Hm.." London blushes while glancing away. "I know! Why don't we brainstorm ideas and then pick our favorite. I'm sure we can agree on something, and if we really can't, we can just pull a random one from a hat."

Faelian

Faelian blushes at that idea too. "Alright.. that's a pretty good idea.. You first."

London

He brightens up and pulls out his notebook. "Okay, so we've got swimming, blindfolded..." His heart started to thump in his chest. This was embarrassing. "W-well, what do you think about.. being super drunk? You said threesomes were out of the question, right?"

Faelian

Faelian's own heart beat a little faster too. It was kind of silly that they were planning this so much. It was also pretty obvious that London was nervous about their first time. Everything he had suggested was obvious. "Threesomes are out of the question for our first time 100%.. also if we do ever do that I don't want it to be a thing that happens too often, only every now and then."

"Hm.. I don't think I’d mind doing it drunk... maybe." He wouldn't drink so much that he'd forget it the day after though.

London

"What about in a closet together?" He recalled the theater incident.

Faelian

He flushes a lot at hearing that. "I-I wouldn't mind that at all..." He too was reminded of the theater incident.

London

Faelian was a lot more agreeable than he had imagined. "What are your favorite ideas for how to do things? I can include doing it in plain sight, I guess. Maybe I won't be so against it.." He writes.

Faelian

"Oh well.. I don't mind doing it in the dark really. As long as I have a little bit of moonlight to kind of see what's going on I'll be satisfied. My favorite ideas?"

London

"Yeah.."

Faelian

"What do you mean exactly? You mean how I want it to start or what happens during it?"

London

"Um, either, sure. Just tell me anything you'd like."

Faelian

"Hm.. I figured it would be mostly spontaneous.." He cheeks continue to flush. "But um.. whenever I imagined it I figured it would start with kissing and then touching.. and then just get more intense from there."

London

"Oh, so you had nothing special in mind then, huh?"

Faelian

"Don't put it that way... I've thought of plenty of things I’d want to happen between us. I’m just not exactly sure what you mean when you say something special."

London

"Like instead of using blindfolds or swimming..."

Faelian

"Oh, I thought you meant like.... more intimate details of while it was happening. Sorry. I really like the water idea. That one seems a little hard to do during our current journey though since you said a pool might be better. I'd considered the closet before too but you beat me to mentioning it. Other then that... guess I had mostly vanilla ideas.."

London

"That's okay. So water is your favorite idea, huh... Do you like it more than just fucking in here right now?"

Faelian

Faelian's whole face turns red at the sudden suggestion. It was surprising considering he had talked about doing it in the dark or closets or stuff like that. He had thought he was shy about it. "I-I never said water was my favorite. I'd be happy with anything you suggested honestly. I'd be happy with right now too.."

London

London sets a hand on Faelian's thigh just to lean closer, "I want to know your absolute dream scenario, though. All details included. Would you want to try rimming? You liked that, right?" London jots it in his notes.

Faelian

Faelian's face can't get any redder than it is now and his heart beats fast in his chest. His eyes lingered on London's hand for a few moments. "M-My dream scenario?" He figured London was just teasing him to get his expressions but he didn't really mind. Maybe if he explained a scenario in detail it'd embarrass London in return. "Ah... it would start with kissing and touching.. I'd want to tease your chest a lot probably. maybe I could kiss you all the way from your face down to your..." He trails off now.

"...." He looks off to the side and hides the lower part of his face with his hand. "...I might want to try it.. wouldn't mind being on either end of that..."

London

As Faelian speaks he sees London continue to take notes with a serious expression. When he stops, London stops to look at him confused. "Oh, I see..." He writes some more.

"What about the place?"

Faelian

Faelian continues to flush. He's surprised that London's actually taking notes on this. He thought he'd get embarrassed for sure. "Ah.. well being travelers we don't have too many options other than inns or outside right? I wouldn't mind doing it outside or in some ruins... a bed sounds a lot softer but an inn wouldn't be a very memorable place probably. Not unless it was some place really fancy or something."

London

"Hm..."

He starts tapping his pen on the book.

Faelian

He leans over to look in the book curiously.

London

London realizes this and crouches over it fast. "No peaking!"

Faelian

Faelian smiles a little and gives him a suspicious look. "Hm? Why would you need to hide that anyway?"

London

"No peaking..." He repeats, but this time he's smiling.

Faelian

"Hmmm?" He smiles more. "Why not? What did you put on there?"

London

"Shhhh." He holds the book even closer, then gives Faelian a fast kiss on the cheek to try to catch him off guard.

Faelian

It really does catch him off guard and he looks shocked for a moment before smiling softly. "Alright then. I won't peek." He sit back again.

London

"Hehe.." London soon puts the book aside, and moves closer to Faelian. "I want to try something out. Can you turn around for me, please?"

Faelian

A curious look shows on Faelian's face. He figures London's just going to tease him again somehow but he doesn't really mind. "Okay.." He does as he's asked.

London

"Just relax, okay?.." London wraps his arms around and unbuttons the bard's jacket.

Faelian

Faelian flushes again and his heart beat speeds up. "A-Alright.."

London

He removes it. Then next he lifts Faelian's shirt enough to stick his hands under it. "I'm going to try giving you another massage." He starts pressing on Faelian's back gingerly.

/r 1d4

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d4 = (2) = 2

London

Then aims for the center of his back.

/r 1d20+1

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+1 = (9)+1 = 10

:longdong:

London

/r 1d20+3

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+3 = (6)+3 = 9

Faelian

/r 1d20-1

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20-1 = (3)-1 = 2

London

/r 1d20+2

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+2 = (11)+2 = 13

Faelian

/r 1d20+2

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20+2 = (8)+2 = 10

London

London's attempt to massage Faelian at the center of his back was crude at first, but he improved as he continued. He leaned closer and whispered, "How's this?"

Faelian and London Finally Bang!

(A bad fanfic by London)

Faelian

Faelian's heartbeat grew even faster once his jacket was removed and he felt London's hands on his skin under his shirt. Once he heard that it was another massage he calmed down a little. Faelian slightly arched and pressed his back into London's hands as he the massage improved. He made a few small sounds and sighs as it felt really really nice. He froze up slightly when London suddenly whispers close to his ear and shivered in reaction. "...It feels really good."

London

"Hehe." London finally stopped, then pulled Faelian's jacket back on him and glanced away blushing. "If you want, we can go look for a place right now.."

Faelian

Faelian sat there for a moment in silence while taking in what London had just said. Slowly he turned around to look at the other. His cheeks were flushed darkly once again. Seeing that London was looking away blushing told him that this was a serious request. "Really..? ...I want to.. if you want to." He slowly put his arms back into the sleeves of his jacket.

London

"Let's find the perfect place then." London smiled. "...I'm just really glad I have you. If you want, I'm okay even if we do it in a totally vanilla way. O-or I'm okay with taking chances in an out in the open way...! I'll do anything for you.." He leaned over and gave Faelian a kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

Faelian

This was very surprising. London had been so insistent on blindfolds or dark places earlier. Had he said something to change his mind? "A-Alright.. I’m really glad I have you too, London. Are you sure though? I really don't mind trying it blindfolded for you if you want.. it did sound fun to explore with only our hands for a bit.." London was a bit confusing sometimes. Saying one thing and then changing his mind later.

He tilts his head and gives the corner of London's lips a soft kiss in return. "I love you too."

London

London shakes his head as Faelian speaks. "It's okay. After thinking things over, what I really want is to make you happy. You've said from the start you wanted things to be clear and visible. We can save the blindfold stuff for next time." He now grasps Faelian's hands between his own.

Faelian

Faelian moves his hands to hold London's in return. He's not blushing as much as before but his cheeks are still red. He smiles softly and presses a small kiss on London's cheek. "I want to make you happy too. It's fine if we add some things that we both like in our first time. It'll be really memorable that way. Let's go find somewhere first and then decide what to do."

London

"Sure. So.. where do you want to go?" He blushes. "You know, last night. That was really close, but I wouldn't mind trying something like that again. Of course, it wouldn't work in the morning, but, ahem..." Faelian can tell London is really flustered.

Faelian

"Um.. how about we just walk around town and see if there are any interesting places.. m-maybe there are some nice ruins nearby.." He flushes at the thought. "That was a close call but.. I wouldn't mind trying that kind of thing again sometimes.. I would have given in last night as well."

London

"Right!? I actually kind of regret we didn't, aaaagh." London sighs. "The closest ruins are that dungeon under the library, but even the library might count as a ruin." He mumbles that last part.

Faelian

"Heh.. yeah.. it would have been really nice. Don't worry about it though, those people who rode by kinda close later would have seen us." Faelian bit his thumbnail slightly and flushed even more. "Oh.. hm.. that place was kind of dangerous but the entry room would probably be safe... it would be a memorable spot too..." He seems to be really considering it.

"T-That library is pretty big too..." Maybe big enough that they could get away with something like that. It was sure to have many unoccupied rooms too.

London

London stares at Faelian blushing bright red then glances away. "You're embarrassing.." His eyes peak back, then look away, then back again. He almost says something but stops and, his hold of Faelian's hand just tightens more.

Faelian

"Haha.. sorry. We don't have to do it there if it's too embarrassing." He gives London a curious look when he almost speaks but doesn't. He lowers his voice slightly. "What is it? It looked like you wanted to say something."

London

He jolts. "It's just-- Aaaaaagh!!" London clings onto Faelian and hides his face on his sleeve. "I'm not against that idea.." He backs his head up with a deep breath. "I'd be willing to do it anywhere with you! Whether it's the ruin, the library, or even a dark alley!"

"I've really liked you for so long, I just can't believe this is really happening!" London finally stops by hiding his face in the palm of his hands.

Faelian

Faelian's heart beats faster and even his neck and ears burn with blush now. "..I'd be willing to do the same too, London.. although a dark alley is out for the first time.." He presses a few soft kisses on those hands that currently hide London's face. "It really is hard to believe. I wanted to be with you for so long too.. my heart keeps beating so fast.."

London

"So would you rather try it now or later... You said the moonlight is also good, huh?... Are you really serious about trying it anywhere?..." He takes another deep breath to calm down. Then glances away. "But maybe we can even do it now and tonight...J-just kidding, haha.."

Faelian

It really was exciting to be talking and planning this kind of thing with London. It was so surreal. "I-I don't mind trying it now..moonlight is nice too though..." His cheeks felt like they were on fire and he nods at being asked if he's okay with trying it anywhere. "...W-We could probably really do it both times if you really wanted too..." He looks off to the side shyly after saying such a thing and lets out a shaky sigh.

London

London put Faelian's face between his hands and pulled him over for a deep smooch. "The sooner the better, honestly. Let's go! ..Then maybe tonight we can do more after we rest some." He winks with a blush.

Faelian

Faelian responds to the kiss just as deeply and sighs heavily once it's broken. His heart still hasn't calmed down and it didn't look like it would anytime soon either. "A-Alright." His cheeks feel like they'll never cool off either and he feels jittery too... He stands up and waits for London by the door.

London

London follows quickly. "So.. library?"

Faelian

"Y-Yeah.." He leads the way. Holy shit I can't believe they're going to try this.

London

-Q-quick jump to the library...-

Faelian

Faelian feels excited and nervous at the same time. It probably shows on his face too as his cheeks are still flushed while he looks around the place.

London

"You're blushing.." Don't make it too obvious we're going to fuck. London looks around. The library was expansive. No wonder it could be seen from so far away. "I wonder where we should look...."

/r 1d20+2

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+2 = (19)+2 = 21

:shamaneyes::thirdrate::preferswomen::crit1:

London has a good sense of things and leads the elf further and further in. The rooms become less crowded and the chatter of the main halls were at a distance now. "Around here looks good..."

Faelian

"Ah.." He tried to calm himself down. Oops.. Faelian follows London deeper into the building and then looks around. He feels even more jittery than before. One of those rooms should work.. right? I wonder if the doors lock...

London

"I think anywhere around here would work..." He traces as finger over a shelf. Dusty. "No one's been here in a while. We probably have the whole section to ourselves." I doubt we could lock them, though..

Faelian

"Alright." He looked around the room. It really was pretty even though it was dusty. It certainly wouldn't be a forgettable location. Let's use one of the smaller rooms just in case.

London

"Hmm.. What if someone walks in, though? Wouldn't it be better to have space to hide? Out here there are bookshelves we can hide behind maybe..." Actually I'm okay either way.. What are the chances someone will really show up? He follows Faelian's lead.

Faelian

Faelian wonders why London's saying half this stuff outloud and half of it through telepathy instead of just picking one. "Maybe.. I think a room would be better though.. maybe." You really don't mind? He leads London into one of the smaller rooms and looks around. He's feeling all kinds of things now.. He looks over at London after a moment.

London

London's scratching the side of his cheek and looks around. "Since we're at a library, we could have brought one of those books in with us." He grins, teasing.

Faelian

Faelian smiles shyly and then laughs a little. "Yeah... so I uh.. I guess we can use the table.. or maybe the floor?" He flushes.

London

A smile crept on London's lips and he grinned while looking at him. "Or we could just take over the whole room.." He pushes the door closed behind him.

Faelian

He smiles in return at hearing London's words. Once the door shuts he moves over to London and drapes his arms around his neck. "Do you want to start.. or me?"

London

His hand strokes Faelian's neck and moves downwards. "Let's just be spontaneous and see what happens." He undoes the buttons of the blue jacket for the second time that day.

Faelian

Faelian tilts his neck slightly as London strokes it and trembles slightly. He watches London unbutton his jacket and eases it off once he's finished. He tosses it into a nearby chair and starts pulling London's scarf off with a smirk. He tosses the scarf on the chair with his jacket.

London

London steps forward, trying to lead Faelian's back to the table. " What if we start on the table and end on the floor? "

Faelian

Faelian let's London lead him and sits on the table once he reaches it. A grin tugs at his lips. "That sounds fun."

London

A hand sets by Faelian's hip as he leans closer, " I'm not against using the walls or chairs, either. " He smirks.

Faelian

He smirks at hearing that and his ears go slightly red. "I'm not against that either..." He moves his hand to London's chest plate and tries to take it off. He's not really sure how though.

London

London smiles and helps with that. There was a latch on the side

"So do you want to mute the room or keep quiet?" He asks, moving his arms around Faelian's waist to give him a light hug.

Faelian

Faelian laughs a little. He should have known that was there but he's nervous and his hands were lightly shaking. "Hm.. what do you want to do..? I don't mind either way but maybe muting it would be safer." He wraps his arms back around London's neck and embraces him lightly in return.

London

"Hehe, yeah probably." He lowers a hand to stroke Faelian's butt, teasing. Then pulls the shirt upwards to slip that hand underneath it.

Faelian

He flushes darkly when London actually touches him somewhere intimate. He won't forget it.. He won't forget anything that happens in here today. He presses his skin against London's hand once it goes up his shirt and let's out a shaky breath. He tries to concentrate and use his silent zone spell.

/r 1d20+3

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20+3 = (5)+3 = 8

Faelian

He can't concentrate and the spell fails. "I-It didn't work.. will it be okay without it? I can try again in a little while..." He moves his own hands under London's shirt now and rubs his skin here and there.

London

"Oh.. Maybe I embarrassed you too much.." He tightens his grip around Faelian, simultaneously pulling him closer to the edge of the table while also pushing on that one particular area of his back. "It's okay, I think it won't hurt to yell this far from the crowd."

Faelian

"Maybe.. it's all really exciting.. so it's hard to concentrate.." He arches his back slightly and lets out another shaky breath. His own hands continue rubbing London's back but they eventually adventure to his sides and to his chest as well. His touches move between softly and firmly at random points. "I guess it won't." He smiles and starts to press kisses on London's face and jawline.

London

His eyes close in joy to the touch of the lips on his cheek, and he moves forward to kiss Faelian as well. His knee is brought up to the table between Faelian's legs. "I'm climbing up."

Faelian

Faelian looks at London's knee placement and flushes again. He presses one last kiss on London's face for now and shifts slightly so that London can join him on the table. He offers his hand to him as well, just in case he needs it.

London

He honestly didn't need it but takes it anyway. "I'm going to steal your idea and kiss you all over - from your lips down to your..." He uses a hand to stroke down Faelian's chest stopping at the rim of his pants with a laugh, and brings the other one to move up his shirt.

Faelian

He gulps slightly and blushes furiously at the idea. "That's alright.. I’ll get to use that idea eventually. Since you stole my idea I guess I’ll steal one of yours." With that said he moved his hands and stroked London's rear to tease him.

London

London flinched. "You sneaky elf." He smirked looking down at him and then began to remove Faelian's shirt.

Faelian

He furrowed his brows and laughed a little. He shifted slightly so that London wouldn’t have a hard time removing his shirt. Once it was removed he shivered slightly at the coolness of the table. He tugged at London's shirt in return in an attempt to remove it as well.

London

London decides to help him and take off the belt. That will make things easier. Then he begins kissing around Faelian's neck.

Faelian

Faelian blames his nerves for not thinking of removing the belt first. He pulls London's shirt off and tosses it into the same chair with their other clothing. His breath quickens slightly as his neck is kissed and he strokes his hand up London's arm to his shoulder. Once he reaches his shoulder he moves the hand to the back of his neck strokes down his spine softly. "...That feels really nice, London..."

London

 Nice aim. London's hands move up Faelian's sides before sliding under him as he moves to kiss him further down. He spends extra time on Faelian's chest, making an attempt to tease him with a little biting, too. If there's anything you want, just ask.

Faelian

Thanks. He feels heat on his cheeks and neck now as London moves those kisses down. He can't help but tremble when London shows his chest attention, especially whenever London bites him. He makes a few soft sounds as well. "T-This is fine..! I really like the attention to my chest.. Tell me if there's anything special you want me to do to."

His own hands continue to touch and stroke at London's back. One of them eventually moves to his hair however and he tugs it gently.

London

"Hm, I think you're fine no matter what you do. Just relax." He continues kissing on the chest and playing with him. Then he brings one of his hands lower to Faelian's rear, and it works its way under his pants.

Faelian

Faelian's breathing had quickened and caused his chest to rise and fall a little faster now. All the attention to his chest was working him up. He swallows thickly as London works his hand under there. He shifts slightly when London's hand moves under his pants near his rear. It was so weird to think that this stuff was finally happening after wishing it would for so long.

One of his arms continues to hold onto London's back but his other one makes it's way to London's chest in order to tease it like London was teasing his own.

London

There is a quiet laugh. London moves his hand to embarrass the elf, going for a feel, but Faelian wasn't the only one getting embarrassed at this minute. Faelian's teasing effectively worked the mage up, and he blushed.

Faelian

Faelian laughs softly in return. Despite how worked up and nervous he was he was really happy too. Another smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he played with London's chest even more in an attempt to get him to blush more.

London

London slows on kissing Faelian's chest in response. In an effort to get teased less, he backs away, continuing his move down Faelian's stomach. Now he begins to remove the elf's pants..

Faelian

Fortunately for London and unfortunately for Faelian, the red bard's chest is no longer within reaching distance. He instead moves his hands to reach what he can and lightly pets London's head and tugs at his hair gently. He continues to tremble as London's kisses continue to move lower. He feels another pang of excitement and nervousness when London starts to remove his pants. He shifts to make the process easier.

London

Pants: removed

Faelian

He looks at London now with a flushed face and curious eyes. He's almost completely naked now and shivers slightly in response to the air of the room.

London

London stares back. A finger plays at the edge of Faelian's underwear debating whether it is too soon to take them off. He gulps while flushed. "I love you."

Faelian

He continues watching London with a lot of interest. A smile crosses his face right after hearing those words and he repeats them back right away. "I love you too."

London

His face brightens upon hearing the words. "Are you ready for this?" He wants to check

Faelian

He swallows thickly and gives London a nod. "Yeah."

London

-I can't believe Faedon banged on the library table-

/r 1d20+2

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+2 = (20)+2 = 22

London

London was surprisingly skilled at what he was doing and gave Faelian the best sex of his life

London

/r 1d20

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20 = (16) = 16

London

STR determined they played it rough

/r 1d20+1

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+1 = (16)+1 = 17

London

DEX for skill and performance

/r 1d20+1

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+1 = (20)+1 = 21

London

CON: it lasted long enough to go from the table to floor, bookshelf to chair, these bards were everywhere. Faelian beared the pain well, and will hardly feel the effects tomorrow

/r 1d20+2

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+2 = (14)+2 = 16

London

And WIS reflected the knowledge and technique learned from experiences of the past

Then they heard someone open a door!

Faelian

:crit1: !!!

London

 Did you hear something? London asked awkwardly stopping in the middle of something with Faelian on the floor.

Faelian

Faelian froze as well, his cheeks flushed very darkly. I-I think I heard a door open!

London

 The door to this room is still shut. As long as we stay quiet, we should be okay... Faelian could hear footsteps in the hall beyond the door.

Faelian

"...." Are you sure they won't come in here...? He tries to cast the silence zone again.

/r 1d20+3

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20+3 = (15)+3 = 18

London

 What do you want to do if they do? Faelian hears one voice mention 'searching for a book in one of these rooms'.

The room is silenced so no one outside can hear them.

Faelian

"We should get dressed and maybe call it quits for now. They're going to enter one of these rooms, we should use this time to get dressed while we have the chance."

London

The footsteps are relatively close, and even London realizes this and gains a sense of urgency. "There's no time for that, come here!" He grabs what he can and pulls Faelian under the table just before the door opens.

Faelian

Faelian grabs anything London misses on his way under the table. Oh no...

London

They see two sets of feet walk into the room and hear voices talking about a book on Anima. 'Oh, here it is.' A grown man says. A woman is then heard asking if it mentions anything about 'arachnipian'. One of the people sit down with their feet terrifyingly close to Faelian's arm and seem to skim the book while talking.

 Well, at least we didn't get caught. He tries to be optimistic about the situation, but Faelian can tell London is still worked up.

Faelian

Faelian is completely froze under the table. He moves his arm away from the person's leg quietly. His heart beats fast and hard in his chest. Y-Yeah... I hope they don't plan on staying in here for long...

London

 What if they do? I'm still kind of worked up from earlier... London is embarrassed and also awkwardly close to Faelian's butt.

Faelian

Faelian blushes darkly. I am too but there's nothing we can do about it. We'll just have to wait.

London

 How good are you at staying quiet?.. London's memeing knows no bounds today.

Faelian

Faelian's whole face turns red, his ears turn read too. T-There's no way they won't hear something when they're so close! London is shameless.

London

 There's something I need to do still. Can't you cast the silence spell on just yourself or muffle out any noise with my scarf?

Faelian

Faelian's heart is about to beat out of his chest for real now. That's what it feels like to the elf anyway.. ...... He tries to cast the silent zone only under the table.

/r 1d20+3

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20+3 = (20)+3 = 23

London

The panic makes it work with the most perfect accuracy

 Did it work?...

Faelian

... It did.. it worked perfectly.. He still looks nervous though.

London

London spoke in a hushed whisper. "I'm going to try something, okay? Just stay calm and don't panic."

Faelian

He sighs deeply in an attempt to calm himself down. Alright.

London

After saying that, London moved his face closer to Faelian's ass and then an elf's kink was enabled.

/r 1d20+1

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+1 = (16)+1 = 17

London

(Good performance!

Faelian

Faelian is unsure if he was turned on, happy, or ashamed at that moment. Probably a little of all three emotions. I'd go into more detail about how he feels but this is probably enough.

London

Just then, the man was moving to stand back up. (Roll dex to move and not get found..)

Faelian

/r 1d20+4

fightdiceBOT

@Faelian: 1d20+4 = (19)+4 = 23

:gaylian:

London

Faelian managed to move out of the way of the man while London was performing without disturbing either of them. In fact, the move probably helped the performance some?? Nice roll Faelian

The two finally agreed aracnopions do not exist and left.

Faelian

L-London!! I can't believe you! Doing something like this while those people were so close...! Despite saying that it wasn't like he was doing much to stop London.

London

After the door closed, London backed his head up with a gasp for air. "I was feeling horny.." He had no excuse and no shame.

Faelian

Faelian trembled all over and looked back at the other with a very red face. He didn't look angry but he did look extremely embarrassed. B-But that kinda thing didn't help you...

London

"Your face is so cute red.." He says this while still trying to catch his breath from everything, then crawls closer. "I'm never going to get tired of fucking you, but if I keep this up, I might really die. Do you want to head back soon?"

Faelian

He pouts and blushes more while still trembling. "J-Just let me sit here and calm down for a few moments... then we can go back.."

"I can't believe you can call me cute in one breath and then say something like that in the next.... even though you worded it like that.. it's still nice to hear though..."

London

London moves even closer. "The longer I look at you, the more I want to do to you... It's too much. I waited so long wishing I could be this close to you.. Now I hope I got closer than anyone before me."

"I love you, Faelian.."

Faelian

Faelian flushes even more at hearing that and it causes his heart to quicken some. "I wish I had told you how I felt a lot earlier.. I’m sorry. I feel the same way when I look at you.. I love you too, London." He leans against him slightly and lets out a shaky breath.

"You mean sexually? Y-Yeah.. that was more intense than anything I’d ever done with those other people.. Hey.. can you tell me honestly now... was this your first time? If not then how many people have you really been with?"

London

London puts a finger on Faelian's lips. "Did it seem like that was my first time? I've told you all along I've been experienced." Then he kissed Faelian on the head. "Come on, let's go back and get some rest . You have got to be exhausted by now, right?"

Faelian

Faelian flushed and pouts. "I never know what to believe when you say that though. You always say something outrageous that's impossible for me to believe." He nods slowly. "Yeah.. I’m really tired.. and I need a shower."

London

"You're fine. Get some rest. If you want I'll try to carry you back.." London blushed. "You're lighter than me, so I'm sure I can manage.."

/r 1d20

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20 = (18) = 18

London

"I'll also clean you up and dress you."

/r 1d20+3

fightdiceBOT

@London: 1d20+3 = (18)+3 = 21

London

He cast cure so any scratches or accidental marks were gone.

"This is all part of the spoiling process. Leave it to me!"

Faelian

He blushes. London suggesting to carry him and clean him up and even to dress him was really nice. He lets another soft shaky sigh out. "A-Alright. Thanks, London." He felt a lot better after being healed. He felt like he'd got some of his energy back at least.

London

He smiles. "Just stay by me while I sleep, so I can wake up and see your sleeping face later tonight."

Faelian

He nods again and smiles softly. "Okay, that sounds nice.. Oh and London...? That was really nice..." He flushes more and looks away shyly.

London

London sparkles and kisses Faelian on the lips. Then he does his spoiling thing to bring Faelian back to the inn while dressed and carried.

FIN.

[deviationdivine]

Safe Harbor (Connor|Request!)

TLDR: Connor remains your constant harbor even through the harshest of storms…

TW: HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER (DEPRESSION)

Word Count: 2,602

A/N: Hi anon! I’m happy to get a request from you but for something like this I had to tweak it just a bit since I’m not too comfortable with knives and the idea of self harm. Also I don’t want to be too triggering for readers that stumble across my blog. I hope you understand and this request comes out at least in some way that you were looking for. For anyone facing anything similar just remember that you are loved and worth it no matter what. You are important. This includes you anon and anyone else apart of my followers/readers. Just know I love and appreciate every one of you.

Deviancy is an all new learning experience and Connor has been absorbing every second of it since opening his eyes. Emotions, sensations that fill him with pleasant blooming center of his chest, understanding humanity more so than conceptual analytics in a program. He is gaining so much from this on his own path but there is one that opens his eyes beyond being alive.

You.

That is why the thought of you hurting in any way will undoubtedly shatter his soul if androids do possess such a thing. One time you even said as much calling him a living being, a man that you hold close in heart. So many times you have assured him he belongs. Now, he cannot help but notice the little changes.

At first it is barely conscious in his brain. Attentive to all things around him by nature of his programming when it comes to you he is blind. It is not in a negative light. Contrarily it is a simple blindness to love. Falling completely into this human concept means he still needs to learn. Many things have grown since then but this is something he is not readily prepared for.

This day seems particularly heavy. 

Awaking from stasis in his usual perch beside your sleeping form it becomes clear you do not wish to partake in any of his morning snuggles. He assumes you’re asleep still. Until taking a vital scan, reading the sharp spike of heart rate that accompanies a subtle inward balling of your body. 

Connor is not accustomed to what Hank deems “the cold shoulder” but he ignores the lieutenant’s choice of description. Leaving you be despite his growing stress levels, the android dresses without disturbing the quiet of bedroom. 

Attending to the tie around his collar one of many identical sets he keeps for work the android expects you to be up. Usually you are by the time he finishes getting ready for the DPD. Lately you have been pushing back your time, seemingly losing track of how much is required in the mornings. A few days ago you were even late to your job. 

He asked you if something was wrong before. You merely brushed his question aside explaining you were under the weather. That is enough to stop a personal interrogation and take care of whatever you need. Despite this Connor cannot stop a swath of probabilities popping into the equation. Are you sick? Perhaps he should schedule an appointment with a doctor. Humans can become extremely ill if left untreated. Suddenly the thought heats up his system, tossing out stress warnings. 

The detective appears out from bathroom. Eyeing your curled form still residing beneath covers does nothing to curb his anxiety levels. “Y/N?” he speaks softly, sitting beside where you continue to lie. His hand rests atop your shoulder gentle. “Are you all right, Love?”

“Connor, please.” Twisting under covers unravels your body and flings you to your back. “I’m fine. I’m just...tired.” 

Connor leans forward to place lips atop forehead. Reading data from the soft kiss shows no signs of fever. However there is something dull in your voice. It does not sound remotely like the bright, lively spark  he has so grown to cherish. He frowns at the ache in his chest taking over. It is unpleasant to say the least. Emotions are fickle but he understands more now than ever. Sometimes even the most advanced of androids has no proper conclusion. 

“Do you require anything?” he asks carefully. “I am equipped with the most accessible features as you know.” A joke he finds acceptable after practice. Typically you will laugh at some of his more colorful misconceptions or confusion. It is the forever android part of him but there is nothing from your lips. “Y/N?”

“I’m not feeling good!” Biting at him should stop the questions. He needs to leave. “Connor, I-I just want to sleep. I haven’t been sleeping right. Going to work isn’t something I can do today.”

“Forgive me. I did not mean to be unpleasant. I am only worried about your current state of...”

“Just go, Connor.” Pleading with him so you can be alone it already hurts to speak this way. Making him go is the complete opposite of what you want but you will not be the reason to keep him here. “Please,” insisting in a desperate breath is a final resort. 

“I-” Connor pauses to assess the current situation. Stress is apparent in the scan of you but he is unable to force anything. If you do not wish to do something he will respect your space. “Love, if you are sure. It will not hurt for me to take a vacation day.”

Vacation day. He doesn’t take those unless it’s something... Oh. Wait, he-he took one on your anniversary. The thought makes you press face further into pillow. Everything feels wrong because it’s been building up these last few months. You’re too afraid to tell him the truth. He’s still dealing with his emotions. This isn’t fair to him. You’re not worth worrying over. 

“I want you to go into work,” making it clear, you keep your face away. Not seeing Connor is better like this. “You’ll be late as it is.” 

While he disagrees with this the android rises to feet. Leaving you alone is not something he feels comfortable doing because you are sad. It is not a normal type of melancholy. “Y/N, if you need anything please call. I will drop whatever I am doing. I promise.” 

Of course he does. That’s just him. It doesn’t really garner a response however. You’re certain he’s defeated. Listening to his barely audible movement draws a peek from beneath a fluffy mound of balled blankets to watch him. 

“I love you,” the android proclaims deeply. He eyes the stillness of you unable to properly see your expression. Perhaps you have fallen asleep again or you do not wish to speak any further. 

Only when he leaves the room do you finally start stirring. Rising up with dark circles, messy hair and exhausted features paints a grim picture. Sleeping is so difficult. Why can’t you just drop a head and get enough hours? Instead of mulling on sleep the nervy churn in stomach forces you out of bed. Waiting only for Connor to leave apartment seems cruel. Letting him see the real cracks form around you isn’t something you can handle. 

Slipping from room reveals an empty living space. No sign of your android boyfriend and it’s what you want. Of course it is. Dealing alone is the only way to fix this going on in your head. If only it were that easy. 

Moving sluggishly towards kitchen you already reach to run tap. Filling a glass and draining water down a dry throat doesn’t have the needed effect. You still feel wrong. Do something. Do something to ignore it. Dishes. There are a few left. Last night Connor cooked despite pleas to the contrary but it didn’t stop him. For he will do anything but –

More and more you wonder what Connor will do if you’re not here. Slowly but surely eating away it comes from somewhere unknown. How can you know when nothing is simple? 

This happened before. When you were younger it took over your life. So long things went well. Why now? Why when-? 

Dropping the dish in a clattering bang leaves pieces of porcelain skewed in a shatter. First time it really wakes you that sound and your breathing becomes harsh. Almost as if your throat is closing up, chest hurting but it’s not right. None of this can be right. 

“More red ice assholes? Can’t you give me something else to work with?!” 

The irritation on current case files passes over the android’s head as he sits at desk unable to find focus. Analyzing findings and recording them onto computer is an immediate task. However he finds it difficult to concentrate. That is not at all like him. Considering all of his programming skills this makes him vulnerable to stress. Deviancy has brought many things to him but there can also be negative connotations.

Hank grumbles across from his partner’s neat work space. The lieutenant’s looks as opposite as it can get. That’s not what’s got his attention. “Hey, Connor. What’s your problem today?”

Connor’s head rose sharply. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Were you speaking to me?”

“Do you see any other pain in the asses around?” 

The android answers with a small shake of the head. 

Hank leans back in his chair. Giving this kid a good once over he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. “Something you wanna tell me? Or are you going to act weird all day?”

“I have not been acting ‘weird’ as you put it, Lieutenant.” Defending current state of mind will not answer questions he longs to ask you. He never should have left. He should have defied your wishes if only to hold you close, to promise whatever is starting to push you from him it will not change what he feels. Perhaps he is overreacting. In his humanity he may be a bit overzealous in this thinking. 

Connor’s frown before leaving your shared apartment returns. He feels hollow where his synthetic heart beats. “It is Y/N. I-”

Explaining to the seasoned detective cuts short, reaching into pocket for cell phone buzzing loudly. His eyes lock on screen prompting a hurried answer. “Y/N?”

“Connor. Please, come home.”

A flood of red burns the android’s temple. Listening to sniffles, straining voice, you have been crying. “I will come home. I promise. Y/N, are you safe? Please, tell me if...” 

Hank watches his partner spring up from chair. Seemingly having the call cut out on him and it’s starting to come together. “Go on,” the lieutenant ushers him to move it. “I’ll handle Fowler.” 

Connor nods. “Thank you, Hank.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Waving that off is a sign he doesn’t want to hear it but Hank still drudges up a small smile. Sounds like Connor’s gonna need it before he goes.

“Y/N?!” 

Calling for you after entering front door reveals his current panic, a blaze of scarlet flickering uncontrollably in a painful surge of distress. 

There is zero sign of you here. He moves down hall towards bedroom as it is the only other logical place. Everything in your voice before ending the call abruptly fills him with what he believes to be dread; strange how real these feelings can be in him now. 

Connor finds you with some relief. You are still here. One probability of needing to look outside apartment did flicker in his mind on the way. Thankfully that is not the case. It is where you sat on floor back to wall, arms folding over knees to enclose body in a ball that shatters any good outcome. 

Your eyes lock on his quick movement and before you manage to unwind he is already there. Connecting hands with yours and drawing tears that don’t fall. It’s knowing how quick he is to get to you. Knowing that you are putting him through something he doesn’t deserve. 

“Connor, I-I’m sorry,” you apologize profusely. “I know you must think...”

“I thought something hurt you.” He interrupts quietly, drawing you close into his arms. 

The warm loving embrace only makes you sob finally letting it all out in a tidal wave and he remains offering himself as a dam to hold you together. “Connor,” choking out his name reveals guilt and regret in your behavior towards him these past weeks. All he wants to do is love you the way you crave. This is ruining everything. 

“Please, Y/N. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Everything in his voice hurts because you’re the cause of him feeling that way. It’s never something you want. How can you put this amazing boy in such turmoil?

Stress scares you because despite whatever is going on with you personally right now seeing him in pain only strains this further. Honestly, you have no idea. It’s just something that happens at certain points in your life. Even when things seem to be going so well and they are. They should be. Yet, it’s sitting back of the mind almost similarly to when Connor had that master program in his head.

This is entirely different. Of course there’s no comparing but-

“I-I don’t know,” the honesty is upsetting. Why isn’t it an easy answer? “Connor, I don’t know.”

Tears meet the tender brush of his fingers. Taking immediate action to wipe them away he will not let this happen. He will never allow anything to hurt you but when it is not a physical danger what is he to do? In a way he feels as though he is failing to protect you. 

“It is all right,” he promises in a quiet sheltering breath. “I am here. I will help you, Y/N. No matter what is required.”

He makes it sound simple. Of course it’s not and you know he doesn’t think so but none of that stops his optimism. Maybe that’s what you need to believe in. 

“Perhaps if we spoke with someone.” Connor makes a suggestion but does not force this upon you. Ultimately it will be what you decide but he will only be patient. “Maybe that will help. Only if you would like. And I will go with you. Each time no matter if I have work. I will take off for you whenever you need me.”

A steady breath is all you muster. Believing him is easy because this is your sweet detective promising just as he promised you forever. “Connor, I don’t deserve you.”

“No. You deserve everything. It is you I am lucky to have. Without you, I can’t feel as alive as I do.” Truth can be poetic or so they say. His is the very foundation of freedom. There is nothing if he can’t live with you. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are feeling,” the android admits his lack of personal experience. If he is certain this may be similar to a software glitch if it were to affect his kind. Even then it is no excuse not to do everything in his power to rectify. “All I know is that I want you to be healthy. Physically as well as mentally. I love you too much to ever allow harm to come to you, Love.”

Tears ran anew but this time you completely fell against him, allowing both body and soul to sink into Connor who becomes your one true brace. How can you push him away? That will only make it worse. You love him too much. “I’m sorry.”

“Be still, Y/N, I will stay here. Everything will be all right.” 

“OK.” Agreeing in a quiet breath is all the resolve you have left but it’s enough for right now. He’s enough. If you didn’t have him you’re sure you wouldn’t be here. The thought is terrifying. “We’ll do it together.” 

Connor smiles only to show you how glad he is that you are willing. No matter what happens he will never let you go. That is impossible when his synthetic heart beats for you in ways mere words can never describe. Nothing in this deviant life will ever rip you away and will continue to harbor, shield you from the darkest parts until he no longer functions. 

This is what love is about as he understands. It means supporting, caring and most of all weathering any storm, as long as it is together.

Tag List: @elydith