#The chain is trying to do damage control but it is too late

[weepingtalecowboy]

Hyrule is banned for justified reasons

Fanfic prompt: Any advice Hyrule offers is considered a war crime

And the real reason why he isn’t allowed into towns is the fact that he has shared them on multiple occasions with overly curious children

Like he knows about the monster version of the birds and the bees and only monster but not the hylian version

And Wild and wind where curious

So now the oldest links have to try and fix the fact that both of them are considering monster courtship the only right way

The saddest and most painful part for the chain is the fact that Tetra apparently had appreciated wind gifting her the heads of her enemies

So now he is absolutely committed to the strategy

Wild was stopped before he could do the same with Flora

And Hyrule has created a monster like no other

Wind is now an irredeemable menace who has done shit

And the worst part is the fact that tetra actually is now dating him because she liked the murder,destruction and arson.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 58: Edgar's Pocket Watch

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tw: kidnapping, mind control, hypnosis, assault, stabbing, eye whump, rat-based horror, possessive behavior adult referred to as boy

September 1905

It had always been hard for Fitz to wake up, but usually not this hard. His eyelids felt as if they were made of concrete, and he had an uncomfortable headache to boot. As he forcibly dragged himself back to consciousness, he realized he was being moved at an alarmingly rapid pace.

He had just managed to return to reality a second before he was tossed onto a hard wooden floor, thankfully landing mostly on his backside and not hitting his head. His head was pounding quite enough already.

"Is there any need to be so rough? You'll damage the thrall," said a smooth voice.

"That little pig spit in my face, he deserves it." Shit, that was most certainly Jameson, by no means a voice that Fitz wanted to hear under the circumstances.

Fitz cracked his eyes open just enough to see a pair of expensive dress shoes. There was a cloth gag in his mouth, and ropes binding his ankles together and his hands behind him.

"If a dog bites you, do you blame the dog, for acting on its instincts?" said the first one, who Fitz now recognized as Edgar. "Or do you blame the master who trained the dog poorly and fails to control him?"

"I think they both should get what they deserve. You're going to erase him, aren't you?"

"No, I don't think I will."

"But you said --"

"Now that I have him here, I can clearly see how he's built for obedience. He'll look and smell so fine in a mindless daze, standing by my chair or kneeling at my feet, serving my every whim. A thrall like this deserves that obedience, not to be chained in some filthy pen."

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to tremble. He should have let Lex bring hime home, instead of trying to prove… whatever it is he was trying to prove. Now, he was caught between two vampires with the worst of intentions for him. He had no doubt that Lex would rescue him, but would it be too late for his mind?

Jameson huffed. "Do what you like, then, as long as I get to see the look on Alexander's face."

"I thought you'd see reason. I won't be able to enthrall him permanently by the time his keeper arrives, of course, but I can give him a taste of how much improved his thrall would be. And then, of course, I'll have to run the poor little vampire back home. I can't have him getting ideas about taking his treasure back, not when he's treated his thrall so poorly."

Fitz heard footsteps getting closer, and then he was lifted up and sat upright on a soft chair.

"Open your eyes now, boy," said Edgar. "I know you aren't still sleeping."

He stubbornly kept his eyes closed, not foolish enough to get caught in Edgar's hypnotic gaze so easily. Ears straining for some clue as to what was happening, he heard a soft noise he couldn't place.

"Ah, so you think you're being defiant, do you?" The commanding voice whispered in his ear. "Don't worry, I'm not going to harm you. Deep down inside, you know that you want to submit to your betters. It's in your nature."

Fitz felt the gag being untied. "Alexander's going to make short work of you when he finds you, sir," he said as soon as he was free.

Edgar laughed. "Boy, do you really think I would have taken you if I feared your so-called master? I have a healthy respect for his sire, of course, but that hardly extends to Alexander. I'm not impressed by his party trick of enchanting a room of weak-minded thralls."

As much as Fitz truly did believe in Alexander, he couldn't help starting to be worried. What if he wasn't found in time? What if Edgar's confidence was warranted? Feeling that Edgar was behind him, he opened his eyes just enough to see where he was. Through blurry vision he could see an opulent drawing room. It looked like many of the parlors he had spent his youth around -- ostentatious, full of wealthy objects with no particular meaning other than bragging rights, resisting any personal touch that would make it look as if people lived there.

"I'm sure your master will like you better once I've tamed you," said Edgar. "Ah, you've opened your eyes. Are you ready to accept your place?"

Fitz screwed his eyes shut again. "My place is with Alexander, sir."

"Oh, then I suppose you'd prefer if I enthralled you like he does, with a little song." Edgar sang a lullaby into Fitz's other ear. "Go to sleep, don't resist, you will obey, sweet little thrall…"

His voice was nowhere near as enchanting as Lex's, but it held enough hypnotic power that Fitz felt his mind begin to fuzz against his will.

"Ugh, how long is this going to take? It'd be faster if you just erased him," Jameson complained.

"I'll take as long as I please mesmerizing this thrall to my standards. It's truly a shame you can't appreciate the unparalleled joy of breaking in a willful thing like this. But if you're that bored, feel free to help yourself to one of the cigars on the side table."

"Don't mind if I do."

"And as for you, boy, you're going to open your eyes while I talk to you."

"The hell I will, sir," Fitz scoffed.

"That was a command, not a request." Fingers snapped next to Fitz's ear. "Open your eyes. Focus."

His eyelids flew open, and to his momentary relief, he wasn't looking into Edgar's eyes. Instead, he was staring straight into a golden pocketwatch with ornate carvings of flowers and birds, perfectly polished glass, smooth mechanisms, and a quiet, rhythmic tick-tock.

"Focus," Edgar said again as the watch began to sway before his eyes. The movement was slow. Heavy. Fitz couldn't stop himself from following it, couldn't tear himself away. A weak protest died in his throat.

"Yes, that's it, watch the pocket watch as it swings back and forth… back and forth…" Edgar's voice seemed more mesmeric now, dangerously so. "You long for a taste of power. You crave obedience. I can see it written on your face. You'll be a good boy and focus now."

He needed to look anywhere but this, needed to ignore Edgar's words dripping into his ear like honey.

"Every slow swing of the watch draws you deeper into my control. Every slow swing of the watch draws you deeper into obedience." The watch swung to the left. "Deep." Right. "Mindless." Left. "Obedience." Right.

"No… stop…" He could feel the trance taking hold as his eyes helplessly swept back and forth.

"Deep, mindless obedience. The obedience you need, the obedience you crave. A perfect, submissive thrall, eager to serve my every whim. Everything is slipping further and further away. Your mind will sleep deeply in my will, and you will obey without question."

Fitz struggled again, trying to keep the words from sinking in. He imagined himself, blank and empty-eyed, kneeling at this vampire's feet. He imagined Lex coming to rescue him, finding him in this embarrassing, compromised state. And for a fleeting moment he imagined Lex approving of it, bringing him back home to be a handsome ornament in his library, Fitz fawning helplessly over his master --

"That's it, boy, keep watching and listening. You know very well that you're just a silly little thing who craves the guidance of a strong and dominant hand. You often make poor decisions, don't you?"

"No, sir," Fitz objected, even though he felt Edgar was more than a little correct. The watch looked so heavy as it swayed in front of his face. His eyelids felt heavy, too, and it was becoming so hard to think.

"Oh, I think you do. I think your impulsiveness and foolishness was on full display for everyone when you shamed yourself in front of Lord Jameson here," said Edgar, still swinging the watch in perfect rhythm. "Wouldn't it be so much easier to let a superior mind make those decisions for you? You can let go, and let your mind sleep, and obey without question. Don't you want to serve?"

"I… want…"

"Yes, that's it."

"I… only want… to serve… Lex," Fitz managed. Something stirred in him, a spark of defiance lighting his way before he was swallowed by the dark. He didn't want to provide for or obey anyone but Lex, he knew that for certain. That was where he truly belonged, and no mere pocket watch could change that. The realization washed over him like waves crashing against the shore, and he opened his eyes fully, forcing his gaze away from the fatal watch.

"Ha! You see, you can't even control him properly," Jameson crowed.

Edgar wasn't remotely fazed. "He's a bit stubborn. It's a good sign. Stubborn ones always fall so much harder once they're brought to heel." He stroked Fitz's cheek with his hand even as Fitz flinched away. "Tired of fighting, exhausted from making decisions. The stubborn ones only resist because they're frightened of how badly they crave the obedience. This boy is no exception."

The gentle hand suddenly grabbed Fitz's chin and wrenched his face upwards. "Focus," he hissed, and Fitz was staring into his eyes again, twin pools of darkness. "Deep into my eyes. Deep into obedience. No more resistance now, no more fighting. Your thoughts are too slow, heavy, and docile. You've already sunk too deep into trance."

Fitz tried to shake his head, to look elsewhere or close his eyes, but he was trapped in Edgar's gaze, his powers slowly but surely draining Fitz of his willpower, returning him right back to entrancement.

"Yes, that's right, no need to fight. Only obedience and submission now. You will submit to me. Say it."

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I will submit to you, sir."

"You will obey me."

"…I will obey you, sir."

"You're completely under my control."

"I…"

"Say it, boy." Edgar's eyes sparkled with malicious glee.

"I'm completely under your control, sir," said Fitz, eyelids drooping and voice growing dull.

"Good, very good boy. Now repeat that as you become drowsy and docile."

"I will submit to you, sir. I will obey you, sir. I'm completely under your control, sir," said Fitz, helpless to stop himself, the words becoming more true as he spoke them. "I will submit to you, sir. I will obey you, sir. I'm completely under your control, sir…" His eyelids were closing down, down, down, as he reinforced his own hypnotized state.

"Sleep, now," said Edgar. "Sleep and submit to my will. Sleep and receive the precious gift of my command. Sleep and fall into a dream of docility. Sleep."

"I will… sleep… sir…" Fitz muttered as his eyes closed and his head pitched forward. He struggled for one more fruitless moment before his consciousness fell into an abyss.

"Very good, thrall. And now you don't need to think any more. All you need to do is listen."

Fitz felt Edgar sit down next to him and whisper into his ear, but he was too deeply hypnotized to do anything but absorb his suggestions and commands.

"…two, you will open your eyes but remain deeply entranced. And on three, open your eyes and obey."

Fitz's heavy eyes blinked open easily. He felt strange, his head foggy. It was hard to think. The room he was in looked familiar, but he couldn't remember what it was or why he was here. He stretched his wrists, which felt oddly stiff, as did his legs.

"Ahem."

Fitz looked up to see a vampire in a sharp suit, lounging imperiously on an overstuffed armchair, and he was consumed with the deep need to serve, to do anything he commanded. The small tug of wrongness in his thoughts was snuffed out as Lord Edgar beckoned him forward, and Fitz felt himself falling to his knees in front of this strong, powerful vampire. His superior.

Lord Edgar reached forward and pet his head with a condescending smile. "There you go. Don't you feel so much better?"

"Yes, sir." It would be easy and effortless to serve. There was nothing he wanted more. And those vague, nagging thoughts he had were difficult to focus on and hurt his head. This vampire would do the thinking for him, as was his right.

"Such a good little thrall. So calm and obedient. Not a scrap of fight left in you. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," said Fitz, swallowing hard as he looked into Lord Edgar's captivating eyes.

"Do you see now, Jameson? He's so much more agreeable like this. With a little time and conditioning, he'll be a masterpiece."

Jameson scoffed. "If you say so. Of course this is an improvement, but I still think he'd be better erased."

"And that's why quality thralls are wasted on you." Lord Edgar pet Fitz with a gesture that might have seemed affectionate if not for the malice in his eyes and smile. "Hm, how shall I have you serve me? Why don't you polish my shoes?"

Lord Edgar tossed a little black bag at Fitz, who fumbled it in his dazed state. He picked it up and opening it, revealing shoe polish, a horsehair brush, and several cloths. Pleased to have been given a task by a vampire, he got straight to work brushing the dust and dirt off from every crevice of Lord Edgar's exquisite dress shoes.

"Don't you dare miss a spot," said Lord Edgar with amusement as Fitz began to rub the polish in, treating the vampire's shoes with more care than he had ever treated his own.

"I'm finished, sir," he said meekly, once the shoes were shining bright enough to show Fitz his reflection.

"Passable work," said Lord Edgar. "Now you can be my footstool. I expect your former master will be here any minute. Don't you want him to see what a good, obedient thrall you are?"

Fitz's face burned with both shame and pleasure as he got on all fours in front of Lord Edgar's chair, allowing the vampire to prop his feet on his back. The thought of Lex -- a powerful vampire, his superior, his true master -- seeing him reduced to this state…

He hoped that Lex would approve of how well he could serve.

As it turned out, Fitz didn't have to wait long. Just as his hands were becoming sore from pressing into the floor, the door to the drawing room was flung open, and a familiar feeling swept over him like a rush of water. Fitz craned his neck to see Lex standing there, ringed in fury.

"Finally, there you are. Come to collect your trash?" said Jameson.

"Now, now, this thrall certainly isn't trash. He just needed some fixing." Lord Edgar bent down and pet Fitz's head as he would a dog. "Do you like what I've done to him, Alexander?"

"Get your hands off of my thrall immediately. This is your only warning." Lex's voice was a low rumble of thunder, a storm brewing over the ocean.

"Oh, dear, I don't think I can do that. I've already become quite fond of him. I don't think I could in good conscience release this thrall to someone who doesn't take proper care of him."

Lord Edgar lifted his feet off of Fitz and beckoned him upwards. As if floating, Fitz found himself rising back into a kneel. "In my lap, thrall." Fitz helplessly rested his head on Lord Edgar's lap, allowing the vampire to caress him gently.

"What have you done to him?" Lex demanded. "Fitz, are you all right? What has he done to you?"

"I --" Fitz started.

"I molded him into a better thrall, as you can very well see," said Edgar. "Of course, this is just the beginning of his necessary conditioning, but you can see how well he's already taken to it. All of this time, you've been depriving this poor thrall of the control he truly needs. I'm doing both of you a favor."

"I did warn you." Lex pulled out a silver knife that gleamed in the flickering gaslight.

"Come now, even you're smarter than that. I have your precious thrall entirely in my grasp. If you even consider attacking me -- well, you wouldn't want something to happen to Fitz here, would you?" Lord Edgar tilted Fitz's chin up to look at him. "You don't want Alexander to do something he'll regret, do you?"

"No, sir."

"So I thought. Now why don't you put the knife down and --"

There was a flash of light and a horrible wet sound, and cold, inky blood was gushing down Edgar's front and soaking his shirt, dripping onto Fitz. Fitz looked up to see the silver knife sticking out of Edgar's right eye, as the vampire gasped and choked. Lex was still on the other side of the room, and Fitz realized that he must have thrown the knife with pinpoint precision.

"Hell!" Jameson cried, leaping from his seat, a second silver knife narrowly missing him.

Edgar slumped over almost on top of Fitz, and Fitz felt his mind begin to clear a bit. As he tried to shake himself free, he felt something tickle his ankles, and let out an undignified scream as he saw a swarm of rats swirling around him. Rats were filling the room, almost thick enough on the ground that he couldn't see the carpet, climbing his pant legs. They were everywhere, squirming and chittering, climbing Edgar's legs and up the chair. The gaslight was reflected in their beady eyes as they crawled closer to Fitz's face.

"Fitz!" Lex cried out. "You --"

"Come any closer to me," said Jameson, "and my rats are going to eat your thrall's eyes."

Any bravery Fitz had mustered was out the window as he tried to scramble away from the rats to no avail. They were clinging to his shirt, clawing steadily upward.

Lex hesitated, and that was enough for Jameson to kick him square in the chest, sending him reeling backwards into a curio. Ceramic ornaments shattered against Lex's body, covering him in shards. Before he could get back to his feet, Jameson had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, delivering blow upon blow to his face.

Fitz tried to get up and help, but he was still dizzy from enthrallment and adrenaline and the rats were all over him. He couldn't see what was happening. He could only hear awful noises, catch a flash of movement out of the side of his eye. The rats were everywhere, and he couldn't help but shut his eyes in a futile attempt to protect himself. There was a shout, and then an eerie silence, and Fitz thought his heart would burst from anticipation.

"Shoo! Get away!" It was Lex, drawing closer. The sound and smell of rats began to recede, and Fitz cautiously opened his eyes again. He was hauled upright into strong arms, and there was Lex, his handsome face a bruised and bloody mess. "Fitz, are you hurt?"

Fitz couldn't help but laugh to keep himself from crying. "How can you even ask me that, when you're…"

"I've had worse. It will heal."

Fitz could see Jameson on the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds including a nasty gash across his stomach. He grew lightheaded, and thought he might faint or vomit or both.

"Easy, I've got you," said Lex, gathering Fitz up into his arms and letting him rest his head on his shoulder. His grip was too tight. "They took you, I can't believe they took you and touched you and --"

"Did you kill them?"

"No. I'd have to put the silver knife in their hearts for that," he said. "A certain amount of violence is accepted in vampire society. This incident will blow over, particularly since neither Edgar nor Jameson will want the story to circulate. But killing other vampires, particularly powerful ones… Edgar's friends and allies would never rest until I'd been taken out."

"I see," Fitz said shakily, ashamed that he was so weak, that Lex had seen him happily serving as the footrest of a different vampire. "Lex, I…"

"He got in your head," said Lex, furiously. "What did he do to you?"

"Lord -- I mean Edgar mesmerized me. He made me obey him, and… well, you saw the results. I should have fought it harder, I should have --"

"No, it isn't your fault. As conditioned as you are, I wouldn't expect you to be able to hold out against Edgar's power. You did the best you could. I have no doubt." Lex's eyes were terrifying. "Stabbing him in the eye is too good for him. I should teach him a lesson he'll never forget. I should…"

The tension in Fitz's chest was rising. "…We should have left the ball when I got myself into trouble the first time. I thought I could handle it, and now you're…"

"I'm not upset with you, Fitz. I'm upset with myself. I should have kept closer watch on you. I didn't expect them to steal you in the middle of the crowd, during the dance… the sheer audacity of it."

"I should have been able to take care of myself!"

"You can't fully protect yourself against vampires, no matter how clever you are. No human can. That's why I'm the one who is meant to protect you, and I failed," said Lex, drawing Fitz even closer, so that he could hardly even breathe. Fitz could smell Lex's blood, but also his familiar scent of woodsmoke and book bindings, and he was suddenly so exhausted. He couldn't keep himself from collapsing into Lex's embrace, kissing him softly on his neck.

"Fitz. My Fitz," Lex murmured into his ear. "I should've never allowed anyone but me to lay hands on you."

Fitz felt so utterly vulnerable. He'd been so easily subdued by Edgar's spell, his mind so willing to go along with the idea of a strong vampire taking over his difficult decisions. Was that truly all mesmerism, or something deep within him?

If it had been Lex coaxing him into his lap and caressing him like a pampered dog…

"Ugh, my sire is surely going to hear about this," Lex was muttering to himself. "Edgar won't want it spread around, but my sire find out anyway, with so many partygoers. I'm going to need to speed up my acquisition of hunters, possibly take a risk…"

Fitz no longer felt comfortable with himself. He'd been fooling himself to think that he and Lex were equals, that Fitz could easily handle whatever the supernatural world had to throw at him. Now he knew that he'd been nothing more but a naive lamb among the wolves, only allowed to frolic at their mercy. Edgar could have taken his entire mind so easily, had Lex not intervened; Lex could take his mind whenever he wanted, and Fitz might not even realize it.

The words of the first strange vampire he danced with bubbled up in his mind. It's just the cutest thing when vampires let their thralls think they're so independent.

He hadn't tried to escape since arriving at the manor. He spent his evenings fawning over Lex, trying to get his master's attention, and anticipating feedings. He slept soundly in his master's bed each day. He rarely even thought of the stage.

He was losing himself among the vampires.

"Are you still under his spell? You have a strange look on your face," said Lex. "Even if you weren't enthralled long, it still may take some time to wear off. I'll make sure it's all washed out of your head when we get home."

More enthrallment, more control, and Fitz did crave it, just as Edgar had said. Exhausted as he was, he craved the peace and bliss of Lex's song more than anything. He knew as soon as Lex opened his mouth to sing, he'd fall completely for its spell, floating in a deep trance where Lex's words were the only thing that mattered, and he wanted it.

"Fitz? Let's go home, okay?"

Fitz nodded. "Yes, sir."

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week: the vampire hunter who defies all vampires.

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[mariacallous]

It’s not too late, because it’s never too late. No outcomes are ever preordained, nothing is ever over, and you can always affect what happens tomorrow by making the right choices today. The U.S. Congress is finally making one of those right choices. Soon, American weapons and ammunition will once again start flowing to Ukraine.

But delays do have a price. By dawdling for so many months, by heading down the blind alley of border reform before turning back, congressional Republicans who blocked weapons and ammunition for Ukraine did an enormous amount of damage, some of it irreparable. Over the past six months, Ukraine lost territory, lives, and infrastructure. If Ukraine had not been deprived of air defense, the city of Kharkiv might still have most of its power plants. People who have died in the near-daily bombardment of Odesa might still be alive. Ukrainian soldiers who spent weeks at the front lines rationing ammunition might not be so demoralized.

The delay has changed American politics too. Only a minority of House Republicans, including Speaker Mike Johnson, joined most Democrats to approve $60 billion in aid yesterday. What is now clearly a pro-Russia Republican caucus has consolidated inside Congress. The lesson is clear: Anyone who seeks to manipulate the foreign policy of the United States, whether the tin-pot autocrat in Hungary or the Communist Party of China, now knows that a carefully designed propaganda campaign, when targeted at the right people, can succeed well beyond what anyone once thought possible. From the first days of the 2022 Russian invasion, President Vladimir Putin has been trying to conquer Ukraine through psychological games as well as military force. He needed to persuade Americans, Europeans, and above all Ukrainians that victory was impossible, that the only alternative was surrender, and that the Ukrainian state would disappear in due course.

Plenty of Americans and Europeans, though not so many Ukrainians, supported this view. Pro-Russia influencers—Tucker Carlson, J. D. Vance, David Sacks—backed up by an army of pro-Russia trolls on X and other social-media platforms, helped feed the narrative of failure and convinced a minority in Congress to block aid for Ukraine. It’s instructive to trace the path of a social-media post that falsely claimed that Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky owns two yachts, how it traveled up the food chain late last year, from the keyboard of a propagandist through the echo chamber created by trolls and into the brains of American lawmakers. According to Senator Thom Tillis, a Republican from North Carolina, some of his colleagues worried out loud, during debates about military aid to Ukraine, that “people will buy yachts with this money.” They had read the false stories and believed they were true.

But with the passage of this aid bill, Russia’s demoralization campaign has suffered a severe setback. This is also a setback for the Russian war effort, and not only because the Ukrainians will now have more ammunition. Suddenly the Russian military and Russian society are once again faced with the prospect of a very long war. Ukraine, backed by the combined military and economic forces of the United States and the European Union, is a much different opponent than Ukraine isolated and alone.

That doesn’t mean that the Russians will quickly give up: Putin and the propagandists who support him on state television have repeatedly stated that their goal is not to gain a bit of extra territory but to control all of Ukraine. They don’t want to swap land for peace. They want to occupy Kharkiv, Odesa, Kyiv, and more. Now, while their goals become harder to reach, is a good moment for the democratic countries backing Ukraine to recalibrate our strategy too.

Once the aid package becomes law this week, the psychological advantage will once again be on our side. Let’s use it. As Johnson himself recommended, the Biden administration should immediately pressure European allies to release the $300 billion in Russian assets that they jointly hold and send it to Ukraine. There are excellent legal and moral arguments for doing so—the money can legitimately be considered a form of reparations. This shift would also make clear to the Kremlin that it has no path back to what used to be called “normal” relations, and that the price Russia is paying for its colonial war will only continue to grow.

This is also a good moment for both Europeans and Americans to take the sanctions and export-control regimes imposed on Russia more seriously. If NATO were running a true economic-pressure campaign, thousands of people would be involved, with banks of screens at a central command center and constantly updated intelligence. Instead, the task has been left to a smattering of people across different agencies in different countries who may or may not be aware of what others are doing.

As American aid resumes, the Ukrainians should be actively encouraged to pursue the asymmetric warfare that they do best. The air and naval drone campaign that pushed the Black Sea Fleet away from their coastline, the raids on Russian gas and oil facilities thousands of miles from Ukraine, the recruitment of Russian soldiers, in Russia, to join pro-Ukraine Russian units fighting on the border—we need more of this, not less. The Biden administration should also heed Johnson’s suggestion that the United States supply more and better long-range weapons so that Ukrainians can hit Russian missile launchers before the missiles reach Ukraine. If the U.S. had done so in the autumn of 2022, when Ukraine was taking back territory, the world might look a lot different today.

This war will be over only when the Russians no longer want to fight—and they will stop fighting when they realize they cannot win. Now it is our turn to convince them, as well as our own pro-Russia caucus, that their invasion will fail. The best way to do that is to believe it ourselves.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 5-Down a Well

Traintober 2023

Other Stories

Day 5-Its only me

Down a Well

Henry had had plenty of bad days. His early years had been marked by plenty of days remembered for all the wrong reasons. But even by his standards...this day was almost impressive in how poorly it had gone before the sun appeared.

He looked up at Gordon, who looked distinctly unimpressed with his existence. James looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or to be nervous about his own part in all this. Jinx was eyeing the turntable with concern. He couldn't see the others from his position, but he could hear them whispering nonetheless.

He felt more awkward than he had since the last time he had failed before his rebuild, it was not a feeling he enjoyed feeling again. Fortunately, Gordon took a measure of pity on him and finally spoke up.

"Are you quite alright Henry?"

Henry looked down. "...my front aches badly. I'm afraid it's only gonna get worse."

Gordon looked down in concern, "I'm afraid I must agree with your assessment."

James stopped snickering long enough to look down to where Henry's front jammed into the side of the turntable in a mass of bent and twisted metal. "At least you can't fall further in," The red engine offered.

Henry glared up at the scarlet menace.

In the distance, the sound of an engine approaching through the yard could be heard.

"Finally." Henry sighed, "Someone who can do something to help."

"Fraid not Henry, it's only me." Thomas peeped happily, causing Henry to sag in defeat. 

"Thomas," Gordon said in warning.

Thomas just chuckled, "Don't worry Henry, I'm only teasing. Edward is on his way, so even if I can't pull you out, we'll be able to."

Henry was wondering what exactly he had done to deserve Thomas of all engines being the one to come to his rescue. He sighed, at least the morning couldn't get any worse...except it did.

"I would certainly hope so Thomas. As he is currently blocking the sheds," the Fat Controller said severely.

"Good morning sir!" Thomas peeped far too happily as his crew attached him to Henry's detached tender, "we'll have him quickly."

"As long as he's not wedged in the table," Jinx said concernedly.

Sir Topham Hatt climbed down the ladder into the turntable well to inspect the damage. As he pulled back a piece of metal he addressed the stricken engine. "Well Henry, would you care to explain?"

"Well, Sir I..." James snickered at Henry's predicament 

"Yes, Henry?"

"Sir if I may? Gordon offered.

"Go ahead."

"A new driver was moving Henry towards the table when James started a fuss about being repainted," James' expression quickly changed from amusement to betrayal. "He caused such a commotion the shunter failed to heed Henry's warnings and braked too late."

"Is that true Henry?"

"Yes sir," Henry said despondently.

"James?" It looked like James wanted to proclaim his innocence for a moment, but thought better of it. "Yes, sir." He sighed.

"Hmmmm. And where is the driver?"

"He was fleeing before Henry had even come to rest," Jynx answered. "My driver had to climb up and shut off Henry's steam."

"I see."

Mr. Smith, the British Rail representative arrived, walking up to the edge of the turntable. "Morning, Sir Hatt. Seems the day's trouble started early.,

"Morning Mr Smith, it had indeed."

Thomas returned and pulled behind Henry, The waiting yard crew began attaching chains between the two engines.

"Can you pull him out Thomas?

"I can try Sir. If he's fully wedged I'll need Edward's help."

"Very well. Everyone clear out. The sooner he's back on the rails the sooner we can repair the damage."

The workmen cleared away as Sir Topham Hatt climbed out of the well."

"Everyone ready? One. Two. Three. Pull!"

With much wheel slipping and clouds of steam, Thomas heaved his hardest. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then with a groan and screech of metal, Henry felt himself slowly start to move.

"Go it, Thomas!" Jinx called, and the others quickly joined in, cheering the straining tank engine on. In what felt like hours, but what was probably less than a minute, Henry felt the last of his wheels return to the rails. Thomas came to a stop, audibly gasping for air from the effort.

"Well done Little Thomas," Gordon said.

"Thank you." Thomas panted out, smiling from the rare praise from the pacific.

Sir Topham Hatt had climbed back down into the turntable well to inspect the damage.

"The main mechanism is jammed." He said grimly, "It cannot be moved until it is repaired. We will need to find an engine to pull the morning express quickly, as we can't get any of the engines in the shed out in time."

Henry stared down at his bent front, it was clear he wouldn't be pulling any trains till he was repaired.

"Edward is coming," Thomas said hopefully.

Gordon shook his head, "he's not strong enough to pull it alone."

Mr. Smith looked to Sir Topham Hatt, "None of the Barrow or Vicarstown engines could arrive in time, could they?"

The Fat Controller shook his head, "No they could not."

Gordon suddenly smiled as an idea occurred to him. "If only we had an engine here with express experience. One who had not only served as my back engine on the Wild'nor Western before but had pulled the trains with Edward when we were indisposed."

Thomas understood first, "Oh no."

The other engines and crews turned to look at the tank engine, who looked one second away from bolting.

James smirked, "Of course! He did such a good job covering for us in the 30s," he purred.

Thomas glared, "I am a tank engine, not a bloody express engine."

"But you are capable," Hatt said thoughtfully. Thomas looked betrayed.

"He is?" Smith asked dubiously.

"Of course!" Henry interjected, "he runs a non-stop service from Tidmouth to Ffarquhar in the evenings."

"He would have to stop at Marion for coal and water." Gordon said smoothly, "but he is capable of making the run, and he would never let the passengers down."

Sir Topham Hatt nodded, "Can your branchline spare you, Thomas?"

Thomas looked desperately around as if hoping an express engine would magically appear, but in the end, he sighed, "Yes. Callan and Toryreck are covering my trains."

"It's settled then." The fat controller nodded, "Thomas and Edward will pull the express while the workmen find a way to get the rest of you out."

He walked off towards the station platform, "Thomas, place Henry on the siding with his tender then fetch the coaches." 

"Yes sir." 

"Cheer up little Thomas." Gordon mock soothed.

"I hope they have to use a crane to get you out," Thomas puffed away to the sound of the big engines chuckling.

[sacredwrath]

P2. A Little Rage

Revenge, angst, angry rumination, anticipated violence, anticipated murder, blood

Logan stares into the basin of his bathroom sink, watching the water run. Little swirls of steam rise into the cool air. Red stains the faucet and porcelain handles.

He doesn't want to be clean.

His hands are still coated in blood. It's somehow found its way beneath his fingernails. He rubs his hands together, feeling the sickly stickiness of them. It turns his stomach, but he doesn't want to wash it off.

It's proof.

Proof he's damaged the monster. Proof he's done something. Done something to protect Jesse, to get revenge. It's proof he's no longer helpless in the face of Jesse's suffering.

He forces his hands under the burning stream.

Am I actually doing this?

He scrubs beneath his nails.

Am I actually keeping a man chained up in my basement, with full intent to torture and kill him?

This isn't you.

Isn't it?

Watching that creature bleed had felt like vindication. It had felt like there was finally somewhere to put the burning pit of rage scorching away his insides.

He tries so hard to keep it contained. Tries to keep it from scarring his friends, scarring Jesse.

The way they looked at him during their hallucination.

Every time they cry or panic, or look at him with the sadness that seems to scream, "you left me alone!" He feels that inferno get a little hotter, a little brighter, a little harder to control. But he never let's it out.

Until now.

There in the mud and rain, he’d felt righteous. Having that monster's blood on him had felt almost like forgiveness.

From the moment Jesse disappeared he'd been trying to stay afloat, fighting panic, struggling to remain rational even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to go in, guns blazing, and do wherever it took to get them out. He held himself back, for their safety, for his team's safety. He'd held himself back and felt his helpless fury drowning him.

And then, when he finally had them back and saw the scars on their body and mind, the realization that he'd been too late-

A new kind of helplessness, the agony of holding them in his arms and still being unable to protect them.

He'd shoved it down, buried it deep in his soul, but he couldn't stop burning.

He hid it well, from everyone but Isa that is. He's learned to avoid touching it. Like a real fire, getting too close would let it consume him, and for Jesse's sake, for his team's sake, he won't let that happen.

But now, seeing Adrian Morgan laying in the road, half dead and almost begging him to take his life, he'd slipped. Brushing against the anger and realized it wouldn't let him kill that man. Death would be quick, over in mere moments, and he'd be helpless again, helpless against his rage. He needs something else, something more, something worse.

He shuts off the tap.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them

[moonlight-tmd]

Random idea inspired by a thing i read;

BlitzBee but Blitzwing gets amnesia and falls in love with Bee whom he hated before.

While on some mission, Blitz gets (more)processor damage and all his memory data fries. Megs wants to dispose of him and use his parts cuz the little control he had over him is gone.

Blitz runs away and the Autobots find him and take him in, they initially wanted to try and get whatever leftover information he might have but the only thing they learn is that the Decepticons are stationed somewhere in a cave.

They wanted to help him but Blitz would straight up panic whenever they tried to pull him into medbay or when Ratchet had his tools near him, at one point he got aggressive so they stopped.

The Autobots don't know what to do: on one side- this is a wanted Decepticon, on the other- the poor guy didn't even know what his name was until they told him. Then the Elite Guard arrives and thru some chain of events Megs and other Decepticons are captured in their own base and Blitz stays with the repair crew cuz 1.rehabilitation, 2.he's useless anyway so they leave him with the low-ranks.

Blitz gets branded an Autobot and gets his own place in the plant. The others try to teach him stuff and get him to be nice but it's not really effective. The only one to really get along with him from the start was Bumblebee.

The little chatty bot has captured the Ex-'con's interest; Bee was different from the other Autobots, he was funny, kind and especially cheeky for his size.

Bee was sceptical at first- the guy did try to kill him multiple times after all, but he felt bad for Blitz not knowing anything about himself. One night he found Blitz sitting alone and sad, "Why am I so messed up?" he asked Bee, and that's when Bee's Spark softened for him. He just couldn't be mean to him anymore. Everyone has been treating Blitz like an outcast and Blitz didn't even know why.

And so, Bee tells him how he knew Blitzwing and tries to answer other questions Blitz has. Key word being 'tries', he doesn't have answers for most of them.

Blitz learns to like earth's culture, Bee teaches him how to play video games so they can play together, he discovers his Dancer side and his passion for sculpting again and so begins to hang out with Bulkhead sometimes, even Sari gets the status of "closer than a stranger". But the status of "friend"- only Bee gets those privileges.

One night Blitz has a nightmare- Megatron's promises of killing him and the looming frames of a whole legion of pissed off Decepticons plaguing his dream and resulting in waking up to a panic attack. Bee, who has been staying up late watching movies again, goes to invesitgate the sudden sounds of distress. He comforts Blitz the best he can. Blitz, not wanting to go to recharge again, joins him in the main room for the late night romance movie marathon. They watch few romcoms and animated movies. Then they get to live-action Beauty and The Beast- Bee's favorite.

Blitz is surprised to find Bee crying after the movie ends, Bee tells him that he's always been a hopeless romantic. "Big, bad guy learns how to love because someone showed him kindness when everyone else treated him like a monster... man, I wish I had someone who'd love me for real." Bee had said. That night, something in Blitzwing ignited like a candle. A flame of something that only grew larger the more he hung out with Bee.

The others started to trust him too, he started to feel welcome in their presence, everything was looking up.

...Then he started remembering snippets of his past. Flashes of memories returned to him from time to time. Even tho they were very brief, it was enough for Blitz to start to piece together of what kind of person he used to be. He kept quiet about it, he didn't wanna ruin what he had now.

The flashes showed him little parts of his past- what he did, who the other transformers were, even going as far back as showing him what he once looked like. The flashes often showed him what he did on earth; the damage he caused, the brutal fights with his autobot team,.. and how poorly he treated the one he cared about the most now.

Bee noticed something was up, but Blitz brushed it off everytime. Then when the base was empty, only them in Bee's room, he asked him about their past- conveniently disguising the real reason as 'i used to be a 'con, surely we fought or something right?'. Bee told him about the fights and encounters he remembered, one particular event stuck out in his mind- the time Bee made him fall from the sky, straight into a frozen lake. Bee himself chuckled at how funny it was.

Later that night Blitz couldn't recharge, the ghost of that specific memory tickled his processor as if it was important. Blitz went to watch romance movies instead. Something about them just made sense with Blitzwing's Spark. Maybe that's why Bee loved them so much? At one point the pick up line "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Beacuse you look like an angel." came up in a movie. Blitzwing has been educated on earth's culture enough to know this was a form of courting. Did Bee-... no he couldn't have been, he hated him back then. Bee was afraid of Blitzwing back then, he backed away with fear whenever they met. And Blitzwing was so mean to him, he tried to kill him for Primus' sake!

He thought about all the bad things that happened between them in the past; they were enemies, of course they didn't like each other... But then the thoughts of what has happened since he got put on earth slowly flooded over the bad ones; Bee was nice to him, he spend time with Blitz and taught him all the things he knows now. Bee was kind to him, and kindness was something he never experienced nor remembered being done to him.

The realization that he might like Bumblebee a little more than a friend slowly set in his processor.

He doesn't know how to act; he wants Bee to like him back, he want to spend everyday with him and possibly have an actual relationship with the minibot- but at the same time he's guilty about what he's done to Bee and feels he doesn't deserves it.

Little does he know Bee has been feeling similar: Blitzwing is nice and funny, caring even when you really get to know him. He feels a little bad for all the insults and mockery he's thrown at the ex-'con, even if said ex-'con tried to kill him. You'd think he'd be a love expert, having watched all those romance movies, but really he has no clue what to do. Similar to his past-crush on Prowl, Blitz has always been on the attractive end. Since the two used to be enemies, only now he's realy started to appreciate it.

This is where the idea kinda dies- idk, maybe Bee got damaged and was laying in medbay in critical condition and that's what snapped Blitzwing out of the love/self-hate loop. So after Bee got better and was staying in base for few days to recover, they had another romance movie night. They watched all the movies that played on the first night and when the Beauty and The Beast came on, Blitz slowly brought up how worried he's been about Bee-

"It's like jou said... 'Big, bad guy learns how to love because someone showed him kindness'..." Blitz have muttered once the dance scene.

I cannot put to words how fluffy and soft the confession was, there were little words but just enough to cover every bit of emotion they were feeling. They fell asleep on the couch and the others found them cuddling in the morning.

It took them a while to officially announce they were dating- it was a surprise to them, Bulkhead was a little worried about Bee cuz- well, that was Blitzwing he was dating but Bee assured him he knew what he was getting into.

And it wasn't a bad decision at all, those two are absolutely happy together. Took them a bit to officially say "I love you" but the fluffy cuddles and soft kisses make up for it.

[swearyshera]

Dear Gods, they're both desaturated... Way to hurt us. If I didn't know how it ended... oh dear... Anyway, I'm dropping in just to... offer you an egg in this trying time, or something... I really do think that some of your ask-ers lately are asking things of you above your pay-grade. Perhaps I am one of them? There's the usual fandom-fighting about the redeemability of Hordak that I thought was resolved ages ago with people just hanging out on their respective sides of the fandom. There's religion-rankling of the type that feels to me like it would be better discussed on people's on blogs and/or on various reblog chains by people familiar with the culture / subcultures and imagery rather than coming to the part funny / part pain abridged series blog that was trying to go for a more generalized approach and stay out of controversy. And I am glad that you took a more generalized approach with Prime, too. You could have easily played up the (canonical) Evangeli-speak and did a straight-up "Religion Bad!" thing with him which would have felt very tired to those of us who've seen it in many shows and stories before.. It also would have been alienating to the few (all one?) of us in this fandom who deconstructed their previous Christian religion thoroughly and ditched all organization and dogma but somehow didn't land on atheism as their personal answer? Your version of Prime feels much more like a generalized patriarchy, the general social expectations of the binaries and hierarchies. (In other words, I didn't even know who Andrew Tate was before the fight with Greta Thunberg or Ben Shapiro until he started setting Barbies on fire and your take on Prime gives me those kind of vibes - the vibe of the insecure, pathetic "manly-man" who must control the narrative but never will. Something like that. It really makes me feel like diversity of thought and life will win in the end.

I just like to add that little extra bit of hurt!

And I'm always happy to discuss my interpretations and what I have or haven't done, but sometimes there's things that I just have to stand up and say "I didn't know enough about this to do it right, so I didn't".

You've pretty much got my reasons spot on for not going full-on 'Prime as a preacher' - and i very much considered it. When it comes to religion, it's not always 'anti-religious atheism' vs 'super controlling oppressive religion' - there's a great majority of people for whom religion is a driver for good things in their life, and I don't want them to feel like their faith is collateral damage in my attacking a particular type of religion.

I think having Prime as a massive homophobe was a better choice narratively anyway. With the central story revolving around a couple of lesbians, it makes sense that he would be the antithesis to that. There's also an element of misogyny and general assholery that comes into it as well, but for the most part, Prime is someone who's hellbent on getting rid of queer people. And that is something that, horrifyingly, seems to be seeping into the real world too - some of the stuff I've had Prime see seemed so far-fetched at the time, but then you start seeing the same kind of rhetoric happening for real. It's terrifying, but I want to keep those parallels because, just like Adora, we will not be defeated by that. We won't be erased, because we are going to win out against hatred, just as Etheria will!

[actress4him]

Querencia 15 - Park Day

The enthusiastic response I got on the last piece I posted helped motivate me to keep going! This is the actual chronologically next chapter, coming in a month or two after Mind Control. Enjoy!

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps , @bookworm2107

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Contains: referenced mind control, referenced parental abandonment, fear of abandonment, broken bone, a couple more warnings in the tags to avoid spoilers here

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Things have been fairly normal since the whole “supervillain getting in Jamil’s head and making him attack everyone” incident. Dagger is still a near-weekly problem, along with Meltdown and whoever else he happens to be hanging out with at the moment. Other villains come and go, too, some low-level Supers like Reaper and Gibbous, along with non-Super nuisances that the team does their best to curb, too - bank robbers and muggers and kidnappers and such.

No one has heard anything from or about Luna. Then again, no one had heard of her before the incident, either. Which means she’s probably still out there, and could very well be biding her time until she can strike again. None of them ever really talk about her, but Liliana can feel anxiety hanging in the air that wasn’t there before, especially on poor Jamil’s part.

Luna knows exactly where they live, what they look like without their masks on. Probably knows their names and where they work, thanks to rummaging through Jamil’s brain. So not only could she easily return, but she could also tell others the information she learned. They don’t know who she might be associated with. They managed to pin down Reaper one day and quiz him about her and any other new villains in town, but he was less than helpful on the subject.

Even if they could track her down and catch her, Liliana has learned from snippets of conversation that they really have nothing to do with her. It’s something she’s never thought of before, but one reason that there are still so many supervillains around is that there’s no way to arrest them. The government likely could detain them, but no one trusts that it would be humane or that the heroes wouldn’t also be captured in the process of trying to hand them over. Just the thought of the government locking them up makes Liliana sick to her stomach, villains or not.

Normal jails can’t handle them. Normal courtrooms can’t, either, in order to convict them to send them to jail. And no hero wants to be in charge of locking them away themselves, even if they did have the space and technology.

So all they can do for now is damage control, really. Try to stop their crimes as often as they can, try to disrupt whatever plans they have. She doesn’t envy the team their jobs. Between supervillains, regular criminals, and their day jobs, they’re constantly busy.

Every other Saturday, though, after everyone who’s working gets home, they make it a point to go do something together. Since Liliana’s been with them they’ve seen a couple of movies, gone to an arcade, had a picnic, gone to the mall, and eaten out at restaurants a few times. Every experience is a huge deal for her, though she tries to make light of the awe she feels. It’s just been so long since she’s done such normal, fun things. Sometimes she feels like she’s watching someone else’s life.

Today, they’re at the city park. No one can remember whose idea it was to start with, but “the children” - as Quinn likes to fondly dub Nari, Alex, and Jamil - went crazy over the thought of playing on the playground, so here they are. It’s late enough that all of the actual children have gone home. Jamil is trying out every slide, while Quinn judges Nari and Alex in a series of competitions on the monkey bars. Liliana watches everyone from the side, a small smile on her face, but every once in a while she glances over at the empty swings.

Swinging used to be her favorite. Especially on park or school swings like these, with the long chains that could take you so high you felt like you were flying. She and Mila used to see who could go the highest, and try to swing themselves right over the top bar.

It feels silly and childish now. She can’t swing herself right now, anyway. She healed another broken rib - on Nari this time - earlier this week, just a couple of weeks after the pain from Alex’s had finally faded. So there’s no way that she can pump the chains on a swing.

Still…she could just sit in one. That won’t hurt anything. Glancing over at the chin-up contest again, she makes her way over and settles into the plastic seat, gloved hands gripping the chains loosely. Her toes just barely reach the ground, giving her enough leverage that she can give herself a little push. The swing rocks gently. Liliana watches her sneakers as they brush across the dirt, back and forth. She pushes again and swings a little more. Such a simple motion, but it brings so many childhood memories flooding into her mind.

“May I give you a push?”

The sudden question makes her jump and look back over her shoulder, though she recognizes the voice. Jamil is standing behind her with a smile on his face, cheeks flushed from his adventures down the slides.

“Oh, um…y-you don’t have to, I’m…I’m fine.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I’d like to, if you’d like to swing. If not, I’ll leave you be!”

Now her mind is at war. She automatically wants to say no, not wanting to inconvenience him or make him do things for her.

She also really, really wants to swing.

Somehow, without her actually deciding what to say, “Sure?” slips out.

“Alright, hang on!”

Suddenly, she’s flying through the air, and it’s exactly how she remembers it. Colors rush by as the wind blows her curls back off her shoulders, then tangles them around her cheeks again. She grabs onto the chains tighter. Her legs automatically fall into a pumping motion, toes pointing out at the horizon, her eyes bright with exhilaration.

Yes, it pulls at her rib a bit. But she finds she doesn’t really care.

She’s been swinging for a few minutes, oblivious to anything else around her, when another voice breaks in. “Hold on tight, I’m coming through!” A set of hands grab the swing by her hips and shove forward, higher and faster until she’s sure she actually is going to go over the top bar, or more likely, fall out the back of the swing. She squeals in shock, though this sensation is familiar, too. Then she’s dropped abruptly, her stomach following the motion, the swing’s momentum twisting it back and forth as it reaches the bottom again.

Alex is turned around watching her, laughing. He’d come up from behind and grabbed the swing, running all the way underneath it.

Her brother used to do the very same thing, back when she was small enough he could lift her.

“Did I scare you?”

“A, a little.” She’s smiling, though. She can’t help it, even with the pain in her side and the melancholy of missing what used to be.

These people…they treat her like a family should. Better than her family ever did, though she feels like a traitor for thinking it.

She shouldn’t fall for it. If her real family taught her anything, it’s that what seems like love and care won’t last and can’t be trusted. If her own flesh and blood eventually turned on her, then she can’t expect people who were strangers a few months ago to be any different.

But right now, she’s shoving those thoughts deep, deep down. She can worry about all of that later. Right now, for once, she’s going to let herself enjoy the moment.

Nari is shoving and punching Alex and playfully fussing at him for scaring Liliana, and Jamil has jumped up on the swing next to her, standing on one foot and pumping with his arms. She doesn’t move from her spot, just keeps smiling and watching their antics. They’re so full of life and joy, even with the stress they constantly face.

Before long Quinn takes up Jamil’s position without a word, and she’s swinging again. Alex and Jamil balance on the seesaw, attempting circus tricks, screaming like girls when Nari uses her power to make the metal move beneath them, which sends her into fits of laughter.

It’s late when they finally pile into Quinn’s car to head back to HQ. Everyone is tired in a contented way. Alex leans the passenger seat back practically into Nari’s lap, claiming he’s going to take a nap, while she kicks his headrest repeatedly and threatens him. Quinn clears his throat loudly, though, and quiet falls to let him focus and not overwhelm him with sound in the small space.

Liliana leans her head back and watches the moon out the sunroof. Her hands are tucked between her knees to keep her arms from brushing up against Jamil and Nari, who each lean into their respective doors to give her more space. It’s…peaceful. She’s pretty sure she hears someone snoring. She could fall asleep, too, honestly, which is surprising for her since she doesn’t usually feel comfortable sleeping unless she’s alone.

The motion of the car does lull her into a near-dozing state. Her eyes are closed and she’s absentmindedly trying to picture which turn they’re taking when someone gasps and the car suddenly jerks to one side. Liliana’s eyes fly open and she sits up abruptly. There’s a bump and a loud popping and hissing sound, then the car is swerving uncontrollably, headlights sweeping back and forth across the empty road.

The seconds seem to pass in slow motion. Her hands are gripping the seats in front of her, eyes fixated out the front windshield. A cacophony of screams and shouted words fill the car as the steeply sloped side of the road looms in front of them, cutting off abruptly as they tip over the side and begin to fall.

Gravity inverts, and for a moment she’s weightless before being slammed back down. Her temple smashes into something hard and unyielding. Images are swimming through the darkness around her - a cracked window, slumped figures. A beam of light making her wince and turn away.

Someone groans. The car shakes as a door is forced open.

“This one’s still awake.”

“Here, use the syringe.”

There’s movement around her, the click of seatbelts unbuckling too loud in her ears.

“Wait, why are there five?”

“What?”

“This one, who is she? She’s not one of the usuals, is she?”

“Doesn’t matter, just grab her.”

Something is very, very wrong, but she can’t make her body work to do anything about it. The darkness outside is creeping closer inward. She feels her seatbelt loosen and a pair of hands latch onto her, but the darkness closes in completely before she can protest.

[tiredassmage]

Not sure if you want these as ask, or in the comments of the post, but here: 🖊️ + Leo.

Send me a “🖊+an OC“ and I will talk about that OC!

Leo's hiding quite a bit of insecurity and uncertainty underneath a fairly casual veneer - which in and of itself isn't exactly a secret to most of us ooc viewers anymore, I think, but I've been really in my feelings about what, exactly, those kind of... worries and fears are lately, so I think I'll take this opportunity to try to put some of it into words.

Just dipping a toe into Chapter Two of the class story for Seasons related objectives brought back around that the war between the Empire and the Republic isn't quite so cold and distant anymore. Things are starting to heat up, and Leo's about to spend a lot more time in warzones than he'd ever like to do again.

Part of it is definitely still nerves about what little he's managed to start to get together about his life unraveling if his family ties back to Ziost made it back up the Imperial food chain. But the other half of it is just... the trauma from having been in the fighting before. While I don't expect to dig too graphically deep into what all those issues entail, we'll pop the rest of the post under the cut and talk a little bit more about where, exactly, Leo's army-related ptsd is coming from.

A lot of it is from losing his unit - the last deployment he had before Begeren and meeting Dash easily could've killed him as well, but it did kill essentially all of the squad he'd grown used to serving with, save for a couple upper level, less frontline officers that remained to... try to reign him back in the aftermath, but we're getting a tiny bit ahead of ourselves with that.

So this is the point where it feels kinda important to establish there's nothing Leo would ever consider 'heroic' about himself. Quite frankly, he has a... less than stellar self-image that usually runs more along the lines of selfish, short-tempered, and... a bit of a general mess who doesn't really have a grasp on what he's doing with life. And he wasn't ever happy in the Imperial Army, but that doesn't mean he wasn't close enough to some of the other people he ended up serving with. Leo has a really difficult time vocalizing it, I think, but the part that troubles him the most about that deployment was that he wasn't able to do anything to save his squad. A Sith's orders aren't to be questioned - and he tried, tried to get anyone to see a little reason instead of sending them headfirst into a problem well over their heads. But none of them were exactly keen to test that Sith Lord's patience - Leo included - and... it got a lot of people killed. It very easily could have also killed him. In the grand scheme of things, he's lucky he just came out with scarring and damaged hearing that the family's money was able to treat with some cybernetics.

Leo isn't particularly good at speaking up in general, I think. For all the times he was shut down trying to reason with family, and for all that Imperial loyalty is taught to be pretty absolute without questions above your own station, I think he still tends to expect he's going to be shut down, so he doesn't even tend to reach for the language to try to talk about things until it's... kind of bubbled over and he can't really run from his feelings anymore about it. It's easier to cover hurt and doubts with a lighter sense of humor that isn't as likely to get him examined from every angle.

Of course, Dash and Liv know him better than most... And they've seen more of those uncertainties - whether he really spoke to them or not at the time. So they're a little better equipped to know what kind of buttons need pushed, so to speak, for him to start unraveling his own tongue.

He's no revolutionary though. And he's no patriot. He isn't really out here to pick sides in the war - because that's terrifying to get involved in. He knows the Empire really shouldn't be winning any sort of galactic control, but... Leo's still a little more concerned with the little picture aspects. He's barely got his own life together, so he's no model citizen. He's worried about his sister. He's worried about Dash. He's worried about this weird little hodgepodge gang that's started to attach themselves to him and his freighter like a bunch of uninvited barnacles (they're... growing on him. In the metaphorical sense and in the sense that, yes... they're starting to feel more like friends than happenstance business partners). These are the kinds of things Leo needs to prioritize for himself. If he happens into helping the Republic along the way, then so be that, so long as it doesn't involve a whole extra haul's worth of unnecessary risk to this little band of people he cares about. He's not really sure he's willing to shoulder that risk and lose any of them for 'a cause.'

And that, too, admittedly, kinda scares him. And shames him, in some measure. In his eyes, Liv holds her ideals with both hands with a steady grip. He knows him and Dash aren't perfect people, but if Leo had to pick out of the two of them who was better, it'd be Dash without hesitation.

Life's better with some feelings out in the open about him and Dash's relationship and some progress with his own crew, but there's still a fair amount of elements and ways that Leo still feels like he's sort of just managing to keep his head above water about, and that's something only to really be remedied with by time and a bit of patience - more experience on what life looks like now with these sorts of changes in play. He's got people he doesn't want to disappoint in his life again and coming back around to that makes it a bit easier to fight the more negative and anxious memories and thoughts floating around up there in that head of his.

[tiredelirium]

D.29

My heart weeps for the few friends I have over the sea today. I didn’t see the electoral results of the american vote till late on, so I was greeted to a slew of posts urging people not to harm themselves over the result. It’s a sad state of affairs that more than half a country would vote a convicted felon into office of their own accord, and yet here we are.

I also fail to comprehend how any sane person, who see’s his policies and the beliefs he pushes, can be truly okay with handing him even a modicum of power over their lives? Faith is one thing, but going against your own bodily autonomy for such a thing is beyond any sanity. Abortions, safe ones at that, are needed. Affordable healing is needed. Cultural heritages are needed. Protection of humanities is non-negotiable.

And yet.

People vote to give it all away.

“He’ll make us great again!” No he won’t. He doesn’t give a shit about you unless you have value to him personally. If you can inflate his ego. Line his pockets. Entertain him. Then you’ll get somewhere. But if you just exist? He’ll try to sell you to the highest bidder and laugh about it with you till you’re clamped in chains. He wants to work with dictators who have levelled cities, started wars for their own needless expansion and who control the media with a knife to every writer’s neck.

Thats the type of man you’ve voted into real power. A second time, you’ve done it. I hope those who voted for him regret it when they’re in worse off positions down the line. I hope they genuinely suffer, because millions more are going to suffer because of those votes.

There’s still a chance. Maybe be croaks in his first year before he’s able to do too much damage. He’s old enough after all, age waits for no man. Maybe he gets impeached again, breaks his Presidential Vows somehow and is forced out of office. Maybe a kid wants to be famous.

Whatever happens, stay safe out there. Whether you’re a woman, non-white, queer, trans, or immigrant. Look out for each other.

Outlive the bastard, and spit on his grave.

That’ll be the sweetest victory for everyone.

I’m sorry America, and the world, for whatever happens next.

[harpersdragons]

The Tragic Demise of Damian Wayne-Chapter 2

Immediate Aftermath

words: 1380

Jason watches, numb, as Damian collapses, and Dick takes a few steps back.

He screams, thrashing harder and making it nowhere. He’s vaguely aware of Bruce and Tim doing the same, desperately trying to free themselves.

He dimly hears Ra’s chuckle, releasing Talia—who immediately crashes to her knees—and stepping back.

Something crashes through the roof, landing heavily next to Damian.

Superboy—the younger one that is.

Too

Fucking

Late.

Jon cradles Damian’s body, sobs wracking his own.

His eyes ignite with his heat vision, steadily raising his head to stare at Dick.

A snarl twists his lips, as vicious as the small 14 year old could look.

The red lasers streak across the arena, only to be stopped by another form landing in front of Dick.

“Stand Down, Superboy.” Clark’s thunderous cracks the already fragile feeling in the air.

Kon-el arrives last, heading straight to Tim and tearing the chains off. He does the same with Bruce and Jason, and Jason doesn’t hesitate before vaulting over the rail.

He hits his knees next to the cooling body of his baby brother, and Talia joins him soon after. Jon carefully lays Damian down, tears still leaking from his eyes. Jason loses track of where everyone else is, solely focused on the body of his brother.

Talia sobs next to him, and he pulls her into his arms. The woman may as well have been his mother, she showed him kindness and took care of him when no one else had. She clutches at Damian, and Jason almost misses Ra’s approaching again.

“Come, Child. That is more than enough hysterics from you.” He tries to pull her up, roughly grabbing her arm.

“Alrigh’, that's enough.” Jason stands and calls to the all blades—it was more of a test, really, he wasn’t sure they’d respond, since they usually don’t for human threats.

The golden blades arc through the air and slice the Demon’s head clean off.

Jason is recovering his swing and slicing down next, cleaving the body in half.

Just to be thorough or extra revenge, Jason’s not sure.

Interesting, guess Ra’s has to be pure evil by this point, nothing but sheer fucking will and the lazarus pit keeping him alive.

The bastard deserves worse.

Bruce is standing, frozen, between Dick and Damian’s body. Clark prods at him, offering comfort or trying to get him to move, Jason isn’t sure. Superboy (little superboy, not Connor) has left him and Talia with Damian’s body, choosing instead to cling to his father.

He dimly hears Tim instructing the supers and Bruce, something about damage control here and tracking down the rogues.

He vanishes the All-Blades, then crushes next to Talia again. “Can I borrow a couple’a your knives? Gotta handle somethin’.” Jason doesn’t think Talia fully processed his question, but she hands four of her knives over without complaint.

One is her heirloom dagger—likely why she was in Gotham, to give it to Damian for his fifteenth birthday—which he pockets. He’ll give it back to her later.

He passes two of the remaining daggers to his left hand, and flips the other end over end. He glances at the other men, Bruce and Clark are crowding around the body with Talia now, Tim and Conner are off somewhere chasing the other rogues.

He’s free to do as he wishes.

Jason looks at Dick, considering the angles and positions of their relative stances.

Then he flings the dagger.

It spins through the air, more like a frisbee than a throwing knife.

It catches the top of Dick’s suit, yanking him back and pinning him to the wall behind him.

Dick’s gaze is clearer, so someone must have gotten the mind control chip off him.

The next knife goes through his opposite shoulder, sinking in but not quite long enough to pin him to the wall. Dick cries out, attempting to reach up with the other hand to put pressure on it. He’s stopped by the pulling of his suit, from the blade pinning him to the wall.

Jason stalks forward, advancing until he is nose to nose with his older brother. He slots the remaining blade under Dick’s chin, forcing him to meet Jason’s eyes.

“This is your fault, Richard. Y’know that, right?” Jason’s voice is cold, belying none of the white-hot rage lashing through him, or the pit of despair deepening within him. “You killed our baby brother. My baby brother.” Jason takes a deep breath, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

Dick’s voice is quiet, weak, and shaky. “I can’t.”

He sounds as broken as Jason feels.

“Hm.” Jason hums as he digs the blade into his neck a little harder.

Dick cries out, again, hunching over as far as he can (he doesn’t make it very far). Jason smirks, and slams his fist into Dick’s face.

Just as he’s about to continue, he’s pulled off, one of Bruce’s arms locking his own behind his back, the other arm around his chest.

Jason goes easily, taking measured steps back.

“It is not his fault, Jason. Stand down.” Bruce says into his ear, leading him far enough away that Clark can free Dick and take care of his hand.

Jason doesn’t drop his older brother’s gaze until the alien blocks his view.

“It may as well be his fault. The one who pulls the trigger is just as much at fault as the one who orders the kill.” He lets himself be turned, redirected.

“Sit down, Jay. Focus on who’s still here.”

“Wow. Weird emotional competence. Kinda. Not really.” He does sit though, watching as Bruce straightens up and visibly pulls the Batman persona back around himself.

He does sit though, watching as Bruce straightens up and visibly pulls the Batman persona back around himself.

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Kal, can you get Dick back to the cave? I can finish up here.”

The compartmentalizing is strong with this one.

Bruce stands over him as Clark and baby Superboy fly off, with Clark carrying Dick.

Tim and Kon come back with the two rogues in tow, just as sirens blare in the distance.

“Who called the fuckin’ cops?” Jason grumbles.

“I did. Someone needs to deal with the two rogues.”

“Fucker.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard.”

Kon glares at him, but doesn’t leave Tim’s side.

“RR, tell your guard dog to stand down.”

“Thank you, Red.” Bruce’s voice is quiet, but still the strong tone of Batman.

Apparently, even Batman is immune to grief they’ve all witnessed today. Although, Jason knows he’s affected, they all are.

Even Tim, who appears to be entirely unaffected. He’d just taken Bruce’s compartmentalization to a whole other level.

Talia finally pushes herself up and stalks the two steps to Bruce. Without a word, she punches him in the face. Bruce’s head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t move other than that.

Jason raises a brow, but doesn’t bother stopping her. Interfering with whatever Talia wants to do is a lost cause. He does, however, scoot more to the side. He doesn’t need to be in the middle of their lover’s spat.

“This is all your fault! You were supposed to keep him safe! You were supposed to do what I could not!”

“I know, Talia. Believe me, I know.” The words seem torn from Bruce.

Talia continues hitting him, but mostly half-heartedly. If she was actually hitting him, he’d be on the ground.

Eventually, she burns herself out and is sobbing into Bruce’s chest. One arm comes around her back, the other runs through her hair to soothe her. He lowers them to the ground slowly.

He rests his head on Talia’s, clearly doing his best to keep it together.

It’s still the most emotion he’s shown since Damian’s actually died.

Fuck.

Damian’s dead.

He’s sitting less than two feet from his baby brother’s dead body.

He’ll never get to hear Damian’s laugh, see his smile, watch him draw, or care for his pets.

Nothing.

Because his brother is dead.

And there’s nothing Jason can do about it.

Well, there’s one thing.

But like hell is Jason putting Damian in the Pit. And he won’t allow anyone else to either.

Even if it means never holding his baby brother again.

[icyowl]

Twisted Words

Pairing: Toge Inumaki x reader

Request: none

Synopsis: Inumaki’s cursed speech places the emphasis on curse when a mishap forces him to confront the idea that he could hurt you, and what it would mean to avoid such a thing.

A/N: sorry if it kinda fell apart at the end, had to finish before I got ready for work. Gotta love some Inumaki.

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

Deep within the confines of his room, deeper still in the recesses of his mind, Inumaki grew restless at the horrors of his own imagining. He knew little of the blisteringly cold air crawling in from the open window, the heated sweat on his skin, the sheets kicked off his body and hanging limply off the bed. All Inumaki could see was a macabre creation, his body flinching under the stranglehold of fear. In his dream, he called to you, a taboo in itself given his cursed speech.

He knew what he was doomed to endure before it even began happening. The exact command he uttered was irrelevant–explode, die, blast away, flatten, crush, it didn’t matter–all that did matter wasn your body grotesquely disfiguring itself under his words. Pain; Inumaki was causing you pain, a fact that made him physically ill. He tried to stop it–to undo the damage he caused–but it just made your screams worse. His worst fears were being brought to life not by an enemy but by himself.

They lingered even after he opened his eyes to see his bedroom. The sun had risen higher now, the time clearly past the early morning. 9:32 am confirmed he’d slept longer than usual. Inumaki rose from the bed, his skin cold from sweat even with the warm weather and his hands weak when he reached for a shirt and collar.

You were nowhere in sight, thank god. It was a small consolation, given how his throat still stung with emotion and his heart labored along in his chest as if chained to the bottom of his ribcage. In the confines of his room it was all but impossible to harm someone that wasn’t there.

Then his eyes landed on it.

His desk lamp, now a castaway on the floor of his room, lie sideways, bent and twisted and entirely broken. That could have been you–hell, that was you, just in his dream and not out here in reality… arguably sometimes the worst of the two. Inumaki picked up the unusable object and turned it over in his hands for some time before placing it back on his desk. Even while sleeping he must have spoken aloud and though the lamp only required a trip to the shops to replace, it only worsened his emotional and physical discomfort. Something like this hadn’t happened since he was a child first learning to control his new yet powerful abilities.

That could have been you; so easily could have been you. The two of you had never spent the night together, but… he wanted to someday. The accidental naps you’d taken at his desk when classwork became too much weren’t the same. Would he never have the privilege of holding you at night? Keeping the winter chill off your skin? Staving off the nightmares or listening to your gentle pillow talk? He knew you, you’d try your hardest to work out a solution, but he also knew himself–he’d never let you win that battle. If there was a risk even your finger could end up like this lamp, he wouldn’t risk it.

How could he even dream up something like that? What was wrong with him? It was new and uncomfortable and his stomach gurgled not with hunger but apprehension. He had to find you.

In the food hall you conversed intermittently with Panda and Maki around a late breakfast. It was mundane and slow until Inumaki’s approaching presence brought your attention to him.

“Sleep well?” Maki joked, referencing his unkempt hair, late arrival, and far-away gaze.

Inumaki straddled the bench you sat on and promptly acquainted his face with your shoulder. His arms were cold when they hung around your shoulders and the exhale you felt at your throat could only be described as relieved. The sudden closeness was awkward for everyone apart from Inumaki but there was nothing to do other than accept the embrace. Clearly Inumaki wasn’t himself and you considered it your job to help ease his troubles.

“Uh, let’s go talk somewhere, okay Inumaki?”

A tiny nod was all you got.

You waited until you were back at the dorms to continue the ‘conversation.’ Thankfully Inumaki had separated himself from you for the walk over. It didn’t mean he looked any better; he only upgraded to some kind of stray animal by following so diligently behind you. Inumaki was never this outwardly clingy.

“What’s up?” You said, apologetic at the darkness under his eyes. He’d been fine yesterday. “You okay?”

Inumaki looked at the ground, then opened his door and walked over to his desk. You weren’t sure if he wanted you to follow or not, so you stood out in the open hallway like a loiterer until he turned to you with something in his hands. The object was one you didn’t recognise until you closed the distance–a lamp, what was left of one, anyway.

“You did this?” Was the only reasonable explanation for the lamp’s shape. It looked like what happened to curses on the receiving end of his commands. His eyes, though downcast, told you enough. “Did something make you angry?”

The weakest, saddest Bonito flakes was your reward and if you hadn’t gotten used to his language you’d have laughed..

“I’ve never seen you do something like this before. Was it an accident?”

“Salmon,” Inumaki said, turning and pointing to the bed with its sheets still unmade.

“While you were in bed…”

Finally it was all coming together. Inumaki still didn’t want to look at you, so imagine his surprise when it was you this time who took him into a hug.

“You must have been pretty upset to do this by accident, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.” In truth you weren’t 100% sure that was what happened, but you thanked whatever deity was listening that you seemed to be right when Inumaki heartily returned your embrace. His cologne made a home in your welcoming senses and he even nestled his head against your own just that little bit more–even now you seemed just a bit too far away from him. Sometimes it was hard to communicate with Inumaki even at the best of times, but he kindly shrugged off the awkward moments and made the special ones worth the occasional struggle. “It’s okay Inumaki, you didn’t–”

“Bonito flakes.” He interrupted.

“No? What’s not okay?”

Inumaki grabbed your wrist and held it up, then took the lamp and held it next to your arm such that the bent, twisted body was in line with your forearm. They were of comparable size and length… at least, before it got disfigured. Your heart nearly cracked in two at the realization of everything along with the eyes of pure dejection that looked off shamefully. “Oh… Inumaki… you could never do that to me. You’re so careful around everyone; this only happened because you were sleeping. There was no one around to hear.”

He shook his head.

“No? What’s no?”

In a rare moment of frustration spurred on by stress and all the other overbearing emotions, Inumaki groaned quietly and rubbed his temples. He would have to write this out, wouldn’t he? Eyeing the lamp made him grimace again, but he ignored it to find whatever scrap of paper and writing utensil he could secure.

I don’t want to be away from you every night.

Your mind went through a couple years worth of future scenarios in the span of a few seconds while the thundering in your chest returned to a somewhat normal rhythm.

“I… didn’t know you were thinking that far ahead.”

Fear bloomed in his eyes, and heartache. You rushed to recover the trust swiftly disappearing from his gaze.

“I’m okay with it! I just… it surprised me, that’s all. I’d,” this next breath was hard so you rushed it out quickly, “I’d like to do that too.”

Inumaki’s shoulders slouched, relieved, and his eyes had their light returned to them. You thanked whatever deity that you managed to salvage the situation, but that still left him feeling vulnerable. Inumaki still believed he’d hurt you, that it was inevitable, and you knew him well enough to surmise that he’d push you away if you didn’t come up with something soon. The idea that came into your head made you nervous–after all, it sounded a bit kinky–but the need to ease his woes overcame the chance of embarrassment.

“Well, if we can make it so you can’t talk, then that’s problem solved, right? How about we get you a mouthguard or some kind of cloth? You can try to speak when no one’s around, and if it works, then you don’t have to worry. How’s that sound?”

Well, let’s just say Inumaki was glad his collar went above his cheeks.

[rpmemes-galore]

florence + the machine : how big, how blue, how beautiful album ... sentence starters

tw for alcohol & religion

“I know that you're hiding.”

“But you can't live on love.”

“Some things never sleep.”

“Did I build a ship to wreck?“

“But you took your toll on me.”

“It's a different kind of danger.”

“Get out, get up there instead.”

“The damage is already done.”

“Is it too late to come on home?“

“Come on, is this what you want?“

“What kind of man loves like this?”

“Don't make a shadow of yourself.”

“You could never make your mind.”

“Under starless skies, we are lost.”

“If you could just forgive yourself...”

“I knew that this would end in tears.”

“How big, how blue, how beautiful...”

“These hands are not fit for holding.”

“I am teaching myself how to be free.”

“Don't make the mountain your enemy.”

“Who's in control? Who's playing who?”

“Can you protect me from what I want?”

“Some things you let go in order to live.”

“It isn't any use. Somebody's gotta lose.”

“Hold onto your heart, don't give it away.”

“But still you stumble, your feet give way.”

“It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do.”

“Did I drink too much? Am I losing touch?“

“Outside, the world seems a violent place.”

“I know you're bleeding, but you'll be okay.”

“Now there’s a few things we have to burn.”

“'Cause when I sleep, I never dream of you.”

“'Cause there's a hole where your heart lies.”

“You do such damage, how do you manage?”

“Oh, what is it worth when all that's left is hurt?”

“The only thing that's certain is your indecision.”

“And I was making you a wish in every skyline.”

“What's with the long face? Do you want more?“

“Make up your mind, before I make it up for you.”

“'Cause I'm gonna be free and I'm gonna be fine.”

“I think you hide. And you don't have to tell me why.”

“I know there's a part of you that I just cannot reach.”

“We've opened the door, now it's all coming through.”

“And, oh, my love, remind me, what was it that I did?”

“Maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos.”

“And, oh, my love, remind me, what was it that I said?“

“You don't have to be a ghost, here amongst the living.”

“I don't know how I don't just stand outside and scream.”

“Don't touch the sleeping pills, they mess with my head.”

“The chair is an island, darling, you can't touch the floor.”

“I know you've tried, but something stops you every time.”

“You don't have to let me in... Just know that I'm still here.”

“I can't help but pull the earth around me to make my bed.”

“How do you manage to have me crawling back for more?”

“Maybe I'll see you in another life if this one wasn't enough.”

“So much time on the other side, waiting for you to wake up.”

“And even though I'm grieving, I'm trying to find the meaning.”

“These chains never leave me, I keep dragging them around.”

“You saw the stars out in front of you, too tempting not to touch.”

“And I'm in the throes of it, somewhere in the belly of the beast.”

“You deserve to be loved. And you deserve what you are given.”

“And my love is no good against the fortress that it made of you.”

“Without your love, I'll be so long and lost... are you missing me?”

“Come on, is this what you want? 'Cause you're driving me away.”

“I was moving like I didn't care, but it was more than I could bear.”

“Oh, the king gone mad within his suffering, called out for release.”

“Between a crucifix and the Hollywood sign, we decided to get hurt.”

“You wonder why it is that I came home... I figured out where I belong.”

“While you've been saving your neck, I've been breaking mine for you.”

“I'd already had a sip, so I reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it.”

“You were on the other side, like always, wondering what to do with life.”

“And the air was full of various storms and saints, parading in the streets.”

“It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, to try and keep from calling you.”

“Tell me you see it, too. We've opened our eyes and it's changing the view.”

“I'm ready for you whenever, whenever you need, whenever you want to begin.”

“Sometimes you're half in, and then you're half out, but you never close the door.”

[i-cant-sing]

Hey I have a yandere erasermic obsession. I don’t know if you do angst but what if they were punishing reader and she gets really exhausted and passes out. They think they killed her, I know this is dumb and you don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable-🍓 anon

Yandere Erasermic punishing reader

I've missed these two a lot😭

Anyways, enjoy! Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Erasermic:

"Hey! I'm home! How are my darlings- Shou? You okay?" Hizashi asked as he entered his home. He was looking forward to spending time with you and the hero, but judging by the pissed off look on Aizawa's face, it didn't seem like happening.

Aizawa was taking deep breaths, his eyebrows furrowed and face contorted into a scowl. God, what did you do now? Hizashi couldn't help but wonder that, as he slid onto the couch next to his husband.

"What did she do now?"Hizashi asked, resting his head on Aizawa's chest as his arms wrapped around him.

Aizawa closed his eyes in annoyance, his own arms engulfing Hizashi as he let out a huff. "She's so ungrateful."

Hizashi lightly chuckled at that, waiting for him to continue. "You know what she did today? She tried to escape. Again. I don't know how she got the code to unlock the main door, but she opened it. She barely made it 2 steps out the door before I pulled her back in. I was taking a shower and she thought she could make a run for it. " Aizawa runs a hand through his hair, but Hizashi suddenly caught it. He looked at his husband's hand, it was turning a nasty shade of purple, and was red around the knuckles, slightly swelled. "Shou, babe... what happened to your hand?"

Aizawa exhales deeply, closing his eyes, trying to control his anger. "Our sweet little darling happened. After I got her back in, I told her to apologise. You know what she did? She spit at me, screamed all kinds of profanities. When I took her down to the basement to chain her up, she tried attacking me." Aizawa clenched his jaw. "I was only going to leave her there for the night. But what she said to me next... Hizashi, I lost it. I punched her." Hizashi's eyes widened. He knew Aizawa wasn't one to lose his temper easily, he knew he wasn't one to resort to violence immediately. So the blonde could only wonder what in the hell did you say to him. "Shouta... what did she say?" He asked softly, almost afraid of the answer himself.

Shouta looked at his husband, trying to calm himself when he told him what you barked out. "She said...she said that she wondered how UA let... let creeps like us around kids." Hizashi's eyes widened. If there's one thing he knew about Aizawa, it was how deeply he cared about his students, treating them like his own children. He prided himself in being their teacher, and so the nerve of you to even say something so disgusting like that, Aizawa was bound to snap.

"I cant believe she'd say something...so horrible. I'm so sorry, Shou." Hizashi whispered, nuzzling Aizawa's neck. The pro hero only grunted. "Whatever. I think it'd be good if she stays down there... for 2 weeks. Yeah that'd be good. And no dinner tonight either. I don't want to put up with anymore of her bullshit." Hizashi only nodded, but then caught another look at his hand and he stood up, pulling Aizawa along with him to the kitchen. Hizashi pulled out a bag of frozen peas and started applying it on his bruise hand to reduce the swelling.

As the two ate dinner, Hizashi couldn't help but worry that if Shouta's hand looked like this from the punch, then what did the receiving end look like. He chose to remain quiet on that matter, not wanting you to ruin the night anymore.

The next morning when Aizawa woke up, he went downstairs to the kitchen to find his husband. Hizashi who was almost done plating up, greeted Aizawa with a kiss. "So, should I take this plate down to our baby bird?" Hizashi asked, already knowing Aizawa didn't want to see you yet. You had really hurt him. Shouta nodded as he took a sip of his coffee. "Be right back." Hizashi pressed a kiss to his lips before going to the basement.

Hizashi opened the door to the basement, walking down the stairs, hoping to see you greet him like the angel they know you are deep down. But when he got down there, he saw you were still asleep on the floor, your limbs still bound to the chains. Your face was turned away from him and Hizashi wasnt sure if he wanted to see the damage that was done to your face.

Hizashi just called for you. “Love, I’ve brought breakfast! Eggs and hashbrowns! Your favourite!” When you didnt respond, he just sighed before placing the plate on the floor. Your chains were long enough to for you to reach it, and while Hizashi wished nothing more than to feed you himself, he knew you needed to be punished.

As he went up the stairs and out of the basement, he couldnt help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on him.

“Do you think she’ll be sorry after her punishment?”Hizashi asked his partner.  Aizawa rolled his eyes. “Unlikely. But she’ll learn to think twice before she says stupid shit like that.” Hizashi chuckled, but secretly hoped that would be the case. He got up from the couch where he and Aizawa sat. “I’ll go get her plate.” They were done eating 2 hours ago, but still waited for you to finish up because they know how stubborn you are.

When Hizashi walked down the stairs, he wasn’t surprised to find your plate untouched. You would always do that the first few days, before finally succumbing to your hunger. Pointless, really. But what disturbed him was how you were still in the same position he had seen you in 2 hours ago. And it was coming to him how still you looked, he couldn't see your body moving a single muscle, he couldn't see if you were breathing. 

Hizashi walked towards you cautiously, waiting for you to jump up and scare the crap out of him. But his breath hitched when he finally saw what had happened to you. 

A big bruise had formed on your cheek, swelling and taking all the shades of the purple, blue and green. But the worst part was seeing the blood and a clear liquid dripping out of your nose slowly, forming a pool around your head.

He turned you on to your back and started shaking your shoulder. “Darling? Wake up, baby. Its me. Baby, wake up.” But your body remained unconscious. He started tapping your cheek, only then noticing you weren’t breathing. All the alarms went off in his head. “SHOUTA! COME DOWN OVER HERE!” 

Shouta rushed to the basement, wondering what stunt you pulled now. But seeing your limp body in Hizashi’s arms, blood coating your cheeks, he knew something terrible had occured. Aizawa ran towards his partners, looking at your bruising cheek. “She’s n-not breathing. She’s not fucking breathing, Shou!” Hizashi sobbed as Aizawa took your wrist in his hand. His blood ran cold when he found no pulse. “What are we gonna do?! She’s dead! Our baby is dead!” Shouta blocked out Hizashi’s voice. They both cant be panicking right now. Aizawa turned to his partner. “Hizashi. Bring her up. I’ll get the car out.” He commanded. “H-hospital? Shou, its too late-” Hizashi cried out but Aizawa gave him a stern look. “Bring her up. Now.” 

They got to the hospital in fairly record time, passing you over to the doctors while Aizawa made up a story of how they found you in an alley. Only after the doctors left them alone did it dawn on Aizawa how serious the situation was. He killed you, didnt he? You would still be alive if he hadnt hit you. How could he ever claim to love you when he hurts you-

Aizawa shook his head, he could wallow up in his guilt later. For now, he needed to comfort his husband and pray that you make it through somehow.

A few hours later, the doctors had given them an update on your condition. You made it, barely. Something had hit your face and damaged some part of your brain, causing there to be a very slow heart beat. But you're all okay now, since they brought you in time.

When they were allowed to finally go in, thats when Aizawa finally broke down. Seeing you unconscious, knowing he almost killed you, it got to him. Hizashi wanted to console Aizawa, but he couldn't bring himself to leave your side. Hizashi pressed soft kisses to your temples, wiping his tears that fell on your cheek, while Aizawa stood to your side. He wanted to hold your hand but he was afraid to hurt you again. As the duo sat by your side, they made a silent promise to never hurt you again, at least not physically.

After that incident, you'll never be left alone. The two are always breathing down your neck, drowning you in love, looking at you with even more fondness; obsession and protectiveness swirling in their eyes, right there with guilt.

Aizawa would never apologise, but that doesn't mean he's not sorry. You would often wake up to him looking at your bruised cheek with worry, caressing it so gently, as if he'd break you. He'll be a lot more demanding with physical affection, always wrapping his arms around you, forcing you onto his lap and tucking your face under his chin as he cards his fingers through your hair.

You didn't think Hizashi could be anymore overbearing, but you were proved wrong. He'd panic if you were out of his sight for more than 5 minutes. Always worrying, paranoia creeping up on him when you're not in the same room as him. And when he would finally find you (mostly in the bathroom), he'd check you all over for injuries, not trusting your assurances.

Punishments aren't violent anymore. They're humiliating. Pulling you in their laps and feeding you by hand, talking about you as if you're not there, making you take baths with them(not showers because they end too quickly), making you sleep with them, naked.

And the couple won't lie, but this form of punishment seems to be far more effective. With how quickly you turn docile, folding in on yourself as if you could hide from them... its cute.

But hey, its better than getting beat, right?

[iwannawritelots]

Barbatos headcanons

(Since @obeythedemons said I should go on a headcanon tangent dhskdhd)

(This is a lot longer than I thought it would be because I’ve thought about how his past might be so many times [and started a fic that I never finished about it], but I think it reads okay…? I also used some in-game/Karasu twitter stuff to align certain things with canon. Very nervous dhsldh)

(Also, it’s written like… timeline format. Ehekdhdk)

TW/CW: mentions of physical harm, rat bites, death threats, spoilers for season 3 (lesson 41 onwards)

I can’t remember when, but at some point in game it’s said that Barbatos was never a child (or something along those lines). I like to imagine (especially because Luke existing proves that angels and demons typically grow up similarly to humans) he was, but it never felt like it because of his powers. Being all-knowing, able to destroy every timeline and realm if he did something incorrectly would have caused him to feel like he grew up too fast. I imagine he didn’t really have a family (either because demons are usually similar to angels in being procured and choosing their family or his family realized his powers could have grave consequences and did not want to be held responsible). For his childhood, he was going between nobles as a servant because while he could alter reality however he liked, he was mostly focused on not damaging the realms.

The nobles Barbatos worked for constantly reminded him how dangerous his powers were, to the point he was afraid of himself. He worked mostly on repressing his powers and not properly controlling them. The premonitions in his sleep (mentioned to be canon by Karasu’s twitter) became frightening for him. He could find books on portals, but since it was only one aspect of his abilities (and not much was known about his timeline aspect of it), there was only so much he was willing to try. This made nobles extremely frustrated with him, since they wanted to use him to their advantage. He used his other skills to appease them (baking, cooking, sewing, et cetera) and keep himself off the streets.

This lasted until he was entering his teen years, and he decided he wanted to utilize his powers to help others (which was also a way for him to test how well he could control them besides repressing them). He started out with going behind his masters’ backs and giving people insight into their futures once he found a book on foresight. It quickly was discovered that he was doing so, and escalated into him having to find new places to go to escape the nobles that wanted his powers to be used for themselves. He hated being used in this way, and became a Robin Hood of sorts. He would go to homes in the human world and Devildom of nobles and rulers, then steal from them to bring more those in subservient positions like he was in.

He was able to get away with it quite easily for a long time due to his portals and premonitions, but since he was still learning there were things he was never sure of or simply confused himself with. He could never get into the Celestial Realm no matter what strategy he used, and eventually his attempts to get in were being talked about among lesser demons. While his attempts to enter the Celestial Realm were already enough to make him infamous, he was also trading foresight for places to live and other things he needed to survive. This lead to the Demon King wanting his arrest when Barbatos was in his late teens/young adulthood. He made a single slip up and was captured.

The Demon King had already been on shaky ground with the other realms, so Barbatos causing problems in the human world and attempting to enter the Celestial Realm had him extremely angry. Not to mention he wasn’t very kind in the first place, especially after the death of his wife. He used Barbatos as an outlet for his anger, and Barbatos could not escape due to the Demon King having chains that prevented his powers from activating. It was then that Lord Diavolo (also in his late teens/young adulthood) met Barbatos, and he began to speak with him whenever his father wasn’t around to find out. The two began to form a loose friendship through Barbatos’ stories and Lord Diavolo’s kindness.

Although Barbatos was used to cruel nobility of the Devildom, no one had physically harmed him to the same extent the Demon King had. Not only this, but his fear of rats became increasingly unbearable the longer he lived in the castle’s dungeons. They crawled on him, bit him, chewed on him, and he couldn’t get them off with the immobilizing chains. He had to endure it until the Demon King arrived (which scared them away) or Lord Diavolo snuck in to visit and could shoo the rats away.

When the Demon King found out that Lord Diavolo was speaking with his prisoner, he was extremely angry, threatening to destroy Barbatos. Lord Diavolo admired Barbatos and certainly didn’t want him destroyed. In an attempt to keep Barbatos around, he began to beg for Barbatos to be his butler after his father agreed to not destroying him if he was subservient. Eventually he threw his uncharacteristic tantrum (mentioned in game) declaring that he would not become the next king unless Barbatos was his butler. It was then that Barbatos (having no way to foresee what this would do outside his sleep premonitions before being captured) gave his word, and signed a contract bound not only to the Lord Diavolo, but the Demon King. He was forever bound to both and could not break the contract on his own whim.

The contract took away most aspects of his powers being used without permission from Lord Diavolo. He was allowed portals, and couldn’t control his sleep premonitions. The contract also erased many of his memories from before, in an attempt by the Demon King to make him more subservient and less likely to attempt to escape the contract. Knowing that he couldn’t completely rely on Barbatos’ powers being fully repressed by the contract, he made them painful to use without permission (which applied to sleep premonitions and any attempt at remembering his past before being a butler).

Lord Diavolo, while attempting to find ways to “put the king to sleep”, also found documents that may help Barbatos further in controlling and utilizing his powers without fear of destroying timelines and realms. Since he couldn’t practice without permission, Lord Diavolo would give him set hours to do certain things. Eventually Barbatos became well versed in his abilities outside of his portals. The Demon King was put to sleep.

When Solomon summoned Barbatos successfully and they formed a pact, Lord Diavolo was ecstatic. It was a foot in the door for harmony between the three worlds, but also a way to unbind Barbatos from the Demon King while still searching for a proper way to break the contract. After ensuring he could do it correctly, Lord Diavolo gave Solomon the Demon King’s spot in the contract. This also gave Solomon full control with the pact instead of the initial limitations that were in place due to the contract’s existence. Shortly after this, Barbatos entrusted Solomon with his grimoire, allowing Solomon to know his past without Barbatos having to tell him.

By the time the exchange program began, Barbatos still is bound to the contract and has his limitations. However, he recognized MC immediately from his sleep premonitions and his ordered foresight sessions.

(I probably forgot some other headcanon junk but uh. There we go!)

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Continued from this post, Part 3 of my discussion of Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage. This time: what happens to espionage assets in the long run? Do they break contact, and why? What might have been in store for Essek?

At the treaty meeting Essek tells Ludinus to his face that he wants no further contact with the Assembly, not even to learn what the Assembly discovers via their own beacon. He’s far from the first asset to try to sever their relationship, and it ends in one of three ways: they don’t manage to break contact, they break contact but voluntarily return, or (rarest of all) they end the relationship permanently. 

Most attempts don’t go beyond option 1, because intelligence agencies are not in the business of respecting their assets’ choices. Handlers are skilled in keeping the upper hand in their asset relationships and will take any further opportunity to gain leverage by compromising the asset. For instance they’ll often pay for information even if the asset hasn’t requested it, because money changing hands makes it far harder for an asset to frame their activities positively to their own side if they attempt to confess (”You expect us to believe they were blackmailing you when you got $10,000 to hand over the secret manual?” etc.) And when push comes to shove most people aren’t willing to accept the severe punishments for espionage. An asset’s threat to confess is more likely a negotiating ploy than a serious option.

Some assets, especially nervous or ego-driven ones, get the carrot: the KGB did a strong line in awarding secret medals to convince them they were doing important, well-regarded work and that the KGB would protect them - not an empty reassurance, as highly-placed moles like Aldrich Ames warranted elaborate ops involving double and triple agents to avert suspicions. And some assets get the stick: the handler tightens the screws using whatever leverage they’ve gained, implies that they’re already “too far in to go back,” or gives some time for those who were blackmailed into spying to think about the consequences of exposure.[1]

Those who get as far as option two, breaking it off and later returning, are usually driven away by fear but back by finances. Fantasy spies have all sorts of motives but in real life the majority are in it for the money. Assets, as you might imagine, make bad choices. About half start selling secrets just to stave off massive debt from overspending and poor financial decisions (the rest feel underpaid.) So even if these assets stop temporarily, the circumstances that drove them to espionage in the first place are still very much present. In these cases all a handler has to do is shrug and say, “You know where to find us.” Infamous FBI mole Robert Hanssen broke off contact with his Russian handlers when the Soviet Union collapsed, fearing he might get outed in the chaos, but linked back up with them just 10 months later when, surprise surprise, he needed some cash.

And then there are the rare handful who stop completely. There’s a bit of survivor(?) bias here because anyone who passes along secrets, breaks off the relationship before being caught, and manages to get away with it is by definition someone we don’t know about. Those who do manage to break contact long-term are usually able to do so because they left the situation that gave them access to interesting secrets and therefore the controlling agency determined they were no longer a useful resource and not worth pursuing. But even if an asset stops working for an agency, they’re far from forgotten - and far from off the hook. Names and evidence of their espionage would be kept on file for potential use as blackmail, leverage in state-to-state negotiations, or expendable material to prove bona fides in ops involving fake defectors or triple agents. A surprising number of spies are caught/outed years after their espionage ended.

Very few assets permanently sever their espionage relationships the hard way: making a genuine confession and accepting punishment. But it’s not unheard-of, especially if the espionage was brief and the asset believes the damage can be repaired. In 1989 Army signals analyst Michael Peri disappeared from his post in West Germany along with a portable computer containing numerous classified documents. Eleven days later he returned to his previous post with the computer and voluntarily confessed to the theft and sort-of defection to East Germany. When interrogated, Peri - who had been a model soldier until that point - said he felt overworked and underappreciated by his superiors, though he couldn’t entirely explain his decisions either to leave or to return (a sexy female Russian agent might also have been involved). He received a 30-year sentence.

Marine Clayton Lonetree, a guard stationed at the US Embassy in Moscow in 1985, was blackmailed over an affair to hand over details on the embassy compound for a year, but his conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed in late 1986. Being a Marine he faced the very real prospect of death by firing squad, but the court martial ended up giving him a 30-year sentence. It was later reduced to 15 after the Marine Corps Commandant wrote a letter to the Navy Secretary on his behalf attributing the young Marine’s actions not to treason or greed but to loneliness, naivety, and poor judgement.[2]

Going back to Essek’s case, he’s already in the minority of espionage assets because he doesn’t want money in return for the secrets he passes along; though the knowledge the Assembly promises him in return fulfills a similar desire, Essek doesn’t need that knowledge to pay off the equivalent of debt or to maintain his lifestyle. He has no pressures at home that force him to continue spying. With the beacons returned, the fall guys in place, and their tracks seemingly covered, he tells Ludinus that all he wants is to be rid of the entire affair. That rules out option one (he sincerely means to cut the Assembly off) and option two (he won’t be driven back by need.) 

Essek is also in an unusual position in that the worst of the damage he caused is repairable - just return the beacons.[3] A secret, once compromised, can’t be un-compromised. If an asset hands over a cipher machine they can’t fix the situation by stealing the cipher machine back; the foreign agency they sold it to has already studied the machine and learned its secrets, meaning it’s now effectively useless. But returning the beacons restores what the Kryn lost. While keeping dunamancy secret gives the Kryn a tactical edge, and I’m sure the Dynasty would prefer to keep the magical soulstones of their elite hidden from their long-time rival, the beacons don’t need to be secret to work. Essek therefore has a much better chance than most to simply repair the damage, cut off his handlers, and try to forget the whole affair ever happened. He might even think that, now that the Assembly has their own beacon, they’ll have no further use for him and will just leave him alone.

But from the Cerberus Assembly's perspective, this fruit still has plenty of juice in it and they risk nothing by continuing to squeeze. Now that they have their own beacon Essek’s knowledge becomes even more valuable. He has access to hundreds of years of dunamantic spellcrafting - and more importantly the rite of consecution, since the Assembly were probably after beacons in the first place to make themselves immortal. If Essek is caught, it’s treason for him, but the Assembly doesn’t suffer; they were doing it for the good of the Empire, learning about dunamancy to help the war effort. So if he refuses to keep spying voluntarily for the Assembly, they’ll just have to find another way to motivate him. 

As part of evaluating Essek before recruitment, Assembly operatives would have noted that he’s, well, highly motivated to save his own skin. Ludinus’ goal therefore becomes to make Essek see further espionage as the only way to stay alive. So instead of confronting Essek then and there, Ludinus shrugs and goes, “Okay. Sure.” Then he activates the Volstruckers, maybe leaks a little info to the Dynasty about a traitor in their midst, and sets up Essek to stew in fear, feeling isolated and attacked from both sides - targeted by the Assembly for his defiance, under suspicion from the Dynasty, unable to ask for help because of his crimes. Ludinus sits back and waits for Essek to re-establish contact on his own. Of course Ludinus didn’t know that the M9 had confronted Essek and gotten him to confess, making a return to spying impossible even if he tried.

While Essek’s motives revolve around ego, frustration, and rebellion, his situation is more like those of people who end up defecting because they’re unable to pursue their careers or live as they want to back home. He has virtually no social/family ties to leave behind, no loyalty to Dynasty authority, and no religious fervor to defend the Luxon, while the Assembly promises him the company of like minds and free rein in his experiments. Assuming no intervention by the M9 I think Essek would have ended up defecting to the Cerberus Assembly. If he did it early enough in the story he might have even joined the Volstruckers to complete the narrative foil transformation.

If the crew had confronted him at the treaty but not offered mercy I think he would have defected purely out of fear, thinking the Assembly were the only people who could protect him from both the Dynasty and the M9. He was already on edge watching the guy he'd set up to take the fall getting walked away in chains and with the Assembly's Wind of Aeons ship right there it would be the ideal time to make the move. Assuming the treaty confrontation went as it did (the crew makes him confess but lets him live) but the M9 hadn’t shown up in Eiselcross, Essek would likely have fled the outpost and gone into hiding in a bid to outrun his crimes (and probably gotten caught two weeks later given how awful he was at being “Dezrain Thane.”)

Essek is far from the first recruited asset to regret what they did even as they kept doing it. Those who can sell out their nation and not feel even a pang of guilt are thankfully thin on the ground. Most start off doing what seems to be a favor for a friend - or accepting a favor from a friend who wants to help with their “financial difficulties” - and end up so deep they can’t see any way forward other than to keep handing over secrets. He’s one more in a long line of those who compromised information out of frustration, especially through the appeal to shared professional interests (that’s how industrial assets tend to be recruited.)

But he’s also in a much better place to make up for it than most assets. Since he primarily compromised property, not secrets, returning said property can (somewhat, mostly) repair the damage done, which goes a long way towards buying leniency from the powers that be. And now I’m realizing that this post actually needs one final part, which is: how do you try someone for espionage, and should you charge them with it in the first place?

[1]  While spy dramas love sexy blackmail, and handlers will happily collect it to leverage against a balky asset, it works far less often in reality as a main reason for espionage. Social penalties for extramarital affairs pale before actual legal penalties like the death sentence for treason. On the other hand, those with foreign relatives are sometimes coerced by threats against those relatives.

[2]  Lonetree’s case for leniency got a boost in 1994 when Aldrich Ames was finally caught and some serious breaches of embassy security that had been attributed to Lonetree were found to be Ames’ work instead. In 1996 Lonetree was released after having served 9 years total.

[3] Although I did just think of a really messed-up Cerberus Assembly plan: consecute a handful of completely loyal Volstruckers, kill them, and send the beacons back so said agents will be reborn in the Dynasty and work to undermine it from within. How fucked up would that be?? Campaign 3 plot hook anyone?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)