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omniverseexplorer · 1 year ago

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The Complete Guide to Nondualism

Disclaimer: I want to talk about nondualism because to be honest I have “outgrown” the law of assumption and I really resonate with nondualism. Nondualism IS NOT a method, technique, concept, or a law like the law of assumption to get your desires, it is a lifestyle. If you don’t resonate with this you can keep scrolling.

The definition of nondualism

"Non-dualism or advaita vedanta means "Not Two" and at its core it is saying that we are just Awareness. Awareness like Non-dualism are labels that are unreal, everything that is spoken and explained are concepts and all concepts are imagination. What we truly are is indescribable, unimaginable, pure nothingness (no-thing, not nothing!), awareness, imagination, ultimate intelligence, THAT, IT, whatever you want to call it. Everything you perceive is You. There is nothing else but You"- by @infinite.ko on Instagram.

What does this all mean?

If you are familiar with Neville Goddard’s terminology “I am” we are literally that…we are pure consciousness/awareness/imagination, and we are all one. The difference between Neville Goddard’s views of the “I am” is that he had limiting beliefs that we are still our pure consciousness living in our human bodies and experiencing life through “states.” In nondualism, we are simply pure consciousness/imagination/awareness, we are every-thing, anything, and no-thing at the same time. We are all one consciousness means that we are our toothbrush, our phone, our tv, the animals, houses, plants, each other, Hogwarts, our sps, anything and everything you can imagine because we are imagination itself…it all stems from SELF. We are all one Self, we are silence. You know when you stare out into space and you zone out with no thoughts in your mind? That is who we truly are as pure consciousness/imagination/awareness, just silence in the now because time is an illusion, there are no past or future. When nondualism says who we are is “I am” it means I=consciousness, awareness, imagination Am=is. You simply ARE, it is unmoving: never changes, never dies, never leaves, and it is always there and has always been there and it is SILENT. There is nothing to be “aware of,” you already are always awareness right now and that is who we all are at our truest Being. In fact….everything is an illusion-your physical human senses, your physical human body, thoughts, feelings, assumptions, states, beliefs, words, and everything around you is an illusion. Even the word nondualism is an illusion, we are such an indescribable thing that this is the closest thing that we can get to describing who we truly are. As pure awareness/consciousness/imagination the things around you in your physical reality only seem to be “real” because you are simply aware/conscious of them. The moment you take your awareness/consciousness away from them they cease to exist until you bring your attention back to them. As pure consciousness/imagination/awareness we are the creators of our “realities” (that in itself is an illusion), our own creations, and most of all observers which means things only exist when we observe (aware/conscious) of them.

Awareness and “Observing”

You are awareness. You are consciousness. You are imagination. You are the observer of your reality. They all mean the same exact thing, meaning you are always awareness. It isn’t anything separate from you or even in you-it’s YOU! The physical senses are not real, only your awareness is. Anything that you experience with your physical 5 senses is not real, in fact you being aware of that thing has no image at all either. We are so indescribable, formless, and imageless and everything else around us is as well too. In terms of observing: “the moment you imagine something, it exists” (imagining meaning you bring into awareness aka just know it’s real) it exists because it’s literally you! You have no image you only show up in whatever you observe so basically when you observe your desire whatever it is it instantly exists because it’s you. You have no image so that thing you observed is you already exists because you gave it your awareness, therefore it’s here so don’t question it! You are the laptop, you are the trees, you are the house, you are Hogwarts, etc anything and everything you observe simply because you are bringing your awareness to it as that “image” but it’s all you! You shouldn’t rely on your physical senses at all because it’s an illusion that’s showing up as what you observed in the past, it literally has no meaning!

So…is this the void state?

No, the void state like every other “concept” is an illusion. The void state implies that it’s some kind of “state” that’s “within us” and we must reach through meditation. We ARE ALWAYS awareness, we already are IT. The “void state” implies that we need to “get into a state” to “manifest/reality shift instantly.” We always do everything instantly, the reason why things don’t “seem” instant is because we identify with our human bodies, human mind, and human eyes which are all illusions.

What about Self concept?

I know I always preached self concept, and while it’s not a bad thing and it is still beneficial if you still follow the law of assumption in nondualism you do not need to work on your self concept. We are all one consciousness/awareness/imagination therefore there’s no point in working on self concept because any other identification besides our truest Being is an illusion. Awareness/consciousness/imagination has no self concept because it has no body image, we already are everything and anything right now as one consciousness/awareness/imagination. All you need to do is let go of your identification with your human body, human mind, and human eyes and fully embrace Self as Awareness. Doze off and stare into space or close your eyes and focus on the blackness before your eyes, you know how everything seems to become still when you concentrate on either of these things? Okay that is who you truly are as awareness, because we are silence, so tell yourself: I am pure awareness, and I am letting go of my identification with my human body, human mind, and ego. You might feel a huge weight lifted off of your chest, or nothing! It’s okay either way because it’s who we truly are so it’s supposed to feel natural and neutral. You might get some push back from the ego which is okay just to remind yourself that your ego is an illusion. You just need to practise being in silence more and surrender to who you truly are with trust and you will notice major changes with Self.

What about the 4D vs 3D and DRs?

There’s no such thing as a 3D (physical reality) vs 4D (nonphysical) reality or “DRs”- they are all inseparable because the only thing that exists is imagination which is self. We are imagination, so these “realities” stem from self, the 3D, 4D, and DRs are just the same thing which is imagination. I want to clarify that when I say we are “imagination” I am not talking about visualising, that is a method. Imagination are concepts and ideas, it is infinite and indescribable. The concept of realities in itself is an illusion-reality is like a Sims game, where we can instantly change anything and everything we want based on what we decide to become aware/conscious of, since all that exists is awareness/consciousness. The moment you want to “manifest” something and shift your awareness to having it already, the physical illusion reality does change instantly, we just don’t see it with our human eyes because we assume that there’s some kind of delay. When we let go of our human identity, human senses, and human body and begin to truly identify with Self (awareness/consciousness/imagination) we begin to realise that we never lacked anything because we are everything and anything we can imagine right now. Everything comes instantly because we understand it’s not current reality vs desired reality or 3D vs 4D but imagination vs imagination and time isn’t real. There never was a time delay or mirroring between the 3D vs 4D, it only exists because we were aware/conscious of it-they are the same exact thing which is just imagination-aka US because we are imagination.

How does this relate to Manifesting and Reality Shifting?

Okay, so first and foremost “manifesting” and “reality shifting” just like every other word are just an illusion. As pure consciousness/awareness/imagination we are everything and anything we can imagine right now. “Lacking” does not exist, you can never lack when you are imagination. Also, you do not “manifest” or “reality shift” all you are doing is changing your awareness as the observer. Since you already are everything and anything right now all you need to do is switch your awareness because you already are it/have it right now whatever you want to “manifest” and wherever you want to “reality shift.” Everything is like a Sims game that can be changed within an instant because everything is just imagination. All we ever are is pure consciousness/awareness therefore what manifests/reality shifts are what we are conscious/aware of. Truly if you wanted to you can turn yourself into a tree, cat, your idol, etc because everything and anything is SELF one consciousness and all an illusion. Thoughts, states, assumptions, feelings, doubts, “methods”, and intention are not what “manifests”/”reality shifts”-it’s what you are aware/conscious of that manifests/reality shifts. Here’s this simple formula of all you ever need to do in order to “manifest/reality shift” in the nondualism perspective:

Decide what you “want” to have. It’s as simple as saying to yourself: I have/I am at______

Become aware/conscious/observe (in other words just know) that you already have it because you are imagination.

Don’t do anything else-you are everything and anything right now so therefore there’s no lacking or wanting because you already have it, just maintain your awareness/consciousness of having it/being there right now. You are your desires no matter what it is right now because you are imagination/consciousness/awareness, you are everything and anything right now.

Note: There is no reason to persist, for example since you have your phone on your hand do you keep telling yourself that you have your phone? No, you just are conscious/aware (know) you have your phone. You don’t constantly think about having your phone, you just know you have it. Since we are everything and anything, we already have our desires/we already are in our DRs right now and there’s nothing you need to persist on. Persisting implies lack because it seems like you are getting something, going back to the phone analogy when you naturally have it you don’t think about it often. As consciousness/awareness this is how you are supposed to view your desires you simply know you already have it. You can persist if you’re doing it with knowing that you already have what you want, and simply doing it as a reminder to maintain the fact that you already have what you want. You don’t persist to “get” something there’s nothing to “get” because you already have/are your desires. You persist to remind yourself that you already have/are what you want.

About the “time lag"

Time lags only exist because you have been taught that there’s a 3D and 4D and the 3D must mirror the 4D at all times and that it takes “time” for the 3D to catch up to your desires. The solution is stop identifying with your human body and human senses and begin to embody Self (consciousness/awareness/imagination) . Truly understand that there’s no separation of “3D and 4D” because the only thing that exists is YOU AS IMAGINATION! You are relying and identifying too much on the human physical senses, which is just an illusion. You will stop worrying about time because everything including time is an illusion and you will know that you already have everything and anything right now because you are everything and anything as imagination. Also, change your awareness/consciousness that time lag isn’t real whenever you become aware/conscious (or observe) of something you desire. The past and future do not exist, there is only now. The past and future are concepts from the mind because think about it all we have is now, the past and future only occur when we think about it and the human mind is an illusion too. Whatever you are aware of right now, no matter what the physical senses show you because it’s all an illusion is what is true because you have brought awareness to it and time isn’t real. When you truly KNOW who you are as awareness/imagination/consciousness and let go fully of the illusion of human identification things will begin to seem “instant.” You will not care about what the physical senses show you because you will truly know and understand that as one awareness, we already are/have everything and anything we can imagine because all that exists is SELF, US, IMAGINATION!

Questions I will not answer

If you ask any of these questions it shows me you haven’t read my guide and I will be mean 😊

Is it the void state?

How do I become aware of something?

How do I manifest/reality shift?

Conclusion

Even words such as nondualism, consciousness/awareness/imagination, silence, and observer are limiting and illusions to who we truly are. They’re the closest things to conceptualising and describing who we are but even then paradoxically it’s all an illusion. We are beyond such words and descriptions, we are indescribable. We are every-thing, anything, and no-thing at the same time: we are Self, one imagination/consciousness/awareness. There are no 3D vs 4D or DRs, there's just imagination which is just US and time lags do not exist unless we are aware of them. Everything including our human bodies and human senses are just an illusion so when it comes to “manifesting”/”reality shifting” it isn’t current reality vs dream reality it is imagination vs imagination. What “manifests”/”reality shifts” is what we are aware/conscious of, not our thoughts, states, assumptions, laws, etc because all we are is pure consciousness/awareness.

#nondualism #non duality #manifestation #manifesting #reality shifting #shifting #shiftblr #spiritualgrowth #spirituality #advaita vedanta

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thewertsearch · 2 months ago

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“Oh, SH8T.”

Fucking hell, that was instant.

At best, the trolls had mere minutes to prepare for Jack's arrival. They can't outrun him, they're fresh out of hiding spots, and their best fighter is halfway across the Incipisphere. What can they even do?

There's no way they're actually getting vaporized, so I can only assume we're in for some sort of deus ex machina. Perhaps one of the trolls will awaken an Aspect power, or reveal one that they've been holding in reserve.

The two Heroes of Light had challenged the same Jack Noir, the one straddling The Scratch and about twenty hours of his own time, to a circumstantially simultaneous pair of duels. Circumstantial simultaneity [...] is the agent responsible for the major cosmic event which pre-extinction Alternians came to refer to as The Great Undoing. The same concept rules the innumerable lesser events by which this critical moment shall be catalyzed, including the break, my employer's arrival, the detonation of a very powerful bomb, and my own death. It is an abstraction weaving together the fortunes of otherwise perfectly disparate chronologies, such as those bound to a pair of distinct sessions.

Vriska and Rose are heroes of the same Aspect, dueling the same invincible enemy - and, thus, these duels are cosmically 'linked' in some way. In short, it seems like two events become 'circumstantially simultaneous' if they share enough of the same characteristics.

If you deconstruct Scratch's overly-technical terminology, he's essentially discussing narrative parallels, and explaining that they'll play a major role in English's summoning ritual. It sounds like English is just as meta-aware as his minion is, and his plans will take these more abstract properties of Paradox Space into account.

This might also be the technical term for these 'remixed' panels that we often see in the comic. Out-of-universe, this is just Hussie re-using assets, but perhaps there's some deeper meaning here, too.

The Slayer was, for the moment, unmotivated by the Thief's motion for a compelling duel. This side of The Scratch, he opted for a more ruthless and calculating policy of extermination. On his arrival, not about to repeat the mistakes leading to his banishment, he quickly obliterated all twelve planets, followed by Prospit and Derse, to weed out those who might outsmart him in the same manner.

Jack was fucked over by a Scratch, so his first priority was to ensure the trolls couldn't trigger another. He had no way of knowing which Land housed their Scratch construct - but with his destructive potential, he didn't need to. Just nuke 'em all!

#full liveblog #homestuck liveblog #act 5.2 #s155 #3807

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concerningwolves · 2 months ago

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Tips and troubleshooting for scene breaks & transitions

First, understand the terminology:

A scene is essentially a small section of your larger piece where specific characters perform actions in a specific place, but the definition can be a little loose. A new scene happens when the focus changes to new characters, a new place, a new conflict/event, or any combination thereof. If you strictly follow this definition, the first chapter and a half of Northern Lights by Philip Pullman counts as one scene: It takes place mostly within a single room (save for showing us how Lyra gets into that room as the scene’s introduction), and explores the interactions between one set of characters. It ends when the focus of the narrative “cuts” to some different characters partway through chapter two.

A scene break is mostly a formatting term. It visually indicates a break in the narrative flow. This is often represented by an extra blank space between lines, or by fancier options like an asterisk(s), an asterism (⁂) or special characters or symbols. Sometimes, writers use both – there is an extra blank space between paragraphs in the first scene of Northern Lights because the narration is interrupted by Lyra falling asleep, but the actual scene break where the focus jumps to new characters in a new setting is indicated by three asterisks.

A transition is the “connective tissue”, so to speak, that connects the next scene to the one before it. This can include explaining how characters got from point A to B, indicating the passage of time, or establishing a new setting, or a mixture of these. Some transition methods are simple, little more than a phrase or sentence like “Work was unusually quiet that afternoon”; others require a paragraph or two.

And now for the advice:

In your first or early drafts:

Move on → Seriously. Hit enter twice for your double line break or use an end-of-scene style or put in your three asterisks or other fancy scene divider. Start writing your new scene on the new line. If you want to you can come back and fix it later in other drafts/revisions, but if the scene transition is stopping you from writing, move on to the next scene.

Square brackets (the writers’ beloved) → You probably know the square brackets trick, but if you don’t, it’s where you stick something that’ll require more thought inside square brackets, like [TOWN NAME], and then move on to the actual writing; the square brackets (or another character/punctuation that you don’t use otherwise) are then easy to find later with your word processor’s find tool. Put in [scene break]/[scene transition] or summarise anything that you envision happening “off page” between scenes. Fix it later.

Okay, so now you’ve come back to the scene breaks at a later stage of drafting or revisions, and you’re not happy with them. Consider...

Move on – now with a little extra padding → Have you come back to a scene break from an earlier draft to find it still feels too sudden? You probably need a simple phrase or a sentence that will help readers to reorientate themselves to a new place or time, or to turn their attention to some new characters. A quick “Later that day...” or “After a week of travelling...” or “They arrived at grandma’s house without any further mishaps.” can often smooth the path for you.

Backfill it! → Establish what is currently happening or focus in on the new characters in the first sentence or two, then quickly summarise how events reached that point. Pullman opens the second scene of Northern Lights by telling us that “The Master the Librarian were old friends and allies…” (focuses on the new characters), and then briefly explains that after the events of the previous scene, they strolled down to the Master’s study to have a drink and sit by the fire, as they often do after something difficult has happened (links to the previous scene + tells readers important information about the characters). This takes about two sentences before he jumps straight into the scene’s current events.

Does the transition between scenes still feel too jarring? Is there information missing? Then the next points may help:

Montage it! → Not every event or series of events in a story needs its own clearly defined scene separated by a scene break. It is perfectly acceptable to summarise stuff – think of this like a montage. Different montages show different things, but they all serve as a way to pack events into a small amount of time. In The Two Towers you get that sequence of Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn running across the fields of Rohan in pursuit of Merry and Pippin. In writing, that might look something like “For hours they moved across the planes, never dropping below a swift jog as they chased the ever-cooling trail. From time to time, Aragorn would stop and study the tracks in the earth and then rise, looking more grim than ever, and the pursuit began anew […and so on].” (I realise there’s actually an example of this in the book but I don’t have the text to hand, so I made my own)

To expand on that example: the “montage” approach is more appropriate here than a simple scene break with some backfilling because it, a) demonstrates the loyalty of the fellowship to one another, b) gives a sense of the weariness and monotony of the passing time, which reinforces how determined the characters are, and c) highlights their different roles and strengths, e.g., reminds the audience of Aragorn’s skills gained from being a Ranger. You just wouldn’t get the same impact from an abrupt scene break with a little padding or backfilling.

Still stuck? Then try…

Look back → If you’re struggling to move onto the next scene and none of the above help, the problem might be because of something in the previous scene(s). For me, this is maybe like eight times out of ten a logistical problem (e.g., “How to get characters from point A to point B?” / “is the Plot-Relevant Item in the right place?”) that can be solved by tweaking the events that came before.

Add a new scene → Are you finding that you need to add a lot of backfilling or padding to link your scene with the previous? Does too much happen to be compressed into a montage-style transition? Are there certain off-page events that might actually be important or helpful to show on page? Then try adding in a new scene between the two that you want to connect.

(Chapter) break it up → Either rearrange the way that scenes are broken up across chapters, or just add a new chapter break instead of a scene break. If nothing else, getting that scene onto a fresh page (literally and metaphorically) can help you look at things in different way.

And if all else fails, try turning the writing off then on again. Or talking to a rubber duck.

#writing advice #writeblr #scene breaks #writers on tumblr

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bambisworlds · 27 days ago

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there's a man in the woods (1)

part two

(sorry for the long synopsis)

rhysand, azriel, and cassian were blessed by the cauldron with a mate. although, the circumstances were never seen before. the three males each had a mate, and it turned out to be the same female they were each bound to; bambi. they had spent months trying to track down the female that had been haunting their dreams and they finally did. she was tamlin's "mate". he had somehow discovered bambi was the rhysand's mate, so he took her as his own lover to spite him. tamlin still blamed rhysand for the death of his true mate, rhysand's sister. however, this plan to get back at rhysand was short lived seeing as the bat boys showed up and took her to the night court with them, leaving tamlin in their dust. pissed that he no longer had the upper hand, tamlin snuck into the night court and kidnapped bambi (1,917 word count)

content warnings, mdni 18+

f!reader, bambi!oc, little!reader, oc age regresses to 6 years old, ddlg dynamics, established relationship, poly!batboys x oc, caregiver!batboys, protective!batboys, azriel's pretty unhinged, friend!mor, protective!mor, amren being her usual self, use of "Daddy", kidnapping, violence, evil!tamlin (are we surprised), tamlin is a hot mess let's just be real, let me know if i forgot anything x (also if i misrepresent age regression or common aspects of ddlg relationships pls let me know, i'm still learning)

Quickly after Bambi was brought to The Night Court she became the princess of the household. The Bat Boys were utterly obsessed with her, bending over backwards to please her or simply make her smile. But, naturally, when Bambi first arrived at the townhouse she was hesitant. She had been under the impression that Tamlin was her mate. However, she didn't love Tamlin like she thought she should. Something was missing. Turns out, the thing missing was a mating bond.

It took a handful of weeks for Bambi to come out of her shell around the Inner Circle. The first week consisted of her mainly being around Mor. The Bat Boys primal instincts were out of control, so Mor basically banned them to The House of Wind until they got their shit together so they wouldn't petrify Bambi.

It didn't take long for Mor to notice that there was something different about Bambi. From time to time she went quiet, and when she did speak her words lacked her usual sophisticated vocabulary. Then, after she grew more comfortable with Mor, Bambi would grow bolder, and more fussy, than usual during these spells. Mor confided in Madja as to what could explain her behavior, and she described it in medical terminology. But the common name was "little space". So, naturally, she reported this information to The Bat Boys.

Azriel spent 8 hours in the library after Mor informed him about Bambi's coping mechanism, wanting to learn everything he could so he could offer the support and care Bambi needed. After feeling satisfied with his newfound knowledge, he presented it to Rhysand and Cassian. Cassian struggled at first to grasp the concept, but with further education by Rhysand and Azriel, he understood why Bambi age regressed from time to time and wanted to support her the best way he could.

Now, after nearly a year together, The Bat Boys were experts on Bambi. They tended to her every need with unquestionable skill. They knew what she needed when she needed it without having to ask. They moved as one, taking care of her as a team.

But, the three males still had to attend to their responsibilities as High Lord, Commander of the Night Court's Armies, and as Spymaster. So, they couldn't be with Bambi 24/7. When they were busy, they assigned Mor to her. They tried having Amren look after Bambi, but it just resulted in Bambi coming home in tears because Amren made fun of her plushies and kept beating her at checkers (everyone else always let her win). From then on Bambi was always entrusted to Mor's care when they were unavailable.

Today was like any other day. Mor had taken Bambi to walk through the shops. Bambi wasn't feeling little today, but she was still easily distracted and forgetful so Mor accompanied her on her shopping trip. Plus, the entirety of the Inner Circle was overprotective of Bambi. Even Amren, at times. While Mor was finishing up paying for a new bracelet Bambi selected, Bambi wandered down a few stalls to look at pastries. She was about to flag Mor down to buy some when a large hand wrapped around her hand and began to drag her down the busy streets.

Mor searched the shopping stalls for hours in search of Bambi when she couldn't find Bambi's familiar blonde hair among the mass of people. After coming up empty-handed and beginning to panic, she returned to the townhouse to tell The Bat Boys.

"You. Did. What?" Cassian spits.

"How did you manage to lose her?" Rhysand demands, resting his hands on his hips. The moment Mor entered the townhouse without Bambi Azriel's shadows disappeared, already searching for her.

"She is quite small," Amren says from the chair she was in, filing her nails. Cassian scoffs at her lack of urgency.

"You know I would never let anything happen to her," Mor says, growing defensive, "I turned for 5 seconds and she... disappeared." Mor sighed, "I've searched every street in Velaris. She's not in The Night Court," she conceded. Mor looked over at Azriel warily, he was painfully quiet, "Az say something."

Azriel bristled, his hands curling into fists, "Do you have any idea how frightened she'll be when it gets dark outside?" he said lowly, glaring at Mor.

"She wouldn't just wander off like that," Cassian says, "She knows not to go anywhere without us. Besides, everyone in Velaris knows she's our mate. She could ask practically anyone for help and they would bring her to us."

"Then someone must've taken her," Azriel practically growls, his siphons glowing ominously.

"Who would do that? We're on good terms with all the Courts," Mor implored, "Besides..." she trails off. Azriel's eyes snap up to Mor's face before he begins to storm towards the front door of the townhouse.

"Azriel wait, we can't do anything rash," Rhysand tries to reason, winnowing in front of him to block his path, "If Tamlin has her we need to be careful, he's unstable and unpredictable. We can't just go blazing into his court without expecting resistance."

"I welcome resistance, Truthteller hasn't gotten dirty in a while," Azriel threatened, his tone deadly.

"I'm in full support of blazing in there. I'll cut his head off before he can do shit," Cassian says, cracking his knuckles.

Rhysand sighs and rubs his forehead in agitation, "It would be nice to not always be the only reasonable one here for once," he mutters to himself before looking back up at The Inner Circle, "Let me try to reach her first, so we can see what we're up against."

"You haven't tried to reach her yet?" Cassian demands, clearly angry that Rhysand hadn't tried to use his daemati abilities yet.

"I've been preoccupied trying to stop you from destroying another court," Rhysand seethes. "Just... give me a moment," Rhysand sighs and sits down on one of the plush sofas in the room. Amren continued to file her nails, glancing up at Rhysand with slight interest. Rhysand focused, his mind reaching out in search of Bambi's. He knew her signature like the back of his hand, usually, he could slip into her mind without a bit of effort, but today he couldn't, "She's far away," Rhysand mutters, shifting uncomfortably in the chair as he strains to reach out farther with his mind.

Azriel began to fidget as the minutes passed, the tick of the father clock breaking the silence. Cassian sat on the sofa opposite of Rhysand, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at The High Lord, trying to decipher if he had found something while Azriel began to pace like a caged animal. Mor remained in the entryway of the living area, biting her nails anxiously as she watched Rhysand.

"There," Rhysand whispers as he finally feels Bambi's familiar energy throughout the sea of minds he had shuffled through. Azriel stops pacing and turns to look at Rhysand, while Cassian perks up in his seat. "I found her," Rhysand says breathily, "Darling, can you hear me?" Rhysand speaks into Bambi's mind, separated by miles. One of the first things Rhysand taught Bambi was how to speak with him telepathically, in case they would need it for times like these. Plus, he enjoyed having access to her mind whenever he wanted.

"Daddy?" she answers, her voice faint and echoey. Rhysand smiles to himself at the sound of her voice. He could barely make out her words due to the distance between them, but that didn't make hearing her any less comforting.

"I need you to tell me where you are. Do you know where you are sweetheart?" Rhysand asks telepathically, his tone gentle. It was obvious to Rhysand that Bambi was in little space, likely due to the fear and anxiety of the situation she was in. Azriel, Cassian, and Mor stared at Rhysand, practically unblinking, as they waited for any new information.

"S'hard," she says, her voice small, echoing in his mind. Rhysand knew she struggled to use her daemati abilities more than usual when in little space. She lost focus easily and struggled to remember what Rhysand had taught her to do. Plus, it was taxing on the mind and could easily exhaust her.

"I know little one, but I need you to try really hard for Daddy so I can come get you," Rhysand said gently, "Now, can you tell me where you are?" A few moments passed and Rhysand waited anxiously.

"Tamlin," is all Bambi managed to slip into Rhysand's mind. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Sit tight, Daddy's coming for you, okay? Azzy, Cass, and I will be there soon." Rhysand says before cutting off his connection with Bambi, but leaving a window open in his mind so she could reach him if she needed. "She's with Tamlin," Rhysand says firmly, rising from his seat abruptly.

"Is she alright?" Cassian demanded, rising to his feet as well.

"Not entirely. She's little right now, which will make it harder to get her home safely." Rhysand says, "But she knows we're coming. Hopefully, that will bring her comfort."

Across Prythian, Bambi was sitting timidly at Tamlin's dining table as he poured her a glass of wine. Rhysand's voice was bouncing around her mind, "I know little one, but I need you to try really hard for Daddy so I can come find you. Now, can you tell me where you are?"

"Isn't this nice? Us being back together again?" Tamlin asks as he pushes the goblet closer to Bambi. She didn't reach for it, "That's fine faerie wine, you can at least pretend to look grateful." he scoffs, taking a sip from his glass.

Bambi was too focused on using her daemati skills to register Tamlin's words, straining as she tried to respond to Rhysand mentally, "Tamlin," she managed to transfer the singular word into Rhysand's mind. She let out a heavy breath, sinking into her chair once she managed to do so. Tamlin set down his goblet on the table with a thud.

"Did you just tell Rhysand something?" he demands and Bambi looks down at her lap, "Hey!" he snaps, grabbing her chin so she makes eye contact with him, "What did you tell him?" Tamlin growls, "Tell me! What did you tell him!" Tamlin demands and Bambi flinches with a slight whimper.

"I-I told him where I am," she says shakily, looking up at Tamlin anxiously as she waits for his reaction.

"Fuck!" Tamlin bellows, throwing his goblet onto the ground, causing it to shatter. "Why can't one fucking thing ever go to plan!" he shouts, throwing a chair against the wall next. Bambi flinched with each loud noise, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress to try to focus on the smooth silk instead of the danger around her.

"Sit tight, Daddy's coming for you, okay? Azzy, Cass, and I will be there soon." Rhysand's voice echoes in Bambi's mind and she stills, glancing up at Tamlin. Tamlin panted, resting his hands on his hips as he finally stopped throwing things around.

He looked over at Bambi, noticing her gaze on him, "What?" he spits.

"You should run," Bambi says simply, before focusing back on the fabric of her dress. Tamlin bristled slightly from her words.

Moments later Lucien walked into the dining room, his good eye scanning over the mess around the room before landing on Bambi. Lucien sighs at the sight of her, looking over at Tamlin, "Have you gone mad?"

if you have any requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below or on my masterlist!! (check here: about my blog to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

#rhysand x oc #rhysand acotar #acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel acotar #cassian x fem!reader #cassian acotar #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand x little!reader #azriel x little!reader #cassian x little!reader #mor acotar #amren acotar #sarah j. maas #cassian x oc

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dallasgallant · 21 days ago

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Time period post- Greaser subtypes

This one was asked of me a little while back, as I mentioned briefly the types of Greaser and someone wanted to know the difference. (Also have some posts on terminology!) and it sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole, this one is a little more researched that my more rambly general knowledge ones.

Going to put this before the cut as it’s a important aspect and was fascinating to me at least,

“The Greaser” has been a costume and a character longer than it ever had been a clearly defined demographic or subculture. A lot of what we understand today is from pop culture and rockabilly revivals of the 80s and the whatever the fuck was happening in 2010 (which is more a tumblr aesthetic than it ever was reality). What unites and makes an ‘actual’ greaser is without a doubt class status, certain behavior and dress more so than the affiliation with Rock n’ roll.

Another thing to consider is “Greaser” is a derogatory term! Pony talks about it briefly in the book how they don’t like other people calling them it, only themselves. It’s not a group invented term, more something they’re called/reclaimed.

Same goes for Hood, JD, Con, Punk, white trash, Redneck, Hick, Okie etc.

Some have come on to be used more commonly, or nicer meaning such as redneck but half the time it’s self used by people with a slight accent and would not actually— different conversation.

Another thing to be aware of (that I have a post on) is inter-lapping terms like all Greasers are punks but not all punks are greasers. (Original connotation not the music based subculture)

Motorcycle v. Hot rod-

Now to what this post was sparked about the distinction between “Type” of greasers. This is sort of what it says on the tin.

Motorcycle greasers are the types to ride bikes and be in that sort of gang.

Hot rod greasers are those who are into car customization (making a hot rod by suping it up) and drag races that sort of thing.

Both of these can be named gangs, matching jackets with the name and everything. However that’s more larger city and pop culture than true across the board (Pony mentioned there’s a few named gangs in Tulsa; types like this also tend to run over)

But again! It’s important to understand not every motorcycle gang or car club are greasers! It’s complicated in a strange way as there’s simultaneously no difference and a lot of difference.

Not all greasers are a “type!” Either. Some are just grease. Like the Curtis outfit leans towards the car side but are not a car club/gang or centered around their cars. They’re a run of the mill unnamed friend group type gang.

Varying term-

Interesting is, some stereotypes and pop culture examples of greasers are relatively true to life… though they tend to run softer or harsher depending on if they’re the bad or good guys (typically bad.) Some are upset over this… mainly because a childhood bully was a greaser and they have a demonized depiction in their head which was wild to come across while looking into this.

It’s actually one of the instances where people’s recollection as a bit better of a source then looking it up. As google gives you mainly “Ayyyyy” or “tell me more tell me more” (which don’t get me wrong we love the Fonz and the T-birds in this house)

What seems to be the true uniting factor of making a Greaser is Levi’s and being a “Working class bully” which has become a whole other stereotype within itself but, greaser’s never really went away they just changed their haircut. Allow me to explain,

The kid who’s rough because he has to be. Life isn’t so great at home, dad beats him, poor, mom strips etc there’s a thousand variations. To the point again there’s an entire trope. Besides being lower class they were also the kids to frequent the shop and remedial classes- get in trouble, speak their mind get into fights and so on. Looking into antidotes sometimes what they were called changed or the music they listened to but- hair grease, jeans, rough etc are all a common factor.

This also ties back to the book. There’s something about everyone either thinking you’re mean and a criminal or immediately pitying you because your life must be so horrible you poor thing you—- has got to suck! It’s understandable that Pony would flip out on Cherry the way he did about pity and charity.

The thing about Greasers that gets me is that they’re either doomed to Demonization or romanization. (As let’s be real crime, being rude etc were also an active part. Not always but there) Both in memory and pop culture. Don’t get me wrong there has always been some nuanced depictions and conversations about Greasers or JD’s (the outsiders is one of them) but that just isn’t the case for the dominant public memory. They’re stuck as a costume or a bully…

#the outsiders #outsiders #outsiders meta #time period post #time period post : greaser subgroups #greasers #subculture #1960s #details #writing help

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fluentmoviequoter · 5 months ago

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Self-Sacrificial

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You like Street as more than a friend, but think he will never feel the same. When you nearly lose him, you accuse him of not caring about you or anyone else because you can't see the truth.

Warnings: quick joke about being dead, angst to fluff, arguments, Street gets hit by a car, fluffy comfort

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“What are you doing?” Street asks from above you. He taps your leg with his foot as he continues, “You dead or something? You’ll be hard to replace.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you answer. “You’re late.”

As you open your eyes, Street shakes his head and offers a hand. You accept his help and allow him to pull you from the concrete beside the S.W.A.T. HQ entrance. Street leads you inside, but before you can greet the rest of your team, Lynch calls you into her office.

“If I get fired for waiting for you, I’ll be very mad,” you mumble as you pass Street.

“I need to talk to you as a woman, not as a lieutenant,” Lynch explains as you close her office door.

“Okay,” you murmur slowly. “As long as I’m not in trouble.”

“No,” she assures with a smile. “It’s about your relationship with Street.”

“Relationship?” you repeat. “We’re not-“

Lynch raises her hand to stop you. “I know, I’ve heard it. You’re friends, that’s all. If that’s what you’re sticking with, fine. But… you and Street are special.”

“You’re still talking as my accidental mother figure, right?”

Lynch rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue with your terminology. From the moment you began working with her, she took an unexpected role in your career and in your life.

“Just be careful, okay. Lie to yourself if you need to, but don’t let the blinders you keep on get in the way of everything else,” she concludes. “And if you decide to take those blinders off, let me know and we’ll get ahead of IA.”

“Blinders,” you whisper. “Sure thing. Thanks for the talk.”

Hondo knocks before he opens Lynch’s door. “We’re rolling.”

You nod at Lynch and then rush out after Hondo to join your team. Those blinders she mentioned are a topic you’d rather ignore. They’re important to you because the moment you look at Street the way you want to – as more than a teammate and friend – you’ll be exposed to the harsh truth that Street will never see you the same way. The only mirror image in this situation is the heartbreak you’ll see looking back at you.

As you climb into Black Betty, Tan and Luca are discussing a new restaurant opening this weekend. You should be used to their oddly timed topics by now, you think.

“I’d be happy to test it out for you,” Street offers. “Give me a few hours to get a date and then you can have a full review by tomorrow.”

Your jaw clenches. Street is your best friend, but that doesn’t make this any easier. Whenever he says or does something that reminds you of his ability and desire to date women who aren’t you, you take a step back. The teasing, the competition, and incredible bond you have with him strains when you do this, and he suffers because of your buried feelings, but losing him may be better than learning you can never have him.

“What do you think?” Street asks you.

You shrug and keep your attention on your helmet.

“C’mon,” he presses. “Everybody has an opinion on good restaurants.”

“You certainly do,” you mumble.

“What does that mean?”

Deacon and Hondo share a look that goes unnoticed by both you and Street. With your eyes down, and Street’s locked on you, it’s incredible to the rest of your team that you can’t actually see what is right in front of you.

“I’m sure it’s a great place for dates,” you agree.

“And?” Street questions.

“And what?”

“What is wrong with you?”

You shrug again and Hondo cuts Street off to explain the plan for the raid. He puts you and Street on opposite sides of the house, which is probably in your best interest.

“You can’t just ignore me,” Street whispers harshly as you exit Black Betty.

“We’re working,” you remind him.

“If you can keep working without getting exhausted from the back and forth of being my friend and ignoring me because you’re jealous about my date or something, I can do my job and ask a question.”

You take a deep breath, willing yourself not to respond to his low jab. “Let’s just finish the raid, Street, and if you want to make up more stupid ideas about why I don’t want to talk to you sometimes later, I’ll try my best to listen.”

Street reaches for your arm, but you step away quickly to join Deacon.

“You’re not just hurting him, you know?” Deacon murmurs.

You don’t answer, but as you follow Deacon to the west side of the house, you find yourself thinking about Street again. The feelings that stir within you every time you see Street hurt you far worse than they will ever hurt him. If you can survive his lack of feelings, he can deal with you getting some space.

“22-David, in position on 3 side,” Luca radios.

“30-David, ready on 4,” Deacon adds.

“26-David, go for 2,” Street says.

“20-David, breach on my mark,” Hondo commands. “3, 2, go, go, go.”

You follow Deacon into a side door and through a tight hallway. As you enter the kitchen in the back corner of the house, there’s no sign of the resident.

“Eyes on one suspect,” Street alerts. “He’s running east; 26-David in pursuit.”

“One in custody,” Luca calls.

Deacon gestures back toward the door you entered and tells your team that you’re assisting Street. As you run back into the yard, you navigate around the house and toward the road quickly.

“LAPD!” Street yells ahead of you. “Stop!”

The suspect turns off of the sidewalk suddenly and sprints across the road. You speed up as Street turns to follow him. A car engine rumbles around the curve, and you know they won’t be able to see anyone in the path until it’s too late.

“Street!” you yell.

The engine grows louder, and your lungs seem to constrict as you watch the driver round the corner. They appear to be going the speed limit, but that doesn’t make what happens next any less painful. As the suspect reaches the sidewalk on the other side, you only watch Street. The approaching car slides to a stop, but it’s not fast enough.

“Street!” you yell again.

The bumper knocks his legs out from under him, and his helmet dents the hood before he rolls back onto the asphalt. As you reach him, you rip your helmet off to see him better.

“Go get him,” Street implores, holding his stomach.

“No, Street,” you argue.

“Get him. I’m fine.”

Street groans and you know he isn’t fine, but you need that suspect in custody today. You leave your helmet beside Street and run faster than you ever have before. Without thinking, you tackle the suspect to the concrete and cuff him as he moans in pain.

“Hondo, Street’s down. Suspect in custody,” you radio.

“R/A’s en route,” Hondo replies.

Luca runs toward you as Deacon and Hondo approach Street. The driver is standing by his door and rubbing his hand over his face nervously. Everything in you wants to run back to Street and help him, tell him that he’s special to you and you need him, but that’s not your job right now. Maybe Lynch was right about those blinders, you think. Then, as you remember what Deacon said, you realize that the burning in your chest has nothing to do with how hard you ran, and everything to do with the fact that you may lose Street anyway, and he will never know that you see him as so much more than your best friend.

“Let’s go,” Luca says as he pulls the suspect to his feet. “You alright?” he asks you.

You swallow quickly and nod. The ambulance arrives as you and Luca meet the responding patrol officers, and you miss your chance to go with Street.

“He’s going to St. Stephen’s,” Deacon tells you after everything silences. “He was still conscious, so that’s a good sign.”

“Deacon,” you begin. “I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

“He needs you,” Deacon adds. “Luca’s gonna drop you off on the way back to HQ.”

You nod. Everything numbs as you follow Deacon to Black Betty. There’s nothing you can think of or say that will make this go away, not without telling Street everything. As Luca drives to the hospital and your team talks – it’s nothing more than muffled background noise as you stare at the empty seat before you – your emotions shift. You almost lost Street because he didn’t listen, because he got caught up in the chase and didn’t think about how his decision would affect him or anyone else.

“Thanks, Luca,” you mumble as you exit the double doors.

The rest of your team pulls away as you walk into the hospital. With your uniform still on, you don’t even have to ask anyone for help before you’re led to Street’s side.

“Hey!” he calls when he sees you. “Oh, ow,” he mumbles as he lays back.

Your plan to tell him the truth disappears when you see the smile on his face. He still doesn’t realize just how stupid he was.

“Glad you’re okay,” you say. “Though I’m sure that’s just luck. You- Street, that was so reckless. If you want to throw away your safety, do it on your time!”

“I-“

“No; whatever excuse you’re coming up with, just save it. You’re self-sacrificial and today proved why. You don’t care about anyone else, and you don’t seem to realize or care that I- that people care about you! When you pull that hero act, you’re showing how blind and how stupid you are.”

You release a breath as you finish. Part of you whispers that you’re being a hypocrite; Street isn’t the only blind and stupid one in this hospital room. He’s not the only one sacrificing parts of himself because he thinks being selfish and secretive is the only way to stay happy and avoid rejection. So, you decide to listen to the part that is mad at Street for risking his life and not caring how it affected you. And the rest of your team, of course.

Street’s brows furrow as you rant. After you fall silent, he asks, “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“I’m fine,” Street argues. “You seem very upset, and I’m sorry about that, but it’s a minor injury, and I-“

You weren’t expecting Street to argue with you, to find a way to make you seem wrong for caring about him. And when he says minor injury as if he wasn’t hit by a car, you know you can’t stay. Without a word, you turn and exit his room as you ignore his calls for you.

“Hey,” Hicks calls.

You look up and see him walking through the hall, likely to see Street.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s… he’s still Street,” you say.

“And you?”

You shrug and answer, “I didn’t get hit by a car. I’m heading back to HQ.”

Hicks nods and taps your shoulder kindly as you leave. You need to blow off some steam and get Street off your mind for a while, and HQ is the perfect place to do that.

As you call Deacon to come get you, Hicks enters Street’s room and closes the door.

“How you managed to not break your leg is a mystery for the ages,” Hicks says.

“Well, apparently I’m just lucky,” Street murmurs. “And blind, and stupid.”

Hicks nods as he takes a seat. “What’d you do to make her so angry?”

“Nothing! She’s mad because I’m ‘self-sacrificial’ and it was a misguided ‘hero act.’ Her words.”

“You think she’s wrong? No self-sacrificial motivations?”

Street looks away from Hicks as he considers why he ran after that suspect without looking and why he ignored you when you yelled his name.

“We got into an argument before we got there,” Street admits.

“I didn’t realize you two were already together.”

“We’re not. She, uh, she’d never.”

“Right,” Hicks agrees sarcastically. “Because that woman who just came in here and yelled at you for getting hurt doesn’t feel anything for you. Surely you can see, despite your track record, that she cares that you got hurt. She’s mad because she could have lost you.”

“She can’t lose something she doesn’t want.”

“Street, open your eyes. No one yells at someone they’re indifferent to. But someone you’re scared to lose? They’re worth getting mad about.”

Street replays your words in his mind. You don’t care about anyone else, and you don’t seem to realize or care that I- that people care about you! You almost said it, Street realizes. You almost admitted the very thing Street has thought for longer than he remembers.

“When can I leave?” Street asks.

“Easy,” Hicks answers. “They’ve got to observe you for a while and make sure you don’t have any internal damage.”

“Is the driver okay?”

Hicks stands and buttons his jacket as he says, “You’re not that strong, kid.”

As Street gets advice from Hicks, you try to avoid Lynch. It doesn’t go well, however, because the moment your fist makes impact with the punching bag, she appears.

“We need to talk,” she says.

“Can it wait?” you ask between a jab and a cross.

“No. I know you’re worried about Street, where that anger is coming from. But the question I have is, do you know why you’re so upset?”

“Because he could’ve gotten himself killed and he doesn’t care!” you exclaim.

“He doesn’t care that he could have died, or he doesn’t care that he would’ve been taken away from you?” Lynch challenges.

You drop your hands and exhale. “What does that mean?”

“You tell me. Is the anger because you care about him and need him or because he went against protocol? For me, I would be mad about the paperwork I had to do, but you…”

“So, what you’re telling me is that I got angry with him because I don’t want to lose him. The one man in the world that I have absolutely no chance of ever having. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not. Or it could be that the idea you can’t have him is just that – your idea. If you never give him the chance to answer, you’ll never know.”

“But I could lose him anyway,” you say softly.

“Or you could lose the chance to have him. Just… think about it, figure out why it bothers you so much, and then do something about it. Whether that’s telling him the truth or just being a supportive team member.”

You watch Lynch leave, then turn away from the bag.

“Ready?” Deacon asks.

“What?” you reply.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for a ride back to Street.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Mr. I-know-my-teammates-well-and-have-scary-good-intuition.”

“It’s a wonder I even have a license to drive you with a last name like that,” Deacon teases as he leads you to the parking area.

Outside Street’s room, you stop and take a deep breath. After you knock, you step through the open door and stop at the foot of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” you begin. “I thought-“

“I care about you,” Street interrupts. “I like you. I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t remember life without you.”

Your eyes widen with Street’s confession. Even if he’s exaggerating, hearing that you’ve had an effect like that on Jim Street gives you hope. He’s everything you want and more, but you never expected to hear anything like this from him.

“I like you, too,” you confess. “That’s why I got so mad. I didn’t want to lose you, but I shouldn’t have said all of that about you. I’m sorry.”

“I was self-sacrificial. I couldn’t see that you cared, so I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Of course it matters, Street. You matter,” you insist as you walk to his side.

You take Street’s hand, and he smiles at you. There’s still a pain in you, a sympathetic, emotional hurt for Street and what you both went through.

“I guess it’s a good thing I was stupid and blind enough to get run over by an innocent bystander,” Street jokes.

“You’re insufferable,” you respond.

Your smile betrays you, and Street knows you don’t mean that. You meant everything before. Though you think it’s too early for him to be joking about his accident and the injuries he’ll certainly feel tomorrow, you appreciate his sense of humor and the way he holds your hand. He can be insufferable, but now that you’re finally accepting the truth that Jim Street likes you too, it’s different and it always will be.

#jim street x fem!reader #jim street x reader #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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confused-rat · 3 months ago

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Don’t you love it how even when someone politely disagrees with Lily and tries to explaining their reasoning, she calls them a fucking child?

“—grow up.”

The call is coming from inside the house Lily, how about you grow the fuck up and accept people can disagree with you and not be idiots/predators/children/stalkers or whatever terminology you wanna use to make yourself look superior.

#lily orchard #lily orchard critical #lily peet

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tiredsn0w · 2 months ago

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I'm still thinking about a video I watched recently. Its creator said it would touch on anti-psychiatry, and I was looking forward to that.

I only realised it was supposed to be a 'content warning' after they had already said something along the lines of "psych wards are good, medication is good, you SHOULD take medication, and the goal of medication isn't to change your personality".

Classic example of schizospecs being excluded from mental health subjects, because maybe that's true for antidepressants and such, but antipsychotics? They can certainly help people, and be used as a coping tool, but they were invented as a chemical lobotomy. Physical lobotomies were practiced to turn schizophrenics into "pleasant house pets" (actual terminology used) and chemical ones, in my experience, aren't very different.

Also, while antipsychotics can be helpful sometimes, being prescribed them at a young age (11 or 12, for me) can permanently alter your brain's chemistry and cause you to have worse symptoms. These risks are rarely, if ever, explained to patients- I even had a psychotic friend be prescribed antipsychotics when she went in for sleeping medication, with zero explanation of what the medication was even for from the psychiatrist-- and universally pushing the idea of "meds good" is just untrue.

TL;DR: Psychiatry/mental health isn't just about anxiety and depression, please don't talk about it like it is.

#personal post #anti psychiatry #schizo spectrum #schizospec #schizophrenia #cw psych ward #tw psych ward #cw lobotomy #tw lobotomy #Also don't worry about that friend now. Gave her the 'most psychiatrists go completely insane and ignore your personal autonomy when they #find out you have psychosis so please be careful' - talk

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homunculus-argument · 2 years ago

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I like the kind of fantasy worldbuilding where cultural things like marriage customs and family ties are so wildly different between peoples that even the characters themselves have a hard time explaining them to each other. In that one story that I'll probably never go back to, the fisher folk are polygamous, with a rather distinct tradition of "inherited" husbands.

While one man having several wives and one woman having several husbands are both fairly common, the fishers are still matrilinear and somewhat matriarchal. Men are the ones who move from their own clan/family/household to their new wife's house, and when a woman dies, one of her daughters, nieces or other female next-of-kin "inherits" her husbands. In their own language, the word for inheriting property is a completely different one from the one for this tradition, as are the words for one's own husband(s) and the Elder Husbands, but this distinction becomes lost in translation.

This basically means that in practice, once your mother/aunt/etc has passed, your father, uncles, and/or other widowers move in to live with you, becoming a part of your household and either caring for it as they did for their old home, or being cared for once they're elderly. Their status is above the inheriting woman's own husbands, but still aknowledging the woman who runs the house as the final authority of the household.

None of the major cultures of the Empire practice polygamy, and while they are completely chill with having slaves and both owning and inheriting people as property, the idea of legally owning one's own family, or potentially being married to your own father, horrifies them. The fisher folk do not keep slaves, and are sick of trying to explain that despite of using the same words (because the common tongue doesn't have the terminology for the intricacies of fisher folk family roles), it's absolutely not the same thing.

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hollyethecurious · 2 months ago

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CS AU: Once Upon A Grimm (2/?)

Summary: The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions. Creatures known as wesen. Supernatural, other-worldly beings who have always lived among humans and have always been hunted by those who had come to be known as Grimms. A struggle of secrecy, balance, and power among these species has existed since the beginning of time. This is a story of a man with his own struggle. The internal struggle of being a human, a wesen, and a Grimm, and the external forces that seek to eradicate one or all of his natures, especially those he tries to keep hidden. Fortunately, Killian Jones is not alone in his struggles nor his secrets. His personal savior, Emma Swan, has secrets and struggles of her own.

A/N: This fic is inspired by and will borrow from the NBC show Grimm. I confess I did not watch Grimm when it first aired, but absolutely fell in love with the show during a binge fest years later. If you have not seen the show, no worries! My beta - who has not seen the show either - assures me that it is not necessary. If you have seen the show, then I hope you’ll forgive the huge creative license I am taking with the material. This is not a strict Grimm retelling with Once characters. This is my own spin on the lore and cannon of both shows.

Sorry I am so late with this update. I underestimated how demanding real life was gonna be now that we are back in full swing with school. I'll do my best to stay on track going forward!

I cannot express how much I have enjoyed being a part of the @cssns all these years. Thank you to the mods who have kept it going year after year. We've had a terrific run! Huge shout out to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader and for her exceptional beta skills. A HUGE thank you and many fangirl squeals to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the amazing job she did on the cover art that accompanies this fic. Please go show her some love!

FYI: Because the show took cues from the Grimm brothers’ works, much of the vocabulary associated with the supernatural creatures was based on German or German coded language. For words like wesen and woge (which will be explained in the text) the w is pronounced with a v sound on the show. I’ll be using terminology from the show and more common creature names interchangeably within the fic.

Rated E (eventually) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Prologue

Chapter One

Two and Half Years Later…

“What have we got?”

Killian approached the scene with his partner, Robin. Their mate and uniformed officer, Will, brought them up to speed, keeping his voice low as the men conversed on the walkway that led to the grand house towering before them.

“Grace Hatter. Eight years old. Never made it to school this morning,” Will informed them, reading over his notes. “Father says she left the house at a quarter to eight like usual. An hour later he got the call from the school telling him she was absent.”

“Do we know if he’s clean?” Killian asked, assessing the distraught man who was being questioned by other officers.

“No,” Will replied. “Dad’s name is Jefferson Hatter. We're looking into him.”

“Mom?”

“Deceased.”

“Okay. Thanks, mate. We’ll go have a talk with him.”

Killian and Robin continued up the walkway. When the father caught sight of them, he rushed down the front steps to meet them halfway.

“Are you the detectives?”

“Yes, sir,” Robin responded. “Detectives Locksley and Jones. Can you tell us more about your daughter? When you last her? What she was wearing?”

“Yeah, um…” The man took a moment to try and compose himself. His hand shook as he brought it up to run down his face. A shuddering breath filled his lungs and a sob caught in the back of his throat. “She uh, she left here about 7:45. She’s wearing purple leggings and an oversized, purple top that has a white rabbit on the front of it. She also had on a red hoodie and her backpack is pink and purple with her name on it.”

“Does she often walk by herself to school?”

The man, Jefferson, nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Ever since the beginning of the school year. She wanted… She wanted to be a big girl this year.” He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the freshly fallen tears drops from his face. “I was reluctant, but the school isn’t far and normally she walks with another little girl and her brother down the block.”

“But not today?” Killian inquired.

“No,” Jefferson answered. “Ava and her brother are both out sick this week. Grace walked alone yesterday, so I didn’t see an issue with her walking alone again today.” His face reddened, the tears now cascading down his cheeks as he pleaded, “Please. You have to find my little girl, please!”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Robin promised him, digging a card from his pocket. “An officer is going to stay with you as we canvas the neighborhood, but if you think of anything else, give us a call.”

“Th-Thank you, detectives,” Jefferson said, taking the card then following one of the officers back to the house.

“So, what do you think?” Robin said under his breath as they turned back towards the street and surveyed their surroundings.

“If he’s involved then he’s an excellent actor,” Killian replied. “I think it more likely she was grabbed on her way to school. The question is… where?”

The street was lined with houses on one side, facing a wooded park area. The little girl would have made her way to the end of the block then turned to go around the woods. The school was located on the other side, about seven blocks away.

“We’ve spoken with all the neighbors who are home along the route she would have taken,” Will said, joining the detectives. “No one saw anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t take the usual route,” Killian said, jutting his chin towards the woods. “Maybe she took a shortcut.”

“Dad was very specific about the route,” Will told him. “He said Grace wasn’t allowed to cut through the woods.”

“Yeah, and we all know you did everything you were told when you were a kid,” Robin quipped, slapping Will on the back before heading towards the woods.

The three of them followed the worn path, carved out of the foliage by those who had used the woods as a shortcut over the years. Although focused on the task before him, Killian could not help but acknowledge how fortunate he was to do this job with his two best mates at his side.

It had been a series of unfortunate events that had led them here. Two and half years ago, he and Robin had been uniformed officers at different precincts and Will, after washing out of the academy years before, owned a local bar. After being attacked and having his life, once again, turned upside down, Killian had spiraled a bit. Neglectful of his duty and spending too much time at Will’s bar had made him a less than stellar candidate for detective, despite his high scores on the exam. However, everything changed once more the night Will’s bar went up in flames.

Though it had been deemed arson, they still weren’t sure how it had happened. The explosion and fire claimed the lives of more than a dozen officers and detectives from both Storybrooke and Glowerhaven. In the aftermath, personnel had been reshuffled, reassigned, and reevaluated, giving Killian a second chance at a detective slot and transferring Robin to the Storybrooke precinct. Will, determined to bring the perpetrator to justice, had reapplied to the academy and finished top of his class before being assigned to the Storybrooke PD.

Although the arson case had gone cold, Killian and Robin, with an assist from their favorite uniformed patrolman, had managed to garner the highest number of closed cases of any rookie or veteran detectives within the city or its outlying suburbs. Robin often joked that the reason the three of them were so good at this job was because in another life they would have been criminals themselves - and therefore knew how their perps thought - dubbing themselves the pirate, the bandit, and the thief.

Of course, he had no idea that Killian possessed abilities beyond those of a normal human detective which gave him an advantage. Abilities he was currently applying in the hopes of bringing this little girl home safely.

When the trail forked, the trio branched off in separate directions. Once out of sight from his mates, Killian crouched down and closed his eyes, homing in on the sounds around him as he inhaled deeply. Over the years he’d made peace with his wolf side. It wasn’t always easy to keep the wesen reined in, or explain away how he’d been able to accomplish some of the things his supernatural abilities allowed him to do, but as time went on he found ways to balance his human and wesen side.

Not able to pick up anything out of the ordinary, Killian resumed his search further up the path. A moment later, Robin’s voice called out.

“I’ve got something!”

Killian rushed towards Robin’s voice, arriving alongside an out of breath Will. Both men were too focused on the pink and purple backpack laying among the ferns to notice Killian’s lack of exertion.

“Grace Hatter.” Will read the name where it had been monogrammed in bright pink, confirming it belonged to their missing girl. “She must have been grabbed somewhere in this area.”

“Careful where you step,” Killian reminded them. “Will, call it in and inform the others that we have a crime scene in Wonderland Woods Park across from the victim’s house.”

Will stepped away to radio it in, leaving the detectives to peruse the area.

“Killian, we got boot prints here. They look fresh.”

Killian noted the direction of the prints and commented, “He took her this way.” Setting off down the path, he shouted over his shoulder, “Stay with Will until CSU arrives. I’ll see where the prints lead.”

Once out of sight, Killian crouched down again and took in a deep breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a primal growl rumbled in the center of his chest. He could tell the scent was wesen, although he wasn’t sure what species. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Never before, since his transition, had he ever wished for the moon to be in its full cycle. If it were, then his sense of smell would be stronger. He’d be able to discern the little girl’s scent better, as well as her abductor’s, and he’d be able to tell which direction the two had gone once they’d reached the road on the other side of the woods.

Cursing under his breath, Killian made his way back to Robin and Will. The Crime Scene Unit had already arrived and the area was being cordoned off so they could work making casts of the boot prints. Killian eyed Grace’s backpack as it was being bagged and tagged so it could be processed for fingerprints. He wished he’d gotten a chance to scent it, but the K-9 unit was already seeing to the task.

“There isn’t much more we can do here,” Robin told him. “Will and the other officers will follow up on the neighbors they didn’t get a chance to speak with earlier. Maybe one of their security cameras will have caught them coming out of the park.”

“Aye,” Killian said with a resigned sigh.

Clapping Killian on the back, Robin suggested, “Let’s go get some lunch. By the time we’re done, more evidence will have been collected and processed, then we can focus on whatever they found.”

“I suppose I could eat,” Killian relented. Robin was right. There was nothing more they could do that the other officers didn’t already have handled. They’d need their strength and their wits about them for the long afternoon and evening ahead. “Where did you have in mind?”

“How about Aesop’s?”

Killian cocked a brow his partner’s way. “Aesop’s? A bit swanky for lunch isn’t it?”

Robin shrugged. “I hear they have a great burger menu.”

“Mhmm,” Killian hummed. Something in Robin’s demeanor had him dubious as to whether that was the real reason. “I suppose we could check it out,” he replied with a shrug of his own, followed by a wolfish grin. “So long as you’re buying.”

~/~

“So that’s the real reason you wanted to come here,” Killian ribbed in a sing-song tone. “The lovely and elusive Miss Mills.”

Robin’s cheeks flamed pink behind the bun of his burger as he took as long as he possibly could to bite off then chew a mouthful.

“You know this constitutes stalking, right? Why not just ask her out?”

Robin swallowed and chased the bite with a sip of water, once again taking his time running his napkin over his mouth before placing it back in his lap.

“You’re hopeless,” Killian exasperated, getting up from his seat. He shot a wink over his shoulder to his mortified partner as he approached the nearby table, teeming with lawyers in their power suits. “Miss Mills?” he said in a feigned tone of surprise.

“Detective Jones,” she said in a friendly yet reserved greeting. “Funny running into you here?”

“Aye,” he said. “The lunch burger menu was recommended to Robin and me, so we thought we’d give it a go.” He gestured back towards the table Robin was metaphorically trying to hide beneath. Miss Mills - Regina - gave him a wave which he awkwardly reciprocated. “I won’t keep you,” Killian continued. “I was on my way to the facilities when I spotted you and just wanted to say hello. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, detective. A pleasure seeing you,” she replied, though her attention was not set on him but rather still subtly fixated on his partner.

When Killian exited the lavatory hall on his way back to the table, he slowed his steps and his lips twitched up in a smile. Robin and Regina were standing at the table conversing as the prosecutor’s colleagues were filing past, on their way out the door. Regina slipped Robin her card, her painted lip caught between her teeth, and he accepted it with a full, bright smile. Killian chuckled to himself, eager to take the mickey out of his friend, when something in Regina’s countenance shifted.

She’d turned towards the door, prepared to follow her colleagues, when her entire body went rigid. Something rippled through her expression and Killian was taken aback by what he saw.

She woged.

Regina Mills was… a hexenbeist?

No. He had to be seeing things. She couldn’t have woged. If she had, the entire restaurant would be in an uproar, especially Robin. There’s no way anyone would have missed the gruesome sight of a hexenbeist revealing her true form. Unless…

No. That wasn’t a possibility either. The full moon wasn’t in cycle yet, so there was no way he could have witnessed a demi-woge. Could he?

Regina’s features returned to normal, but her posture was still stiff and on guard. He followed her eyes to try and determine what had prompted such a response and was stunned to see another woged hexenbeist casually standing by the hostess stand. She had flaming red hair and was dressed in a tight, green dress. When her human face presented itself once more, she wore a smug, slightly challenging smirk.

Finally collecting herself, Regina marched past the woman without a word or backward glance, but the red-haired witch watched her all the way out the door and down the block.

“Did you see that?”

Robin’s question shook Killian from his shock, but a fresh, confused panic spiked within him. “See what?”

“The text,” Robin said, lifting his phone for Killian to see. “We’ve got a body.”

“A body?” Killian parroted, attempting to get his racing heart under control while processing what his partner said.

He didn’t see it, then. Didn’t see them change. Then why did I?

“Not Grace Hatter?” Killian’s heart dropped a little as his mind finally caught up.

“No,” Robin assured him. “Not the missing girl, but the captain wants us to take point on this one, too.” He beckoned Killian to follow him through the tables towards the exit. “I’ve already settled the bill. Will’s waiting for us at the scene.”

Before heading out the door, Killian scanned the restaurant for the red-headed hexenbeist, but saw no sign of her. He tried to shake off the unnerving feeling her and Regina’s woge had elicited in him. The mystery of why he had been able to see it at all would have to wait. He had more pressing issues to concern himself with.

~/~

“Are you sure this is even a homicide?” Killian heard Will ask under his breath. “Looks more like an animal attack?”

For the second time that day, Killian’s hackles rose. The scene before him was familiar. Too familiar. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, making the same inquiry to the detectives working a similar scene. A scene that had led to Killian being attacked and transformed. A scene that had been declared an animal attack after the DNA had come back as inconclusive. A scene where no other evidence had been left behind except…

“We got a boot print!”

Killian’s entire body reacted in a ripple of goose bumps and a sharp inhale confirmed the truth as a familiar scent penetrated his sinuses.

It’s him! He’s back. The blutbad who attacked me. The blutbad who made me. He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s killed again and… HE’S TAKEN GRACE HATTER!

“Oi! Kill, er… detective. You alright?”

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Killian’s Apple apple bobbed painfully. “We need to go see the Captain. Now.”

It was a quick ride back to the precinct, though Killian’s silent stewing had probably made it feel longer to his partner. Robin knew him well enough to not pepper him with questions when he was like this, allowing him space to get his thoughts together. It didn’t mean his mate didn’t side-eye him with furtive glances the entire way back to the station, though.

“Captain Gold, do you have a minute?” Killian asked at the open doorway of their captain’s office.

“For my two best detectives? Of course,” Captain Gold said, gesturing them forward. “How’s the investigation going into the missing girl? Or is this about the body we found? A jogger who was a student at the local university?”

“Actually,” Killian hedged, still unsure how he was going to convince his captain and his partner of what he knew to be fact. “It may be about both.”

“Go on.”

Killian and Robin took a seat in front of the captain’s desk. Leaning forward, Killian began to fill them in on what he’d pieced together.

“A little over two years ago, there was a hiker who was attacked in a similar fashion to how we found the jogger today.”

“I remember,” Gold said, nodding his head. “That was ruled an animal attack, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian said. “The DNA was inconclusive, but that wasn’t the only evidence left at the scene.” Flicking his eyes towards Robin, he said, “There was a boot print. Just like the one at the scene today. And that’s not all…” Sitting back, Killian wiped his hand down his face and let go a heavy breath. “The same day the hiker was attacked and killed, a little girl went missing in Glowerhaven.” Robin’s eyes widened and Killian knew he didn’t need reminding, but the Captain still needed to know. “I know because Robin helped work that case and we were mates back then.” Setting his attention back on his captain, Killian continued. “Look. I’m not saying all these cases are connected, but we did find boot prints where we suspect Grace Hatter was abducted, and it all feels a little suspect to just be coincidence.”

Captain Gold tented his fingers in front of him, and his eyes narrowed at Killian. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said, after a few agonizing seconds. “It’s all too coincidental to not look into.” His eyes shifted to Robin. “Locksley, reach out to Glowerhaven and see if you can get a copy of the missing girls file from two years ago. Check it for any similarities to the Grace Hatter case. Jones,” he continued, focusing his attention back on Killian. “Follow-up on the boot print. See if the one from the hiker’s scene matches the jogger’s, then compare it to the ones we found at the abduction site.” With a dismissing nod, he added, “Keep me informed.”

“Yes, Captain,” the two detectives replied on their way out of Gold’s office.

“How did you put all of that together?” Robin asked. “Remembering that girl from more than two years ago who went missing the same day a hiker was mauled? I don’t think I would have put that together.”

“I don’t know,” Killian deflected. “Something about that night just… stuck with me, I guess.”

“Well, good pick up,” Robin said, clapping him on the back. “I’m gonna call GPD, then head over to collect those files. Check in later?”

“Aye,” Killian told him. “Later.”

It took Killian less time to confirm the boot prints were a match at all three scenes than it did for Robin to make it back with the files. Although it proved the crimes may be connected, the boots that matched the prints were a very common brand. It would be nearly impossible to find their suspect that way. Frustrated, Killian shot off a text to Robin and Will, letting them know he was gonna go out for some air.

There had to be a way of finding this monster.

Not that he hadn’t already tried. He’d gone back to the scene of the hiker’s mauling time and time again in search of any clues, hoping to discover the identity of the killer and the wesen who had turned him. Once the case had been cleared from homicide, investigators believing a wolf or mountain lion had caused the grizzly death, there had been little Killian could do inside the law. He’d been too preoccupied with the changes he was facing as a newly made wesen to pursue the blutbad on his own, and too worried about what his brother’s reaction might have been if he’d turned the case over to a Grimm. A Grimm who might have been able to detect such changes in his little brother.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel as though the jogger’s death and the missing girl were his fault. He should have told Liam about the rogue blutbad or gone after it himself.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.

Digging his phone from his pocket, Killian dialed his brother’s number and held his breath as the call rang.

This is Liam Jones. I’m not available to take your call. Leave me a message.

“Liam. It’s Killian. Call me back. I’ve got a situation here that might require your expertise.”

Typical.

Killian’s phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Liam returning the call. Instead, the caller ID displayed Will’s name. Killian knew he’d been pouring over videos collected from neighborhood cameras, and he was eager to hear if he’d found anything that might help them locate the missing girl.

“Will? What you got?”

“Not much,” Will confessed over the phone. “I’ve checked all the cameras we collected from Tweedle Drive, the street the perp would have exited the woods from, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing?” Killian asked, defeated. “From the whole street?”

“Well, there’s a bit we don’t have footage of, but none of the videos show any car, truck, or van he may have used to move the girl. The only vehicle on the street at that time was the mail truck.”

“The mail truck?” Killian repeated, an idea coming to him. “Do me a favor. Find out who was working that route today and whether the postal service issues a certain type of boot for their employees' uniforms.”

“You think it was the postman?”

“It’s the only lead we’ve got,” he told Will. “If nothing else, the postal worker may have seen something. We should track them down as a potential witness.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Text me the name when you’ve got it.”

“Will do.”

A renewed rush of hope filled Killian as he made his way back to the precinct, but it was hindered by a fresh realization.

If the postal worker did turn out to be their suspect, then he wouldn’t be going up against their usual perp. He’d be going up against a wesen. A blutbad. And not just any blutbad… his sire. The one who had turned him. Would he know? Even without the full moon bringing out his wesen characteristics, would his sire be able to tell what he was?

Killian stopped short of the station door and did an about face. He needed to better prepare himself for this confrontation, and there was only one person who would be able to help him do so.

Searching his contacts as he made his way to his vehicle, he prayed this call would not go to voicemail.

His prayer was answered.

“Hello?”

“Swan. It’s me. I need your help.”

~/~

The fingers of her left hand drummed against the counter as the nails on her right were being assaulted by her teeth. Normally, Emma Swan would not allow a situation to unnerve her this way. Of course, it wasn’t the situation, not really, it was the man involved in the situation. The man who only came in once a month to pick up his wolfsbane tonic and share polite pleasantries with her or her brother, who assisted her at the shop. The man who had agreed to keep things between them strictly professional after the one time thing incident that had occurred early on in their association. The man who had kept to that promise… until now.

He wasn’t coming here for his tonic - the full moon was still over a week away. He wasn’t coming here for tea, or spices, or herbal remedies, or anything within the purview of her business. No. He was coming here because he needed help on a case. He was coming here because he had nowhere else to turn. He was coming here because he needed… her.

Although they had managed to keep one another at arm’s length these past two years, it hadn’t been that way at first. The month following his attack and introduction into the wesen world, they had texted and chatted numerous times, having built a rapport by the time of the next full moon.

A rapport that simmered with attraction and temptation.

Fortunately, they had both understood the seriousness underlying his stay with her during that first full moon. Setting aside the obvious chemistry between them, they focused instead on the alchemy of finding the right balance of wolfsbane. Everything had gone as expected… until it hadn’t.

“Emma, sweetie,” Granny said in her admonishing tone. “Are you trying to drive us both mad with your fidgeting?”

“Sorry, Granny,” Emma mumbled, removing her nail from her teeth and flattening both hands on the counter.

The elderly woman’s soft, weathered hand covered hers and she gave it a light, comforting squeeze. “What’s got you all riled up? You said he was a regular customer.” Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side. “Is it because he’s a lycanthrope?” Patting Emma’s hand she assured, “I may not look it, but I can still hold my own. If he gets unruly, then--”

“No, it’s not like that,” Emma said, cutting the woman off in a rush, not wishing her to get the wrong impression. “Detective Jones is much more disciplined than lycanthropes are believed to be. He’s… he’s a good man.”

“Then why on earth are you worked up in such a state?” Granny inquired. “I can practically smell the anxiety and tension wafting off of you.”

Emma chewed her bottom lip, then silently cursed herself. Get a grip, Emma. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she straightened her posture and schooled her features. “It’s nothing.”

Granny let out a dubious hum. “Try again,” she said. “If you want me to help a lycanthrope - and a detective to boot - that has you all tied up in knots then you’re gonna have to give me a reason.”

Emma released a heavy sigh. She knew Granny was right. The woman was going out on a limb for her, the least she could do was give her the truth.

Given that she expected the detective to arrive at any moment, Emma quickly told Granny about her and Killian’s first meeting, and the subsequent month that had followed.

“Sounds like the two of you became fast friends,” Granny remarked, though Emma thought she could detect something slightly off in the woman’s tone. “What happened?”

Glancing at the door, Emma wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved that he hadn’t arrived yet. She’d never told anyone what had happened.

“He came to stay with me for the full moon, as planned,” she began.

“Here?” Granny asked, knowing the proprietor lived above her shop.

“Yes,” Emma confirmed. “In my spare room. I wanted us to be close to the workshop so I could make adjustments on the fly.”

“What do you mean?”

Swallowing, Emma told Granny about the experiments they did, testing the effectiveness of the wolfsbane. “Things like, provoking his temper and trying to elicit responses that were more primal,” she hedged, with half a shrug of her shoulder, “to see how well he could keep control under such stimuli.”

“And?” Granny prompted. “How did he do?”

“He did great,” Emma said, then winced slightly as she added, “Until August showed up.”

A knowing huff left Granny. “Yeah. I’d imagine the presence of another male might have set him off a bit. Did your brother come away unscathed?”

“Barely,” Emma replied. “Killian didn’t know who August was and when he saw him hugging me he… woged.”

“As in… fully?”

“Yeah.”

“That must have been intense for all of you.”

“It was,” Emma sighed. “I had to use magic to diffuse the situation, but once cooler heads prevailed and I was able to introduce the two of them, I thought things were resolved.”

“Until?”

Emma’s mind flashed back to the morning after he’d woged and tried to attack August. The morning after the final full moon.

“So… you made it through your first full moon.”

“Aye. Thanks to you, love.”

“No need to thank me,” she told him. “I should be thanking you.”

“For?”

“For not ripping out my idiot brother’s throat,” she said in a tone mixed with amusement and annoyance. “I told him not to come here this weekend, but does he listen?”

Killian hummed, a sultry, toe-curling sound, and sauntered forward. “Perhaps gratitude is in order then?” he murmured, tapping his lips suggestively with a raised brow and challenging smirk.

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

Another sinful sound echoed past his lips as he pressed further into her personal space. “Is that all your brother’s life is worth to you?”

“Please,” she scoffed with an eye roll, trying, and failing, to get her heart rate under control, knowing full well he could probably hear its erratic beat. “You couldn’t handle it.”

The corner of his lips lifted in a feral and taunting manner. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

The crack of the t against his tongue reverberated through her, and without thought she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, fusing her mouth to his. It took him the briefest of seconds to respond, inhaling deeply before thoroughly devouring her.

It was hot. It was primal. It was all-consuming.

“That was…”

It was a big fucking mistake.

“A one time thing,” she murmured, pulling back from his chasing lips. “We… we can’t do this. I… I can’t do this.”

Releasing him, she took several steps back, unable to meet his eye or look upon his confused expression.

“Swan,” he panted, both of them still working to catch their breath. “Have I… Have I done something? I know attacking your brother was bad form. Please don’t think I’m unaware of the seriousness of that--”

“No, it’s… it’s not that,” she said. “I know you didn’t really have control over--”

“Then what?” he asked. “What’s changed?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma rocked back on her heels and said, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to… I mean… this is all new to you and the last thing we both need is to complicate an already complex situation. I think it would be best if we… kept things professional between us.”

She braced herself for his response, expecting him to be angry. Expecting him to accuse her of leading him on, or taking advantage of him while he was vulnerable. She hadn’t expected him to run a hand through his hair while letting go a heavy sigh before agreeing with her.

“Aye,” he said, softly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps now is not the best time to…” Flicking his too blue gaze up to hers, he gave her an earnest smile. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Swan. I think I’ll be able to manage on my own now, thanks to you.”

“You’ll still need the tonic each month,” she reminded him with a slight edge of panic in her voice. She didn’t mean for their association to end altogether. “And you can still call or text me if you have questions about--”

“Thank you,” he interjected, cutting her off before she could continue with her offer. “I’ll swing in for the tonic in a month’s time. I’ll be sure to let you know if there are any issues regarding the treatment.” Reaching up, he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear. “I, uh… I should go. I have a shift in an hour.”

“Right,” she said, letting him pass so he could collect his things from where he’d set them by the door. “See you next month?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the shop. “See you then.”

“Only… I didn’t see him then,” she told Granny. “I chickened out and left the order with August.”

“Are you telling me,” Granny chastised, “that you haven’t seen that young man since--”

“No!” Emma replied, indignantly. “Of course I’ve seen him. We just… it’s been…” Another heavy sigh expelled out of her lungs. “After our… shared moment, I did avoid him for a bit and I know he struggled to cope with his transition, which made me feel worse about how we left things, but then there was this fire at his friend’s bar, and he made detective, and I don’t know… something about him changed. Things were less weird when he came in and we managed to carve out this nice, albeit superficial, relationship and yet--”

“The feelings are still there?”

Emma laughed a rather hysterical sounding laugh. “Uh, no. No feelings. I mean, obviously I care about him, as a person, but my current demeanor has nothing to do with feelings.”

“Oh? What does it have to do with, then?”

Emma didn’t get a chance to answer the woman’s smug question. The bell over the door chimed and the two women's heads snapped in its direction. In walked Killian Jones, as handsome and alluring as ever.

“Swan,” he greeted with a reverential nod. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” she managed to choke out, her mouth having gone dry. Clearing her throat, she gestured towards Granny and introduced, “This is, uh, Granny Lucas. She runs the new B&B and diner up the street. I thought she might be able to help. Granny, this is Detective Jones.”

“Please,” he said, taking Granny’s hand and offering it a polite shake. “Killian will do.”

“A pleasure to meet you, detective,” Granny said, obviously sizing him up. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Meaning?”

Her gaze still assessing him, Granny quipped, “Most lycanthropes have me wanting to rip out their throats within seconds of meeting them, but you… you’re different.”

Killian’s brows shot up and his eyes flicked to Emma even as he continued to address Granny. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage,” he said a little too calmly. “You know about me, yet I have no idea why Swan brought you in on--”

“Granny’s a blutbad,” Emma blurted out, causing his brows to raise even higher as his head snapped back to the elderly woman. “I thought, seeing as you said your case had something to do with a blutbad, and that you needed more information about them, that you’d like to have your questions answered by someone who--”

“Not just any blutbad,” he said, cutting her off in a tone laced with menace and anger. “The blutbad.”

Emma gasped. “The one who turned you?”

“Aye.” His gaze turned dark and his features hardened. “He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s even taken a little girl captive.”

“That’s terrible,” Emma said, keeping herself from reaching out to offer him a hand of comfort. “When did you--”

“Today,” he told her, catching both women up on the case of the little girl and the jogger and how he’d connected them to the cases from over two years ago.

“We found matching boot prints at the crime scenes, but I also detected his scent at each location. I knew there was something familiar about it, but didn’t put it together until I smelled it mixed with the jogger’s blood. It brought back the olfactory memory of that night,” he said, momentarily getting lost in thought until he shook his head and added, “Of course… I can’t enter that into evidence. Fortunately, we have a lead, but I am wary of confronting him without knowing more.”

“More?” Granny said, her countenance a bit stand-offish and very imposing. “Like what?”

“Like,” Killian hedged, wetting his lips and taking a moment to assess Granny as she had him. “Whether I’ll be able to know him by scent even if he isn’t woged. Typically, I can’t detect wesen by scent whilst they’re in their human form or see them demi-woge unless it's the full moon, so I can only assume he was in full woge when he abducted the girl and attacked the jogger.”

Granny remained stoic and stone-faced, still unsure whether she should trust the gemacht wesen in front of her.

“Look,” Killian said with a tone of authority Emma imagined he employed often in his line of work. “I know there’s a code among wesen. This desire to look after one's own kind. But this guy is a killer. He’s killed two people that we know of and may, even now, be holding a little girl captive, so please. Help me find him. Help me find her.”

The reminder of the little girl softened Granny’s features. “If he’s done what you say he has, then he’s putting us all at risk.” Quickly, she flicked her gaze to Emma then back to him, conceding, “You’re right. There is a code among wesen, but it only extends so far. It sounds to me like this blutbad has gone feral, and his behavior is only going to escalate the longer he’s allowed to run wild.”

“Then… you’ll help me?”

Her posture relaxed further and she stepped up to the counter, bringing her closer to both Killian and Emma. Nodding, she said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”

A relieved breath fell from Emma’s lips and she took Granny’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Granny.”

Granny patted her hand then straightened her shoulders, getting down to business. “Now, I’m no expert on lycanthropes, but unless he fully woges, I don’t think you’ll be able to tell whether your suspect is the blutbad you’re looking for. If he is feral, then it wouldn’t take too much to provoke a response, but you’d have to be ready. Once he woges… he’ll be out for blood.”

Emma saw a shudder pass over the detective and she wondered if he was remembering his own experience with an uncontrolled woge.

“What about the girl?” Killian asked. “What motive would he have for taking her?”

Granny pursed her lips together then hesitantly replied. “If he’s feral, and attacked someone before, then he’s likely gotten a taste for human blood.” Killian and Emma both grimaced, sickened by the notion. “I’d wager he attacked and fed on that jogger first. Probably lost control. He knows he’ll be good for another week until the urge takes hold again, but by then it’ll be the full moon and it’ll be risky for him to be out and about. He probably took the girl in preparation of making a meal of her later. Taking her now gives him time to fatten her up.”

Emma thought she might be sick, and while she could see the shared disgust in Killian’s face, she also saw rage.

Granny caught his eye and imparted, “Having her will make him even more territorial and dangerous. So you’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Will he, uh…” Killian began, haltingly. “Will he be able to discern who I am? What I am?”

“No,” Granny said, shaking her head. “I only made that quip about lycanthropes because Emma had already told me what you are… and I wanted to see how you’d react. You ought to know by now that wesen can only sense you during the full moon.”

“Aye, but he isn’t just any wesen,” Killian countered. “He’s my maker. Are you sure that won’t have an effect?”

“I don’t see why it would.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, a reluctant question seemed to pause at the tip of his tongue.

“So there won’t be any… connection between us, then? No weird side effort of my turning that would make me sympathetic towards him or beholden in some way?”

Granny scoffed and cocked an amused brow at him. “Such sire bonds only exist in fiction.”

Killian’s head fell in relief and Emma could now detect how much tension he must have been carrying over that worry.

“Gemacht sometimes latch on to those who aid and guide them through their transition, and many times that is the wesen who turned them, so if you were to have bonded onto someone it would have been the person who was there for you at the beginning of and during your first change.”

Killian’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Emma’s. Her heart stuttered, then began pounding in her chest while her breath remained trapped in her lungs.

Granny’s gaze volleyed between the two of them, her heading tilting to one side as she quipped, “I suppose that explains the pent up tension I’ve been sensing between you two.” A warm smile lifted the corners of her mouth in response to their awkward reaction to the call out, and she assured them, “Don’t worry. The bond was temporary. I dare say enough time has passed that it would be gone altogether.” Her no nonsense demeanor returned as she focused her attention solely back on Killian and asked, “Anything else?”

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Killian cleared his throat and said, “Just one last thing… Do you know who this blutbad might be?”

“Afraid not,” Granny told him with obvious regret in not being able to provide him a name. “I only relocated to Storybrooke a few months ago, and I find it best to avoid my kind as much as possible.” Her eyes fell down to the counter and on a bit of a grumble she added, “Bad things happen when we get into a pack. Especially when we see red.”

Killian’s eyes went wide.

“What?” Emma asked. “What is it?”

Killian locked eyes with her once more. “The little girl. Grace. She was last seen wearing a red hoodie. And the jogger and hiker both had on red jackets when their remains were found.”

“So, red provokes him?” Emma said, shaking her head in confusion. “But you weren’t wearing red when he attacked you. You were in uniform.”

“Which,” Granny interjected, “along with your natural demeanor of dominance and authority, he would have seen as a threat.”

“Which means he’ll likely view me as a threat when I confront him.”

“Most likely,” Granny warned. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and Emma knew she needed to get going so she could get back to the diner before the evening rush. “My advice,” she said, rounding the counter on her way out. “When you do confront him, do it alone. You don’t want him to feel trapped or backed into a corner, and if things go badly…”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Extending her hand, Granny offered him a sincere expression as he accepted the gesture. “Take care of yourself, Detective. I hope you can bring him to justice, but if not… bring him down any way you can.”

With that, she said a quick goodbye to Emma then exited the shop.

“Tough old bird,” Killian said in her wake, causing Emma to huff out an amused breath.

“Yeah. Granny is… something else.”

“Terrifying, I believe is the word you’re looking for,” he quipped with a light chuckle.

The two shared a laugh then stood awkwardly regarding one another for a long moment before Killian cleared his throat and said, “Um… thank you, Swan. I truly appreciate your help. I didn’t know who else to--”

“It was nothing,” Emma blurted out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I was happy you called and that I could…”

Her words fell away and a wash of something akin to embarrassment or bashfulness swept over her. Her face was hot and her palms were starting to get slick.

You're being ridiculous, Emma. You’re not a silly school girl unsure of what to say to her crush. In fact… you don’t have a crush. This isn’t a crush. This is--

Killian’s phone chimed with a notification. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the text and his grip tightened to the point that Emma feared he’d crack the screen.

“Killian? What is it?”

Slowly, Killian’s eyes lifted and met hers. The look that swirled in those blue depths made her breath hitch.

“We found him, Swan.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand in a way that caused her to shiver.

“Who is he?” she asked in a whisper, only vaguely aware that she was rounding the counter to move towards him.

His eyes never left hers and once she was standing before him, they flickered between her own as he answered. “His name is Quinn Adair. His address puts him outside of the city. Out in the woods.”

Emma swallowed hard as an eruption of worry filled her chest. “Are you… You’re not going to go after him now are you?”

“I have to, Swan,” he insisted. “He has Grace, remember? I have to get to her before he…”

Emma nodded, knowing that time was of the essence for that poor girl who was probably terrified out of her mind.

“Just… be careful?” she said, wetting her lips, which caused his gaze to drop down briefly. “And, um… Call me later so I know how it… so I know the girl is okay… and you.”

“Aye,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I will. I promise.”

She expected him to rush out after that, but he continued to stand there. Conflicted.

“Swan, I know this isn’t the time, but… what Granny said earlier. About us. About the bond that might have been created between us. Was that… Was that the reason you pulled away? Did you suspect?”

“Killian, I…” Emma didn’t know what to say. It would certainly be a plausible reason to give him. One that was safer than the truth.

It would be a lie, though.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving off the question and sparing her from having to answer. “As Granny said, whatever was going on between us at the time, it’s likely run its course, so…”

“So?”

Stepping forward, Killian grabbed her hand and lightly held it in his. A rush of goosebumps swept up her arm when his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“So… Maybe when this case is solved and things go back to relative normalcy, we could… try again?”

“Try again?” Emma parroted. A contradictory cocktail of hope, elation, dread, and panic collided within her as her good sense warred with her wants and desires.

“As friends, I mean,” he clarified, and in tamping down her own disappointment she missed the tone of it in his voice. “We had the start of something I was beginning to cherish and I miss…”

“Me, too,” she told him, turning her hand in his so she could give it a squeeze. Maybe it was reckless. She’d avoided close relationships all her life for a reason, and yet… “I’d love to start again. As friends.”

His smile took her breath away, but it was quickly schooled so he could focus on the dangerous task that lay before him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, filled with concern about him facing his maker alone. “I know Granny said not to make him feel trapped or backed into a corner, but I doubt he’d see me as a threat. And I doubt he’d be expecting a witch.”

His lip curled up on one side. “As much as I would love to see him go up against your magic, I won’t put you in harm's way like that.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he quickly added, “Besides. I need to try and do this by the book. I’m a cop before anything else.”

“I get that,” Emma relented, begrudgingly. “But I’m going to keep my phone close by in case you get in over your head and change your mind.”

“In over my head?” he said in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know, love,” he murmured in a low timber, edging a bit closer to her. “If there is one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.”

“Mhmm,” Emma hummed, meeting his taunting expression of challenge with one of her own. “Well, I’m going to insist that you stop by afterward in order to prove that to me.”

He smiled down at her, another message alerting from his phone, indicating it was past time for him to go.

“As you wish.”

Chapter Two - Coming Soon!

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writingquestionsanswered · 1 year ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/writingquestionsanswered/730814386289131520/defining-terminology-via-pov?source=share

I saw this post and it inspired me to ask a similar question I was dealing with. Is it weird for the narrator to explain time skips or off screen events? They always feel so unnatural when I write them. Ive seen it done, but I can't judge the best way to do it.

Narrator Explaining Time Skips and Off-Screen Events

Nope, it's not weird, no matter who your narrator is. Your narrator is there to tell the story to your reader. If there is no way to show something through action or explain it through dialogue, the only other alternative is to have the narrator explain it.

With time skips, that's almost always going to be the narrator's job rather than something shown via action or told via dialogue, simply because action isn't often the best way to show time passing (though it can certainly work in some cases), and dialogue doesn't usually come right at the beginning of a scene (though it can sometimes.) The point being, although you certainly can show time passing with action or explain it through dialogue, a lot of the time it's just explained in exposition, aka narration. I talk about that in these posts: Guide: How to Skip Time in Your Story, Subtle Scene Transitions, and Skipping Broad Gaps in Time without Timestamp.

With off-screen events, you really have your pick between exposition, action (yes... action... I'll get to that in a second), and dialogue. It just depends on what works best for the scene/story. So, for example, let's say a secondary character had to run an errand for the protagonist, and what they find out from that errand is important, but showing the actual errand playing out isn't important. So, it happens off-screen. You can have the narrator explain it:

While Todd and Amy started pulling down the interior walls, Anna went to city hall to find out next steps for permitting. After waiting all afternoon to speak with someone and being told to come back the following day, she returned to the house feeling defeated but bearing mochas from their favorite coffee shop.

Alternatively, you could use dialogue to show this off-screen moment:

"How did it go?" Todd said, dropping his sledgehammer when he turned and found a defeated-looking Anna, who at least came bearing coffee.

"Not great," she said, handing him and Amy a mocha from their favorite coffee shop. "I was at city hall all day waiting to talk to someone in permitting, and after I finally got to speak with someone, they told me to come back tomorrow."

Amy frowned. "Yikes."

If the off-screen event happened before the story begins, or happened off-screen but was particularly important or memorable for the character who experienced it, you could also potentially use deep memory recall, a flashback, or a dream to show it happening. This wouldn't really be a great choice for Amy's long wait at the permitting office, but for the sake of the example, if it was worthy, it might look something like this.

Amy woke with a start, drenched in sweat, her nightmare addled brain telling her she was still inside the permitting office. The nightmare had been so real, she could still smell the stale coffee that permeated the small room--could still hear the quiet sizzle of the mildly flickering fluorescent lighting. She'd been suck waiting to speak with someone all afternoon, and they'd told her to come back tomorrow. Now she felt like she'd been through the ordeal twice in one day. She wasn't sure she could stomach going back again in the morning. She would have to make Todd go in her place.

I hope that helps! :)

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punderdome · 4 months ago

Text

The Fine Print: Chapter 8

Summary: Tav seeks out a set of Infernal translations from the Archivist.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

Chapter 8: The Archivist

Tav woke alone in the Archduke’s chambers. She was stiff and slightly sore but knew what she had to do. Raphael enjoyed it when she spoke Infernal to him. How much? What could she convince him to do using the Devil’s tongue? What would the devil's tongue do if she spoke the Devil's tongue?

First, she needed a competent translator that wasn’t her husband or his incubus. Since she had negotiated for the ability to speak to the staff, the Archivist was her best bet for a translator, but he had never even looked at her before. There was no way he was going to translate filthy lines unless she managed to gain some rapport with him.

Tav visited the archives after breakfast.

The Archivist was pouring over a tome and making notes on the side about a pair of gauntlets sitting on his desk. They hummed with Weave and required a thorough characterization.

“Good morning,” Tav greeted warmly. For the first time, the Archivist looked up at her and caught her gaze. He seemed displeased by the interruption but completely unwilling to express it to the Master’s wife.

“How may I assist you, my Lady?” he asked patiently.

“What is your name? I’m Tav - Tavara,” she corrected, unsure if he would ever consider using her name or if titles were all she was going to be given.

“Kilzire Ozvius, Master Archivist of the House of Hope,” he returned the gesture. “Now, what can I help you with, Lady Tav?”

“I am trying to learn proper Devilish Infernal, can you help me with a few translations?” Tav held out the Infernal copy of the book on Asmodeus that he loaned to her a few days prior. The Tiefling considered her question for a brief moment before he nodded. He gestured for her to show him the passages she was struggling with.

“I have been struggling with this passage that describes Asmodeus’s true serpentine form. I initially read this as ‘wounds dripping of acid black blood’ but the Common tongue version says ‘a series of never-healing wounds that exude blood blackened by sin and torment.’ Can you help me understand the difference?” Tav requested.

He took a second to understand her request before going through the section rune by rune. “I see,” there was a look of slight hesitation in his eyes. “So you’ve never studied Devilish Infernal before?”

Tav swallowed. “No. My lack of study is what led me here.” Kilzire had a look in his eye that twinged with embarrassment, though whether it was from her husband’s view on Tiefling Infernal or some sort of forbidden knowledge of how she actually became the Archduchess, she couldn’t say.

He pointed out the runes that described the blood of Asmodeus. “This word means never-healing wound in Infernal, but in Tiefling Infernal it means just wound.” He gave her a different word in Infernal to indicate that the wound could be healed, then added a suffix to indicate that the wound was in the process of being healed.

“May I have some parchment and a quill, I would like to take notes.” She wrote down the new terminology along with other examples of various types of wounds that may or may not be healable, in the process of being healed, mostly healed, failed to be healed, festering, fouled, necrotic, infected, and filled with devilish black pus. He went through and explained the subtle differences between them, often with only a single letter difference or a change in inflection or tone marked by the slight changes in angle of the letters.

“In spoken Infernal, your original reading would be sufficient to communicate most of your ideas, but written down or in a contract, the translation provided would be the correct way to interpret the writing.” Kilzire walked out from behind his desk and into the stacks. He returned with a relatively thin book bound in brown leather.

“Wound Treatments for the Front Line of the Blood War?” Tav asked as she read the title on the cover.

“Should you wish to practice your new knowledge,” Kilzire explained briefly.

Tav realized how much of his time she had used, and she only asked for clarification on a single word. “Thank you, Kilzire.” She collected the two books and her notes and returned to her room.

She lay the books on her table. She had an eternity to learn to properly read the works in front of her. It was the only way she was going to be able to correct her mistakes.

That evening, Tav was summoned to dinner with her husband in the dining hall.

The table was set with entirely too much food for the two of them to eat but nowhere nearly as lavish as the feasts for their first days of marriage. She stood alone in the dining hall to wait for Raphael. He came from behind her, probably having relocated from his study.

“Dear husband, how was your day?” Tav started the pleasantries. She took an offered elbow, and they sat together at the dining table.

“Quite challenging, I’m afraid,” Raphael responded, starting to serve himself a large portion of some sort of dark meat that dripped black juices as he cut into it. Tav declined to serve herself from that platter.

“With contracts?” Tav probed. She took a buttery roll from the breadbasket and noticed an unappetizing yet familiar meat stew lurking behind it. A platter of whole roasted fish on the table seemed like a safe choice.

“I was repairing the Orb of Karsus,” as he spoke of the artifact, Tav could sense his frustration as his knife cut deeper and more firmly into the flesh in front of him.

“I see, I’m sure it will be done soon enough,” Tav offered politely. “Whenever it is ready, I’m curious to see it.”

Raphael chuckled slightly. “How did it feel when it was within you?” he asked, taking a sip of wine.

Tav cocked her head slightly, startled by his question. “I didn’t know that it was there, but for me I guess it felt more like an ache.” She brushed her fingertips over the scales on her sternum. “Like my stomach was upset because I consumed too much whiskey or that sensation when you poke at a bruise.”

“Such an adept description, I felt a similar sensation upon testing it. I shall have it complete soon, and then I will show you its dark beauty.”

When they finished eating, Tav took Raphael’s offered elbow and they strolled through the corridors together. Tav pulled him gently towards the balcony that they had fucked on the day prior. He chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Again?” Raphael teased.

“I didn’t really get to look at the horizon last time, as I was preoccupied,” Tav teased back. She smirked at his radiating smugness. She paused and gave a short chuckle. “And yes, that position did feel very good,” she added, trying to play coy. “Perhaps we should do that again,” she suggested with a smile. The growl in Raphael’s chest was almost imperceptible.

Tav gazed over the reddish horizon at the low, inhospitable rocky mountains. The land was jagged and barren, it was hard to believe that this was the site of so much conquering and conflict. This was the place her dear husband wanted to claim. This was the place she would eternally call home.

Raphael offered her a hand to lead her back to their chambers. Tav was lost in thought as they headed back to his bedchamber for the evening. They walked together in silence, her hand wrapped around his arm at the elbow.

She was starting to observe how Raphael took her contact. The Infernal flirting was hot and exciting. Direct requests were met with more challenges and demands. When he fingered her it was an ‘indulgence.’

When they entered his bedchamber, Raphael wasted no time undressing her as soon as the latch clicked shut.

“Why don’t we take our time?” Tav suggested as Raphael slid her smallclothes down her thighs. “We can relax and savor it.” Her suggestion gave him a slight pause. Now that she was bare, he lowered his mouth to hers and started to kiss her softly and slowly.

Tav took her time exploring him over his clothes. She was hoping that he would find the experience enjoyable enough to reciprocate.

“Come,” Tav bade him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the bed. She motioned for him to lay down, but he stayed standing. Alright, standing it would be.

Tav circled around to his back. She let her hands roam softly over the Infernal ridges hidden by his doublet. She gently ran her hands through the hair at the back of his neck. She stroked the skin of his wings gently, feeling the softness of the greater membrane and gently contrasting it to the firm leathery skin that covered the bones and muscles beneath. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and felt a deep, contented hum emanate from his chest.

Raphael sighed slowly, as Tav started undressing him. She undid every button on his doublet slowly, and removed it from his body. She unlaced his undershirt, tracing over his chest with her hands lightly, trying to tease him, and a quick tension in his breath indicated it was working. He pulled the undershirt off over his head and discarded it.

Tav rested her cheek against his chest as she started to trace the hem of the waistband of his pants with her fingertips, eliciting a breathy growl from her devilish husband. She unlaced his pants and slid them off, leaving both of them bare.

She met her husband’s gaze. He was eager and hungry, with an erection to support that assessment. Her hands gripped his shaft and gave a few eager pumps, and deep groans emanated from his Infernal chest.

Tav took his hands and placed them over her breasts, encouraging him to touch. She grabbed one of his hands and moved it to her ass, encouraging him to squeeze. She moved the hand that was groping her ass between her legs, encouraging him to stroke. She moaned into the sensation of Raphael pleasuring her.

Within the next ten seconds, Raphael had decided foreplay was done, and Tav was deposited on the bed for the evening’s activities.

***

Tav visited the archive the next morning. She was prepared with the first test of what Kilzare was willing to translate for her, and it was prudent to start with something benign. The Archivist was in the process of cataloging old tomes.

“Good morning, Kilzare,” she greeted warmly.

“Good morning, Lady Tav. Did you need something? More reading materials perhaps?”

“You know well enough that I am trying to learn Devilish Infernal, can you help me with a phrase?”

“Why of course, I speak all forms fluently,” he asserted gently with a smile.

“Can you teach me to say ‘I want you to kiss me all night’?” Tav requested.

He laughed and gave a bright smile. “For the Master of the House, I presume. I’m sure he will respond well to your gesture of romance.” He spoke the words in Devilish Infernal, and Tav took detailed notes, documenting the word differences between the translation she anticipated and the one she was presented with. “Should you require additional reading materials or inspiration, that section contains poetry and there is a section in the back for romantic classics of both Faerun and the Nine Hells of Baator.” Tav smiled at him sweetly.

She pointed out a section of his translation. “And this word, how does it mean ‘all night?’” she asked for clarification repeating the confusing part of the sentence.

“Without the suffix, it means ‘at nighttime’ but with the suffix it means ‘for all nighttime.' As you can gather, that doesn’t get much use here in Avernus.” Tav laughed, nodding at the clarification.

“Thank you, Kilzare.”

Tav smiled to herself as she walked the corridors of the House of Hope. The Archivist had been willing to translate romantic lines, so there was a chance he might be willing to assist her with a more carnal set of translations. Still, this evening would be a small test on how willing Raphael was willing to follow verbal instructions or requests before he lost patience and claimed his pleasure.

***

The test of Raphael’s patience and interest had not gone well. Tav whispered in Raphael’s ear, “I want to kiss you all night,” in a voice as seductive as she could make the harsh language sound. He grinned and was highly amenable to a passionate make out session on the settee, for a while at least.

His control over himself for quite some time, and he even managed some light groping while keeping his composure. Before long, he had dumped her on the bed and was quickly unlacing her corset. His mouth was still on hers, locked in a deep kiss and a low groan emanating from his throat. Then, they fucked. Twice.

Raphael lay wrapped around her, running his claws through her curls. “My love,” he whispered in her ear before they fell asleep.

The next morning, Raphael had left to finalize contracts in his study, leaving Tav free for the day to visit the archive at her leisure. Maybe a more seductive statement would lead to a better outcome.

Tav walked into the archive, and saw Kilzire taking copious notes on a scroll over something he had been reading. He gave a slight smile as she approached.

“Good morning, Lady Tav, how may I assist you?”

“I need a Devilish Infernal translation of something. Can you help me smooth out the language?”

“Why yes, of course. Whatever do you need?”

“I need you to teach me to say ‘I want you to trace my entire body with your tongue, ” Tav explained.

Any warmth that had been in his guise or his voice immediately vanished. “You must be joking.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You realize that there is an entire section dedicated to erotica right over there! ” He pointed wildly at a back corner. She would have to investigate it later.

She steadied her emotions. “Will you help me or not?”

“Yes,” he bit back, rubbing his temples in an act of self soothing. He gave her the correct translation and slumped over his desk.

“Thank you,” Tav said quietly as she left the archive. Kilzare irritably waved her away with the back of his hand.

After dinner that evening, Raphael eagerly took her back to their bedroom to continue celebrating their honeymoon.

Tav whispered the Infernal line to Raphael telling him how she wanted him to trace her entire body with his tongue, and he immediately leapt at the opportunity. He was attentive and eager, holding, kneading, stroking and licking. They both gave warm moans of arousal as he traced each of her nipples slowly. He just couldn’t make it any lower than that. As soon as his tongue finished tracing both breasts, it was time for sex. He just couldn’t wait any longer and was eager to be pleasured.

Tav finished herself off that night while Raphael was asleep, curled tightly around her.

She would have to think of other things much filthier to compel her husband to follow her instructions in his bedchamber.

***

After a tenday of honeymoon beddings, the appropriate number of nara root tea doses, and Kilzare’s flustered breakdowns, Tav sat frustrated at her vanity in her room, preparing to meet her Lord husband for dinner.

He wanted her every day, and usually twice. He had never once given her an orgasm. The times she was close to coming when they fucked, he finished too quickly for her to reach that peak. He didn’t like it when she touched herself, and he always swatted her fingers away from her clit when she stroked herself. It was like he was jealous that her hands could give her pleasure without him being involved.

She couldn’t just ask Raphael to eat her out. Everything with him was a negotiation. If she asked him to pleasure her with his mouth, he definitely would demand she did the same to him in return. He wouldn’t even finger her to orgasm, and there was no chance she was going to suck his cock if he wouldn’t put in the minimum amount of effort when they fucked.

Tav wasn’t sure the Infernal seduction phrases were working on her husband. They seemed to only make him more eager to discontinue foreplay and move straight into fucking.

There was a knock at her door. “My Lady, the Master of the House has requested you join him for dinner,” a maid relayed through the door.

“Very well,” Tav responded through the closed door. She donned a red dress and the silver bracelet Raphael gifted her as a wedding gift. He had enjoyed fucking her several times while she was wearing only the bracelet.

Raphael stood waiting in the dining hall. “My beloved,” he greeted her magnanimously, grinning ear to ear.

Tav smiled nervously. “You seem delighted, husband. Are contracts going well?”

Raphael didn’t answer, he pulled back a chair and motioned her to sit. Tav sat down and allowed him to indulge her. He took his place by her side.

“I have mended the Orb of Karsus, and this merits a celebration.” He poured two goblets of wine and passed one to her.

“Well, now you are in possession of the full Regalia of Karsus. So much power at your fingertips,” Tav complimented. Powerful fingertips that couldn’t be bothered to bring her to orgasm.

“It is indeed, my love,” Raphael grinned. “The godlike power of the Regalia will enable me to take over the nine Hells.” He grabbed portions of the meat dishes nearest to him. Raphael cut into the toughest cuts with glee.

Tav served herself vegetables and a dish she was confident was beef. “I have full confidence in your abilities,” she offered up in conversation.

“When I have spent more time exploring the power of the Regalia, I would love for you to see a demonstration.”

“I look forward to it, husband.” Tav took a slow sip of her wine. If Raphael had the Regalia already, maybe the Hells would leave her alone. She was clearly not a threat. There was light conversation as they finished their meals.

“I have a gift for you, my beautiful wife,” Raphael moved behind her. He snapped and an object appeared in his hands that Tav couldn’t see. He extended something around her neck and she immediately recognized the coldness of jewelry. “I asked for five pendant rubies this time instead of one.” He idly grasped her hand that bore the ruby bracelet from his wedding gift. He turned her wrist over several times. “One gemstone wasn’t enough.”

Tav brought a hand up to her throat, feeling the coldness of the silver. “Thank you, dear husband.”

Raphael extended a hand. “Shall we go to bed?” he asked with a grin. Tav sighed and took it.

***

Tav was pretty sure her plan wasn’t going to work, but at present she had no better ideas. Maybe she could have a reliable way of making him come quickly when she just wasn’t excited about her husband’s affections.

Tav entered the archive, and Kilzare gave an audible groan.

“I don’t want to hear it, my Lady Tav,” he protested.

“Raphael needs to hear it, Kilzare.”

“Hells, what do you want me to translate now?” he demanded, the look on his face indicating that he was eager to get back to his work and to put the very concept of his boss having active nether regions out of his mind.

“ ‘Give me your fingers, so I can show you just how much I desire you,’ ” Tav answered in an absurdly straightforward fashion.

Kilzire stared at her. His mouth tightened in a deep frown.

“I studied at the top universities to be competent enough to serve an Archduke of the Hells. Now, here I am, doing this,” he lamented.

“Think about it,” Tav started with her prepared argument, “has Raphael hurt you or threatened to hurt you since we started our honeymoon? Who has he flayed?”

His eyes hit the rafters and he swallowed slowly in a deep show of indignity. “No one, Lady Tav.”

“Do you want to keep it that way?” Tav inquired.

Kilzare took a deep sigh before translating the sexually charged statement for her. He gave her the phrase in Devilish Infernal, and Tav took detailed notes about each word choice he made. There were only a few small adjustments from the initial translation that she had fabricated earlier. “Can I just translate them in bulk?” he asked with a twinge of disgust.

Tav sighed, trying to respect his boundaries but also trying not to betray the real reason that she needed the phrase list updated daily. “Not really,” she grimaced.

Tav’s assessment of her husband’s reaction to infernal seduction turned out to be correct. He was never going to do what she asked, and it made him too excited to last long. Tav utilized the second half of the effects many times, much to her displeasure.

***

One night, Tav woke to cambion claws gently tracing her naked curves and a very hard erection pressed into her lower back.

“Raphael?” she asked, still slightly sleepy. He hummed a throaty acknowledgement into her ear. They were spooning, with Raphael draped around her and caressing her with his free hand. The one laying beneath her grasped her stomach.

“There you are, my dearest. I was just admiring you.” His fingers traced circles around her nipples, making them hard. Tav sucked in a breath of anticipation.

Raphael traced his forked tongue down the back of her neck. His tail had crept all the way up her thigh and squeezed gently in a subconscious rhythm. He left kisses down her back and shoulder.

Tav moved to try to roll under him, but his tail and the arm stroking her wouldn’t let her move. “Naughty, eager Little Mouse,” Raphael whispered in her ear. “I want you just like this. A slow, languid bit of pleasure for us to enjoy.”

Though he held her facing away from him, she reached back around him to grab his ass and run her hands over the ridges on his hip bone. He raised his hand to trace a claw over her jawbone, and Tav lifted her top thigh, so his legs could entwine with hers. He shifted her so that the arm that rested under her was able to assist in soft caresses. Tav brought her hand to her clit and pressed in firm, slow circles. She let out a soft, breathless moan.

His free hand grabbed his hardness and pushed it between her legs, waiting to enter her. Tav quickly tested how wet she was.

“Not yet, I’m not wet enough,” she breathed before going back to touch herself. Raphael continued to kiss her back and shoulders, though they became staccatoed instead of soft with an undercurrent of frustration. As Tav let out another soft groan of pleasure, Raphael replaced her hand with his and took her place pleasuring her. She could feel his restlessness pulse through his tail and his erection between her legs.

Tav pressed two fingers into her entrance and scissored and thrust them in a rhythm she liked. The moan she let out was no longer soft or breathless. Raphael grabbed her hand and removed her fingers. He brought her slick fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

“Now?” Raphael asked softly with an air of tension in his voice.

“This feels so good, finish me,” Tav moaned as Raphael continued to stroke her.

He stopped stroking her and ran his hand over her breasts. “Such a greedy, greedy Little Mouse,” he growled in response. Her husband thrust deeply into her. He was slow and languid as he moved with a consistent rhythm.

Tav angled her hips properly for Raphael’s movements, and he began to take his pleasure in earnest. He held her tightly within his arms, one hand gripping her hips while the other wrapped around her torso with his hand gripping between her shoulder and collarbone. She enjoyed the joining and the pleasurable way his ridges dragged within her, but this angle refused her friction where she wanted it.

Tav reached between her legs to stroke her clit. Her breathy moans met Raphael’s. After a few more thrusts, Raphael grabbed the hand stroking her clit and removed it. He replaced her fingers with his own.

“I am your pleasure, my Little Mouse,” he growled into her ear. He gave a few more thrusts before coming inside her. “My beloved,” he purred in her ear. He held her tightly and fell asleep again still inside her.

It had been two tendays of their honeymoon trying to get Raphael to do anything to please her. The Infernal flirting and seduction had only served to wind him up more. He didn’t actually listen to anything she asked for or consider anything she wanted. It was so much simpler for him to buy her things and fuck her rather than to try to build some sort of actual relationship. S he really was just an object to him, exactly what Haarlep had told her. She was his new sex toy. That was all she was ever going to be. Forever.

Tav closed her eyes tightly as the cambion lay wrapped around her and softened inside her. Sleep was not going to come easily. She had a new plan, and she had to begin tomorrow.

She was going to find the divorce loophole for her contract.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 the fine print

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mariacallous · 4 months ago

Text

The advice I used to impart to young correspondents arriving at the BBC’s bureau in Washington was to remember that the United States had fought a civil war in the mid-19th century and was still arguing over the terms of a fractious peace.

Much like the modern-day phrase “sorry but not sorry,” which is used sarcastically to indicate a lack of remorse, the brief ceremony at Virginia’s Appomattox Court House in April 1865, which brought the armed fighting to an end, was a surrender but not a surrender. White supremacists in the states of the old Confederacy wanted still to reign supreme. Little over a decade later, following the collapse of Reconstruction—an attempt to make good for African Americans the promise of emancipation—enslavement was replaced by segregation. Across the American South, Jim Crow was in the chair.

Now, though, I would amend my advice. I would urge young reporters to reach back even further into history. The roots of modern-day polarization, and even the origins of former President Donald Trump, can be located in the country’s troubled birth. Division has always been the default setting. Victory over the British Redcoats at the Battle of Yorktown paved the way for independence but did not mean U.S. nationhood was a given.

Between the end of the Revolutionary War in 1783 and the start of the Philadelphia Constitutional Convention in 1787, it seemed as if the states might enter into two or three confederations rather than a singular nation as the former British colonies struggled to overcome their antagonisms. “No morn ever dawned more favourable than ours did,” a melancholic George Washington wrote to James Madison in November 1786, “and no day was ever more clouded than the present!”

The Constitution that Washington pushed for, and which was eventually hammered out in Philadelphia, was in many ways an agreement to keep on disagreeing. Compromises that prolonged and protected the institution of slavery—a Faustian bargain that became the price of national unity—created a fault line that was always likely to rupture and explode. It rumbles to this day. Even a Black presidency could not repair the breach.

So many contemporary problems can be traced back to those founding days. U.S. democracy has become so diseased because for most of the country’s history, it has not been that healthy. “We the People,” the rousing words that opened the preamble to the Constitution, was not conceived of as an inclusive statement or catchall for mass democracy. Rather, this ill-defined term referred to what in modern terminology might be called the body politic. Much of the deliberations in Philadelphia focused on how that body politic should be restrained in an intricately designed straitjacket, hence the creation of countermajoritarian mechanisms such as the Electoral College and Senate.

To describe the outcome as an experiment in “democracy” is misleading: The Founding Fathers did not care for the word, which is nowhere to be found either in the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution. When the country’s second president, John Adams, used the term “democratical,” it was intended as a slur. The fear of what some of the founders called an “excess of democracy” explains the thinking behind a quote from Adams that has resurfaced during the Trump years: “Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.” Adams’s fear was not of unchecked presidential power, the meaning projected onto the quote in relation to Trump. More worrying for him was unchecked people power.

The right to vote was never specifically enshrined in the Constitution, an omission that continues to astound many Americans. To this day, there is no positive affirmation of the right to vote. It is framed negatively—it should not be denied, rather than it should be granted. With good reason, voting is often called the missing right.

Not until the mid-1960s, with the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act, did the United States finally achieve what could truly be described as universal suffrage. In the South, Black people could finally cast ballots without being subjected to humiliating “literacy tests,” where they would be asked unanswerable questions such as how to interpret arcane clauses of state constitutions.

No sooner had this landmark legislation become law, however, than efforts to reverse it cranked into gear. So began what has turned out to be a decades-long campaign of de-democratization. It was spearheaded by the Republican Party, which needed to restrict minority voting rights because the demographic trend lines, and the transition toward a minority-majority nation, were thought to favor the Democrats.

These efforts were aided to a disconcerting degree by the conservative-dominated Supreme Court, with rulings that drastically weakened the provisions of the Voting Rights Act. For example, in 2013, Shelby County v. Holder gutted the act’s all-important Section 5, which forced jurisdictions with a history of racial discrimination to “preclear” with the Justice Department any proposed voting changes. In a 5-4 judgment, the conservative justices decided that preclearance was now obsolete because voter registration had shown such dramatic improvements. Yet as the liberal justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg pointed out in an unusually strong dissenting opinion, ending preclearance was akin to “throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.”

The insurrection on Jan. 6, 2021, then, should not be seen in isolation. It was the culmination of a prolonged assault on democracy that predated the rise of Trump. The attack continued, moreover, after the insurrectionists had been dispersed and the floors of Congress scrubbed clean of excrement. That night, 147 Republicans returned to the chambers to cast votes to challenge or overturn Joe Biden’s presidential victory.

Political violence is a core part of the U.S. story, although much of this history has often been buried and concealed. At the end of the 1960s, a commission appointed by President Lyndon B. Johnson to investigate why the United States was so prone to political assassination concluded that the country suffered from “a kind of historical amnesia or selective recollection that masks unpleasant traumas of the past.” It also noted that “the revolutionary doctrine that our Declaration of Independence proudly proclaims is mistakenly cited as a model for legitimate violence.”

Indeed, the Jan. 6 insurrection showed how political violence is still seen as legitimate and even rendered glorious. Many of the insurrectionists chanted “1776” as they stormed the Capitol. “We’re walking down the same exact path as the Founding Fathers,” claimed Stewart Rhodes, a former Army paratrooper with a Yale University law degree. (Rhodes helped establish the Oath Keepers, a militia group launched on April 19, 2009, the anniversary of when rebels and Redcoats first exchanged fire.) The day before the insurrection, Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene described it as “our 1776 moment.”

Many far-right extremists are inspired by words from Thomas Jefferson that, unlike the poetry of his Declaration of Independence, never made it into high school textbooks or onto the teleprompters of modern-day presidents. “I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical,” Jefferson wrote in 1787, a quote that has now become a far-right meme. “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots” is another of Jefferson’s sayings that has been co-opted by modern-day militias.

Often I recall the day of Biden’s inauguration, which took place on a platform that only two weeks earlier had been used as a staging post for the insurrection. It was festooned with red, white, and blue bunting, but it still felt like a crime scene that should have been sequestered with yellow tape. As I made my way to my camera position on the press stand, I noticed that technicians were testing the giant teleprompter in front of the presidential podium. And I recognized the words on the screen: “Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.”

The teleprompter had been loaded with the 272 words of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address in November 1863. Maybe it was some kind of sick joke. A rogue technician, perhaps, with a dark sense of humor. But these passages from the country’s most celebrated sermon could hardly be described as out of place. The question at the heart of the speech, and which had also been posed at the country’s founding, was being asked anew: Can this nation long endure?

My sense—my ardent hope—is that the conditions do not yet exist for all-out armed conflict, a second civil war, partly because the United States has accumulated so much muscle memory in coping with its perpetual state of division. But nor do the conditions exist for reconciliation and rapprochement. Nowhere near. So the United States occupies a strange betwixt and between: close to abyss, but a step or two back from the edge. Going to hell, as the wit Andy Rooney once observed, without ever getting there.

The U.S. historian Richard Hofstadter, famed for identifying what he called the “paranoid style in American politics,” put it well: “The nation seems to slouch onward into its uncertain future like some huge inarticulate beast, too much attainted by wounds and ailments to be robust, but too strong and resourceful to succumb.” The fact that Hofstadter published those words at the start of the 1970s speaks to how the United States remains stuck in a rut—revisiting the same arguments, going over the same ground. Americans remain tethered to their contested past. The news cycle is the historical cycle in microcosm. As Lincoln put it in his message to Congress in December 1862: “We cannot escape history.”

So even if the United States does not descend into civil war, it is hard to envision it ever reaching a state of civil peace. The forever war will continue: America’s unending conflict with itself.

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