#all its original leaves fell off and i thought it would just die but its STILLL HERE

[skullshoal]

I stole this piece of a poinsettia off the floor of a Walmart back in December and I've kept it in water hoping it would grow roots and it never did but it didn't die either and now it's growing new leaves. What the fuck does a guy have to do around here to get some fucking roots it's been HALF A YEAR

[natashascumslut]

LOUD. Wanda maximoff x fem reader

SUMMARY: Your need for Wanda suddenly gets stronger, and she finally decides to do something about it.

WARNINGS: Smut 18+! MDNI, Top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader, Thigh riding (R), Strap-on (R), Praise kink, Strap-on referred to as ‘cock’.

a/n- This was originally gonna be longer but i lost interest lmao. Not proofread!

You needed Wanda. it was sudden and intense. It wasn't the first time you'd thought of the witch in... not-so-PG ways. But this was different, it wasn't like when you couldn't sleep, and thoughts of Wanda creeped into your mind. This was need, and it was strong. And you also just so happen to be walking down the street after doing a bit of grocery shopping.

The feeling had hit you like a bus, creeping all over you, leaving goosebumps in its tracks, before settling between your legs. You rushed back, desperate to get rid of it. But, to your luck, the exact woman you were just thinking about was standing in the kitchen of the compound, you cursed under your breath. She turned to greet you, but stopped when she noticed your flushed cheeks and hurried movements.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and you nodded quickly, your eyes not meeting hers. You put things away, trying your hardest to be casual, but your mind was wandering. You felt her eyes on you, burning into your skull, and it wasn't making any of this easier. You put the bag you were carrying the groceries in away and sent a tight-lipped smile in Wanda's direction, before leaving the cramped space; it was an open kitchen, looking over the living space with floor to ceiling windows, but it felt cramped when it was only you and Wanda in there. You rushed up to your room, closing the door behind you and taking a second to breathe.

You stared at your bed, contemplating. It was the middle of day, you couldn't just... get off, someone might call you in for a mission or a meeting, you might be needed, someone might walk in; you reached behind you and locked your door.

A soft thump sounded the otherwise quiet room as your head fell back against the door, the aching between your legs hadn't stopped, in fact it'd somehow gotten stronger. You didn't know what to do, but luckily a knock on the door decided your fate, you were going to be asked to join a meeting, and by the time it was over you would feel okay again—

Wanda was standing on the other side of the door, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"Hey." She said casually, peeking behind you into your room. "Mind if i come in?" You nodded instinctively, but internally cursed yourself, her being in here would only worsen things. You stepped aside as you tried your hardest to get words out of you. She stepped in and the door was closed, the room suddenly felt cramped. You stared at her back, you should move, do something.

"Your thoughts are loud." Shit. "What?" Finally, words! You couldn't see her face, her back still turned to you, but you could hear the smirk in her voice as she spoke. "I said; your thoughts are loud." She turned around, your heart skipped a beat. Maybe, if it skipped a few more beats, you would die and you wouldn't have to be in this situation anymore. That's what you hoped would happen atleast. She stepped closer, your heartbeat got louder.

Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck- "Calm down." Her voice was quiet as her hand came in contact with your jaw, holding it in place. "Please stop reading my mind." You pleaded, you didn't like it, not one bit. Your thoughts were yours and yours only, you didn't want her poking about in there. "Please." Her grip on your jaw loosened, and her eyes had softened; she had stopped, thank god.

She stared at you for a second, seemingly deciding her next words. "How about i help you out?" She said quietly, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of.. well, anything. It was hard for her to know what you were feeling when she wasn't in your mind with you. You let yourself nod weakly because frankly, you needed her too much to protest. And even if you didn't, you still wouldn't. You'd been pinning after the witch for months now, caught up in everything her. "I'm gonna need words of confirmation, pretty girl." She whispered, but her tone had changed, it almost matched the amount of need you were feeling in your body, almost.

"Yes, please Wanda." Your voice was weak, pathetic and Wanda relished in it, she had known how you felt for awhile now, since you never made much effort to quiet your mind around her, but hearing it from you made it so much... better.

Her hands found your waist, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding. "Yeah? You need me to help you out?" She purred in a whisper, this definitely wasn't helping your building arousal. You nodded, your eyes darkening. She spun you around so quickly you were pretty sure you got whiplash, but that was the least of your worries right now, because the witch you so desperately needed was leading you towards your bed. She sat herself down, and pulled your tense figure into her lap, straddling her.

"Mh, you're so tense." She hummed, her hands running up and down your thighs. "I'll make you feel better, darling." lord. Her eyes moved from your lips back up to your eyes. "Would you like that?" You'd never seen her so confident before, most likely because she knew she was in control, she knew you wanted this. But that didn't stop it from being insanely attractive. "Yeah." You breathed out, surprised you even managed to talk. She smirked, her face inching closer to yours. You mentally cursed yourself for being so out of it, god she had such a hold on you.

You finally gained an ounce of consciousness and surged the rest of the way till her soft lips were on yours. Your body relaxed into hers and you're pretty sure you let out a moan, because in a matter of seconds she was gripping your hips and pulling you in impossibly closer, her warm body flush against yours. You weren't sure if it was your heartbeat you were feeling, or hers. "Wanda." You whined as your hips unintentionally rutted forward on her thigh, she pulled back, smirking at you. "So needy." She said, her bottom lip lodged between her teeth. Her hands stayed firmly on your hips as she slowly started guiding you to grind down on her thigh, making you gasp. Even with the layers of fabric between you and her thigh, you still felt it.

Her lips trailed across your jaw till they landed on your neck, pressing firm kisses to the length of it as soft whimpers tumbled out your lips. You felt her suck at the soft skin of your neck, forcing a moan out of you. "No marks." You warned breathlessly, but she made no effort to stop. "Wanda." She groaned, stopping. She'd already made a mark, but you didn't really care if you were honest. Your hips moved faster, with her help. But were immediately halted the second you felt something poking at your clothed cunt. She held back a chuckle as she watched your face turn in confusion, a wide smirk playing at her lips.

"I came prepared." She hummed, clearly happy with herself. You raised an eyebrow, panting slightly. Your breath hitched when her hands wrapped around your upper arms, pulling you flush against her yet again. "If you like riding my thigh so much.." She started in a whisper, her warm breath fanning over your ear. "How about you ride me?" You whimpered at her words alone, a shiver coursing the entire length of your body. "Mhm." Was all you could physically get out, a pathetic hum.

It was funny, really. Every time you thought of the witch, you were in control of the situation. But here you were, rendered useless under her gaze. "Yeah, would you like that?" She said under her breath, the heat of the situation clearly getting to her aswell. You nodded pathetically. "Please, Wanda. Let me ride you." You whined, your hands on her shoulders. Her cheeks dusted a light shade of pink as her eyes darkened, immediately pulling you in for a firm yet passionate kiss, pawing at your shirt as you gasped quietly into her mouth. You helped her pull the thin fabric over your head, blushing as you felt exposed.

It didn't take long for your bra to disappear too, disregarded onto the floor with your shirt. A stuttered moan mixed with your heavy breaths as Wanda latched her lips to your nipple, her teeth tugging at it. Your fingers tangled in her soft hair, holding her in place as your back arched, pushing your chest into her. A satisfied groan vibrated against your body, and a unsatisfied whimper left it when Wanda pulled back, a dazed expression on her face as she grinned smugly up at you. "Please." You said huskily, you needed her inside you now. She gently pushed you off her lap, leaving you to stand up on your wobbly legs. She snickered as she watched you trip over your own feet as you tried to keep your balance, before standing up completely straight, blushing.

"I've barely touched you, baby." She teased, her hands finding your bare waist. You avoided eye contact, panting gently. Her fingered trailed down your waist, till they were at the button of your jeans. You watched with heavy eyes as she undid it, sliding the denim down your legs. You felt it was unfair you were almost completely naked, while she was fully dressed. You pouted, grabbing the collar of her shirt and pulling her into you, before stripping the fabric off her body with her help. You ogled at her covered chest until she forced you to look back up at her. Her lips found yours again, and she was stepping out of her jeans. You whimpered as your eyes came in contact with the strap on firmly harnessed to her hips, she smirked smugly.

You pushed her back on to the bed, and she moved up it till her head was on the pillows. She watched as you stripped of the last piece of clothing covering you, a low groan emitted for her lips. You crawled ontop of her, settling on her thighs, right in front of the strap. You stared at it for a second, before moving your eyes back up to hers. "Come on, baby. Aren't you going to be a good girl and ride me, like i know you want to." She husked as her hands found your hips, using it to her advantage to guide you up till you were hovering above the silicone. You whined, the tips of your fingers pressing into her stomach as you tried to steady yourself. It didn't take long before you were sinking down onto it, a loud whimper of her name following the action.

You had never felt so exposed, completely on display, but you were too focused on the witches strap buried deep inside you to care. "Fuck." The breathless curse made you look up at her, her attention was focused solely on your cunt. "You look so pretty on my cock, baby. Such a pretty slut for me." You whined at her words, your hips grinding down on the toy. Your hands landed on her shoulders as your hips moved back and forth, your head hanging between your arms as you breathed heavily. She grunted as your nails dug into the soft skin of her shoulders, and her hands on your hips made you move faster.

"Fuck, Wanda." You whined as your clit rubbed against her lower stomach, adding to the stimulation the toy was already giving you.

"Such a slut for me, hm?" She growled under her breath, her hand wrapping around your throat made your head move back up, looking her dead in the eye as you whimpered weakly. "Mhm, all yours— Fuck!— all yours." She hummed happily at your answer. Your grinding got faster until you decided it wasn't enough for you. You lifted yourself up till the halfway point of the strap, before falling back down. Wanda groaned.

"Keep doing that, baby. Fuck, you take my cock so well, such a good girl." She husked, making you whine. You did as you were told, your skin hitting hers everytime you slammed back down. "Wanda, Please." You moaned, scratching at her shoulders. She got impatient, seeing you ontop of her like this was making her head feel fuzzy. Her fingers dug into her waist as she started thrusting up into you, copying the movements of your hips. "Fuck!" You moaned loudly, your head falling back as your eyes screwed shut. Your moans started coming out in 'ah, ah, ah.' as she pounded up into you, desperate to make you cum.

"Wanda— please, i'm close." You whined, your eyes focused on her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth open in deep breaths as she stared at the way your cunt was swallowing the strap as she pushed her hips up. "Yeah?" She breathed, not eyes not moving. "Is my slut gonna cum for me, hm? All over my cock?" She said shakily, her own arousal dripping down her thighs. "Mhm, please."

You moans became high pitched and breathy as she focused solely on making you cum. "Beg for it, like the good girl you are." Her eyes finally moved up to your face, and she swore she could've came just from the sight of your pleasured expression. "Please, Wanda. Please let me cum, i'll be good— i'll be your good slut, please i need it." You got out between moans, her hips somehow moving faster. Just as you thought it couldn't get any better, one of her hands loosened its strong grip on your waist and started rubbing circles around your clit. "Cum for me, baby." And you did, and it was intense. Your moans were loud and broken, and your eyes had rolled back so far she could barely see them anymore.

She helped you ride out your high with the thrusts of her hips before stopping completely, setting you back down on her strap. She sat up, wrapping her arms around you as you collapsed into her body. "Fuck." You panted out, your head on her shoulder. You whined in sensitivity as you shifted slightly, feeling the toy that was still buried inside of you move. "You did so good for me baby, so good." You nodded weakly, your eyes closed as you panted against her shoulder.  "I wanna-" You started, out of breath. "I wanna make you feel good."

You whined, lifting your head back up when you finally got your breath back. One of her eyebrows quirked up, a smirk spreading across her lips. "Yeah? You wanna be a good girl and return the favour?" She hummed, so desperate to have you between her legs. You nodded, your eyes heavy. You put your hands on either side of her face and pressed your lips to hers, whining as her tongue slipped past your lips. She helped you off the toy, and you led back on the bed, your breath coming out in heavy pants. You turned to her when you heard her hum happily. "Your mind is a lot quieter." She said, her voice cocky. "Wanda!" You whined, playfully hitting her shoulder. She rolled her eyes with a grin.

[alchemyfire]

My old writings for Antoine

About twenty years ago, I wrote some texts and poems for Robespierre and Saint-Just when I first realized my obsession. Recently I found them in my notes about revolution, so why not to share a few? (Just so you know, they were written in Czech originally, so the translation probably doesn't sound that great.)

Your hair fell to the floor like so many others before it; noiseless, so quiet… The only sound now is your breathing, which you try in vain to muffle so as not to disturb the glorious silence. In no time, the reckless shouting of the crowd will destroy this moment of peace, seeping into your last thoughts. What will happen now to the beautiful dream you tried to make come true? Your life doesn't matter to you and maybe it never did, but the Republic must live… You did what you had to do and now your short years have come to an end. You don't care, you don't regret it. You didn't feel sorry for anyone, least of all for yourself. Only once did your eyes water with tenderness, when you saw red blood on his face. That's when you knew it was all over. Perhaps fatigue helped the enemies knock the sword of justice from the hand of the Revolution, and now, defenseless, she is waiting for the blade of the guillotine to cut off her head… Already today, before evening comes, she will die in the square in front of the eyes of her children, whom she loves so much…

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

You had no friends, because they all betrayed you, carved deep wounds into your heart. That's why you didn't give your trust to anyone and your love dedicated to the people. You didn't expect gratitude for fighting hard for its cause. So now you ascend calm and ready to death that awaits you up there. You don't worry about the crime of those you never allowed close enough to hurt your soul. Only one person could do that… and you knew that would never happen… you gave him your faith, such a precious gift. He gave you his, and that's why you are walking with him today on the last path. You couldn't leave him at that cruel moment, you couldn't…because you know how much betrayal hurts.

----

Cold is the blade, cold as death, cold as you… an icy touch in the middle of summer. But there is fire burning inside your soul that won't go out… it will continue to burn in the minds of those who understand you. Of those who won't die today, but with mute mouths and aching hearts will overcome despair, so they can live for your ideals for which you die.

[benslefteyebrow]

OMG OMG OK SO i just finished s1 last night and i can confirm that i have been fully consumed by the world of sbg no doubt 😭😭😭

can i get a benlor fic with a lot of some angst and comfort please 🙏 any angst would do lol THANKSS

Yess ofc.

This took so long to write but it was SO fun

Shine on Silver Moon

Hurt comfort, non-canon complacent wc: 1671

No matter what dimension they were in, the moon always seemed to shine silver when it was shining over Taylor.

It was a relatively peaceful night, so when Taylor and Ben went out looking for the shoe Aiden lost the day before, he didn’t think about bringing more than a flashlight.

No, Ben was only thinking about Taylor. 

Beautiful, perfect Taylor.

He followed her silently as he always did.

He listened to her ramble— the accent on her “s”s, the way she would stumble on words that seemed too big for her mouth— but there was still a grace to everything she said, and Ben ate up every word greedily, like a dog drinking water for the first time in days.

Yes, Ben was looking at Taylor and not the treelines.

“Shoot, am I rambling?” She asked.

She paused. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes. 

Every time he got lost in her eyes, he thought they were the colour of dirt, the origin of life. And she was, wasn’t she?

He had little to wake up for after losing his voice and moving away from home. Even though Aiden tried, things weren’t quite the same. A small, shameful part of him thought about not living at all, but then there was Taylor.

Taylor and her big brown eyes.

Ben shook his head. “Keep going,” he signed assuringly.

Taylor smiled, and then she did.

He kept a loose hold on the flashlight as they walked. He wasn’t sure where it was pointing or where they were going, but did it matter?

Her long ponytail bounced behind her, stray hairs all over the place.

One in particular bothered him. 

It blocked the view of her face.

Unconsciously, Ben decided to move it out of the way. His body moved on autopilot around her. All his senses knew she must’ve felt like heaven to touch.

He reached out for her.

He reached out for with the hand holding the flashlight. 

Ben dropped the flashlight. He didn’t realize it until he heard it clatter. It snapped him back to attention.

“Hm?” Taylor turned to him.

Ben’s face heated up. He left his hand stuck between them like an idiot.

“I—“ he waved his hands in the air though they weren’t forming any words.

He took a step back. ”I was—“ his foot slipped and he fell flat on his butt, as if it couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

Taylor threw her head back in a laugh, and by God, it was like a psalm personified. Her lips stretched back to reveal a set of imperfect teeth that reflected the glow of the moon. The moon highlighted her every feature, the graceful arc of her jaw, and the curve of her nose, and Ben knew he’d seen an angel.

Did angels die?

In the next instant, with the flashlight still on the floor somewhere, he saw the phantom prowling behind her.

Ben saw the phantom.

Ben saw the phantom.

Ben saw the phantom kill Taylor.

Ben killed Taylor.

Its claw sliced through Taylor’s throat, lifting her clean off her feet. Its fingertips already dripping with her blood. An awful scream that was more like a dying gasp escaped her. Her expression froze on her face, a mixture of laughter and morbid fear.

Ben felt around for the flashlight, his eyes not leaving the phantom. He screamed at it with his gaze because he could not with his mouth. The phantom inspected her, raising her higher and away from Ben.

He wished he brought his gun. He wished he brought his gun.

His fingers curled around the handle. He shone it at the phantom.

The phantom screeched loudly. It shook his hand, trying to throw Taylor off.

Taylor hit the ground with a heartbreaking thump. The phantom stumbled away with a frustrated shriek. And Ben was at Taylor’s side in an instant.

He cradled her head as he carefully pulled her into his lap. She made a sickening gasping sound in her throat. Her wound puckered and smacked as she fought for air but nothing came through. 

He supported her body with one arm and the other hand went to her face. It traced her lips, nose— he dragged his finger over the wound hoping that he could somehow close it. 

She was dead. She was dead but she could not die. Her body would not die. 

Wake up, wake up, he urged. Logan had the time. Logan knew when her suffering would end.

“Tay? Tay, answer me!” Tyler’s panicked voice broke through the trees. They must’ve felt her pain.

“Beeen! Tayyy?” Aiden called next.

Help. They could help him. 

Ben opened his mouth to speak— he would for Taylor— but he shook his head. Instead, he forced himself to set her down, to untangle his fingers from her thick hair.

Ben didn’t yell for them, instead he ran. 

He followed the sound of their panicked calls, though he could barely hear them over his own heart.

They found him in the clearing.

“Ben!” Ashlyn said first.

Ashlyn, Aiden, Tyler, Logan.

Only one of them was missing.

Only Taylor was dead.

“Tay. Where’s my sister?” Tyler lunged forward, taking Ben by the collar of his shirt.

Ben raised his hands to speak. Normally, he would’ve punched Tyler, but Taylor. 

Taylor, Taylor, Taylor.

“No, use your words you freak!” Tyler said.

Aiden grabbed his arm. “Don’t talk to him like that,” he smiled sinisterly.

“Ben,” Ashlyn called their attention. “Take us to her.”

He nodded, immediately bolting off in his direction. He knew instinctively as if an invisible rope was pulling him to her.

She had begun to convulse when they got back to her. 

No one had been dead without waking up as long as she did.

“Tay!” 

Ben jumped around to face Tyler.

“You were supposed to protect her!” Tyler’s fist collided with Ben’s jaw. He stumbled back in disbelief.

Aiden punched Tyler next, focusing the brawl on himself.

Ben could vaguely process Logan holding him back.

He could somewhat grasp his cousin and Tyler fighting in a heap of limbs on the ground.

His every sense was taken by Taylor, the awful gasping sound that wouldn’t stop. The sound of her body shaking violently against the ground despite Ashlyn holding her down. 

Ben approached her slowly, almost afraid to wake her.

She looked like a princess with the moon shining down on her. Instead of the red film that covered everyone else, the film was only silver over her.

He kneeled over her. 

If she was a princess, he could save her with a kiss.

His lips hovered over the wound in her neck.

Ben woke up with a jolt.

He didn’t even think about it before jumping out of bed.

“Ben, Ben wait!” Aiden yelled after him as he bound down the stairs faster than safe.

He couldn’t remember if he put on shoes.

Taylor.

He ran to her house in the pitch black of night.

Taylor.

His feet slipped over the slick of rain.

Taylor.

He didn’t bother knocking, he knew where her window was.

He let himself in.

Taylor was alive, though the gasping sound didn’t stop.

“I know, Tay, I know,” Tyler murmured to her. They sat at the edge of the bed. He had one hand around her. He rubbed her back comfortingly.

Taylor heaved loudly, doubled over in pain.

"Ben," Tyler said grimly as he glanced up to him.

Taylor noticed him. She stared up at him with horrified eyes full of tears. A combination of drool and sweat dribbled down her chin.

"H..elp..." Taylor pleaded. She erupted into a violent coughing fit.

She sounded so broken.

She sounded like him.

Ben made her sound like him.

His body reacted on instinct as it always did around Taylor.

He glanced at Tyler nervously as he stood between Taylor's knees, yet he ignored him as he cupped Taylor's face in his hands.

She stared up at him with a mixture of relief and pain.

And Ben breathed all his air into her.

He breathed the life into her that she breathed into him.

The air, the hope, the reason for living.

Her fingers curled around his bicep as her mouth opened further.

Her mouth was soft and fit against his like a missing piece.

Taylor's chest began to slow. Her harsh gasps turned into deep, ragged, breaths.

Tyler cleared his throat. "Tay?"

Ben backed away. His lips tingled.

She hunched her shoulders, finally breathing somewhat normally.

"Water, please?" she said, her voice still rough.

Tyler eyed Ben but he said nothing as he left the room.

Taylor smiled at him weakly. "Thank you," she signed.

Ben's throat closed up. He shook his head. "No."

She cocked her head at him, concern etched on her features. How could she be worried about him when she just died? When he was the one who killed her.

"I'm so sorry," he signed. He hung his head in shame. "I couldn't save you."

His eyes began to water. "I saw it, but I couldn't warn you."

"I'm sorry," Taylor croaked. "That you had to see that."

Ben signed quickly. "It's all my fault. I watched it pick you up, I watched you die--"

Taylor grabbed his hands. "It wasn't your fault," she swallowed hard. Her fingers weaved into his.

"I forgive you, Ben."

Ben nodded.

She let him go, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"It..hurts," she rasped. "Stay with me."

Ben hugged her back.

He didn't know what horrors awaited her tomorrow night, but in that moment, she was safe in his arms.

As long as they were together, they would be okay.

He basked in her warmth.

Taylor was his song in the midst of a silent world, the notes on his empty page.

He took her voice and her life force, she still had it in her heart to forgive him.

Her heart, within and without, was beautiful.

Her soul was perfect.

Beautiful, perfect Taylor.

[the-meme-monarch]

ok my genuine thoughts on uty it was very cool and fun ! i love all the animations!! I’m not good at verbalizing Things I Like About Things so this post is kinda just nitpicks. but overall i really like the game ! don’t get it twisted!

I appreciate that every route has new information to offer but something About exactly that feels off. in ut no mercy there’s not really any important story information you’re Missing. in pacifist dalv mentions he thought you were a specter haunting him, I didn’t learn until watching a no mercy run that he was talking about how he witnessed the integrity soul’s murder. I don’t think we learn about their murder at all Except in no mercy. a lot of people don’t Like playing ut’s no mercy and they’re not missing anything by not doing so, so to put an important bit of information like that in a route I didn’t even want to watch originally WHILE I UNDERSTAND it’s a free fangame and they want you to Play It, it felt. Strange. like if you only play pacifist there’s just a lot of information you’re missing and things you don’t get answered. like finding out that flowey was the reason you fell through the floor only in neutral. pacifist actually feels kinda incomplete

on that note i LOVE how the game focuses on its own character and areas, the areas they Do reuse from ut being different Parts of those areas. i love how they make the underground feel bigger by utilizing the fucking Cityscape Skylines of new home and the ruins that you see in ut. but i didn’t like how little time you spend with toriel and how she never gets closure on What Happened To Clover after falling through the floor. her speech in ut to frisk about “they come, they leave, they die” didn’t feel Reinforced with clover, they didn’t even make it to toriels actual House. the collection of shoes in varying sizes doesn’t include theirs. clover didn’t really leave any tangible mark on her At All. i was anticipating clover to talk to her about the missing poster they’d been holding. and also i would’ve liked to have seen asgore in pacifist, not fighting him ofc, but maybe just walking around, in ut they mention he used to do that, maybe your friends could try to keep him from seeing you. i was hoping clover would at least Have Seen the guy they would end up surrendering their soul To

also i know it could’ve come across Bad and reductive bc axis is a robot but i think it would’ve been funny for clover and ceroba to present axis The Trashcan Parter With A Bow and he goes “NOT INTERESTED” that after the fight where they try again he goes “HEY MAN. IM AROMANTIC” source: im aromantic. anyway axis was maybe the funniest part of the game he made me outwardly laugh like two or three times

[necronomeconomicism]

I've been accused of not being a Jew a lot on this website. By Zionists, of course, so I don't address it. This morning I got such an accusation from someone who seems, at least uninvolved? I don't want to reblog because its off topic for the original post.

What's interesting to me about the reply is conjecture about the Shema and religion and respect. It should be obvious I am not a religious Jew. More than that I am extremely irreverent. In general and in my relationship to Jewishness. When I wrote this

my message was iconoclastic and deeply personal, perhaps too personal for social media, honestly. It is also poorly written! I don't know Hebrew well, nobody in my family really does. I am an American Jew and this is pretty common. I don't have a Hebrew keyboard either because why would I? So the Hebrew is copy pasted. I did not do so without intention or context or double checking to make sure it looked right. The intention and context however is personal enough that the meaning can't consistently translate well.

I learned the Shema prayer when I was younger, but did not internalize a real translation of it. For me my frame of reference for Israel was English. This is a problem because Israel is a very very loaded word. In the prayer, as I understand it most would say Israel is supposed to mean the People of Israel, as in the Jews in general. A responsible reading of the Shema would separate out the State of Israel from the People of Israel, and I was not taught responsibly, I was taught by American Zionists. The background idea was that Zionism and Judaism were linked, to be actually Jewish you had to be Zionist, and when you believe that, the People of Israel starts to mean the People of the State of Israel. People who we were, even in America, because there was only one place we could ever really belong.

Throughout my childhood nobody bothered to correct that understanding of Israel. That monstrous conflation in the many ways it arises in Zionism is much of what I attacked in that post, and what I decried in my curse. The prayer even is addressing, it says "Hear", its meant for ears, and so in my curse I perverted this. Because what does the Shema mean to the person saying it? What does it mean for it to be received? Where do the thoughts and feelings of the speaker go when this prayer delivers them? This comes across better when the word Israel is read as multifaceted. When the whole curse is read as poetry rather than literally. Because, by one interpretation, the curse is basically "Hear me Jews, you should all die" which is obviously not what I meant.

If I had a better understanding or mastery of Hebrew I might have found a way to convey that better. Instead I just posted that part of the Shema out as I remembered it looking in the book. So I'm going to edit it, removing the Hebrew characters, leaving some notes and a fundraising link, and then pin that on my blog.

All of that is just explanation of the curse and not a direct response to anything in particular. This is.

Me and my mother have had to avoid neo nazis in an Arizona gas station. I've been bullied for my hair. I've hidden bacon at the back of the fridge to look better to visiting relatives. I have been sat down and given first hand account by my grandfather what it was like to flee Nazi Germany to China as a child and run directly into the Japanese invasion. Then years later completely fell out with him over his Zionism and now struggle to maintain a relationship with my grandmother.

The literal meaning of Israel is "one who struggles with G-d" and I've struggled with God plenty enough to be included in the People of Israel. My experience with the culture and languages and faith is no less valid than any other Jews' experience. Neither is my choice to wield the Shema as a weapon any less sacred than another Jews' choice to make it their last breath. I am not confused, or lost, or fake. I know exactly where I stand, what I stand for, and why.

[five-rivers]

Ancestral Chapter 20

A shorter chapter today. Written for ectober 2023 day 26: cult.

“What–  How?  How could you possibly do that?” asked Danny.  “How could you even be sure it’d show up on a– In a ghost’s clothing?”

“What?” asked Matthew.  “The Key?”

“Yes, the Key,” said Danny.  “It’s supposed to do that?”

“Yes,” said Gwensyvyr.  “I helped create the enchantment myself.  It isn’t the only one on the key.”

“The compass part?” guessed Danny.  

Gwensyvyr nodded.  “There is already a construct of magic in it, and that makes it so that it stays with the one who carries it, if they should become a ghost, until it is touched by a syvyr of our line.”  She shrugged.  “I could show you the schematic, but I fear it would not mean much to you.”

“I mean…”  Danny trailed off.  “Probably not.  I guess.  But… why?  And is it a new key, or–?”

“Oh, we could have done that.  In some ways it would have been easier.  But, no.  This is the same key, brought from a distance.”

“But… why?”

“Because it is in the nature of those who fight to die, and sometimes far from home,” said Gwensyvyr.  It would be… ill advised to leave any Key in the hands of the enemy.”

“Danny,” said Jazz.  “What are they saying?”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Oops.”  He quickly summarized the conversation from the point where he’d stopped acting as a go-between.  

“What did they mean by the ‘last Key?’” asked Jazz.  She seemed to be the only one put together enough to really ask questions.  “Vivian, do you know?”

Vivian shrugged and shook her head.  “That’s just what they said.”

“I don’t like that,” said Matthew.  “There are other Great Gate Keys, but they should be… they aren’t out and about where anyone could get them.”  He bit down on his lip then started typing on his phone.  

“So,” said Eugene.  “Who were they?  The people who…”

“I don’t know,” said Vivian.  “Evil bastards.”  She blinked tears from her eyes that vanished as they fell.  

“I have a thought of who they might be,” said Gwensyvyr.  “Or who they might originally have been.  It is suspicion, only, mind, and to understand you must learn a history that has been forgotten.”

Everyone leaned in again, as if that would make them hear better, faster.  Danny saw hands on knife hilts and fists bunched in clothing.  

“You remember, Dannyl, Yazmyn, what I have said before: all kinds of people leave ghosts.  The House of Dyrys has old enemies.  Enemies as old as I am.”

“The viking kings,” said Lewis.  “The ones who killed your husband.”

Gwensyvyr raised a finger.  “A little too fast, grandson, but, yes.”  She let her finger fall back to the surface of the table with a tap.  One that, by the flinches, everyone heard, not just Danny.  “It is difficult to speak of even now, and there are rites older even than myself which I have tried to follow, though the years flow like sand in a glass.  Needs must.

“You know some of my story.  I was born on Myz, near what is now Sy Roch.  Then I was called only Gwenn, for my hair was as white then as it is now.”  She touched one of her braids, pulling it back behind her ear.  “We were not one country, then.  Nor were we even nine countries.  There were few raiders in those days, and no one desired to be beholden to another.  Yet even so, there were things we had in common.  Language, names, rites, knowledge, and the knowledge that is beyond knowledge.  So when a priestess of the sacred pool came from Myrgyn to seek a successor for one who had passed, it was considered a blessing and an honor.

“There were nine of us.  Three for the pool itself.  Three for the spring that fed it.  Three for the apple tree that grew on its banks.  They were wondrous things.  Their magic was apparent by sight alone.  They glowed with it.  Some days, when the stars were right and the correct sacrifices were made, the surface of the pool would glow green, and become a door to the beyond.  A drop of the water of the spring in the mouth of the living might cause one to see spirits.  A drop in the mouth of a dead body might cause it to seem to live again for a time.  A drop in the mouth of a spirit - or mere proximity - might cause them to be seen and heard and other things besides.”

Definitely a portal, then.  

“The tree bore red apples and green, as you might see on any tree, but it also grew apples of gold and silver.  The silver apples could heal any ailment.  The gold granted power.”  

Gwensyvyr paused.  “It was a matter of great importance that the pool and its gifts be guarded.  Some few could be granted to any who asked.  But even something as small a bird or a fly that fell into the pool, or a worm that ate of an apple, could become a horror.  Evil, vile things would come from the pool as often as the good, or they traveled from elsewhere to seek it out for their own ends.”

“You were doing what I do in Amity,” said Danny, before he could stop himself.  “You were guarding a portal.”

“I’m not altogether sure what you are doing in Amity,” said Gwensyvyr, “but it would not surprise me if it were so.”  

Danny ducked his head, feeling eyes on the back of it.  Everyone was looking at him.  He knew it. He was going to have to explain that in more depth before too long.  

“But when I was not much older than you, the vikings came.  They came with great ships, with weapons, and with their own magic-weavers.  And, of course, we fought back.  We had our own weapons, we had our magic, and the sacred pool at our backs.  For some years, this was enough.  And yet even these things could not stall our enemy forever.  Not when he had been eying the riches of Myrgyn and the bounty of the sacred pool.  One by one, my sister-priestesses were killed, and I ran to the only escape I had available.”

“The portal,” said Danny, starting to see where this was going.  He swallowed back nausea.

“Yes.  The pool.  I was not fast enough.  With one foot in the pool and one on the shore, I was felled by an ax.  But I fell forward, and that was sacrifice enough.  The pool granted me its gifts, and by extension, life.  But I was so very weak, and when I crawled from the pool, the raiders were still there.

“They did not recognize me as one they had slain - who would?  They had not even truly seen my face.  Instead, they took me as a slave for themselves, and took me to the one who had led them.  The one who, in those days, thought to make himself a king.”

“He called himself Erik the Dark in those days, though I learned enough of him later to know that had not always been his name.  But Erik was a name for kings, and so he took it.  In this age, you might know him by another.

“Pariah Dark.”

[glamoureddreamer]

Memories 

Bendy and the ink machine (Sammy Lawrence x Reader)

Warnings: blood/gore, violence (please let me know if I’ve missed anything)

Thank you everyone! I hope you all have a fantastic day and a great night!

(Y/n) wanders the upper halls, listening to every small noise. The rustle of papers- freeze, the creaking of wood- stop.

Drips echoed through the halls, from the ink and her open wound. She was looking for supplies and didn’t see the lost one. It had got her good.

Thankfully she wasn’t far from the music department, inside the music department was the medical station. Hopefully, it would have something to at least stop the bleeding.

She holds onto the wall using it to balance herself, fuck a wound on your stomach was annoying. It felt like she couldn’t walk, though she pushed through and walked up the stairs. She was determined not to die.

She enters the music department the lights were on low making it harder to see. She stumbles her way toward the medical station.

She holds onto a desk rummaging through it, trying to search for a bandage. Once she finds a nice big roll she smiles. She grabs it shakily and closes the drawer. She finds a chair and drops into it, she nearly fell over. She pulled up her shirt and examined the cut.

Thankfully it wasn’t that large but it was just deep enough to cause problems. She messily wraps the bandage around her stomach. She made it as tight as she could, which hurt a lot more than she thought it would.

She stays there for a moment relaxing. She takes deep breaths trying to ease the pain. After a while she stood up, the bandage did help.

She leaves the medical station and heads back to the stairs. She had originally planned to leave though, the upper levels were safer. Not to mention there were no doubt more resources and she had lost a lot to the lost one. She turns around and walks back into the music department.

She searches around for tools she could use. She opens a crate. It was a crate full of posters, she picks one up examining it. She opens it and freezes in her spot.

These posters were ones she had created. They were for the music department and the face of the music department himself, Samuel Lawrence. He looked happy on the front cover.

Though she knew him personally and he wasn’t happy often unless he was at home. However he was always nice and happy around her. Memories play through her mind of a better time. Sammy always walked her out to her car. How he always got nervous around her. Him yelling about the pipes and only (Y/n) was able to calm him. She sets the poster down and gave it a small sad smile.

She turns around to be face to face with a lost one. It jumps on her before she could prevent it. She cries out as it pushes on her open wound. It tried to attack her neck but she pushes its head away.

She tried kicking it but nothing worked. Ink drips onto her, she hoped it didn’t leak into her open wound but that was the least of her concern. Right as it drew closer from her arms getting weak, it froze screaming out in pain. Before it drips weakly on her body.

(Y/n) scrambles away from the body, she looks up at the cause of the lost one’s death. It was another lost one, though he held an axe with ink dripping from it. It also wore a bendy mask that was beaten up and covered in ink and dirt. It holds its hand out. She hesitated taking it. It had just saved her, surely it could be trusted. Once she did it helped her off the ground.

“Are you okay?” It asked, the voice sounded so familiar. Yet she couldn’t place it. She nods a little, and the lost one brushes his hand over her wound. She hisses in pain, he pulls his hand away immediately.

“Follow me I can take you somewhere safe.” The lost one helped lead her to a small office. It did look safe but it was also a mess, clearly living here wasn’t the best. Though it was better than nothing.

It sits her down on a makeshift cot. It grabs bandages from its own small storage as (Y/n) looks around the office still. It gently unravels the messily done bandages and slowly begins to replace them.

“Why are you helping me?” She asked quietly. It had been so quiet it felt as if she had to be quiet. The lost one looked up, the mask was a little unsettling but it saved her it is safe so she pushed it aside.

“Don’t you remember me?” It asked. She only tilted her head.

“I suppose I don’t look quite like my old self, it’s me, Samuel.”

(Y/n) felt her world freeze, she covered her mouth.

“Sammy?… Oh my god is it really you?” She asked tears coming to her eyes. Sammy chuckled and nods but before he could respond she pulls him into a tight hug.

She ignores the pain in her abdomen, shoving her face into his inky shoulder not caring.

“I missed you.” She said her voice wavering. Sammy hugs her rubbing her back.

“I missed you too (Y/n).”

[ghostgraveyard]

I feel like I need to clarify. I like the whole “The Jedi code is like an itch; their compassion leaves a trail.” thing but more as a ‘values that the best and most true Jedi hold’ and that sort of futile idealism people believe applies to the jedi as a whole.

But I hate when people take that line and use it as a reason to discount people arguing against the Jedi.

Like you need to see the difference between ideals and values vs action.

I love that u love ur jedi and what they stand for, but i need you to understand that the jedi actually SUCK and thats okay (for you to like them in spite of such). Stop trying to convince people of their goodness bc for sure, some of them are good, but that doesnt make them representative.

The jedi fell bc they were a working part of a corrupt system and u literally can’t take their responsibility for that away just bc u wunna hold their hand and giggle. Root for them but dont talk to anyone amidst your delusion where the meow meow jedi can do no wrong. Do you understand?

“Their compassion leaves a trail…its like an itch” and I would see so many people use it like “See? The jedi are peak perfection and good!” and im like, “No! They arent! Anakin’s entire origin story is a prime example as to why!”

This was unironically canon:

Anakin: tries to literally do the most for one ounce of approval

Obiwan: 😐 your desire for praise will be your undoing.

Anakin: 😦

Can you not see he is DESPERATE for something he’s done to be recognised. His inner child is begging to be seen. His outer child is doing its best to be worthy of it and every time he thinks “this is it, this time—“ he’s basically smited.

Anakin knows love and affection through the eyes of a slave. Blunt honesty and proof through care and being there (action) and staying through thick and thin. He doesn’t need you to burn down a planet because that’s HIS love language, thats how HE shows he cares, not how he needs others to show it.

Because he feels he’s not good enough—burning down a planet, in his mind, shows the people he cares for that he would do anything for them of it’s in his power to do so, and that he really means it when he says he loves them. Grand gestures are how HE shows love because he feels like anything else is as inadequate as he is

Being abandoned and never told he’s loved and cared for is a big reason his affections and attachments turn obsessive. He’s never been given anything concrete, he’s never shown that people care in a way he can understand. They think “I said hi to him and spoke up for him and trained him and gave him camaraderie—thats proof I love him” and think Anakin can properly differentiate it between duty and not.

He thinks, “my master is my master but he only cares for the Jedi and I can’t live without him but he could without me bc I’m a burden and will never be good enough or perfect like Obi-wan” bc Obi-wan isn’t honest with himself or Anakin, and you can see this etched into the very lines of his story no matter where you look.

He doesn’t say “i love you” to Anakin’s face until he’s literally chopped Anakin’s limbs off and left him to die on Mustafar, and even then it’s ambiguous. Anakin understands there is SOME sort of affection between him and Obi-wan that goes both ways but in the end, he never feels like he can truly tell Obi-wan anything without being shunned, misunderstood, or lectured, when all he needs is someone to talk to and hold close without fearing theyll leave him behind when he disappoints them.

One of the only people to ever outright tell Anakin what they feel was his mom, and she ended up dead bc Anakin was told he was being irrational about her and his visions of her death; and the fact that his mother was one of the only people to ever tell him she loved him and was proud, and that she was one of the only people who would never turn her back on him when he wasnt perfect (bc she thought he was perfect anyway. Her love for anakin was unconditional whereas everyone elses’ seemed to be very obviously conditional) and that terrified him bc following her death, the only other person left was Padmé, in their very unhealthy, very suspicious, co-dependant romance.

But even then, since she was the ONLY ONE he knew for sure how they felt, he was terrified something would happen to her and that she would leave him too—be it through death or finding someone to replace him (visions + irrationally believing she and Obi-wan were having an affair). He was obsessive and possessive and I honestly can’t blame him, especially from a psychological standpoint—and even more especially, from a child psychology standpoint. He was never given a reason or a chance to nurture any secure attachment style, especially when faced with the first 10 years of his life as a slave? Yikes.

He was obsessed with his relationships because he never had anything else to hold on to (from his perspective), and do you know who took gleeful advantage of that? Palpatine.

Anakin only wanted to be good enough, to make people proud, to give them a reason to tell him they love him. And maybe the one person he wanted to lure in the most was Obi-wan, who viciously shunned him for that, even when he would sparsely give anakin the praise he wanted so desperately

Anakin said, “I beat you! I won!” All giddy and self-assured after a spar with Obi-wan and instead of allowing that feeling of accomplishment, of the desire to make his master proud, Obi-wan just looked at him and said with shame, “Your need for praise will be your undoing,” and in the end, he wasn’t wrong. It was a self fulfilling prophecy.

Because in the end. The only person left who told Anakin he was proud was fucking slimy Palpatine, the dark lord of the goddamn sith.

Unfortunately, a lot of explicitly pro-jedi/jedi apologist fandom participants like to “interpret” the Jedi code themselves. They make these incredibly long-winded, well thought-out posts explaining the meaning and how it works in practice and how the jedi embody this—BUT they never actually consider or address the literal canon aspects. Things we actually see with our eyes: the novelisations, the games, the shows, the movies.

You’d think, therefore they must be, right? Wrong. You say this is what the Jedi are like and while that’s beautifully wonderful and I wish you were right—that’s literally not what happens. Literally not what they’re like at all. It’s actively part of the plot.

I think your interpretations of the code are great but you act like that’s the reality we’re actually living in. You act like that’s what the shows tell you, rather than just what you want to believe based on your own interpretation of the code itself (ignoring lack of congruency we sometimes see in the shows or movies).

My point is, you can love the jedi while acknowledging their VERY obvious flaws. The flaws that destroy them, corrupt them, misguide them, make them terrible people. The flaws that cannot be retconned by one writer saying “its an itch” while pretending Anakin’s “Anakin Skywalker is dead. I killed him” makes up for the horrible things Old Hermit Kenobi does with luke.

So yeah.

Lets at least be real when we’re loving who we love.

[ternfic]

Penance

Chapter Seven: Black Blade

Good Cop jolted awake, and immediately regretted it. His head hurt. The very next thing he noticed was that his head was quiet. Far too quiet, even for the other two being asleep. He would at least be getting snippets of their dreams. Panic started to well up, making his stomach twist into knots and his heart pound, as he searched desperately for them. He couldn’t feel any trace of them- where were they?! They couldn’t be dead-

No. He tamped down on the feeling, burying it deep. If Bad Cop could continue to function without him, then he could do the same. He had to- he wouldn’t survive the night otherwise. Instead, he took a few minutes to take stock of his situation.

He was alone, and bound to a chair. With his own cuffs. “Well, this is a little embarrassing,” he muttered to himself. But the chair was only wood, and a little rickety, judging from the way it wobbled when he shifted his weight. He twisted this way and that, getting a better look at it. Definitely flimsy. Putting dignity aside for a moment, he stood, then fell back down on it with all his weight, hissing slightly when the legs snapped and dropped him on the floor. That kind of hurt. But he’d accomplished his goal- the chair was in pieces, and he was free. He wriggled until he managed to get his hands in front of himself again, then patted down his pockets. The key was gone- of course. But he still had his pick, a small, easily-missed pin. He picked the lock on the cuffs, and put them back on his belt where they belonged.

Good Cop took a moment to poke his head outside the room, checking the halls. They were completely empty, not even a guard at the door. Obviously they weren’t expecting him to be able to break himself free. He grinned. Underestimated once again. He went back into the room, intent on arming himself before beginning his explorations. Even if his brothers were gone, he still had a responsibility for Sirius.

Thank goodness he was still in the room they’d fallen asleep in, at least. He got down on his hands and knees to fish their phone out from under the bed, where it had bounced when he dropped it the second time. He checked it; no signal again. He couldn’t even tell Benny that…

He swallowed hard and rubbed at his eyes, then put the phone in its case on his belt before retrieving the crowbar from his suitcase. He then sifted through the pile of broken chair parts, finding a section of a leg that had broken roughly in the size and shape of a baton, and grabbed it before leaving the room. He hoped it wouldn’t take too long to find Sirius and get the heck out of there.

Good Cop made his way down the hall, feeling eyes on him but seeing no one. It was the most eerie sensation. He paused to get his bearings and catch his breath; the place hadn’t seemed so large from the outside, but it seemed to have taken forever just to walk down two corridors. “Gotta lay off the croissants,” he muttered to himself. Now he could understand why Bad Cop always had a fit when he indulged himself. That thought sent a pang through his heart, and he quickly pushed it away.

It took him a minute to realize the halls weren’t as quiet as he originally thought. He still couldn’t see a single soul, but he was starting to hear whispers. Faintly, at first, but soon they were all around him. “Hello…?” he called out.

‘Pathetic,’ whispered one of the voices, and he jolted, whirling around. It sounded as though it had been spoken directly into his ear, but there was still no one else in the hall with him.

“Who’s there?!”

‘Weak.’

‘Useless.’

‘Miserable excuse for a cop.’

He tensed, gripping the crowbar tight. “If all you have to offer is insults, then you can just stuff it. I’ve no reason to pay you any mind.”

‘You didn’t even try to stop them.’

‘You allowed this to happen to us.’

“This…?”

‘You let us die.’

‘You let us die!’

‘You let us die.’

“I- no! We did everything we could to prevent that!” He frowned as a thought occurred to him. “And you’re just trying to distract and discourage me. You’re not going to stop me from finding Sir and getting out of here.”

“Finally decided to be a hero, ‘Good’ Cop?”

He yelped and whirled around in surprise. He hadn’t heard the door open or close, but there someone stood, leaning against it. The man seemed familiar somehow, but for the life of him, Good Cop couldn’t figure out why. “I’m sorry, do I know you? I feel like I should, but I can’t seem to remember where from.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” the man chuckled. It wasn’t a friendly sound. “Let’s jog your memory a bit, shall we? Bricksburg, south district, April fourteenth? Sound familiar?”

His blood ran cold. It did sound familiar. Memories of a raid gone horribly wrong flashed through his mind. They’d found a Master Builder hideout right in Bricksburg, the bold devils, and had gone to capture them. They’d been expecting a fight, but not for someone to scream “You’ll never catch me alive!” (so horribly cliché, and Bad Cop had rolled his eyes so hard at that) and throw a grenade at them, or for their bots to leap into action and throw it back before it exploded them. As grateful as they’d been for Freddie saving their life, it resulted in the deaths of several Master Builders, and severe injury of the rest.

“You were one of the injured…”

The man gave him a toothy, terrifying grin. “I was one of the deceased.”

“Oh God.” Good Cop wasn’t a proud man. He turned tail and ran. Haunting laughter followed him the rest of the way down the hall.

When he felt he’d put sufficient distance between himself and the Master Builder, he ducked into an unlocked room and slammed the door shut, panting heavily and trying to get his shaking under control. “Oh, God. Should’ve listened to Kitty and Benny…!” He rubbed at his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. This was… nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. He’d recently been a ghost for a short while, after all. “Pull yourself together, idiot… It’s just one more night in Purgatory…”

So. A hotel full of ghosts, likely all Master Builders like the one he’d just met. And two of the men responsible for their deaths trapped inside.

He really had to find Sirius before things got any worse.

A scream from somewhere in the distance about made his heart stop. He tore back out of the room, heading in its direction. It sounded like it was coming from the hallway he’d met the dead Master Builder in, but where he was certain there was a corner, he found a wall. He caught himself before he ran into it, blinking uncomprehendingly at it. “I could swear I just came through here…” He took a few steps back and glanced around, baffled.

The whole hallway had changed.

“Of course,” he muttered to himself. “There’s ghosts, why not a shapeshifting hotel? Makes perfect sense.” The screaming had changed, and it sounded like someone shouting. Though he couldn’t make out the words, he knew the voice well enough. “Sir!!” He heard another shout in response to his call, still too muffled to hear clearly, but he could make out three syllables. His name. Another scream, this one pained. “Oh God. I’m coming, Sir, just hang on!” He hurried back down the hall, looking for any way out. “I’m coming…”

There was a yelp, and he must have been getting closer, because now he could hear footsteps. Sirius rounded the corner before he reached it- when did he get so fast- nearly bowling him over, but he stayed upright, catching his boss and getting a good look at him.

He was a mess, eyes wild and hair mussed from his desperate attempts to escape, his nice gray suit in tatters and stained with blood, looking like he’d been sliced by claws. Good Cop was horrified. “Oh! Oh Alastar, thank God- but- how-?!” He twisted back the way he came, looking utterly perplexed, then back at Alastar.

“What kind of monster have they let loose in here?”

“Not a monster,” Sirius muttered back, letting out a whimper as he moved to hide behind the cop, clinging to his shirt. Something was coming.

Focus, Good Cop reminded himself, raising his arm to throw up a ward. Sirius peeked around him, eyes wide in wonder, before hiding again as the ‘monster’ in question came around the corner. There was a snarl as it collided with the ward. For a moment, his heart soared- not dead, not dead!- but then crashed hard when it registered just what was happening.

“Oh Keelan, no…”

It was impossible to reconcile his sweet little brother with this slavering thing clawing at the wall of magic between them. “What the heck is going on?”

“He keeps screaming that I killed you, but-”

“But I’m right here! Keelan, look at me! I’m not dead!” But his brother paid him no heed, behaving as though he wasn’t even there.

“I think someone’s messed with his head! He keeps saying I erased you- which, okay yeah, that happened, but he thinks I erased Cary too!” Sirius explained, peeking around him again. “It was a trap all along. Somebody wanted us out here, alone and far away from any help.”

Good Cop swallowed down his heartbreak. He’d have to figure out how to help Keelan later. But at least now he knew they’d only been separated, not killed, which meant Bad Cop was around somewhere as well. He raised both hands and pushed, and Keelan screamed as the ward wrapped around him, pushing him back and dazing him. Good Cop wasted no time in grabbing Sirius’ arm and dragging him along back the way they’d come. “Ow, take it easy!” his boss complained, wincing at the tight grip over his injuries. Good Cop ignored him for the time being; he felt bad that he was hurting Sirius further, but it couldn’t be helped for the moment. He turned down another hall. “Cripes, this place is a funhouse,” he heard Sirius mutter. “This wasn’t here before.”

Good Cop found another unlocked room and yanked Sirius into it, shutting the door and locking it before grabbing the chair sitting by the dresser and wedging it under the handle. He gestured for Sirius to remain silent when the President looked ready to start yelling at him. He shut his mouth at Good Cop’s serious look and nodded, eyes wide. Instead he worked on calming his breathing- Keelan would surely hear his harsh panting.

After a couple minutes they heard footsteps, and the door handle jiggled as someone on the other side tried it. Sirius held his breath, eyes screwed shut as he silently prayed. The figure moved on to try the next door. Good Cop crept toward the door- Sirius had always marveled at how they were able to move so quietly, for being such big guys- and listened. After a few more minutes, he seemed satisfied, and removed the chair and locks to take a look outside. “All clear,” he whispered after a minute. Even so, he took care to redo the locks and replace the chair before coming to the bed where Sirius sat, still trembling.

“This is so wild,” the President murmured, raking his fingers through his hair and tugging at it. “First Keelan goes off the deep end, then I find out you guys actually got separated- whoever this ‘Boss’ is, is scary powerful.” Good Cop chewed his lip in worry; Sirius’ injuries would have to wait until they found a first aid kit. If they ever did. He kind of doubted such a thing even existed in this place. He took a moment to yank the comforter off the other bed and wrap it around him, hoping to at least calm his nerves.

“You said this was a trap. How did you figure that out?” His voice was gentle, but still held a familiar no-nonsense edge. “What else do you know?”

Sirius stopped pulling at his hair, tugging the blanket more tightly around himself. “Uh. I met a girl while you guys were sleeping not like that,” he hissed as Good Cop raised his eyebrows at that statement, starting to grin. “Don’t even. She’s like half my age, it’s just creepy. But she told me her ‘boss’ has been plotting this for ten years, and was just freed this summer.” Good Cop was very silent for a minute. “Alastar…?”

The cop handed over the crowbar he held. “That’s iron. Repels most things of supernatural and paranormal nature,” he explained at Sirius’ bemused look.

“What makes you so sure anything supernatural is going on?” Good Cop looked pointedly toward the door, then back at him. “Okay, point taken.”

“Do you remember what happened, ten years ago? Something big.”

“Well, I don’t remember you guys making any notorious captures…”

“We didn’t,” Good Cop agreed, grim. “But we did kill someone.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. “You don’t mean-”

“Yeah, I do. This ‘boss’ wasn’t released from prison, or the Think Tank, he was released from Purgatory. When you guys opened the Gate to bring me back.”

“…Shit. The Ringmaster.”

[ravendruid]

I don't want to be alone tonight

This text originated from the scene on episode 42, and then @tiamat-zx sent this prompt, which I added to what I had already written. This text contains spoilers for Keyleth and Vax's meeting in Vox Machina Origins, Volume 1, and episodes 39-42 of campaign 1. This means a lot to me, and I hope you all enjoy it <3

Keyleth paced around in her room, much emptier and colder than it had been for the previous weeks. Her bed had been taken down to the temple to offer some sort of comfort to the refugees, so all she had was a small cot and a pile of blankets. It didn’t bother her, she knew that she could use her beast shape to transform into Minxie and curl up on the ground for the night and that she would be fine. 

Catha was high in the sky, and her armor lay on the ground by the cot, as she had recently taken it off to change her dirty, blood-stained clothes. Keyleth didn’t trust the calmness of the night, not while she could see the light of embers in the direction of Emon, so she decided that it would be best if she slept with her armor. She was about to pick it up when there was a soft knock on her door, so soft she thought she had imagined it.

Vax held his breath. He hadn’t heard any noise from the other side of the door that would let him know Keyleth had heard him or that she was awake at all, and he was about to turn around and leave when there was a soft creak of hinges. Keyleth’s green eyes peeked through the small gap between the wooden door and its frame, defiant at first but soft and caring when they landed on him. 

“Hi.” Her voice was silky soft and sweet like honey, and Vax thought he could die just from hearing it. He tried to muster the courage that had led him there, to her bedroom door at such a late hour, but suddenly his mind was empty of words. 

Keyleth examined Vax, standing in the hallway, still in his armor, with a dumbfounded look. The events of that day ran through her mind, the dealings with the Clasp and how Vax had asked her to burn the tattoo on his back. Was he in pain? Is that why he had gone to see her? But if that was the case, why hadn’t he gone to Pike?

“Hi. I don’t want to be alone tonight, do you?” He finally mustered.

Oh. That’s why.

“I haven’t been wanting to be alone most nights.” Keyleth answered before she stepped away and opened the door to let him in.

Vax stood bashfully in the middle of her room, watching her close and lock the door behind her and admiring how her hair fell in waves down her back. He could remember the first time they met in the swamp, she was a squirrel, and he thought he was hallucinating when he saw her wave at him. He thought of the first time she healed him, the warm green glow of nature on her palms, and all the other times after that, and how the feeling never changed or how it felt like home. 

Keyleth crossed the room before he could say anything and wrapped her arms around his torso, laying her head on the crook of his neck. Vax was taken aback by the sudden movement, but after the last couple days they had, he wasn’t entirely surprised by her assurance, and neither was Keyleth when he wrapped his arms around her and leaned his cheek against her head. 

“Will you stay tonight?” She asked. She realized she wanted him to stay tonight, the next night, and all nights to come, but she wasn’t ready to let him know. Not yet.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He wanted nothing more than to stay with her forever, to hold her in his arms and never let go, but the time wasn’t right, and he would not force it. 

Keyleth’s soft, deft fingers found the buckled straps of his armor, and while they both wore the same kind of leather armor, Vax couldn’t hide a gasp of surprise as she started undoing them with practiced ease, letting it fall onto the floor next to hers.

A massive ancient red dragon was sitting on Emon, the city capital of Tal’Dorei, built hundreds of years ago, now crumbled to dust. The danger was real and close to home, closer to Vax and Keyleth, who had already suffered so much pain at the claws of Thordak himself, but neither of them wanted to think or talk about it. They felt safe with each other. Vax was a lethal shadow who could jump in on their enemies without a sound, while Keyleth was single-handedly capable of summoning lightning and storms, of taming rivers and flames, of moving mountains, and of flying on the brightest of the blue skies.

They lay together on the blankets, the cot not big enough for both, their faces so close that they could feel the other’s warm breath on their lips. Keyleth wrapped one arm around Vax’s torso and slid her hand inside his shirt, resting it on the burn mark between his shoulder blades.

“Does it hurt?” She asked softly. Vax shook his head. If you’ll have me, I’m yours, he had told her, and now he had her mark on his body. Knowing he loved her so much as to have her imprint on his body made her feel dizzy, like she had just woken up from a dream. No one had ever loved her like that. She never thought it was possible at all, and why would she? She was awkward and clumsy, others expected greatness from her, but she was too scared to fail, to disappoint them, to lead them astray. She was destined to a life of loneliness, to witness the death of those she loved and the birth and death of those she would learn to love afterward.

“Stop it.” Vax could see the train of thoughts in her eyes. “You’re amazing and strong, Kiki. You’re kind and gentle, and you will be a great leader to your people one day.”

Vax always knew what to say, he always knew what she was thinking and how to stop the bad thoughts. He brought a sense of calmness to her that she couldn’t describe, as if the faith he had in her was all she needed to move on. It was astonishing how sometimes he placed his faith in her so blindly and made her feel like some divine being.

“I love you.” Vax whispered. Keyleth’s eyes filled with joy, and her heart swelled with love. She might not be ready to say it back out loud but after all that had happened, she knew she couldn’t wait a second longer without him knowing how she felt, so she slowly closed whatever distance was between their mouths and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Vax’s lips, lingering for longer than either of them expected. 

While they knew the end could come in the dead of night, they were sure that they were safe within the other’s embrace, and that night the only presence of a nightmare was the one roaring outside Greyskull Keep’s walls.

[tybaltsjuliet]

Speaking of Snow White (completely agree with all your posts btw, and I guess that my unpopular opinion is that Rachel's Snow >>>>>>> Lego Snow no matter how botched the execution in the movie might end up being, because Lego Snow is just. A damn JOKE. She's not meant to be badass, she's meant to be laughed at. At least Rachel will play her Snow as an actual character), you've mentioned in the past that she's in your top 3 Disney princesses. If you don't mind, what would your complete ranking be, and the reasons for each placement?

oh, that is a great point. yeah, i thought the lego stuff was cute when i first saw sets of it on here, but it is jokes! it was deeply annoying to see people saying stuff like, “oh, this is doing snow a thousand times better than the live action will!” BE FOR REAL.

i always love an excuse to ramble about my princess opinions! for the sake of a framework, i am ranking using the ~Official Disney Princess~ lineup... with the inclusion of a certain asterisked three who have been booted from the same for what i consider arbitrary and silly reasons.

needless to say, this got long as all hell.

01. belle. always and forever thee princess to me.

i love her gothic heroine sensibilities. i love that within, like, three minutes of meeting her we hear her gush about fairy tales as many times and i love her “daily mean song” because i also grew up in an anti-intellectual small town and it is a mood. i love that she does the noble thing and gets upset about doing it even if it was noble, and i love that she takes off after the west wing, “promise or no promise!” because fuck that situation. i love that she comes back but only after the beast has proven that there is something good in him after all, and because the other option was leaving him to die and she is not gonna do that. i love how emotionally intelligent she is - the way she recognizes when the beast is on his self-improvement tour, for instance, and is happy to meet him where he is, because she knows the effort is being made (the drinking from the bowls together!). i love how fearless she is, and the way she stands her ground with gaston and the beast alike.

i think belle is simply the best-written disney princess there is, (thank you, linda woolverton), and she is one of the best examples of a character who resonates with modern audiences without just being a mouthpiece for “good” 20th century opinions in a fantasy pseudohistorical setting.

02. snow white. even if she does not have much of an *arc*, she has so much personality and i love that about her! the way she fusses with her hair a little before going out to see the prince on the balcony. the orphan solidarity she expresses with the bird who fell from its nest and the “children” in the cottage. the way her first impulse, after the nightmare woods, is to comfort the animals she might have startled. that the artists and writers took care to put all that personality in, when there was so much else to worry about in every frame for this fairly unprecedented work of art, is wonderful to me.

there is such a unique quality to her look and her voice, too. the last, what, 30 years of broadway belting princesses has kind of lost its charm for me, and it is always so refreshing to hear adriana caselotti’s voice. and i can almost make as good a case for her as a gothic heroine princess as i can for belle!

and, look - despite my frequently successful efforts to clamp down my worst disney adult impulses, i am always going to be one of those people who is kind of precious and weird about walt disney. ergo, a good part of my love for snow white is that she is Walt’s Original. obviously, i do not think that makes her or her movie untouchable, but the fact that she was walt’s folly who turned into the cornerstone of this magic kingdom - that does make her special to me.

03. esmeralda*, the first of those who was a disney princess officially for a while, and no longer is, but remains so in my heart.

this, i think, is the most important illustrative fact about esmeralda. she carries a knife under her skirts. she is repeatedly menaced and threatened, and fights back admirably with her brains and her words (and a candlestick), but the only time we see her use that knife is in defense of another person being persecuted by a mob, in an act that is as compassionate as it is just.

i think both factions of The Discourse - the people who girlboss their warrior princesses too close to the sun, and the people who think that suggesting a princess have more agency is a personal attack on them because they like to bake things - could stand to meditate for a while upon that.

04. mulan. i am an army brat who grew up with the uncomfortable feeling that i should have been a son, for what i know now to be both dad reasons *and* queer reasons, so i am not even a little bit capable of being normal about mulan. (sound off, fellow queer children who grew up feeling A Way about “reflection.”)

i think she is one of the smartest disney princesses, too, and that is an underrated quality in her! from the notes on her arm for the matchmaker meeting (obviously, did not work out, but she was still working smarter, not harder!), to winning the pillar, to her strategy at the emperor’s palace. she also has the honor of being the one disney princess whose movie i consider a genuine win for feminism.

05. pocahontas. of course, there are the problematics of her movie’s existence at all, but, in a vacuum, i adore her. i think we actually desperately need more disney princesses who are reckless, weird mystics whose family and friends all think they’re a lunatic. that is representative of Me.

pocahontas and esmeralda were both extremely important childhood role models to me in speaking truth to power, too, which i needed in my catholic conservative household. and i feel about “colors of the wind” the way i feel about “it’s a small world.” a little simplistic? sure. but it is making a point that the world would do well to take in, and you can bet that it is a point i want my future children to understand early and well.

- also. let it be known that i fucking love journey to a new world. i ate UP the drama as a kid. rolfe >>> smith, and ratcliff’s plotting for the hunt ball makes me so angry because it is perfect. of course he would think of bear baiting. of course he knows that pocahontas would be pissed and say something about it! she was right to do so! i still think regularly about how compelling and tragic she looked in the tower, with her fancy english gown ruined and her hair flowing around her. the gothic heroine of it all.

06. cinderella. i feel like the discourse has given her a harder time than even snow white, on all sides, but she still comes out of it smiling and graciously winning at life because she is cinderella and that is what she DOES. i wasn’t able to fight back or run away in the house i grew up in, either, but i took her words to heart: “they can’t order me to stop dreaming.” i also took to heart that not even the wickedest families can stop you from being a smartass when you feel like it :)

but, most of all, i love cinderella for reminding those of us who are suffering that, when the chance comes for something beautiful, you take it. even if you have to go back to real life the next day; even if you think it sounds too good to be true. you never know when a miracle will come, and it is on you to take every opportunity for one to present itself.

(all that said... cinderella is the only instance where i actually kind of like her live-action characterization, and the live-action film overall, better than the original! i know many people think the live-action ella was a lot more of a doormat than the animated cinderella, but i don’t feel that way at all; they just handle their situations differently, and the timelines of their loss were different enough that i can understand why that would be the case.)

07. elsa*. diversity win! this snow queen is disney’s first mentally ill princess! and, oh, boy, did that mean a lot to me while i was in the early throes of what turned out to be some fairly severe undiagnosed ill. really, my favorite thing about elsa is what a wreck she is for so much of the movie. i like it when disney chooses not to pull any punches about showing their princesses at their lowest (see also cinderella bawling in the garden), because it makes their healing that much sweeter.

08. tiana. she is from the 1920s! she is from new orleans! she is an entrepreneur! all things i adore unreservedly about her! but i simply refuse to believe she was fully prepared to give up all that dream and drive and be a damn frog forever in the damn swamp forever because ~love~. not on your flat-bottomed stove, disney.

09. ariel. i began to like ariel a lot more when i stopped seeing her as another example of the rebellious princess trope, which i dislike, and started seeing her as a pocahontas-level weirdo. the way she is willing to run headfirst into the shadiest situation since the hag showed up at snow white’s window, just to get to (basically) another planet and learn about (basically) alien life... she is just like me fr :)

10. jasmine. i feel like she has a little less personality than her other renaissance-era comrades, and, as suggested with ariel, i am a hard sell on the rebellious princess trope, doubly so when it is just about feeling ~so trapped~ in your beautiful palace with every luxury. but! i do love her interactions with aladdin, and she gets extra credit for two things in particular.

the first is that i do have to hand it to her for planting the idea in child me’s head that... sometimes... heroines can KISS the villains. intriguing.

the second is the time my family took a trip to epcot when i was newly in the agony of braces, which - double agony - had not been installed on my teeth correctly. one afternoon, i was picking my way through whatever i could stand to chew at akershus. jasmine came over to our table, and the first thing she said to me was, “oh! you have jewels on your teeth! how beautiful!” the confidence and joy that gave to awkward 12-year-old me is beyond describing. i beamed through the pain in every photo for the rest of the trip, to show off my jewels.

11. aurora. i feel bad that she did not make the top 10, but she really just does not get a lot to do! i do like what we get of her, and there is no arguing with mary costa as one of the best voices in disney history. i will leave this post here as further reasoning for aurora.

12. merida. i like her arc and i love her design. THAT HAIR. i just wish her movie was a little different. i like it, too, but i will always mourn the higher fantasy kind of story we were originally promised with the bear and the bow.

13. rapunzel. i do not have strong opinions for her; i do not have strong opinions against her. i like a good lost princess story and she is cute, but tangled is also where i really started feeling the heart kind of leaving the brand. we all should have foreseen the worst, what with the quips.

14. raya. i do not think about her or her movie that much, and when i do, i am mostly thinking about sisu, but kelly marie tran’s performance was really good and i was just so happy to see a new, original fantasy story come out of this studio. it’s been 84 years, et cetera. also... something, something, disney’s first LGBTQ character, now if only i could get people to start shipping her with her weird dragon girlfriend instead of the girl who spends the whole movie trying to kill her.

15. anna*. i have to say, she has grown on me since i first saw frozen...but that still makes her only my third favorite character in frozen, out of the three total characters i give a damn about it. she gets a little credit for the way she and elsa feed my gothic siblings obsession, but that has less to do with anna as she is and more to do with the anna i made up in my head. i was coming around to her more in the sequel, for a little while, but i hated the ending they gave elsa so much that it made me forget any goodwill i developed.

16. moana. another one that i really do not think about much at all, except i liked her movie WAY less than i liked raya and the last dragon. crazy to me that the heroine with a pandering line for the too-cool 21st-century audience about how she’s NOT a princess, ACTUALLY, is in the lineup, but the only thing disney cares about more than character integrity is making a fortune off as much marketing to little girls as possible.

[mediumsizedwildcat]

Fallen

originally posted Jul 9, 2022 on my deactivated blog (mediumsizedwildcat)

masterlist | stranger things m.list

a/n: first uploaded Eddie fic and it's an Upside Down drabble as if I don't have what feels like 500+ smut wips (/jokingly)

summary: college had ripped you from Eddie's arms before, however, when he found you, he didn't plan on allowing the Upside Down to let it do the same

cw: angst, fluff, reader-insert, no use of Y/N, pet names, cuddling with Eddie, Eddie taking care of you, dying of thirst and hunger is probably not medically accurate

Eddie Munson x reader | 800 words

*MDNI

— ☾ —

First it had been college that ripped you apart, made you move out from Hawkins and your parent’s. Worst of all, you had to leave Eddie behind.

You came home to surprise your family, but mostly you wanted to see him. So, your first stop was supposed to be Eddie’s trailer.

You were on your way over, when the earth started shaking. Suddenly, the street opened up beneath you, leaving you with nothing but the feeling of falling. Falling from high places in dreams was bad enough, but this, you were sure, wasn’t a dream. You hoped it was a nightmare because if it wasn’t, you were going to slam on the ground and probably die in the most painful way imaginable right now.

Just when the hairs on your back started to stand up and you felt something behind you, everything turned black.

The first few days in this warped version of Hawkins were terrifying. You didn’t find anything you could eat, let alone drink, and every time you fell asleep, you were plagued with nightmares. They got worse the more time went by, most of them showed you what you were sure was a lie: Eddie’s death.

After a week, you were barely awake, thirst and hunger tearing at your life. However, there was something about this place that didn’t let you die. As if it wanted you alive.

But what for? You had seen the things lurking in the dark, you had seen the people on the other side of the fissures in the sky, you had screamed at them for help and they didn’t hear you. At least that’s what you chose to believe, it felt better than thinking that they ignored your cries for help.

What finally woke you up, though, wasn’t the dark, the tentacles, the monsters, or the fissures. It was the crackling of a fire, the smell of burning wood and its smoke.

Your eyes fluttered open and if you weren’t so damn tired, your body would’ve switched into fight or flight. When you spotted the figure sat by the fire, stoking it, your brain released a tiny bit of adrenaline, enough to shock you awake and get you to your feet.

You half-expected the figure to jump at the sudden sound, but instead its head turned slowly, until it was facing you. That was when the adrenaline passed and you were sure it was a hallucination.

“You’re awake,” he smiled gently, big brown eyes fixated on you. But he didn’t move any further, and you thought maybe he’d fade away if he did.

So you sat back down and hugged yourself, shivering at the cold, or perhaps out of fatigue, you didn’t know. You sighed, mumbling your words as you couldn’t muster the strength to be any louder. “Is this another kind of torture?”

Eddie frowned, “He’s torturing you?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” You took a deep breath, eyes falling close, “You’re probably one of his…”

Eddie crawled over to you when you trailed off and started cradling you, one hand rummaging through a duffel bag. He pulled out a bottle of water, opened it and sat it on your lips. “Drink,” he instructed softly.

Though you were too weak to even hold the bottle, as soon as the water seeped past your lips, your body started lapping it up, acting as though the water would vanish any second. Instead, Eddie opened a second bottle and held it for you, too, until he was sure you had enough. Still cradling you, he pulled you close enough to tug his leather jacket around you.

You nuzzled your face into his chest, mumbled a thank you and fell asleep again.

This time when you woke up, you heard a steady heartbeat and had your arms wrapped around a torso, someone’s breath hitting your head. You pulled back a little, straightened your back out and gasped when you recognized him.

“Eds,” you muttered, eyes welling up.

The metalhead stirred, eyes blinking open, and he smiled gently. “Hey there, sleepyhead,” he whispered, a rasp in his voice.

“How did you-? What are you-? How-?” You sighed and shook your head, too overwhelmed and tired to form a full sentence.

“What? What is it?” He straightened out, too, hands landing on your face, searching for a clue of what could be wrong.

When your stomach murred, he almost burst into laughter. It was the most beautiful thing you had witnessed in days, a light in this dark, warped world. As usual, his smile made you smile and you felt some weight fading from your heart.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie shifted around on the ground so he could keep holding you. “I found some stuff we can heat up for you to eat. I’ll take care of you.”

— ☾ —

don't forget to reblog to support writers & artists

[fictionplumis]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon, health issues suck🍎🍏🍫

Could you do a smlk rant on Koseff & Estrik?

Thank you, I hope so too!

So Koseff was originally my answer to how can I play Vernon Roche in DnD, so he's a military commander (2 levels of Barbarian, and the rest as a Battle Master Fighter) whose regime fell and he just couldn't handle that, so he did the only thing he could and joined an underground resistance group dedicated to usurp the usurper and put the rightful heir back on the throne. If I ever used him in a campaign, he would be there because it pertains to some mission he's on for the group.

But this whole thing has be dragged out for so long, he's not a young man anymore, and it doesn't seem likely that resistance is going to make much progress. He's tired, he's lost a lot of people, he would like to call it quits, but then what would he do? And he's the most experienced and competent person left in the resistance, they would likely die without him, so he's grumpy and tired but he just keeps going, trying to command any group he's with like it's a military operation and stubbornly bossing people around if only because then it's on him if they die, and no one else has to bear that guilt. What's more death on his head?

Now Estrik...

Estrik is my useless boy. He's a College of Eloquence bard, not that he knows that, and if you asked him he would probably lie and tell you whatever he thought you would find most impressive.

I basically designed this bard to do one thing, and one thing only: Lie.

If I used him in compaign, he would be in the group because his con artist ass saw someone in the group and for the first time in his life, fell in love. HARD. And he so he goes over and pretends to be a great adventurer who love to help out, all because he wants to get to know this person. He has never cared about anyone in his life, but this person... This person is the love of his life, and he has never wanted anything more in his life than to be around this person.

Of course, his story will fall apart the second they get into trouble, but my man Estrik is USELESS. He has a dagger he barely knows how to use and is a coward, and the only reason he doesn't bolt and save his own ass is that he's in LOVE.

He won't actually be that useless, though, because he can use magic. He just doesn't realize it. His magic is invisible, and reacts to his emotions, and I would have to talk to a DM about this because I know there's an mechanic where you cast spells that no one notices, but bards don't have it, so it's more like EVERYONE ELSE knows he's doing magic even if its not visible, he's just the idiot that laughs it off.

That will a thing with him. No matter how much evidence is presented, he will not believe he did magic. I've gone through the bard spell list and make a list of all the spells someone could theoretically cast in a way that's plausible to be not on purpose. Like Cutting Words or Vicious Mockery, where he just yells insults and it does stuff. Or when someone gets hurt and he panics and tells them to stop getting hurt, not realizing that just healed them.

As far as him being in love, I'll leave it up to the other player who agrees with this whether or not the feelings are ever eventually returned, but Estrik really just wants to be around for no other reason than to be around them, in whatever capacity they'll let him, and even makes an effort to not lie to them. Though he is intrinsically selfish and really only cares about the rest of the group from the perspective of "it would hurt the person I love if you got hurt, so now you're not allowed to get hurt."

[osovereign]

at way of itachi introducing himself, kratos saw no need to linger amongst the pair any longer, moving away to leave the uchiha and celestial alone, doing his routine due diligence of patrolling the expansive boscage. granting reprise on what to do next with the cards now in his deck. unlike before this was something he hadn’t calculated ( anything he did was well thought out and with intense care ): but this reaction to seeing the once—still inquisitive child having a gaze that poured a million ghost eyes into anyone who took a look, reminded kratos that as otherworldly as his clan surname bore, in all creates did exist what mortality and what it meant to be human: the state of emotion and caring for a fellow man. ❛ no need to prostate, itachi. though, i would like to do far more than clean it, if i may. ❜ martel kept her voice gentle and calming, her vocal coming out more as a hymn of gospel than spoken word. delicately did the hands of a mythic phenomenon healer work its way across itachi’s body, feeling his chakra network and muttering to herself all the things her mouth not relay ( eyes a pellucid window filled with dejection ): and she gets to work after assessing the situation enough. 

turning away from the clan killer for a moment, she gives his hand a tight squeeze of reassurance before moving towards the aqueduct, grabbing too a small bucket and cloth. martel returns, making the hand seal of the hare before the water begins to glow as a deity, her own chakra being channeled within it to infuse as much of her supernatural prowess within. dipping the cloth into the bucket, she is careful with her treatment ( as to not irritate the infection more ): removing all matters of puss, the infection caused inflammation, and any other obstructions that would keep her from seeing the damaged socket. pleased with her moments she gave another compassionate beam before going once again to put away her supplies. ❛ i did as much as i could, if only i had more proper facilities here. alas, if my efforts could ease your pains then all is well. ❜ the tremor is as the softest velvets, as cherished as the embrace of a lover. corners of her mouth turning flat lined at the very heavy question inquiries by the adolescent. it was as if asking one to summarize the holy texts of genesis to revelations and beyond.

as she had spoke, kratos took the opportunity to shift back into view, caring to stay closer to a conifer off to the side, bough laden with blossoms of soon to be life giving fruits. ❛ i am of human blood, even if only partly. ❜ so what if he was meant to be classified, even amongst his long bygone clan kratos had always been a strictly confidential existence—it was only further amplified when he was first called as the ‘boy, then man, who could not die.’ the people of the aurion clan had long since been wiped out. now, he was as a fallacy, as an imperishable living artifact: who’d seen countless nations raise and fall. kratos aurion could say his life was as allegory, his ability to not die was seen by allies as a divine blessing and by enemies the fore coming of a hellish catastrophe. but, if you asked him? he’d simply recall the times of being a frightened child torn limb from limb crying upon the universe as to why he could not die, why he could not be spared from an endless cycle from inconceivable torment and exertion. 

❛ martel and by extension her younger brother, mithos where originally not of this world. though she and he are far older than i. there once was a clan from the lands that would eventually become known as lighting. it was there that a yesteryear myth was given life: a celestial being fell in love with a mortal—the beginnings of my clan, by the surname aurion, its meaning ‘on the morrow’ or ‘morning’ fitting as we carried a moniker of ‘those that cannot die’. ❜ he pauses, folding his arms together just so. besides the raikage no one else of the shinobi world knew of his background, for fear of having more world wars besides that of just tailed beast might. conceivably it might be why kratos felt the need to share what was never muttered in sunday school. maybe it was because he saw so much of himself in this world-weary stripling.

❛ between the natural characteristics of my clan, much like your sharingan are hereditary. though i was always different even amongst my kin, born with a special kekkei genkai; combined with my ability, i cannot be killed and have lived for many millennia. ❜ kratos would not blame itachi for not believing. for he too would be a septic had this not been his actual life and knowing of martel, mithos and of celestial beings for years. it was a lot to take in, that was for sure.

ㅤKratos was the name, the metronome of sorts, that guided his steps along the forest for the next upcoming days; echoing in his mind as Itachi both tried to make sense of it and allowed himself to occasionally sink back into memories of days together far easier and far kinder. A name that sounded... unlike any other he'd heard before. It sounded strange and noble and nigh-unreachable, like a book placed atop a very tall shelf. Yet it'd been offered in the absence of any clan surname, which, at the same time, questioned that premise of nobility. Ask one question and you shall be gifted three more, it'd always been like this with Mystery Sir - the young Uchiha child would ask about the stars above only to then be left wondering about fauna and flora, geography of faraway lands, lore and mythos of people not alive anymore. And it felt oddly comforting, to realize some things remained as before [preserved in that innocence] even as the rest of the world fell to bits and pieces.

ㅤLulled by the sound of that name and by the musings it provoked, with sprinkles of bone-deep/soul-deep exhaustion and a horrible urge to stay dissociated from reality as a whole, it was simple enough to just let his feet carry him. Follow Kratos, trust him to know the way and the why such way was important, and hours seemed to melt into one another seamlessly. By the time they arrived at their destination, Itachi was half-convinced he'd dreamed the whole tragedy - if only it wasn't for the very real, very palpable aching still ruthlessly lodged on the left side of his face. Was that not why they'd headed this way, to start with? Kratos did emphasize that he'd only be able to do as much to tend to the nasty wound.

ㅤAnother exquisite name given, then, as the lady Martel revealed herself and easily stole every ounce of attention. To call her gorgeous would have been a lazy understatement; perhaps ethereal suited her best, what with how she seemed to blend with the surrounding nature. As she and Kratos greeted each other as old friends, Itachi stayed behind and kept silent for a tad longer, instead observing and making note of everything of interest. Her chakra, much like Kratos', was unique in ways that words also failed to adequately describe; both of them felt like relics, like the kind of lost treasure to be found inside a chest buried meters and meters beneath the soil with an X marking the spot. How very strange, and how very fascinating. If only they could have met under different, better circumstances.

«Thank you for your kindness, and it is an honor to meet you.»

ㅤFinally speaking, though his voice came out quiet and a touch too defensive [given the cruelty he'd so recently endured, could he truly be blamed?], the young shinobi made himself bow respectfully as he offered his own name back. «Uchiha,» still force of habit, to speak the clan name first; a clan gone and laid to rot, «Itachi.».

And now what?

ㅤShould he explain what ailed him, should he wait for Kratos to do it himself? For the time being, he followed Martel and entrusted himself entirely to the gentle lady; his steps unnaturally calculated, as he tried his best to not trip on anything or accidentally knock over any belongings. Kratos has seen enough of it during their journey, and Martel surely didn't need her home wrecked. And, well... with this in mind, perhaps the best, indeed, would be to simply brush his hair aside and let the grotesque injury speak for itself. Which he did, then, once Martel's attention was focused on his face. Kratos' emergency healing had helped a great deal and, by far, it didn't look as infected as it'd been back then. Scar tissue was already building all over and around the now hollow eye socket, despite some patches of flesh still left red and angry and raw.

ㅤ«If you could properly clean it, please, I'd be very grateful. All else I can deal with.» What other choice did he have, truly? Adapt and keep moving on, or give up and allow the cowardly scum to win. «As for questions... I am admittedly quite curious, but I would not like to intrude. I first met Kratos-san when I was much younger but, whereas I soon realized he was different than most people, I could never have guessed that such differences ran so deep. Maybe as far as his very human nature...?»

Hopefully, conveyed in a way that was not disrespectful.

Mystery Sir still very much fell in the friend category, after all. Human or not.

[jonah-lee-poetry]

her- jonah

I hurt so much inside why do i feel like this again

I hurt so much

Why does my pain not matter

Is it because I'm hurting on the inside where nobody can see??

Why am i not taken seriously

“You're lazy”

“You're not depressed”

“Have you tried going outside”

“Just live laugh love”

I'm not lazy

I am depressed

Going outside won't help

And live laugh love isn't something i can do anymore

I can't live with my trauma

But i can't live without it

Just because i have past trauma doesn't mean I can't live laugh love

It's just harder to live laugh and love

I barely keep myself alive, i only laugh to hide my pain

And i cant love myself when i think its my fault it happened to me

I hurt

So much

And nobody

Sees it

I'm not tired i'm depressed

I'm not sleeping because every thought i think

Is harmful to myself

I shouldn't be thinking about that but i am

It hurts so much to think there was something i could have done to keep her here and living

But i couldn't

I couldn't stop thinking about that day

1st mod

“She's gone”

I could have stayed with her

I could have held her close

I could have…

I could do something to keep her but i didn't

I couldn't

I didn't know

Because she never said

And now she's gone

“Sleeping pills”

“Too many antidepressants”

She was numb and hurting at the same time

And i was too blind to notice

She was falling and falling and i couldn't do anything but watch as she fell into the abyss

The deep dark abyss

Why couldn't i have just stayed

She hugged me

“I love you” she said

I hope she's home now with no pain in her heart

No soul to be broken

Why didn't she tell me

Now it's my fault

I should have stayed

I hurt inside

To think there was something I could have done and didn't do it

Would she still be here if i stayed

Or would she die after

“Please stay, skip this one class and stay with me”

And i told her i couldn't

“Pleaseee”

Hugged her and walked off

I barely heard her I love you

God i wish i had more time with her

So many memories

So many dreams

Im sorry lizzie

I couldn't be there to help

Why can't i just accept it

And move on

I feel like its all my fault

Even when it wasn't

I didn't get to say goodbye

I don't even know where she's buried

I can never say goodbye

It turns out she took them before I got there

Her last dying breath was to tell me she loved me

And i barely heard it

And i don't think i said it back

And that's the worst part is i didn't say it back

Why can't i deal with this

Why can't i just breathe

Why didn't she tell me

I hurt so much inside

She hurt worse

And didn't tell me

I want to move on but i can't because every thought i think is her

Because i told her i couldn't be there

Why won't she leave

I can really see her and interact with her

But

Shes

Not

Real

Shes

Not

There

Why did she do it and why cant she just be here

I need her here more than ever

“In the school bathroom”

They covered it up

this is my original work