#and I hope that you never have to suffer at the hands of an unjust god

[koldefingre]

Jason Reyna obsessing rn

(They could’ve gotten to know each other AGAIN. They could’ve gotten to find whatever friendship they had left and relight it. They could’ve been happy)

[abigail-pent]

Thoughts on rereading NTN for the (idk probably 4th or 5th) time:

- John and Pal each have specific, one-on-one "nobody has the right" conversations with the perspective character. but John's version of "nobody has the right" ends with "to judge you for mass murder" and Pal's ends with "to tell you who to love"

- it's interesting that Pal says Pyrrha was "made to be immune to the blue light" because like... how *did* the Lyctors figure out that their cavs would protect their bodies and were immune to the RBs? maybe Pyrrha said something about this to Pal at some point? idk

- I feel like I somehow missed, before, that Cam and Pal showed the Oversight Body "the secret of the installation" and got the whole Sixth House to move via stele to Ur? Not just the Oversight Body, but the whole House!

- I think Nona is alternately dreaming herself into the pool scene as Harrow (day one) and dreaming herself as Alecto in the Tomb with Anastasia (day two). In the day two dream, she's ravenously hungry, there are red eyes all around (sort of like the glow worms in the Tomb), and she can't tell the difference between her hands and the other person's hands. The only reason I think she dreamed as Harrow the first time is because she said she saw the "picture face" - which is Gideon's face.

- I will never stop being fascinated by Pyrrha's description of how her trial was developed. The only people who practiced "overlapping" (winnowing/transference) in the trial were her and Gideon, and Mercy and Cris, because every time they did it they would need to replace the cavalier's brain fluid.

- I might never be okay again after reading "I don't let go. It's my one thing."

- Corona saying that she'll give Gideon's rapier back if she asks, but otherwise "finders keepers"... hmmm.... ominous

- "the Second House installation" was abandoned 3 months prior to the beginning of NTN

- Crown says her hair is naturally big and manageable

- it's really hitting me this time how happy Camilla is to be with Palamedes, to be Paul, even if it means no longer being herself. she says it to Pyrrha after she's shot and was together in her head with Palamedes for a little while - "it was good. we were happy." Crown says she knows Palamedes is sharing Camilla's body because Camilla is happy. she's a casualty of devotion. it's giving "for I cannot be mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine."

- "you and I don't even own our own souls" 👀👀 (not the first time this has jumped out to me, it's just so portentous!)

- interesting that Nona appears to mispronounce Born in the Morning's name to Hot Sauce, but then when Hot Sauce says it back to her she still hears it as "Born in the Morning."

- I'm not sure I really clocked it before but Hot Sauce is so vehemently anti-BoE ("traitors! fat cats! zombie lovers!") while at the same time being so devoted to Aim. She says that one of Born in the Morning's fathers is active in the group that runs the park cages, and distinguishes that pretty clearly from Blood of Eden. So even though We Suffer says that BoE is a "house with many rooms," the faction running the park cages (which I thought was Unjust Hope and Merv Wing, but maybe not) considers itself outside the house entirely. But even so, they remain loyal to Aim. Or it sort of looks like that, anyway, but then later Hot Sauce refers to Aim as "the asset" who "doesn't have to trust you" - so Hot Sauce thinks she's cultivating Aim as an asset, either for Unjust Hope or for someone totally outside of BoE. But then again, when Nona goes to the generator room where Hot Sauce is locked in, Hot Sauce basically says she didn't realize that Aim had a bodyguard; so I think she's trying to cultivate Aim as an asset for some entity totally outside BoE, without understanding who Aim is or why they are so important to BoE.

- Locked Tomb universe You're Wrong About episode idea: the so-called "cow wall" was not just cows, it was sheep too! but we all memory-holed the sheep! do sheep have best friends? do sheep exhibit mourning behavior for other sheep??

- the person who told Nona "once you've stepped in, you're in. this isn't the hokey pokey" is almost certainly John. it just really sounds like John when he's talking to Harrow in either HTN or the NTN dream sequences.

- Alecto wonders why "anything that hurt them only ever hurt briefly, but anger took such a long time to go away."

- John says it will take him ten thousand years to figure out the math the billionaires used for the FTL. Hmmmmmmm

- Pash's eyes are a "lovely hazelly yellowy-green color". Does that confirm that Wake carries the recessive lipochrome gene? Like I know Gideon's eyes couldn't be that way without it, but Wake either had the gene when she was born or she mutated to have it somehow. I think Pash's eyes suggest the former.

- Nona is dying because Alecto's soul is foreign to Harrow.

- Cam says Corona can't lie to Ianthe. Can't, not won't.

- in the Nine Houses, "fuck marry kill" becomes "marry kill reanimate"!!!!

- First Wake and then We Suffer are both desperate to break into the Locked Tomb. I'm not totally sure why, though. We understand from HTN that Wake is sent by Mercy and Augustine to try to break the Tomb open, but this is long before anybody knows what Alecto is to John. I suppose it's common knowledge in the Houses that the Tomb houses the "death of the emperor", and BoE would know that from all the Lyctors that defect to them over the millennia, so maybe that's it? They want to break in because they know it will make John vulnerable in some sense, but they don't know exactly how, and they don't really have a plan for what comes after?

- Corona telling Pyrrha she doesn't trust her or her motives, because she hasn't thought about her family in the last thousand years... meanwhile Cam and Pal and Nona are her family now... oof ow ouch

- Corona: "Nobody should ever trust me" I'M SORRY???

- Pal says Varun is transmitting something through the light spectrum and that "absorption through the eyes is worst for the brain" and it makes Nona think of something, but we never learn what. It seems to me that whatever it is, is related to the Lyctoral eye swap; but obviously I can't confirm.

- NOT NONA THINKING OF HOT SAUCE WHEN SHE'S TRYING TO WALK LIKE HARROWHARK!!! 😭😭😭

- I hate to admit it but Cassy is dead; but didn't she give instructions to the Sixth House 6000 years ago? What does that do to the timeline of the early Lyctors?

- Nona's scream in the barracks only affected people with necromantic bodies...

- Kiriona carries a rapier (the one John tried to give Harrow?) and an offhand with rivets

- Varun says that Alecto asked for help and he came. So maybe that's it - the RBs aren't chasing John for his own sake, or because he killed them or ate Alecto; they are chasing because Alecto asked for their help to stop him.

- I kind of think John saying he has plans for G--'s arm is a thing from immediately post-Resurrection. Like - except for G--, he has the body of every other member of his inner circle at what becomes the Canaan House facility after the Resurrection. He even has the body of "M--'s nun," although it looks like a pile of wet brown clothes and has not come through the water well. I think he needs their bodies to resurrect them; for G--, he starts with the copy arm and builds him a new body, and that's why it looks so fucked up and Protesilaus-like by the time of HTN.

- I really think John saying "God must be able to touch all of creation" is his real, full motive. The actual trillionaires themselves are long dead. Augustine is right, no one else has to be punished for what happened to humanity. John says he can't forget, but what he can't forget is that his dominion is not absolute. There are places and people that his power cannot touch. That's the real crime. The whole of everywhere isn't submitting to him, and that's what the punishment is for.

- Why doesn't the River want to touch the truck? The River has touched many RBs before, so it's not just that Varun and Alecto are on board.

- "You left them too long, my salt thing" feels like confirmation, to me, that the Tower is filled with the souls of the ten billion - whoever John didn't resurrect, or kept in reserve. We already know that souls in the River are supposed to go mad after a few months; Abigail and Palamedes are each shocked to find how long they've been bubbled in there. Imagine being a soul left in the River for ten thousand years! And then John resurrects some people - so, perhaps bringing their souls back from storage in the Tower, which may be a bubble of his making ("where did all the people go?" Alecto asked, "where have you put them?") - and he sends them to the Ninth, where the tongue things appear very shortly afterwards. I don't think that's a coincidence!

- Nona says she's seen "gray things" before once, and didn't feel up to seeing them again. That has to be from her time as Alecto.

- the chain of a kiss (between Alecto and Anastasia)! the favor of the chain (owed to Ianthe by Harrow)! is this anything????

- there are many, many thesis statements for the Locked Tomb set out in NTN. but I think a really underrated moment is when Gideon yells at Crux: "did you know I was God's child?" like - all the abuse he threw at her would not have been acceptable to throw at a child of God; but aren't we all children of God. it's sort of trite as a statement, but I adore how when Muir gives Gideon this line, it doesn't feel trite at all.

- Alecto finds the River "yet dead." Ten points to Abigail Pent!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Idea I've had for highschool sweetheart to make könih further rot in guilt because it's silly and amusing that I simply had to share <3

In cliques of the nature of his bullies there are always the internal dynamics people outside don't see. Like how one person is never felt true compliments, only back handed ones if not just straight up insults. Fed lies about how no one else would ever be friends with them, the punching bag of within the clique to keep the glue of the group strong and firm. Naturally it would have been the shyest and most bookish person within the group. But you've known these people your entire life they didn't always act like this they used to be kind and good. (right? they, they were kind once right?) so day dreams become an escape because how could anyone be friends with you? How could anyone tolerate you? Especially after you were around the clique, how could you ever approach the quiet boy who you knew they picked on. He must hate you. You longed to be friends (don't delude yourself you didn't wish to be friends you wished to be lovers but start small right). How could you ever approach him. And then graduation comes and you're abandoned. You can heal and begin to find your personhood. You can pick the shattered pieces of your confidence up off the floor and glue your life back together. It takes years but eventually you gather up the courage to reach out to the boy after he misses the reunion. You want to apologize for your passivity at least. You must after all. (You were children and both victims in your own right but how could this ever be spoken of? You must play the role of the bystander because who would ever believe otherwise? You may have healed but there are still cracks of course.) and much later maybe he learns all this, maybe he reads it in a journal or a letter addressed to him, maybe you finally get the courage to tell him. And the guilt and rot grows like fungus over his heart, eating his anger alive and churning out something like grief in return. Not that you'd noticed the anger, you just saw the second chance, of course he would be wary of you, of course he would have changed over the decade, but a decade of growth was only done on the foundation of the boy you loved before. How could you not love the man he's become now?

tee hee I'm going insane I hope you enjoy my little ramble

Yes yes yes the delicious reveal of how it was for her, that she wasn’t having a happy time in the clique, that she, too, was suffering! ❤️‍🩹

In my opinion König would eventually come to his senses. If we’re treating this scenario with actual seriousness, he would eventually see that what he’s doing is useless and stupid and hurtful and unjust to both of them. I mean he’s clinically insane, he’s nasty and troubled and traumatized and works for a fucking PMC and tortures people but... he’s not rotten to the core. König is like a stray dog that bites if it feels like it’s about to get cornered and beaten again, and that’s his viewpoint with high school sweetheart actually. It may sound silly and misplaced but he’s just too triggered to see that he’s about to do a royal fuck-up with her.

And the unbearable shame when he realizes? When he faces the thing he has become? It’s simply too much to bear, he has worked so hard on himself & to put that shit behind him, he’s built confidence from scratch, he’s built actual, physical muscle just to feel better about himself, he probably joined the military because it was his middle finger to the world. Yes, he had aspirations and actual passions concerning the sniper dream but he’s also driven by this need to prove a shitload of people wrong.

And in walks this babe who reminds him of a time when he was nothing. Absolutely nothing. How do you love that? Because ultimately, it means you have to love yourself and who you were before you became the incredible Austrian Hulk. At the core of it is a 6 feet deep insecurity because König doesn’t feel he’s worthy of her at all.

I think the only thing that would cleanse his heart from pain is the revelation that she suffered too. As sad as it is, that’s what makes his heart crack open because then he gets to play the savior. But then comes the “Do you still love me even if I almost turned into the monster I always battled against” part… Because König would pay her authenticity "generously" by revealing the bully he almost became. And I think that’s when high school sweetheart really needs to ask herself if she’s up for this kind of shit, if she’s actually ready to love this man who isn’t as cool and tough as she thought he was, who is deeply flawed and resentful and childish and cruel.

Part of her probably knows that already and even loves his flaws, but loving König is like loving that stray dog. He’s gonna bring fleas and dried-up mud into your house eventually. Especially if you feed him and give him a scratch… Put a nice, cosy bed for him by the fire... Tell him he's cute when he whines next to your bed... Teach him it’s ok to prefer to sleep with you instead :/

[lost-estradiographer]

I

know that voting for the status quo sucks.

To say it "sucks" massively understates the exact amount of suffering that exists under the status quo, an amount that I acknowledge I am too privileged to ever fully grasp.

I cannot magically provide some viable third-party candidate just barely a month before the election. I cannot solve Israel/Palestine Conflict that has haunted the world for over 70 years. I am a 29-year old transgender woman working her way through her own mental illnesses, trauma, and an undergraduate degree. I was never going to be the one to solve anything here.

All I can tell you is that regardless of whether you vote or not, there will be a presidential election. It's going to be a shitshow, regardless. Whether you vote or not, there will be a different president in January. Voting for the status quo may not be directly in your interests.

We had four years of Trump and we are still trying to unfuck ourselves from that. The beginning of my antagonistic relationship with the government was protesting in the streets of DC under his administration. I've fled from the Metro PD. I've put on a change of clothes and slipped out the back door of a gay sports bar.

Fucking vote.

Fucking vote.

Fucking vote.

Honestly, I

I don't want to see this voter apathy shit anymore.

People are going to keep dying under any president. Any president can, and probably wil, be morally culpable for the deaths of innocent people, both in the country and abroad. Carter might be the last president we had that wasn't overtly a war criminal and we still had foreign civilians killed by U.S. military involvement under the Carter admin.

I'm torn between asking you to block me, or asking you to message me, if you're taking the route of voter apathy. I'll tell you right away, here and now, that I probably don't have a solution to whatever problem is keeping you from voting for Harris. I can't even solve my own problems right, tbh. The government isn't really here for me, either.

But there isn't going to be some sort of miraculous revolution that results in The Ending Where Everyone Lives. If there's a revolution, then supply chains will falter and children and the infirm will die of preventable diseases and infections and complications in hospitals that would have otherwise been able to easily deal with such things. That's what happens in a revolution. I'm after the long-term idea where Humanity as a species lives. I'm after the route where we don't have an ending, we keep going.

Fucking vote, because exactly one of the two leading presidential candidates believes climate change is real, and it is the single greatest threat to all life on earth. We have spent the past 250 years, not just playing God with the environment, but actively creating an ecological niche in which future generations of humanity must continue to play God with the environment, dragging it back to a healthy place drop by drop, inch by inch, a degree at a time.

Or, I mean, don't vote. Either way, we'll all die at some point. Perhaps some of us will be lucky enough to die standing by our principles.

Those lucky few will become soil one day, just like I will.

I am begging you on my hands and knees to fucking vote, though, because our options are The Status Quo vs. Worse. That's

That's it.

There is no door number three right now. Our system, our flawed and broken and imbalanced and unjust system, does not accommodate for a third door. Whether you vote or not, you will be dragged through either Door 1 or Door 2 with all of humanity, as we whirl through the cosmos upon our tiny little speck of dust. The only other legitimate option is to allow oneself to become trampled; to become soil early. I don't say legitimate to give this option legitimacy, but to make clear that again, there is no door three. Door three is a casket. A one-way bed.

I didn't vote in 2016, and I'm hoping that you'll vote for the status quo this time, because that's the route that gives me the best odds of having a long and healthy life to regret my failure through inaction.

Just please

Fucking vote.

Or again, if you're taking the apathy route, probably just save me the time of blocking you, because you're not going to magically pull a viable third-party candidate out of your pocket less than six weeks before the election.

[burst-of-iridescent]

now that i've finished my re-read of the hunger games books, it’s even more baffling to me than before that people compare everlark to kat.aang when they are so incredibly similar to zutara.

a fundamental aspect of everlark’s characterization is that they are star-crossed lovers. and while it's true that that is a gimmick the capitol forces on them, it’s also a reflection of the reality that peeta and katniss were never supposed to fall in love, let alone make it last.

from the very beginning, the odds are stacked against katniss and peeta. their class division keeps them apart in district 12, and in the games you're naturally not expected to do anything but kill your fellow tributes. what peeta does in loudly declaring his love and respect for katniss from the beginning is revolutionary because it goes against everything he's been told his entire life. saying he's in love with her and valuing his life over hers is absolutely radical in a situation that forces you to prioritize yourself and dehumanize your fellow human beings. and this framing of love as resistance is something that repeats itself in zutara's arc, in the catacombs where zuko and katara reach out to one another against everything that tells them to do otherwise, and again in the final agni kai when zuko gives up everything for a girl he had been told was nothing.

they’re love stories because they stem, first and foremost, from love for your fellow human beings ��� especially in the places where it shouldn’t exist. love for a starving child from a lower class whom you’re supposed to kill. love for a weeping enemy who represents everything you were told to despise. both zutara and everlark are about the importance of unity amidst division, about coming together when the entire world is trying to force you apart. about looking at the person you're supposed to hate and saying no, i refuse, and reaching out in love, in compassion, in empathy instead because you understand that they're not as different from you as you were taught to believe.

and this carries on to the other theme that both ships represent: the need to break the cycle of violence.

one of the main themes that underlies each of these characters’ narratives is how easily (and even justifiably) they could’ve perpetuated the harm that was done to them. peeta, katniss, zuko and katara have all suffered without cause, and it would have been understandable if any of them had let that suffering twist them into vengeance and inflicted it back upon others. it would have been encouraged even, in the societies they live in, for them to unleash their rage upon those seen as deserving of it. to become like zhao or hama or gale or president coin. but what defines each of these characters is that instead of allowing their suffering to overcome them, they choose to help — not harm — others, even the people they would have every reason to hate. that’s why katniss and peeta refuse the chance to hold another hunger games with the capitol’s children, why zuko helps an earth kingdom town, why katara risks the invasion itself to free a fire nation village from tyranny. all of them have been victims of unjust violence and oppression, sometimes even at the hands of other victims, and that’s exactly why they refuse to stand by or be complicit as others suffer the way they did. both everlark and zutara are about looking at the darkest version of yourself, the person you might have been, and refusing to go down that road. to understand that you are more than what your circumstances make you into. to choose kindness over hatred, peace over war.

at their core, both ships exemplify the themes of love and unity and holding onto your humanity against impossible odds. but more importantly, they exemplify hope. the dandelion in the spring. the fire that means rebirth instead of destruction.

choosing to do better, be better, make something better, together.

[goodqueenaly]

What will Jaime's reaction and development in response to the probable slaughter of Freys and Lannisters ("Red Wedding 2.0") by Lady Stoneheart, and the rebellion of the Riverlands that will likely follow, be? While there are a lot of valonqar theories and theories of how he might survive the encounter with Stoneheart, but for some reason I don't recall any theories on this front. Might there be a realization that his family's, and his, actions in the Riverlands from AGoT forward were wrong?

To the extend a “second Red Wedding” or similar event happens, I tend to think the impact would be intended for us as readers, rather than for Jaime as a character. Throughout his chapters in AFFC and ADWD, in my opinion, Jaime never quite gets to the point of realizing, to put it a certain way, “are we the baddies”. Jaime may pat himself on the back (with his golden hand) for hanging outlaws found beneath a Wode keep, but never considers what responsibility his father’s order to raze the Riverlands had on these presumably homeless, presumably starving people sheltering in a now-rare refuge. Jaime advocates for the Lannister-Frey household at Darry to “make the smallfolk love you” as a response to their support of the brotherhood without banners, without acknowledging the hypocrisy of this household trying to win the love of people whose neighbors had been raped, murdered, and despoiled by Lannister agents and whose lords and countrymen the Freys had murdered in a gross violation of guest right (or such smallfolk seeking justice from a royal dynasty which directly engineered and benefitted from the Red Wedding). Jaime applauds himself for, as he sees it, bringing about Riverrun’s surrender without seeing, or being willing to see, that by bringing an army to this siege, mentally deciding that he would storm the walls if the Tullys remained obstinate, and threatening Edmure with violence against himself, his people, and his unborn child, he, Jaime, had already violated his oath to Catelyn (to say nothing, again, of rewarding the perpetrators of the Red Wedding). Jaime departs Raventree Hall not only by threatening Lord Tytos with Hoster’s beheading if Tytos were to aid any “outlaws and rebels” but by wishing him “a good harvest and the joy of the king’s peace” - a cruel and hollow sort of farewell, given that Jaime’s family’s agents ravaged the Riverlands  and its hope of harvests and that this same royal government was the one which oversaw the murders of, among others, Blackwood’s second son and his king. Given all that, I don’t see it likely or timely for Jaime to witness a second Red Wedding type of event and say “oh right, we were wrong the whole time”; Jaime’s had plenty of evidence of that up to this point without drawing that conclusion. 

Which is not to say that this event, should it happen, would have no impact, of course. Rather, I think GRRM may use such an event to have readers reflect on, and perhaps challenge, any desire for and approach to vengeance. The Freys may suffer and die en masse - not necessarily just those who directly swung a sword or helped organize the Red Wedding in the first place. The uncomfortable display and exploration of the violent execution (pun intended) of certain acts of vengeance is a topic GRRM often handles very well, and I could see the author writing a second Red Wedding as, perhaps, an escalation of the end of Brienne’s arc in AFFC: as then the brotherhood, under Lady Stoneheart, was willing to murder Brienne, Hyle Hunt, and Podrick Payne on grossly inaccurate and unjust connections to the Lannister regime, so now perhaps the brotherhood and Lady Stoneheart will kill any Freys they can seize, whether or not these Freys actually participated in or even condoned the Red Wedding. 

[bruciemilf]

A Ratatouille type AU where Bruce takes his tentative first steps into detectivism.

Gotham's so massively drowned out in crime that he's barely making a scratch surface level.

But you know who does know Gotham? Knows every nook and cranny among the narrows? Knows no fear? Stole Batman's tires when no one had the guts to?

Jason fricking Todd.

" Wait, -- no no, that's not when Penguin makes his deliveries anymore. That's when the pigs buy from him and take everything for free. You're gonna wanna bust him tomorrow, genius,"

"Jason," Bruce weights his trust carefully. " If I let you go... Are we in this together?"

Jason snorts, imaginary spit in his hand, shakes Bruce for it. And then runs. Leaving Bruce in a golden street light. Leaves him staring with his shoulders down.

"Oh, brother."

It's a pretty good deal; Jason gives him tips, he gets a comfy, puffy head, fresh food, and surprisingly?

Lots of hugs. Sunshine kisses on his nose and cheek and forehead.

" And how," Alfred rubs his temples around Bruce so much Jason thinks it's a reflex at this point, " Will you explain to the public why Batman carries around a sidekick with a curfew?"

" An unjust curfew."

" Jason will work at the Batcomputer."

" On my batchair, sipping on some bat-hot chocholate, from my bat mug. I mean, -- it's Gotham. We're not going anywhere."

Except. Lex Luthor, as most middle aged men who grew up with too much freedom and too little consequences, never learned what a rejection is.

"...The justice league?"

" Yeah, hot shot! I mean, you've been giving us some issues in the popularity department, my friend," He doesn't like the smirk on Lex's smile; As if he owns the whole world and wants to own him, too,

" The people are crazy for Superman punching a nazi, -- I don't like violence in my politics, but agree to disagree, -- Flash running for charity, Wonder Woman visiting some dying kid at the hospital. Everyone likes them. But nobody trusts them. They trust you."

" And it'd look very good for you to have a human on your team. After... That happened."

That includes the suspicious assassination of his political rival. Bruce begins to suspect its not suspicious at all.

" Bingo! See? I know a showbiz kid when I see one. Superman can show you the ropes. Guy's a better liar than me. That's saying something."

Jason's voice is protective and hissing like an angry viper in his ear, " I don't like this, Bruce. Don't take the deal."

But Bruce wanted to meet Superman outside of his city. Wanted to weight the risks. Wanted to see how big the man behind the symbol really is, and If humanity's lifespan is ended at one bad day.

So he accepts. And Superman Is nothing like he expected.

Passionate, angry, and uncomfortably handsome. That's who's got Bruce pinned to a wall, staring with barely surpassed annoyance,

" When I think he can't go lower, he surprises me."

" We're in this together, superm-"

" Oh no no no no. Your position as a citizen was secured the second someone shoved that silver spoon in your mouth. I didn't suffer years under that sentient ballsack so a tax dodging bastard like you can just walk in here, --"

" But I'm no--"

" I know who you are, Wayne. You're a troubled brat who gets what he wants. But I'm not daddy, or mommy, or your seriously scary butler. So if you wanna survive out here, you play by OUR rules. Got. It?"

"...Tell him to shove the biggest piece of kryptonite up his a--"

" We get it."

Superman's brow quirks, "We?"

" Me and my...Mental illness."

"...You're a weirdo, Wayne. I hope you know that much, at least."

[epic-arc]

Teal KnightHood Short 1!

Yang and weiss were sitting on a bench resting after a walk and yang would look at weiss slightly confused and a little worried.

Yang: Hey weiss i never see you in the training room when jaune and jessica are training. What's going on ?

Weiss listened to what yang had said and blushed slightly and sighed and looked at her which contained an expression of embarrassed and slightly stressed.

Weiss: Look what I'm going to tell you now it's a big secret so if you tell anyone I'll kill you! Jessica bought new leggins for her and jaune and well they enhance their ''booty''...

Yang heard the comment and would laugh but put her hand on Weiss's shoulder and gave her a thumbs up.

Yang: I understand you weiss don't worry the same thing happens to me and blake.

The two laughed together and continued resting and enjoying the weather in the park.

Weiss: But Jaune and Jessica have the best booty.

Yang: Ok now you wanna war!

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Jessica (Power Ring) And Weiss (Ice Queendom): the world is a cruel and unjust place. There is no harmony in the universe. The only constant is suffering...

Jaune appears holding a box of cupcakes and looking at them smiling which would make both of them blush and happy.Jaune appears holding a box of cupcakes and looking at them smiling.

Jessica (Power Ring) And Weiss (Ice Queendom): OMG JAUNE!

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

Jaune and Ruby were having coffee together in a coffee shop and Ruby was strange and worried about some scars that Jaune would have on his arm.

Ruby: Did you have a tricky mission yesterday?

Jaune: Yes it was just a few grimms nothing much But I'm already getting better so I'm not too worried about that.

Ruby: How did weiss and jessica react to this?

Jaune: Ah, they reacted well, they took care of me and we spent time together but now they are doing a mission now.

After he said that you could see in the background a big burst of green energy mixed with some giant ice crystals and he would look at ruby ​​who had a scared expression.

Jaune: I hope they're having fun!

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[justanotherrpmeme]

Neutral Good starters

"I don't care much for rules, but if they help us do more good, then why not?" "Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. It's never too late to do the right thing." "Sometimes, you have to bend the rules a bit to make things better. It's for the greater good." "I'll stand up for what's right, even if I have to stand alone." "Freedom is valuable, but it should never come at the cost of others' well-being." "Sometimes the law needs a push in the right direction" "Kindness is a strength, not a weakness. It's what binds us together." "I won't let a broken system prevent me from doing what's right." "Helping others isn't about rewards; it's about making the world a better place for everyone." "I believe in second chances, even for the worst among us. It's about healing, not punishment." "We can't ignore the suffering around us. Let's do something about it." "Even in the darkest times, there's always a glimmer of hope. We just need to find it." "I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty if it means protecting those who can't defend themselves." "Rules are a guideline, not a straightjacket. We should use them for good, not blindly follow them." "I won't turn a blind eye to injustice." "Silence can be as harmful as the wrong actions." "Sometimes the greatest acts of rebellion are the ones that bring about positive change." "I may not be the hero everyone wants, but I'll strive to be the one they need." "Compassion is our greatest weapon against the darkness that seeks to consume us." "We're all in this together. Let's make it a journey worth taking."

[SUPPORT] The sender offers a helping hand to someone struggling, no questions asked. [PROTEST] The sender joins a peaceful protest to stand against an unjust law or policy. [INTERRUPT] The sender steps in to stop an act of cruelty or discrimination they witness. [GUIDE] The sender provides guidance and mentorship to someone in need of support. [DONATE] The sender contributes time or resources to a charitable cause. [DEFEND] The sender confronts a bully or wrongdoer to protect the vulnerable. [NEGOTIATE] The sender mediates a dispute, aiming for a fair resolution for all parties involved. [INFORM] The sender exposes corruption or wrongdoing. [COMFORT] The sender consoles someone who is going through a tough time, offering emotional support. [RESCUE] The sender risks personal safety to save someone in immediate danger. [EDUCATE] The sender shares knowledge and educates others about important issues. [ENCOURAGE] The sender motivates others to join a cause for the betterment of society. [ACCEPT] The sender forgives someone who has genuinely shown remorse for their actions. [PROTECT] The sender shields a vulnerable individual from harm, even if it means facing consequences. [VOLUNTEER] The sender actively participates in volunteer work to make a positive impact. [CONFRONT] The sender challenges authority figures who misuse their power for personal gain.

[starrygraving]

So Undertale Yellow is a new obsession of mine, I've been a fan of MasterswordRemix for a couple years now, and even played the game's demo a while back. But just, wow. Go play it if you haven't.

Spoilers under the cut.

I just finished the pacifist run, and many people have talked about heartbreaking it is, how much they cried and such. I, foolishly enough, spoiled the game for myself while being stuck on a certain part of it (cough cough, El-fucking-Bailador, cough cough) so I knew what the ending was going to be like.

Most games that end bittersweet or in tragedy break my heart and leave me with an empty feeling, desolation over the fact that the experience ended and someone suffered in unfair misfortune.

But Undertale Yellow just felt unfair. Clover didn't have to die like that. Their friends knew that too, but Ceroba and Clover knew that there were too many uncertainties. The game never confirms how soon Undertale is after Yellow. Could have been a year or so, could be decades. Clover might not have even lived long enough to meet Frisk, with the Royal Guard chasing after them.

Even in the Neutral ending where Martlet offers you to stay with her, Flowey steps in and stops it. No matter what route (except genocide but that's not really canon) Clover can never escape their fate. An unjust fate set in stone by Asgore, strung along by Flowey, and tainted but inevitably reached by their friend's hopes and dreams.

The soul of justice reaches an unjust end, with their friend's grievences eventually moving onto better places to continue their lives. Frisk knows none of this. No one in Undertale knows this (ignoring the obvious Doylist reasoning) and they likely never will. Clover is integral to saving the entire Underground from its fate, whether by choice or not, and barely anyone but their friends know their name.

They never got a real choice. To save monsters or kill them, the truth of the future just lies plainly there in the source material for all to see. And there is the tragedy. They never got a choice to be anything but a cog in the machine, it was the only choice they could even make by their own hand. And they're a kid. It's fucked up, not just at all, no justice to be found for someone encompassing it. It left me mourning a death that makes

Frisk's time in the Underground look like a fucking miracle because of how many people didn't fear them. Frisk was lucky, lucky to be strong enough with determination, to befriend the right people who could change the Underground for the better, and to get to end the monsters' suffering. Clover never gets any of that. Just used as part of a tool to break the barrier, dragged along and struggling against foes that takes ages of pain to beat. Those six kids got done dirty by the game, we barely got to know anything about them, except for the objects that were left behind. Undertale Yellow fills this gap, telling a forgotten story in hopes to keep the memory of those sacrificed alive. That's why it's so special.

Funnily enough, that vibe fits with the narrative point of Hadestown, my favourite musical ever, how fun.

Anyway thank you for coming to my rambles for whatever fucking reason.

[rdr2stories]

"Punishment" a rdr fanfiction.

A short rdr fanfiction in an au where it was not Agent Ross who killed John.

It was like looking at a ghost, seeing you that is, because while I recognized you as your own person, as the little kid I knew all those years ago, running around asking if anyone had found any comic books and making flower crowns for your mother, I also saw him in you.

I could see his determination in your eyes, the kind that only came from strong desire and a feeling of unjustness, unrightfulness, your life was not easy growing up, was it? We tried our best, we all did, to keep you safe and out of danger, to give you a better life than we had had. I am sorry it didn’t work out, I am sorry I made it even worse.

You wear your hair like he did when we were young, down to your shoulders. I bet it is a mess to brush out in the mornings, I remember his was, he always complained about, would often ask me to help, though only when we were out of the eyes of the others, when they couldn’t see my hands softly stroking over his rough hair, brushing it out ever so carefully.

The fact that he ever denied you as his seems ridiculous looking at you now, like a bad joke no one would even find funny because the truth is so obvious… Yet that being said, you are different from him, even when you hold his fun and wear his hat, the one with the small feather, you are different, you are naive, you are sloppy, aggressive, you don’t have his skill or his finesse.

This isn’t your life, is it? This is your first time pointing a gun at a man, is it not? It is quite funny actually as the last time I did it, it was at him. My life will be the first you take, seems fitting as the last I took was your fathers.

It brings me joy because it tells me you didn’t have to grow up as he, stealing, robbing, murdering, having a noose around your neck by the age of twelve. He did right by you, gave you all he never had.

I guess another difference between the two of you is that you don’t stall, he did, I did. He did it because he cared for me, I doubt you even remember me, to him I was a friend, maybe more, to you I am the man who ripped your father from you, that is why you have already pulled the trigger. Your father hadn’t been able to, while he had pointed the gun at me, he didn’t pull it, he had talked to me, slowly lowering it as my hands remained in the air. We had too many memories for him to just shot, yet he had too much on his shoulders for him not to point the gun.

Maybe if he had been like you he would still be alive and I wouldn’t have been walking around praying for someone to wash his blood off my hands, I doubted he would have wanted mine on his either, but rather mine than your mothers. His loyalty laid with her, it had for many years, no matter how much I wish I could gain it back and if the law told him that her safety and the immunity of your family was guaranteed with my death, then my death he would have… Even if I could see in his eyes that it would not weigh easily on his shoulders.

When I say I am sorry for what I did, I mean it, I wanted nothing more but for you to be safe, for him to be safe, for your mother to be safe, though knowing her she is most likely dead, otherwise you would not be here, she wouldn’t let you. “You do the hanging, not the swinging, you hear me?” I remember she told you that one day, all she ever wanted for you was to become a lawyer, or at least someone who didn’t run when the law came around.

I tried to run away from him you know? Your father. I shoved a crate on him and jumped out of the window, and then I ran, I ran and ran and shot anywhere but near him, hoping to scare him off so I could disappear, but his horse stumbled and he fell. A bullet hit him and he was dead on the spot, never suffered, never hurt, most likely never realised what happened, I barely did.

My horse had barely come to a stop before I was on the ground, stumbling over to his body, looking down at the empty eyes I had once went for comfort to. I had cradled his lifeless body in my arms, warm tears running down my cheeks as he went cold and I prayed to any god that might exist for our fates to switch, that it was a father and not a criminal who would walk away from there.

 For three years I had lived iolated in the mountains, hiding from reality, myself, the truth of what I have done, things that you can run but never hide from, and god had yet to appear, he had yet to make things right, yet to do anything, until now, he has brough you to me and I will gladly let you ring the bells of judgement and bring me my punishment.

----

Also yes, I did also post this in another version, written in third person pov, because I didn't know which worked best so I have made both.

[wubwubnparmaham]

For centuries, my foremothers fought bravely and tirelessly to bring us to where we have gotten, to the mere concept of where we could be, and among the unfeeling and unjust men of this nation, my fellow women were adamant to tear it away, too. That hurts more than anything men could ever do.

I understand the exhaustion with the hyperpartisan debacle of this nation; with the feckless refusal for the Democratic party to live up to a single promise it ever makes. I understand the frustration and the pain that comes with picking the lesser of two evils.

But what I cannot understand is your complicity in the unthinkable. I will not let you look me in my eyes and justify your decision to choose the greater evil instead. May our eyes never meet again.

To these women, I want you to understand that you have voted against your interests, and the interests of your fellow sisters. I want you to understand that you, through the haze of the illusion of security, are not safe. Things can happen to you, assaults, miscarriages, gender discrimination, and so much more, and you will find no solace or support in this administration. When you, in all your jubilation at having secured the perfect Godly America, are the one in need of help, you will find closed doors. Because you handed unchecked power to the ones in the positions to slam them.

There will come a time, as it always does, that you will finally see the tenets of your religion are not represented in the values of the elite. And dare I say, are not represented in your own ideals of morality. The elite and their sweet whispers of properity as they are ever taking from you in the dark.

Now in the light. They are not your friends, they are certainly not your saviors, and you disgrace yourselves to call them your heroes.

Politics and religion do not and cannot blend, as the sin of greed and a lust for power are by no stretch the two most salient pillars that exalt the root of all evil, and they are inseparably embedded within American politics. You have handed the keys to a background organization, the Heritage Foundation, to use every flowery talking point under the sun to enact merciless oppression in the very name of that accurséd greed and power, and you have done it with a smile.

Every shred of this rhetoric has been sold to you through an exterior lens of altruism and holiness, and every part of it overlies the true nature of intent.

Found there in its stead is the underbelly of their crazed desire for ultimate power-acquisition, all for a select few with which you will never be included. You will never sit at their table. You will die beneath the indomitable height of it, and others in minority groups will die much quicker than you. That is the only thing you have ensured.

Let me be perfectly clear. Protecting the children is a farce, protecting the economy is a farce, protecting the sanctity of Christianity is most certainly a farce and protecting "Great American Values", undeniably rooted in white supremacy and male power, can only, in every way possible, be a farce. They know this, and they laugh at your misguided hope in them to uphold it. You, the jesters of their greatest source of entertainment.

And so I curse you. As you watch your marginalized loved ones suffer, know that you caused it. Know that you are eternally at odds with them as human beings regardless of what you tell yourself in your most defensive and sanctimonious moments. Know that you cannot love the sinner if you truly hate the sin in any meaningful way that paves any path for harmony, freedom, goodness or equality. Know that your love or acceptance of anything and anyone you voted to oppress is vapid and worthless, and know that I spit upon in disappointment and exhausted heartbreak.

Know that you have deeply and irrevocably hurt us, and you have hurt yourselves. You have given glory to those who would not share it with you, even for an ephemeral moment of time. You are protecting nothing, you have risked everything, and I am sick of you.

May it be too late for your own redemption when you finally realize what it is that you have done. I curse you with a thousand mirrors, reflecting and echoing your choices back to you for as long as you live, no matter what may come.

[salamiwrites]

MONSIEUR NEUVILLETTE

A fun lil poem I cooked up, hope you enjoy <3

Characters mentioned: Neuvillette, Navia, Callas, Arlecchino (nameless)

#masterlist

“Hydro dragon, oh hydro dragon, please don’t cry,”

sung the people of Fontaine.

Staring at the sky, one may think, why must it rain?

Rain came down in torrents, no one dared to pry.

In the land of justice, one concludes that fairness is a must.

Yet if such is the case, then why is the system so unjust?

Many look on with glee,

when the unfairly charged attempt to flee.

Trials pass, aristocrats come and go.

With parasols in hand and servants in tow,

In sumptuous parties they demand,

They berate and reprimand,

innocents in the stand.

Navia, maiden with the wavy blonde hair,

sits dejected, with pain too much to bear.

The gloomy sky cast a sorry glance, 

tightened fist and clenched jaw, she yelled in agony,

“Neuvillette, how could you simply indulge in song and dance

as my father lost his honour? How could you do this to me?”

Her father- Callas, once a desirable lad,

so much so the citizens of Fontaine deemed it fad.

The abuse he endured, 

being thrown insults or manure,

harmed his psyche for sure.

In the court case before him,

Callas was accused of a severe crime.

Turning the tide? The chances were slim.

Aristocrats sniggered,  “Snitches get stitches, 

while we continue on with our riches.”

Neuvillette’s flame smoulder,

the truth, he wish he had told her,

In truth, indulge in song and dance he did not,

judging Callas fairly was no afterthought.

However, unseen hands forced him onto the ballroom floor.

A Snezhnayan diplomat, what an eyesore.

Contrasting many a crown, headdress, jewel,

She was cunning, conniving and cruel.

The headdresses she wore, oh so grand,

complemented elaborate schemes, 

orchestrated by her manipulative hand.

Contrasting the glimmering necklaces she wore,

Her true nature, a venomous core.

Neuvillette yearned to recoil in disgust,

but maintain diplomatic relations he must.

Thus he feigned pleasure that night,

In time, things will be set right.

With words left hanging in the air,  Neuvilette motioned to leave.

He didn’t understand human emotions, but in select situations- he might deceive.

His mind littered with questions with answers he could not find,

Never seeming to understand, the heart’s mind.

The palais mermonia, such sorrows does it remind-

Neuvillette casts it aside,

and instead sought solace in the tides, 

which crashes and subsides.

“Woe is me, 

Callas’ judgement I couldn’t reprieve,”

“Woe is me,

his body found under the sea.”

He could never look at the ocean the same,

as such, he returned home to take the blame.

Melusines at his beck and call,

gather with unease in the hall.

Such intelligent creatures brought by him,

carrying expressions so grim.

“Monsieur, oh Monsieur, please don’t cry,”

They attempt to mollify.

With gentle words, they tried to ease the pain.

Having emotions, what is there to gain?

The weight of guilt, heavy upon his soul,

encouraged the raging waves to roll.

“Melusines,” He began with a voice so low,

“I failed him, my friend not foe.

I have not done my part,

this decision weighs heavy on my heart.”

Navia, a witness to the dragon’s confession,

ceased her aggression.

Navia, with her spirit proud, 

Joined the fight, her voice clear and loud. 

No longer grieving, she sought to reclaim 

Her father's honour and his rightful name.

Trials held, the truth laid bare,

aristocrats quiver, captured in the snare.

With combined efforts, such fraudulence faded.

Perhaps time will heal the jaded.

With newfound purpose, he pledged to atone,

The innocent, will no longer suffer alone.

Triumphant, the trumpets will sound.

SALAMIWRITES © 2024. Please do not plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Took another of my famous 5-hour depression naps. But! I dreamt of new blorbos!!!!!!

Basically, the world is divided between two realms. One for Humans, one for Devils. The realms are at odds, and Humans despise Devils. Mistrust them, and treat them poorly and with hatred.

The dream follows a teenage boy, Human. He's roughly 18, and was abandoned by his parents long ago, abused, beaten, rejected by society. One day, he does something (not sure what, but it's against the law), and the boy is immediately punished harshly by police. They know this boy by name, not because of what he did, but because of his story. Nobody cares for him. Everyone hates him. And the police decide to do one last thing and make the boy no longer a problem.

The police contact mages who open a portal to the Devil realm, and while the boy is beaten and half conscious, they cast him through said portal, and he disappears. Tumbling through darkness.

Suddenly, the boy comes to a thudding stop, hitting his head against something. He looks up, and finds a Devil on a throne, wearing his crown, with a little Devil girl next to him on one side. This man, obviously a noble, which means absolutely fearsome, all powerful Devil in literally every sense (physical prowess and political status). He stands up, and walks off the throne, up to the Human boy.

In a surprisingly kind voice, the Devil, with one broken horn, bends down to the boy and gently places a hand on his head. "That's quite a fall you had there, little one. But not to worry! You're safe here, and no one will hurt you like that again." He smiles, and begins casting a spell.

The boy blacks out, but feels... peaceful? He isn't sure what's going on. And slowly, he opens his eyes, and yawns.

The teeth in his mouth don't feel normal. His tongue doesn't feel normal. In fact, nothing does. At all. He jumps in panic, and sits upright in a bed, only for the blanket to fall down, and he looks at himself.

Red skin of a Devil. Clawed hands and pronged feet. Reaching up, he finds two horns protruding from his head. And from his back, there are two batlike wings, and a long tail. But the oddest thing to him is, he feels a weight off his chest. Literally. And he pulls up his shirt. Then, he looks in his pants for a moment.

His biology is different. He's truly a male now. No boobs. No female parts. He's entirely biologically a Devil and male.

"I hope you don't mind, but I figured this form would be more suited for you instead of another female one," someone says.

The boy looks over, and finds the noble Devil with his broken horn and a crown, who walks forward and gently rests a hand on the boy's hair.

The Devil speaks again. "I promised nothing and nobody would hurt you again, and that includes yourself. You're safe here. I promise."

The boy looks at him, eyes wide. "Why? Why would you help me?"

"Because why wouldn't I? Watching you suffer at the hands of those barbaric Humans... Ugh! You'll do much better here instead, especially when all follow my word as if it's law." The Devil chuckles. "But what is law to Humans other than an unjust system of oppression? No worries now, though. To us Devils, law is what guides everyone. And... well... I sort of am the law here. Tell me, son. What's your name?"

"I... don't like saying it," the boy says, looking sadly at himself.

"Then how about a new one? Something fitting for a man such as yourself."

The boy raises an eyebrow. "I've never considered that. I'm afraid. To be perceived as me."

"Nonsense, my son," the Devil tells him. "You now hold a place here in this realm. Therefore, you need a name to fit! How about Andorak?"

The boy gasps. "A Devil name?"

"Well. What else are you now but one of us?"

The boy pauses a moment. But somehow, this name feels right. Like it's made exactly for him. He feels it in his heart. He looks up, and nods. "Please. I would like that.”

The Devil nods. "My son. Prince Andorak Blythe. I couldn't be happier to have you here at last."

Andorak raises an eyebrow. "Prince?!"

"Well, of course! I'm the king of Devils after all! And you need a family! So, what better one to take you in than this one?" He smiles, and leans in, embracing Andorak.

"So you're... Asmodeus? Lord of Devilkind?!"

"Indeed I am," Asmodeus says. "And your little sister, Tissa, is so excited to have you as a big brother."

Andorak gasps. "Tissa... She was the little girl I saw when I was tossed here?"

Asmodeus nods, and lets go of his son. He holds out a hand. "Come on. She wants to see you. She's been very eager!"

Andorak takes his dad's hand, and is pulled onto his feet. Everything feels different, but somehow right. Like this was meant to be his body all along. And together, he and his dad walk into a hallway of a grand castle, and go to another room.

Asmodeus knocks on the door before opening it. Once he does, he looks inside and smiles again, seeing Tissa in her bed. A huge, royal bed, canopy and soft velvets and everything, a bookshelf beside her.

Tissa lights up, and sits upright against her pillows. "Big brother!!" she calls out. "I'm so happy you're awake!! Can you read me a story please? *Please??*"

Andorak shrugs. "I uhh... I can do that, sure." He walks over to the bookshelf, and pulls a small, hardcover children's book down. But as he looks at the cover, he notices the odd text. It's something he can't read. It's the Devil language, he realizes. He bites his lip a moment, tensing up in silence.

Asmodeus walks toward him, and kindly grasps the book. "How about I read it to both of you?" he asks. "Then, you can both enjoy the story."

Tissa smiles and nods. "Please, daddy!!"

Andorak hands the book over to his dad, who sits down, then motions for Andorak to take a place beside him.

Hesitant, Andorak does.

Asmodeus wraps one arm around him, and pulls him in to his side kindly. Opening the book with his other hand, he begins reading the strange text.

It's a story about a Devil who befriended a Dragon. And the Dragon taught the Devil the element of fire as thanks. Together, they lived happily, being best friends for all eternity, as Devils and Dragons are immortal and invincible. And the book ends on a very happy note.

Asmodeus looks up, and Tissa is asleep. He smiles again, and motions for Andorak to be quiet, then stands up. He places the book back on the shelf, and offers a hand to his son.

Andorak takes it, and stands up silently, and together, they walk outside the room.

Asmodeus closes the door, then says, "Don't worry. I'll teach you how to read our language. For now, though, come with me. Let's get you something to eat and drink."

The two head downstairs to the castle throne room. There's a table before the throne, many Devils sitting around it drinking merrily and eating.

This is more food than Andorak ever saw in his life.

His dad leads him to an empty seat and sits him down, then grabs a cup and plate. From a pitcher, he pours some water, and then, fills the plate with meats and vegetables, then sets both before Andorak. "I'm not sure what you like, but try this! See if it's any good." Asmodeus walks to a seat beside his son, and sits down, then grabs a cup with a dark brown liquid inside. It smells unique.

Andorak looks at it a moment before picking up his own cup, and drinking the water.

"Go on, drink it all," Asmodeus tells him. "Are you curious about my drink?"

Andorak gives a hesitant nod, and finishes his water.

"It's alcohol. Specifically, mead. Do you want to try it?"

Andorak freezes for a moment. "Isn't that... literal poison?"

"Well, to Humans, yes. But nothing can kill a Devil. You'll probably feel a bit lightheaded, maybe like you're floating, and loose, but don't drink too much or you'll throw up. You'll have to build your tolerance over time to drink more."

"But I'm... not old enough. I don't think.”

Asmodeus chuckles. "Nonsense! You're certainly old enough here to have some fun. Your little sister is far too young, and she'll need to wait another thousand years or so to grow up enough that she can drink. But you? How old are you? Twelve hundred?"

Andorak nearly chokes. "I... I'm 18."

Asmodeus is taken aback. He shrugs. "Well. That's mature enough for Humans to drink. And well, you're mature now as a Devil. So, if you want, you're free to have some mead! Don't feel obligated, but it's for the taking if you'd like."

Andorak looks at the alcohol for a moment, and gives a nod. "I'll... try it."

His dad passes the cup to him, and nods. "Try a sip first."

Andorak picks it up, and holds the cup to his mouth. Gently, he pours in a little bit, and swallows it. It burns as it goes down, and he makes an odd face as he sets the cup back before his dad.

"Good. Now eat a little, or else the effects will last longer," Asmodeus tells him.

Andorak picks up some meat with his claws, and bites into it. It's heavenly. Absolutely juicy and rare and like nothing he ever picked off the streets as scrap. He practically melts as the taste fills his mouth.

Asmodeus smiles and nods. "Good? That's my favorite, too. Cooked steak."

Together, both eat and drink, although Andorak sticks to water for the rest of the time. Eventually, he begins to feel lightheaded, like he's floating, and a little dizzy.

Asmodeus takes notice. "Come on. Let's have some more fun!" he says. Standing up, he holds out a hand.

Andorak, somewhat out of it, takes his dad's hand, and is stood up. They walk to a clearing in the room, and the music is lively as ever. Cheerful. And Asmodeus begins holding his son's hands in his, and dances to the beat and sway of the music.

Andorak is awkward. Stumbling. Not just because of how he feels, but because he's never danced before, he realizes.

Asmodeus starts slow, moving in a waltz, and eventually, Andorak mimics the steps himself. Together, the two dance around the room in unison, and Asmodeus begins to add some flare, spinning himself, then his son. He makes it fun. Exciting.

Andorak is smiling, feels elated. He dances and starts adding in his own steps here and there, and eventually, he and his dad are dancing separate dances, but together. And both are clearly enjoying it.

Soon, though, Andorak's eyes grow heavy and tired.

Asmodeus, as vigilant as ever, notices this, and goes to hug and lift his son up. "Come on. Looks like you could use some rest," he says.

Andorak frowns. "But I was... just asleep... a few hours... ago."

"I know," Asmodeus says. "But indulge yourself. Get all the sleep you want and need. In eternity, there's no shortage of time to do whatever you like." He carries Andorak upstairs to the room he woke up in, then sets him down. "Sorry there isn't anything here. I'm not sure what you like, but once I know, I'll get everything across the land to make this place your own. Starting with a bed like your sister's."

Andorak looks at his dad, eyes wide. "But it's just... a bed. That's... more than... enough."

"The bare minimum, yes. But being a Devil means indulging yourself endlessly without consequence. So a basic bed with nothing spectacular, that's a shame. It's nothing. Especially for the prince you are." Asmodeus walks to his son, and kisses his head between the horns.

Andorak falls against his dad, smiling. He's lifted up and placed in his bed, and his dad wishes him a restful sleep, then turns off the lights, and walks away, closing the door.

Andorak falls asleep, and when he wakes, he finds he's still there. Still a Devil. Just as is right, and like he belongs. He walks out of the room, and Tissa and Asmodeus are sitting at the table near the throne, reading a book.

Asmodeus looks up, and calls for his son to come down. He'll show him how to read.

Tissa tilts her head. "Andorak can't read either?" she asks.

"Not yet! You can learn together with him!" Asmodeus replies.

Andorak makes his way down, and sits beside his dad, his sister on the other side.

Asmodeus points to the first word and says it aloud. Then, he sounds out the simple three letters that make it up.

From there, Andorak and Tissa begin learning to read. Over the many days, Andorak is able to learn the entire alphabet. How many days? He's not sure. Nobody keeps track here really, it seems. Time is used freely, as the individual wishes. Nobody tells him it's right or wrong, and nobody gives him orders or anything.

After a while, Andorak meets Asmodeus's partner. He appears in the castle one day, and is very touchy feely with Asmodeus. He clings to the king, laughs and smiles, and suddenly, he sees Andorak, and lights up. Stepping away from his lover, he goes to the young Devil. "You must be Andorak! Am I right? I've heard so much about you!!"

"You... have?" Andorak asks shyly.

"Of course!! I'm your dad's consort! He tells me everything. And, well, he hasn't shut up about you for ages ever since you arrived!!" He holds out a hand, and bows. "I am Karsan, commander of the Devil legions, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

Andorak takes the hand and shakes it. "It's... a pleasure to meet you, too, sir," he says.

Karsan lets go and stands upright. "You're certainly old enough for a consort yourself. Do you have one?"

Andorak jumps. "I uhh... I never thought about... having one?"

Karsan nods. "Well, whenever you're ready, may you find someone as suited for yourself as your dad is to me!"

Asmodeus walks over, and hugs his son and boyfriend. "We should find you someone, Andorak. Things get lonely when you don't have at least friends. They don't have to become anything more unless both of you want that, but everyone needs to have a partner who supports them, cares for them, and tells them how loved they are. Love is more than kissing and whatnot. It's about connection, and companionship, and reliance. So... what genders are you interested in? Or lack thereof?"

And from there, Andorak is paired with many young Devil men around his age. They become good friends, and from what I remember, one does get implied to be his lover. But there's more emphasis on the friendships. The support system they provide him. The love they give as friends do. And for once, everything is perfect. Andorak belongs. In his realm, in his family, in his friend circle, in his position, in his body.

And then I woke up. Happy.

[thathermitweirdo]

The world wasn't what it used to be.

Or maybe it had always been like this.

Cruel.

Brutal.

Unforgiving.

That's what they all have in common, is it not? Suffering. And while everyone has suffered, not everyone handles it in the best manner.

Many have faced the agony and pain at the hands of this unjust world. Some have been subjected to the pain that others inflicted upon them. And while most are able to press forward, to move on as the dust begins to clear, others are incapable. Some are too broken. Too damaged from the burdens they had to face. And at some point, the weight of it all can become unbearable.

I suppose that is where this story takes place. With the broken. Those who were never given the chance at a healthy life. Some are able to use their past to inspire, to strive to do better and help those who suffered like them. Still, there are others who still harbor that pain. That resentment. That anger. And they wish to strike back at the world that hurt them so long ago.

All of them have suffered, and they will continue to suffer until they take their very last breath. But it's what they choose to do with that suffering. It's how they respond. How they cope. How they learn. Some may never recover from their own trauma. From their pain. It will always be a part of them. But they must choose how that part affects them.

Our story started many years ago. Although, that is not where we will begin. We will begin back on that fateful day. That day that marked the beginning of the end. A day in a busy city, bustling with life. The air was thick with noise. The streets packed with people. Just like any other city.

It would have been overwhelming, if not exciting. Exciting for him, at least. A new life to start, leaving behind his very own fragmented past in favor of a fresh start. This wasn't the first time he had left behind his past, mostly due to running away from the ghost that stalks his life. The ghost of his first life. His true life.

That ghost wouldn't find him now. At least, he hoped it wouldn't. There was a reason he joined Watcher Architects, they offered a rather high paying job in a city far, far away. Though, it didn't come without its bittersweet ending.

"You're leaving?" Jimmy asked, watching as the last of his things were packed up into boxes. "You didn't tell me you were leaving!"

He laughed slightly. "Sorry Tim, I thought it would be funny to not tell you until the very end."

"Grian!" Jimmy threw his arms up in frustration. "You cheeky— ugh, I can't believe you would do this to me!"

Rolling his eyes, Grian chuckled as he tried to playfully shove Jimmy off of him. "Come on, I'll be back in Evo for business every now and again. It's where the Watcher HQ is! But Hermitropolis has the best opportunities for me."

"Watcher Architecture Firm still sounds sketchy to me." He grumbled underneath his breath, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Come on. They're one of the biggest architectural firms around. Working with them has been a dream!"

Jimmy sighed. "I know. It's just so far away from here."

"It's like, a five hour train ride." Grian responded blankly.

"Too far." He insisted.

"If you think it's so far then why don't you just move with me?"

"Because I'm not a rich architect like you." Jimmy said while throwing himself dramatically over the apartment sofa.

Grian rolled his eyes, picking up the clear packing tape to seal the last few boxes of his belongings. "I heard Pearl might be moving too. She said she's always liked bigger cities."

"Pearl too?! Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything!?!"

"Come on, I'll be back and forth between Evo and Hermitropolis for the first couple weeks. It'll be like I never left."

"Until you actually have to leave." Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh.

"I promise we'll keep in touch." Grian said as he sat down on the couch next to his friend. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Jimmy sighed, much more dramatically this time. “I swear if you get mugged there I will not feel the slightest bit bad. You should just stay here in Evo.”

The city of Evolution had been his home for so many years, despite not truly being a city. It was supposed to be the next big place, hence the name, yet it never really grew out of a town. It was more like a cheap knockoff of a city, really.

Grian just laughed. “I’m not gonna get mugged. Lighten up a bit, Tim. Everything's gonna be okay.”

~•~

The days leading up to the move flew by faster than Grian could have ever expected, before he was standing outside of the train station with all of his closest friends. His boxes had been shipped off to the apartment the Watchers had designated for him, so all the architect had was a backpack filled with more personal belongings.

"I never thought you'd be moving out of town." BigB said while pulling Grian into a hug.

"Seriously man, I mean, I bet you could have gotten some work here instead of having to move hours away." Martyn sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Come on, this is Grian's dream job." Pearl argued.

"That's easy for you to say! You want to move to the city too!" Jimmy snapped as he wrapped an arm around Grian and pulled him close. "I'm losing my boy! I'm never going to see you again!"

"You can very easily see me again, Timmy." Grian chuckled, "It's just a couple hours by train. Plus I'll be back in town every now and again when I need to come back to Headquarters."

"Guys, guys." A voice spoke up, walking through the small crowd of people that had gathered to wish Grian farewell. "We're gonna make G miss his train. It's not like we're never going to see him again."

"Fashionably late, I suppose?" Grian raised an eyebrow with a smirk, Taurtis laughing in response.

"Oh, you know me. I just had to get my beauty sleep."

"You forgot to set an alarm, didn't you?" Pearl asked blankly.

Taurtis flipped his hair dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. "Yes, I very much forgot."

Grian laughed while rolling his eyes. "Come here." He said, pulling Taurtis into a hug.

After a few moments of the embrace, they eventually pulled away. "Call me before you come back to town. I'm not gonna be late that time, I swear!"

"You better not," Grian joked. "I don't care how much beauty sleep you need!"

"Oh, jeez, Grian!" BigB pointed to the electronic clock above the train schedule on the wall. "You gotta go! The train should be leaving in just a couple of minutes!"

"Oh! Thanks! Sorry guys, I'll call you when I get there!" He said with a wave, rushing off to board the train.

Everyone shouted their goodbyes as they all waved him off, watching as the architect disappeared out of view.

Though little did they know of the danger that he was running away from.

[kalina-moonbride]

Vacation

Context: Post Endwalker, at some point before the side story “In Storm's Wake”. Spoilers: Various references to events from Stormblood, Shadowbringers, and Endwalker. Warnings: None. Challenge: @ffxivpolyamoryweek! Details here.

Choosing Kugane as a destination for a romantic getaway meant weeks of preparation, as G'raha had never been there, and Y'shtola's immersion in regional language and custom had been cut short by Zenos's blade. But the payoff was so, so worth it!

Kalina Moonbride had much to show her beloveds: the Hanamachi, where the geiko vied for fame and patronage with fashion and dance; the Sekiseigumi barracks, where Inspector Hildibrand once thwarted an unjust ritual suicide; a teahouse on the aetheryte plaza, whose ash receptacles bore discreet makers' marks of the Gridanian Carpenters' Guild. Raha took to it with his characteristic wonder, absorbing every detail of the city and the Warrior of Light's stories into his copious memory of this star's history. Y'shtola remained more reserved, as was her wont, but clearly enjoyed herself all the same, chiming in with nuggets of esoterica, or appreciating and remarking upon the vibrant character of the city's aether.

As twilight fell, the throuple settled in with bowls of udon at a table in the aetheryte plaza—well away from that teahouse, as none of the three feline-adjacent folk much cared for the smoke. In the glow of hanging lanterns and the aetheryte itself, G'raha fell into a contemplative mood, staring absently into the sky when not slurping noodles.

“Are you all right, Raha?” Kalina tugged at his little finger where it rested on the table.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” But his attempt at a reassuring smile looked tired or sad.

Y'shtola tilted an eyebrow. “Let us not have secrets, now. If something troubles you, we would hear it.”

“Hmm.” It took him several moments to collect his thoughts. “Hearing about more of your adventures, from your own mouth. In times past, I wanted nothing else in all the world. It was my dearest fantasy to someday even hear you call me 'friend'. And now this?” He nodded down to where Kalina's hand still held contact with his. “It would not be a stretch to say I idolized you. It's not that I feel unworthy”—he said this quickly and emphatically, seeing horror creep across Kalina's face—“I did ask to shoulder some of your burdens, after all! But the fact remains that you sometimes seem… larger than life. And I'm still trying to find my way as your equal, your partner. If that makes sense.”

Y'shtola swirled chopsticks in her bowl. Kalina might have hoped she would rebuke G'raha's sentiment, but she did not. Instead, she too sounded a little distant. “Near the end, on the First. It hurt to look at you. Like staring directly into the sun.”

Kalina's voice nearly cracked. “I'd hoped I could leave that behind, when I'm with you two. That in these moments, I wouldn't have to be the savior of Eorzea, or the Warrior of Light or Darkness. Just… Kalina.” It was not yet dark; she instinctively lowered her voice, saying that name, and remained quiet as she continued. “I don't love any differently than anyone else.” Her hand withdrew from G'raha's, as she folded both hers in her lap.

Y'shtola looked back up at Kalina, her face regaining its customary confident edge. “And yet, you are all those things, whether you wish them or not. If we were to forget them, we would fail to embrace you as you are, whole and complete.”

“I apologize,” said G'raha, putting a hand to his chest. “I tried to preserve the atmosphere. But you did insist.”

“Better this way than unsaid, however difficult.” Y'shtola lifted her bowl to her lips and sipped broth, projecting calm. “I will say this, for my part. I suffer not to walk in anyone's shadow, not even the mighty shadow cast by the Warrior of Darkness.” She held a faint, tight smile for a beat, reveling in the tension of it. “And so, dear Moonbride and Tia, I intend to walk beside you both, for as long as our paths remain converged.”

G'raha nodded, eyes regaining their spark. And Kalina did laugh, if only a little. But as they finished their meal, and the stars came out, for that evening it was enough.