#by the people she’s always been told were evil

[monsterlimbs]

BG3 did incredible at making the bad guys so incredibly sympathetic/empathetic honestly. Coming from someone who is so so so so insanely justice oriented, I feel BAD for all the villains and bad people in the game. I think they deserve better. I already made a post on Orin a second ago so now we're doing all the big bads because she reminded me how funny it is, for me who's so set on justice to be like "free my girl! she's not a good person or innocent I just think she deserves better" lol. So we're doing Gort's post!!!!!!!!!

Gortash was a normal child born to a poor family who couldn't handle it and, FREQUENTLY, told him he was a nasty child for being... a child. For sure he was being neglected, not just in the way of lack of food due to no money, but also socially so. So he turned to creating toys (productive instead of destructive!!!! good boy!) and they were... pissed? Oh, and remember, this little boy for sure had no friends so his only comfort was tinkering with scraps leftover from whatever projects his parents worked on in the shop.

And then, they sold Gortash to a fucking devil for some money (that hardly even did shit for them, imagine how angry he was to return and he saw them living the same life they led when he was a child, after HE was sent to HELL, so THEY could have a BETTER life and they didn't even fucking do that.) and he had to live his childhood in Hell, in constant abuse. How many gods do you think he prayed to, begging for freedom? And in this world, the gods are DEFINITIVELY real and listening, so how many gods do you think ignored him? Ignored an abused, sniffling child in the Hells, who up until this point has done nothing wrong and only wants to be safe, loved, and in a place he gets to tinker with some toys?

Whether you hate the man he became or not, just for a moment think of the child he was. Always told he was too bitchy and whiney for being a normal child, then sold to a devil, sent to Hell, abused to the point I honestly think it's a miracle he survived, ignored by tens of gods.

And then, he still had the strength to GET FREE, and find Bane, who made him even stronger. Made it so that HE'D never be the victim again. Made it so that he could not only never be the victim again, but that he'd thrive. That he'd be on top of the world.

Then he meets Durge, who I honestly believe to be his first friend (he, for sure, had no friends in his parents' home, and everyone in Raphael's House of Hope was either sentenced to do something weird, hated him, or just generally not his pal). And I also believe this to be vice versa as well. Durge has kinda been forced to kill everyone he loves, but Gortash, Gortash he CAN'T kill, because for once, Bhaal sees a man that's important to his own plan, sees a man that he can let Durge befriend because it's better for the plan. So they become friends, and I for sure believe that they were both manipulating each in the beginning but actually became REAL friends eventually (maybe even always manipulating each other, but in a mutual, "I see what you're doing and I raise your mild manipulation to major manipulation" back and forth, almost playful way). And they totally fucked, but I'm trying to be kinda unbiased here, so whether they were more than fuck buddies or not is not important here, but they WERE friends in my opinion. Not even in my opinion, it's fact, "He did miss this" is a legit quote from the narrator after succeeded an insight check. They respected each other, saw each other in ways they saw no other, because no other was so fucked up and evil that he could go "I killed a man yesterday" and be responded to in kind. Anyone else, and their stomach would turn. But they've found their other half in a way, a man of mental strength, self control (...ish), and general respectability. Someone they can both rant to without judgement! Truly, who else would listen to these two men rant about what they've done, WITHOUT setting the guards on them? Also, Durge was formidable and had Gortash's same goals so he liked that. Durge also knew to keep personal things and business separate, so even if he and Gortash had arguments and such outside of The Plan™, they managed to keep it under the table and focus on The Plan when important and Gortash liked that even more.

But this post is supposed to be less about Durge so anyway, then Ketheric's added to the mix and Ketheric doesn't share their ideals so much but when he's being kept busy, he's at least a good work dog in Gortash's eyes. The Plan's all coming together now, and Gortash is busy and stressed no doubt, but he's no one's victim, the world is in his hands, and he has a friend! It's perfect.

And then his friend disappears, and Durge's annoying little sister replaces him. But he knows to keep personal stuff and business stuff separated, so he tolerates her, binds her blades, and has to shoulder a bit more of the plan now (do you really think Orin is willing to be civil at all and talk through details of the plane with Gortash like Durge would? She's doing her part of the plan well and scaring the sheep into Gortash's protection BUT she's not going above and beyond like I think Durge did, so he's left to his own devices to sort through shit.)

And now!!! His buddy's back!!!!!! THANK GOD YOU'RE BACK DURGE I MISSED YOU I mean hello now you can kill your stupid little annoying sister and- why do you have a certain tiefling with you. dear god you're consorting with peasants Durge. you were so strong and cool before what are you DOING buddy. Even funnier if Durge is romantically involved w Karlach and adores her, because I PUT HER IN HELL AND NOW MY PRECIOUS LITTLE FRIEND IS KISSING HER WHEN THEY SHOULD BE KISSING ME I mean when they should be focusing on The Plan™. Even, even, even funnier if Durge is total resist and refuses to make a plan with Gort, because he totally thinks they're going to come to their senses eventually, and instead they just. kill him. At one point, he even says "No. You have to stop her. Do it! Now!", because he still believes Durge is on his side and would totally stop Karlach. After all, why wouldn't they when they "share so much history"?

But also, if they're a resist Durge but still w the plan... he's happy for them. Imo, ACTUALLY happy for them. He's like "oh you left your father? wonderful! now you don't have any master or urges to bind you and we can finally focus on getting that damned netherbrain back in our hands!" but he's cool w embraced durge too. because either way, as long as you have a pact w him, he's safe in his mind w you and he's happy you're taking over the brain with him. And he's totally willing to share his kingdom w you. In fact, he WANTS to rule together as kings, which in Bane's rulebook is the first bad thing ever. He's being a BAD Banite, just because he's kinda lonely and wants someone to rule w in my opinion. But not just anyone, someone Cool™ and probably evil so he can be like "my slaves over there are being so annoying" and then have his buddy respond w sympathy. ....Sympathy for him, not the slaves. Which. Is fucking awful and I'm glad he's not real for that fact. But anyway

If you follow through w the pact, and reach the boat and everything, he lets you hit him once funnily enough. And he responds so childishly, by kicking you back! It's so funny to me

And briefly off topic, but I believe he's so childish because the way he grew up sort of stunted his maturity. Like, he's smart enough and charismatic enough that he can put on a good face for the public eye, but the second alone he's biting his pillow, having massive tantrums when shit goes sideways, having his guards sentenced to death if they stare at him weirdly, essentially doing everything an angry child would when they've been "wronged" in their eyes

Now back to topic, you reach the brain and it immediately fucking kills him. For a man so set on being in control, no longer being anyone's victim, finally being free to do what he wants... it's ironic he dies in this way. And though he's, for sure, a completely fucked up dude, it's a little bit sad to me honestly.

[maenefa]

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end. Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[cilasbestos]

Insane to me how people can listen to how Gabi speaks of Liberio after it’s attacked and how it’s where the people she loves live and think of her as evil, as any different than Eren was in season one.

They were just children.

[ieidolon]

now that i'm playing dragon age: veilguard i understand hbomberguy so much better. think i could probably do a 3.5 hours long video called "dragon age: the veilguard is FINE and here's why"

[coulsonlives]

I just had to share this video because holy shit, it hits the nail right on the head! So well spoken. This stuff needs to be circulated more, esp with the growing number of people thinking they have this because of misinformation, or just outright faking it.

[acourtofquestions]

Dont be angry, Finnula said. Be smart.

[halloweeneva]

Not to mention the fact that she was told all her life that she was going to live an amazing life serving her god. How she was told the adults around her loved her unconditionally. How her god was supposed to protect her.

How on her first day of high school she died on the cafeteria floor surrounded by strangers.

How when she asked her god why he didn't save her? He dipped.

Just think about how it fundamentally changes your relationship with your faith when you are betrayed so profoundly. How do you even go about trusting a god after having complete faith all your life resulted in finding out *as a child* that you can't trust people when they say they'll protect you?

*me being angry because Kristen is treating Cassandra poorly*

*ally’s reminder that Kristen escaped a toxic and emotionally abusive household hits me like a fucking truck*

*kristen genuinely feeling bad and recognizing that Cassandra is owed an apology*

*the realization that Kristen has not been able too keep a god for more than a year since freshman year is probably connected to the fact that she cannot separate being devoted to a god from being trapped in a cult and more so she struggles with the thought of any permanent situation being positive because the constants in her childhood were her chaotic household, her abusive parents and the church that lied to her*

Ah well ok I’ll just sit with that then.

[rayghosts]

imagine youre a teenager and one day you decide to steal a car because it looks fast and sleek and you want to travel on the road. so you go on a trip in your stolen car and you love it so much that you dedicate your life to the road. you spend your years travelling, visiting new places and picking up hitchhikers, all in the same car you stole, which at this point has become old and run down and needs refurbishing every now and then, but you never replace it because you live in this car now and it's your home. at one point your actual house was demolished and your family members are dead. the people you've hooked up with in your car have broken up with you and gone away. youve changed many times as a person, but your shitty car has stayed the same, the one constant in your hectic life. it's the last one of its model after they stopped manifacturing it: that's how old it is. then one day, your car suddenly breaks down in the middle of the road. you go out to get help and find a lady who weirdly knows all about you. she knows all the places youve been to and the people youve gone there with. as you talk with her more, you begin to realize that, somehow, the soul of your car—the one that's sitting broken outside—has transferred into the body of a human woman. your car is alive and now speaking to you, and she remembers all the moments you two have spent together, every word youve told her when you thought you were alone, every desire and complaint youve expressed to her in the middle of the night. your car is speaking to you, and she tells you that however much you love her, she loves you equally back. that you never really stole her all those years ago because she wanted to travel with you, and she wouldn't change you for anyone else in the world. you speak with your living human car, and you realize that, hey, she's kind of funny actually, and you might be a little bit in love with her, and she might be a little bit in love with you. but the desert you're stuck in is also sentient and evil, so your human car dies in your arms in order for her soul to transfer back into the machine and drive you away. so now you're back on the road with your car the same as always, except now you know she's sentient and maybe has feelings for you, so you sometimes let go of the wheel and let her take you wherever she wants. that's what happened between the doctor and the tardis in that one episode

[morganmnemonic]

I can't stop thinking about the relationship between Jon and Helen as perhaps one of the most important ones in the entire show. They are narrative parallels for each other, and they both know it. They've both known it from the very start!

Helen walks into the Archives, paranoid, unsure of who to trust, and Jon sees himself in her. And he thinks "If i can help her, maybe there's hope for me too." Then he can't save her. The next time they meet, she's a monster. They're both monsters. There was never any other way their stories could have gone, their fates entwined from the very start.

And Helen answers his original thought with one of her own: "Maybe if we can help each other, there's hope for us both." But Jon looks at her and sees everything that he fears becoming, and so he turns her away, and refuses to accept that their stories are still one and the same.

Helen went to the last person who was ever kind to her, the only person who both knew her as a human and had the context to understand what she'd become, and he hated her. He hated her because he liked Helen, and told her that she couldn't be Helen.

So she stopped trying to be Helen, and embraced being a monster. Reveled in it even. Then Jon wakes up from a six month coma, more monster than person, and tries so hard to cling to the things that mattered to him when he was human. Even with no support, even with the entire archives staff against him, he chooses humanity and compassion over and over again.

And this is a direct threat to Helen's world view. Their stories are entwined. If Jon can continue to be a person even after everything he's been through, then she could have clung to her humanity too, if only she'd tried a little harder. And that terrifies her! She wants to conceptualize herself as someone who was completely overwhelmed by forces beyond her control, who never had a choice but to become a monster. She want's to be an innocent victim. But Jon argues with his actions that they'd both had choices.

And, Jon, in turn, holds out hope that she might make better choices until the very end.

This is the conflict between them for all of season 4 and 5. Jon wants to prove that they can both be decent people, and Helen wants to prove that they were never going to be anything but monsters. This is why she's so devoted to trying to goad Jon into enjoying his newfound godhood. She knows that they are the same, and wants that to mean that he has a spark of evil inside of him, and not that she was always capable of doing good.

When Jon kills her, she loses her life, but wins the argument. Helen is nothing but a dangerous monster who needs to be killed for the good of everyone, and in the moment he decides that, Jon dooms himself to the same fate. Their stories are one and the same. "If i can help her, maybe there's hope for me too." he thought. But he couldn't help her, refused to, even, in the one moment when it actually mattered. And thus, there was never hope for him.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP: Travel Buddy

"I already told you I'm not going to another country! I'm going to New Mexico!" The shout echoes with frustration across the airport. Dick looks up from his phone to where a man is arguing with a woman behind a counter. She has a pinched grimace on her face, an expression only those who have worked in customer service are familiar with.

It's the look of someone who dances on the line of "I don't need to up with this bullshit. I don't need this job" and "Think of your bills, think of your check, stay calm."

There is a long line behind him, where everyone is making faces at the delay.

Dick often preferred to travel with Justice League tech, as nothing beat the speed of instant teleportation, but he needed to have some records of traveling the normal for his civilian identity. It would be suspicious if he was seen worldwide with no signs of how he got there.

It was a necessary evil to have his loveable wanderlust persona that was Dick Grayson-Wayne. He had taken a few aspects of Brucie Wayne but replaced the playboy reputation with a restlessness that couldn't stand being in one place for too long.

Growing up with people constantly pointing out how attractive he was, which would have been fine were it not for the rich old men and women who leered at him through his teen years. He could not stomach being a playboy, allowing those who objectified him to think he enjoyed their attention.

It was easier to be the easily distracted, pretty son who was always away from home instead. It helped that Bruce had plenty of private jets to gift his son for whatever whimsy urge to move hit him. That was why he was in Illinois today.

Dick's jet had needed to stop for some fuel, and like most commercial airlines, they were told that they needed to wait before heading up again. They may have enough money to afford their own planes, but commercial planes have the right of way.

Then a storm was reported at Gotham Airlines, and his pilot told Dick they were grounded until it cleared up. It could be a delay of six hours.

Dick didn't mind, having told his staff to take a break. If it got too bad, he would buy everyone a hotel room to try again tomorrow. His private jet staff seemed stunned by the offer, insisting they could wait to see if it was clear enough to fly in a few hours.

He had decided he wanted to have some crappy airport snacks, as it was part of the experience, and walked around the airport munching on his chocolate donut. He found a little booth selling local coffee, prompting him to find a seat near the welcome counter and scroll through his phone.

He still had three hours to kill, so he considered exploring the area a little. I suggest finding some hotels just in case. There was little in this place. The closest city was Amity Park, but it was only beside the mall and a decent burger joint; there was little to do.

It was one of those small towns that, despite not having many people, was well spread out due to all the open spaces. The people who lived there either raised a family, retired or had bloodlines traced generations back to the town's founding.

"Sir, as I stated before, you need a passport, and you have to pay for an international ticket to go to Mexico," The woman hissed. Some people in line began muttering about how annoying the man was for arguing.

"All I have is my driver's license. I could go home for my passport. That's no issue, but I am not paying for an international ticket to Mexico when I am not going there! I'm staying in the US! New Mexico is a state!" the man shouts, flailing his long black trenchcoat. It makes the black ponytail swing side to side as he leans on the counter. "How do you work in travel and not know that!?"

"What is going on here?" A man demands, stepping beside the gumming woman. Dick can tell he is the manager just by the way his uniform looks different.

"This man is refusing to listen." The counter lady practically spits and is now leaning well over the "I don't need this job" side of the customer service line. Dick finds himself standing up as the manager gets a quick rundown of the problem.

The crowd was getting impatient, even with the two other representatives slowly calling up the next customer. Curious by the outcome, Dick drifts closer, listening to the man explain that he wants to go to New Mexico to study the enormous reports of violent paranormal sightings.

He was apparently visiting all highly haunted states in the US to write a book about the history of the hauntings, but when he was attempting to get his ticket, the woman had been convinced he was leaving the country. Dick watched in real-time as the manager also seemed to think New Mexico was in Mexico because he began to explain the international policy to the fuming man.

They threatened to put him on the no-fly list if he continued causing them trouble. That angered the traveler even more, and he raised his voice and waved his arms as he insisted the location be within the country.

Dick pulls out his phone, typing with one thumb quickly and pulling up a map of the country. He slid right next to the trio, standing at the stranger's left with an easy smile.

"Excuse me, can I have a moment of your time?" He asks

The woman's frustration is now nearing its tipping point, but the manager must have recognized him, for he hastily scrambles to make his expression more pleasant.

"Mr. Grayson-Wayne! Please give me one moment to sort this out. I can help you if that's okay with you. I'm sorry for the delay. Karen, call security to have this man escorted out."

"What!?" Demands the guy as the woman grins.

"With pleasure."

"New Mexico is a US state, " Dick cuts in, displaying his screen. "It's been one since 1912, I'm afraid."

The airline employees are pale as they stare at his phone before the manager pulls it out of his pocket and types rapidly on it. A few seconds later, his already white face goes even whiter.

Dick considers the man next to him, who has a grin starting to bloom on his face. It's a pretty handsome face if he's honest. A dig has him looking away towards his phone.

It's a message from his pilot. It seems the storm was due to Mr. Freeze, and they weren't expecting it to clear for at least four days. He was asking if there was anywhere else Dick wanted to fly to.

"I'm so sorry. I'll bump you up to first class." The manager says to the stranger, who is looking rather smug now. Dick considers his pilot's question before thinking, why not.

He does have an image to uphold, after all.

"Would you like a ride in my private jet? " Dick turns to the man, who blinks at him while cutting off the rambling of the woman and the manger. "I can drop you off wherever you want in New Mexico. Where were you headed?"

"Ugh, I wanted to visit Dawnson Cemetry, " the man stammers. "I-do you really have a private jet?"

"Yeah. Would you like to go with me?"

There is a moment of hesitation before the man grabs his wallet off the counter and nods. "If it's not too much trouble," he responds cautiously.

"It's not. I'm Dick Grayson-Wayne, by the way."

"Danny Fenton."

Dick waves the two employees away, winking at them as they slump in relief that Danny doesn't seem to want to make this into an incident. Likely, he had just been upset they weren't listening.

"Most haunted places in the US, huh?" Dick asks while sending a text to his crew. He gets confirmation that they can head over to the southwest post haste. "Aren't you scared of ghosts?"

Danny gives an odd little smirk. "I haven't been afraid of ghosts since I was fourteen."

Dick stares at his mouth a little too long, swinging his gaze back to his phone when he gets a message from Bruce. His dad had been informed of the flight change and was using the coded message to confirm Dick being the one to change it.

He types out a response, ignoring the fluttering of his heart. If he checks to see what other states are highly haunted as Danny looks around his jet with a fallen jaw, that's only because he has four days to kill.

[singmyaubade]

Shades Of Cool

toxic!dark!rafe cameron x female!pogue!reader

summary: you are just living your life, completely normal and free. but, what happens when rafe cameron decides that you are his? he's danger.

warnings: smut! 18+ stalking, manipulation, rafe is obsessed with reader, fingering, swearing, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, praise, oral (male receiving), dark!rafe cameron, choking, jealousy, violence, heavy smut..

a/n: i'm delighted I'm finally starting this, even if it took me so long. i genuinely hope you all enjoy this series. i understand that this a bit short, but the narrative is only getting started, so things will only get wilder! however, it is to be expected—this is a rafe cameron fic.

series

One thing that you hated about Outer Banks was how the heat still radiated at night, causing excessive amounts of water to be drank and a great amount of fans that blew hot air into your face.

It only made everyone irritable and only caused more arguments like now,

"I swear to god JJ, I am about to fucking murder you if you say another word," You hissed, giving him a glare as he mockingly grew scared.

"I agree," Cleo said before falling back into her nap.

"All I'm saying is that we have been moping around here for hours meanwhile we could be partying on the fresh beach and cool water," JJ replied, using his hands to represent the scenery to all of you.

"I'm going to have to agree with Y/N," Pope said, turning his head to JJ, "I'm already in tough shit with my parents for when you knocked over my great-grandmothers vase," Pope glared.

JJ put his hands up in defense, "I told you tequila makes me clumsy,"

"Besides every single Kook is there, including Rafe and if he sees Sarah with us, it will only bring another fight and you are not going back to jail," Kie warned, still closing her eyes while the fan blew the air in her face, blowing her hair.

"When have we ever been scared of Rafe?" JJ asked.

"When he gave me a full smackdown for doing my job," Pope scoffed.

"And when he almost drowned me," Sarah chimed in from across the room where she was laying on John B's legs on the carpet floor.

"And when he shot Sheriff Peterkin in front of us," John B added.

"And when-" Pope began.

"Okay that's enough," He said as you giggled, turning your head back to the fan.

You didn't know much about Rafe Cameron since you had moved to Outer Banks only last year and you had met the "star Pogues" a few months ago.

You had never really seen Rafe's face ever, only heard of him honestly.

But you didn't know if it was a bad thing.

All you had heard about was how evil and villainous he was which caused some places to be off limits for the fact that the boys couldn't handle another beat down with the Kooks and there was a greater matter at hand.

But still, you always were curious about "evil" Rafe Cameron.

"You guys are no fun," JJ pouted, sitting beside you on the couch.

You patted the lower part of his leg, "Poor baby," You sarcastically said to which moved his leg swiftly causing you to laugh.

Suddenly the lights and fans turned off as you all except for JJ groaned, knowing that meant the electricity was off you and you would have to deal with the heat and darkness.

Which meant the only choice was the beach party,

JJ cheered, "I win!"

You crossed your arms as you walked on the warm sand, lots of cheering and loud music around you. You could see the Kooks and the Pogues in their own groups, not daring to interact with eachother.

It was hard to get used to the fact that there were two groups of people based on economic statuses and that it meant that if you were one thing, the other one hated you.

You had never been to a place like that but you just kinda got used to it.

Yet you still could never tell which group was really which sometimes.

You were forced to walk around by yourself as John B and Sarah wandered off to a quiet spot while JJ started drinking with Kie as his babysitter and Cleo and Pope wandered around.

All of it sounded like a lot of third wheeling which made you stay away.

But you didn't mind being alone, you liked listening to the waves and watching the festivities that went along with a party.

And you knew that a beer would help you get more into the party festivities.

You walked over the keg where a man with a shaved head and a matching tank top and shorts poured himself a beer as you curiously looked at him.

You had to admit that he was one of the most attractive men you had seen before.

His lips were a perfect shade of pink and they were smooth like sucking on a cherry. His veins were bulging from his hands and you could see the peach fuzz on his jawline that you could only really see upclose.

You snapped out of your analysis as he looked at you as you waited there awkwardly, forming a smile on your face.

"Sorry to creepily stand here, I'm just trying to get a uh-" You said, pointing to the keg.

His face studied you for a second, almost as if he was trying to figure you out. You could tell by his face that he had never seen you before and he looked as if he was trying to figure out if you were a Kook or Pogue.

He chuckled, "Didn't mean to take so long, I wouldn't have if I had seen your pretty face sooner," He smirked, looking you up and down, causing you to blush.

You felt stupid for blushing over something that a man probably said to every pretty girl he saw but you felt something different about him.

You were taken aback by his boldness, "Do you say that to every women that waits for her turn on the keg?" You teased.

"Only the pretty ones," He replied, causing you to laugh.

"Smooth talker I see," You smiled.

"Always," He joked, "I swear I've never seen you around and usually, you know everyone in Outer Banks," He probed.

"Yeah, I just moved here last year," You answered, "I haven't made my rounds yet,"

"Figured," He said, "I would've definitely noticed you,"

"Pfft," You beamed, "I'm sure you would've walked past me on the beach, there are many beautiful girls here,"

"Nah," He laughed, looking off, "You are different from them,"

"How could you already assume that?" You asked, curiosity biting at you.

"For one, you aren't stuck up and preppy which is most the girls on this island," He grinned as you giggled.

"Ay, they aren't all like that," You replied.

"Most of 'em," He added, "But I don't pay much attention to them,"

"Figures," You said, eyebrow raising.

He saw your eyes move the keg and his cup before he offered his cup forward.

"Might as well take mine, I wouldn't feel proud of myself if I let you pour one yourself," He winked.

Great attempt at being a gentlemen.

"No no, I got it," You said before he shook his head.

"I insist" He said, his thumb grazing yours.

"Thank you," You smiled, "I'm Y/N" You introduced, taking the cup from him while extending your other hand for him to shake.

He shook your hand, "I'm Rafe," He replied with a smile as yours slowly fell.

The Rafe? The Rafe you were basically supposed to never interact with and who was the supposed devil? That Rafe?

"Rafe Cameron?" You asked, standing frozen.

"Guess my reputation precedes me," He joked as you didn't laugh but instead cleared your throat.

You took your hand back quickly, "Oh, i-it's nice to meet you," You cleared your throat, "My friends are waiting so I'm gonna-"

He clearly figured you out, "Pogue, I'm guessing?" He snickered.

Your face wrinkled, "Is that supposed to be a funny thing?"

"Hilarious actually," He answered, only angering you more.

"I don't see what's funny about that?" You crossed your arms with ur drink resting in your hand.

He wiped his jaw, "Must be tough at the bottom of the food chain,"

Your nose flared, "Must be tough being an elite asshole,"

He laughed, "I just think it's an unfortunate cause, I mean it's just unlucky," He smirked.

Asshole.

"Unlucky?" Your lip pursed, " I think what's more unlucky is thinking that your cool for a fucked up economic status that has been perpetuated on an island,"

"I just don't believe your friends belong on Outer Banks," He said, not a hint of hesitance in his voice.

He really believed in this bullshit.

"I mean you would really rather hang out with a group of dirty Pogues?" He snickered, looking off.

"Well I am one of them and they are my friends," You scoffed, "You seem more dirty than us," You insulted.

"Is that so?" Rafe mocked.

"Do you wanna talk about your father's dirty money?" You asked.

"I would watch that pretty mouth," He replied, inching closer.

"Or what?" You hummed, acting braver than you usually would.

"Fuck around and find out sweetheart," He came closer, breath fawning on your face.

The whiskey on his breath kissed your nose but not breaking your eye contact with him as you inched closer, eyes on his lips.

As he tried to close the gap, you threw the drink in his face. "Oohs" and snickers filled around the both of you as you stomped away from him.

He smirked, wiping the alcohol off of his face.

'What an asshole,' You thought,

Little did you know that Rafe only grew to like you more.

You found JJ and Kie sitting by the beach together as she laid her head on his shoulder. You were thinking about interrupting them but tarnish their moment, you choosing instead to call it a night and also you didn't feel like trying to find the rest of the group.

You were glad that you knew yourself enough to drive to the party considering that you got tired fast. You couldn't really see in the parking lot due to how dark it was and away from the lights.

You digged in your back pocket for your phone to pull out of the flashlight as you reached for your keys but dropped them instead in the process.

You audibly groaned as you searched on the floor in the darkness for the keys. You went on your knees with your flashing light, searching on the ground as you heard footsteps behind you, darting your flashlight behind you but seeing nothing.

You had a bad feeling but you thought it was paranoia because you were alone in the parking lot and maybe a little due to the interaction you had earlier with Rafe.

You couldn't stop thinking about how he came off as nice but switched so quickly into an elitist piece of shit.

Sounds like how they described him.

But still, there was a pit in your stomach that felt like butterflies when he grazed your thumb.

You sighed, pushing the thoughts out as you finally grabbed your keys, using the concrete-sanded floor push yourself back up off the ground.

Suddenly, you felt a cloth on your mouth and a hand covering your waist as your muffled screams filled the parking lot, trying to kick your attacker behind you.

You felt yourself drifting into the darkness as you screamed one last time,

And everything went black.

tags: @hysteriahall @avengersassemblee @lighttism @whereismymindnow @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @vi06ma01 @haven247 @vanessa-rafesgirl @blvebanisters @riordanness @aleidag1rly @muzanjackson22

[nitw]

OKAY REAL TALK. i'm on episode 5 rn. if this keeps up the way i think it is then this show is such a fucking genius adaptation, and i never would've seen it coming

like yeah, an animated scott pilgrim series authentic to the comics and the story bryan originally wanted to tell would've been amazing too. but when you think about it, SCOTT'S story has already been told to us more than a few times now. even if the live action movie took a different turn by accident, the overall message of "well-intentioned people can still make, and should still take responsibility for, mistakes that hurt those who care about them, and indifference will only end up hurting them back" still sticks for the most part.

but it's mainly been from scott's perspective. which makes sense! he's the main character, so, obviously!! but here's the thing: ramona has ALWAYS served as a reflection of scott's issues. ngl i think this is one of the most consistent things in the entire franchise, and it's why i love ramona so much. as we dive further into her backstory we learn just how much of a wall she's built around herself, how she's afraid of trusting people, but especially that, as sympathetic as she is, she's also caused so much (unintentional) damage herself. although she's introduced as someone literally too good to be true and unreachable by scott's standards, it becomes more and more apparent how similar scott and ramona are, and so they're perfect for guiding each other towards a brighter path.

and what better way to highlight this than to flip the tables completely, putting RAMONA center stage aka making the audience intimately familiar with her immediately, making SCOTT the mysterious damsel in distress/goal at the finish line instead, driving ramona to face the 7 evil exes and making amends with them in a way scott never could???

also can i just say. HUGE SHOUTOUT to the marketing team for hiding this reveal SOOOOO well. like seriously, i was worried they were showing TOO MUCH in the trailers BUT I WAS WRONG. WE GOT PLAYED SO HARD

[gamblersdoll]

drunk! bakugou, ex! bakugou , masturbation (m received)

it had been hell without you.

many months that you both broken up, damn near a year since the day you both argued like wolves and you both threw your hands up, saying you were done.

bakugou had liked to think that he broke up with you, not the other way around. he always told his people or the media, “i broke up with her, she just wasnt working for me.” and in reality? neither one of you broke up with each other. it was simple: you both separated, not one separate from each other.

but he couldnt let you have the last laugh.

he hated how much his friends would come to your defense— he knew they would, the countless talks of how he was wrong about some things. in pretense, he got mad that you didnt answer your phone on your way home from work (i mean, how could you? youre driving, for fucks sake), and he blew you off just to try and show you a lesson.

boy, did he get an earfull from kirishima.

he hated it. he hated you.

he hated how you moved out and post your pictures like with no flaw, no matter what. you were smiling. he hated how you look so good, and youre back on the platforms of dating.

he hated how he let you go.

he hated how he was somewhat insecure with his masculinity and thought that he was just some plaything you had— also matched with his flowing ego, it was a mental battle with himself.

the burn of the hennessy breached his lips, his adams apple bobbing after he tossed his head back. “fuck..”

“not you bein’ an alcoholic.” kaminari giggled, elbowing him. “the breakup that bad?”

“you better stop before he becomes an angry drunk.” kirishima warns, reminding kaminari and the past fight he and the blonde had. “lets go, we’ll be back man.”

“awh, where we goin?” kaminari asked, putting some pep in his step and letting the door slam behind him.

bakugou did miss you. he missed finding random coils of hair in his bathroom, he missed finding random bonnets of yours that you lost from months ago. he missed the smell of honey and brown sugar from your skin. he missed the random meals that he came home to.

he took things for granted— no, he didnt take shit for granted. you just didnt respect the fact he was your man.

and yet, he thought about how bad he missed the slick of your creamy slit. he missed his balls slapping against your clit when he tapped that ass. he missed the way youd scream for him. maybe its the drunk getting to his brain, the warm tingles of his skin and hes whipping his dick out from his jeans. he tugs at the tip, a guttural groan from his lips— and he’s scrambling to find his phone.

“hello?” you ask, the ‘unknown number’ on your screen and you hear shuffling. “whos’ this?”

“hey,” katsuki mumbles, you can hear it: hes dark liquor drunk. there was a difference, especially when he drank wine for the first time. “how ya doin?”

“katsuki?” you’re dumbfounded, its been damn near a year. “what do you want? to bother me again? we’re done.” you grit your teeth, really not in the mood for his games. you were just about to hit the fattest joint, (one that mina gave you months ago), and here he was.

“cmon, bruh,” he groans, you hear that damned shuffle again, his hand half hazardly tugging his shaft again. “been thinkin’ bout you, girl.”

“katsuki,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “we. are. done. i dont want shit to do with you.”

“cmon, baby,” he whines, and you hear something wet in the background. you want to question him, but embarrassment flows your veins. “just hear me outtt..”

“im fuckin deaf then. hear no evil, see no evil.” you snip back, and he laughs. “i wont ask again, the fuck you want.”

“been thinkin bout you nd i,” he starts, and you hear it— hes fucking his own fist. “been thinking about what the hell we had and then— god, fuck..” he says lowly, you feel like hes just called for a quick fuck. “then how i ruined it entirely.”

“so.. you call to talk about how you miss me, meanwhile youve got your dick in yer hand?” you ask, and he sucks his teeth. “dont catch an attitude.”

“ ‘m not.. but.” he sighs, fondling his balls and he stutters. “i want you back.”

“youre drunk.”

“i mean that, mama..” he softly says. ‘mama,’ the nickname he gave you and how much you fell in love with it. “miss you like shit, when could i come see you?”

“the next time i post myself.” you say snarky, and he gets really quiet. “i dont know, katsuki. i did move a little further away.”

“thats fine, ill make the commute.” he feels his nipples harden, and he moans a little when he quickens his pace. “fuckfuckfuck—fuck..” he chants, his conscious mind slipping in and out. “want you so bad, baby,” he chokes out, “you hear how fuckin riled you get me?”

you want to pull your panties to the side and help him come, you remember those times youd both walk in on each other and just watch each other play with your nerves.

“ fuck, send me your location.” he says, so close to his tipping point and you can hear it. “lemme see you, baby. miss that pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

“youre drunk, boy.” you mumble, but he groans. “maybe sometime this week?”

“ugh,” he sighs, practically teasing himself with the slow and mean tugs from his dickhead. “at least let me see that pussy over the phone, need it so bad.” he says, a chuckle from his lips, “cant come to any other woman, just that little pretty pussy of yers..”

“im on my period, bakugou.”

“uh uh, thats not my name baby.” he snickers, “what happened to me bein yer’ daddy, huh? did you forget that much?” he feels it coming on him, creeping. that orgasm that was so close and he wanted nothing more than to cover your face white. “shitt.. just call me that, please. want to be your big daddy again— and ill fuck you slow nd’ stupid.”

you ponder on it, your fingertips slowly creeping to your panties. “what do i get in return?”

“me, a fat cock inside that needy pussy, and a redo.” he was borderline pleading, but he needed you so bad.

you hum, pulling your sticky panties away from your cunny. “you like me calling you big daddy, huh?” you tease , hearing his low but obvious growl from his throat. “take that as a yes.”

“fuck, that shouldve been yer face i just came on.” he sighs, moving his hand to wipe the sweat away from his brow. “send me your location tomorrow.” he demands, hearing you chuckle and then the end call tone. “fucking— girl..”

“missed you that badly, didnt he?” hitoshi asks, looking up at you through your thighs. “be a good girl and admit that you miss him.”

“i.. i do.” you mumble, hearing his slurps and suckles at your thighs. “toshi!”

“didnt even have to use my quirk.” he chuckles, his lazy eyes and eyebags bore into you. “fuck, how could he let this pussy free? poor thing.”

“he’s gonna be so pissed.” you groan, covering your eyes. “you know he hates you.”

“so? shouldnt have let me catch you.”

𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖽𝗈𝗅𝗅 2024.

[jewish-vents]

My dad is Muslim. My mom is Jewish. His family used to treat my mother and I well, but in the last year they've all become increasingly hateful and bigoted. Finally he snapped at his dad for saying something antisemitic I won't repeat here and told him, "She has done nothing to you! Her family has done nothing to you! Our country slaughtered them and threw the survivors out! And all she's ever asked you for is respect! All she's ever wanted is peace! My wife is worth more to me than you, than your respect, than [entire country my dad immigrated from]! If Jews are so evil, why do you have to goad her and goad her and fucking goad her to try to get a response? And why haven't you gotten one? I'll tell you why - it's because she's something you aren't! She's a good person! I will take a good person who's a Jew over a monster like you any day! Get out of my house and don't come back!"

I'm so torn up inside. I love my dad. I love that he loves my mom and I so much. I love that he supports our being Jewish and has always told me that God loves all people, that I don't have to be Muslim just because he is. He's helped me learn Hebrew since my dyslexia makes it hard for me just like Arabic is for him. I could not ask for a better dad. But I hate that just because he's not antisemitic, he's lost his family. All of them have gone no contact with him for over a month now. I know he's had to argue with them a hundred times over me. They've always been mad he didn't raise me Muslim. I wonder, if I hadn't been born, if that would've helped. Maybe they wouldn't be so tense and angry. Maybe his family would be nice to my mom if I weren't born, but it's too late now. I'm 17. I can't undo the past.

I miss my dad's half of the family. I miss my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles, my cousins. It hurts that they won't talk to me. I can't imagine how much worse this is hurting him. Sometimes in the early morning his eyes are bloodshot like he's been crying, even if he doesn't say anything to me. He's trying to be the cheerful person he always is. He doesn't want me to worry. But how can I not worry about him? Stress makes cardiac issues worse and he's had heart issues in the past. I want him to be okay.

Sometimes I feel this big, overwhelming sense of emotions I can't name, love and contentment and value, knowing he chose us over his family. Then I feel guilty for being happy about that, even briefly. He shouldn't have had to choose.

He's never getting his family back. I'm never getting part of my family back. I don't know what to do with that. The weight of it is hard to bear.

I miss the way things were before.

.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (part 3/5)

(part 1) (part 2)

Summary: You've been adopted before. That's why you know better than to hope for another chance, especially a second chance with the Bahrs

-----

It’s not that you don’t want to be adopted. You just know that you’re not going to be. You’re the oldest in the orphanage, barely three years away from aging out. People don’t adopt kids your age, especially not obstinate, mean ones like you.

Besides, you’re a Hero. As soon as you master your power, you’ll be compelled to leave and fight evil anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter if the Bahrs want you or not. You’re not somebody that’s supposed to have a family.

You barely remember the first time you were adopted. That was back when the Director of the orphanage was mean and biting. You have a vague memory of gold exchanging hands and leaving in the middle of the night. Your new parents barely looked at you and didn’t call you by your name at all.

You don’t remember a lot of that time. You were five and it was a struggle to go from living with a dozen kids to no one at all. Your new family gave you your own room in their small house and told you not to get underfoot.

The first time you ran away from their house, you didn’t get far. The baker in town brought you back to them and warned them about how kids your age are always slipping out when not paid enough attention.

“If you do it again,” the person who paid for you said, “you’re going straight back to the orphanage.”

And you do.

--------.

The day of the picnic, every kid wakes up early without being told.

You watch as Hera fusses over all the younger ones, straightening new shirts and brushing dust off knees. Josiah is reading one of the newest books Mrs. Bahr – Marie – brought, biting the skin on the side of his thumb. You snag Hera as she races to find Annie some ribbon for her hair.

“Hold up, let me brush your hair first,” you say.

Hera frantically pats the braids she slept in. “I forgot about my hair!” She turns large, watery eyes on you. “Islaaaa!”

You snort and help her unwind each braid. She decides to leave it down, charmed by the waves the braids left in her hair. Your hands don’t shake as you work even though your heart is racing. Today is the day of the picnic.

Today might be the day the Bahrs pick one of you to adopt. The younger kids don’t know that, the information carefully hidden from them, but Hera knows. Director Sarah knows. You know.

It’s been a long time since you felt this sort of anxiety. The second time you were adopted was just before the Winter and it wasn’t bad at first. The couple who adopted you ran an inn in town. It was exciting to have your own room and your new mother wanted you to call her Mom right away. Six-years-old and you were so excited just to be able to call someone your parent. This time you were going to listen. You weren’t going to run away or complain if their house felt too big and too lonely. This time you were going to get it right.

You didn’t think about what they wanted from you in exchange.

It wasn’t until the second week when they found out you weren’t really much use for anything that things started getting bad.

You breathe in through your nose and proclaim Hera’s hair finished. She thanks you and races off to find Annie, determined to put the ribbon she picked in the younger girl’s hair.

The Bahrs aren’t like the innkeepers. Whoever they adopt won’t be expected to know how to read or do math or how to take care of horses. If they are required to then Marie and Ivan will teach them first. Both have spent enough time at the orphanage for you to believe that. Isn’t it Marie who’s teaching all of you your letters? Wasn’t it Ivan who taught you how to better put up a fence?

Whoever they choose will be fine, you think. It’s both a relief and a sting. Whoever they choose will be fine. It’s just probably not going to be you. Not when Annie is so sweet and social and Hera is so strong and kind. Not when Josiah works so hard to soak up everything they have to teach him.

“Is everyone ready?” Director Sarah asks. She’s standing by the door. Her clothes are nicer than usual too, a dress made of a light blue fabric you’ve never seen before. Her hair is carefully combed back into an updo and fastened with a tie Hera made for her last winter. She runs a critical eye over all of you. “You all look very nice. Josiah, tie your shoes, please. Annie, leave the slate in your room, what you do if you lost it? Honestly…”

You let Director Sarah fuss over the kids, slipping out the door ahead of everyone. You don’t own a dress, but the button-down shirt is new and starched. Director Sarah helped you embroider bluebells on the collar and sleeves, and you think it turned out well.

You may not be getting adopted today, but you’re excited to see the Bahr family’s estate. The sun is warm overhead, the sky an endless blue. The summer is mild this year, perfect for a party. Isn’t that what Mr. Bahr – Ivan – told you to think of it as? A party. No strings attached.

A wagon comes up the lane. The Bahr family’s home is too far for the younger kids to walk to, past the town and closer to the Lord’s manor. They said they’d send a wagon for all of you, but something still clenches in your chest when you actually see it. Wagons are an expense the orphanage can’t justify, but, apparently, the Bahrs can.

The driver smiles kindly when he pulls up next to you. “Everyone ready to go?”

Before you can answer, the kids are pouring out the front door, chattering excitedly. You help Director Sarah lift the smaller ones into the seats near the front. The wagon is open topped, so Director Sarah can look over everyone sternly, twisting around in her spot next to the driver.

“No playing during the ride,” she instructs. “Mr. Dallen is very kindly driving us so you must listen to him, alright?”

Mr. Dallen also turns around. “I don’t have too many rules,” he says. He pretends to think, scratching his thick beard.  He grins “Don’t fall out!”

He’s joking, but that’s why you’re stationed at the back of the wagon. From your seat, you’ll be able to stop any roughhousing before “falling out” becomes a real danger. Already you’re eyeing the way Josiah is fidgeting. He’s incredibly calm when he’s reading, but otherwise he’s like a tornado. There’s a reason he’s the one that fell into the well in the first place. Hera sits primly next to him, her hands folded in her lap. You can tell she’s watching him from the corner of her eye. There’s a reason she’s the one who pulled Josiah out of the well.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses away from the orphanage, through the orchard, and along the road cutting through the fields. When you’re going to the forest to hunt, you take the narrower path that winds through the orchard and more directly into the tree line. The wagon is forced to stay on the wider road where the horses won’t sink into any mud and the wagon wheels won’t catch on rocks or dense foliage.

After the fields is the town. The kids wave to every Villager and Blacksmith they see. “Good day!” “Morning!” “We’re going to a picnic!” Hera pulls Annie back from the edge of the wagon before she tips over onto the street.

You slouch in your seat, wishing you were wearing a hat. While the first family who adopted you left town ages ago to live in the Capital, the innkeepers are still around. You don’t look as you pass their business and try not to listen to Josiah carefully sounding out the name of their inn.

When you open your eyes, Director Sarah is looking at you. You okay? She mouths. She wasn’t at the orphanage for your first adoption, but she was there for the innkeepers. You feign going to sleep. Just tired. She pretends to believe you and turns back to continue chatting with Mr. Dallen.

The kids are excited to go through the forest. Many of them are too young to even go into town with Director Sarah, a privilege you earn at ten years old, and they point to every bird, deer and mushroom they see amongst the trees. You let the sound of nature and the kids’ chatter lull you into a sort of meditation. The estate is only thirty minutes away now that you’re out of town.

You’re nearly dropping off to sleep when Director Sarah’s voice changes in pitch. Your sensitive hearing can pick up a thread of concern in her voice. What makes Director Sarah concerned, makes you concerned.

“—demons in the woods,” Sarah is saying very quietly. She glances out of her peripherals towards the back to make sure no kids are listening. If she notices how you’re only pretending to sleep, she doesn’t show any sign of it. “Shouldn’t we ask the kids to be quiet?”

“The Lord’s Knights have been patrolling,” Mr. Dallen says equally quietly. You can see him scan the trees for a moment before he smiles reassuringly at Director Sarah. “We’ll be okay so long as we stick to the road.”

“Alright.”

You keep a closer eye on the surrounding forest.

“There! There it is!”

Annie’s shout drags you attention from a (suspiciously) shadowed gully. The woods have thinned enough that hedges of the Bahrs’ estate can be seen. You’ve only been out this far once, a long, long time ago. You’ve never been past this point.

You’re just as surprised as the rest of the kids when the hedges give way to a castle.

That’s not a manor. You’ve never seen either, but you’re sure of this. Manors are supposed to look like the orphanage or any of the buildings in town, just larger. The Bahrs’ home has towers. The front doors are three times the height of a regular one and you can see that the handles and knockers are made of copper. The stone isn’t white like the castles in picture books, but it’s clean and neatly cut.

“Wow,” Hera breathes.

You agree.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses right up the main driveway, cheerfully explaining that the roses are the flower of the estate, aren’t they beautiful? Even Hera can only manage a faint noise of agreement, eyes wide on the house.

“The party’s around back,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He clicks his tongue and the horses stop just short of the front doors. “I’ll take you there.”

Around back. You expect him to lead you around the side of the castle, past rows of rose bushes and the fountains that are tucked between the hedges. Instead, Mr. Dallen opens the front doors without knocking and directs everyone to follow him.

You’ve never seen anywhere so grand. The kids follow Mr. Dallen in hushed awe, gaping at the marble staircase that bisects the foyer. There are two chandeliers to either side of the grand staircase that each send a spray of rainbow light across the walls. Is the manor a little bare? The walls empty of portraits and artwork? You eye a pair of crossed axes hanging just beyond the shadow of the staircase.

“They’re ordering portraits from the Capital,” Mr. Dallen says, gesturing carelessly to the space where a portrait of the homeowners might hang. Then under his breath, “Unless they hang more swords there instead.”

“Excuse me?” Hera asks.

“Nothing,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He guides them past the staircase and a row of doors to the back of the house. The large doors at the back of the house are already open. Mr. Dallen cups a hand over his mouth and calls, “Ho ho, look here! Look who’s arrived!”

“Surprise!” Ivan shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. He’s standing on the stone patio just outside the house, but he’s not the only one. Mrs. Bahr is next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, beaming. Behind her is a dozen other adults. “It’s a party!”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Bahr says warmly. She’s dressed elegantly in a long, red tunic that’s embroidered with the Lord’s crest. The Lord is here as well, his golden hair and eyes unmistakable even amongst the crowd. “Welcome to our home.”

You’re already at the back of the group, but you hang back further as the younger kids cautiously step out into the sun. Your eyes flick from face to face. You recognize a few of the people. There’s the Baker from town and her wife, there’s the Merchant that comes through every third week, there’s the Villager that donates zucchini—

And there are the innkeepers who, once upon a time, told you to call them your parents. They’re older than you remember, light hair gone silver in the sun, but it’s them. They’re right by the Lord, eagerly waiting near him for the opportunity to talk.

It’s very clear what this is. You watch the kids stream out onto the patio to greet Ivan and Marie. The other adults study the kids like zoo animals, eyes flicking to their clean party outfits to their happy faces. This isn’t a party for the kids. It’s a party for them. They’re showing off to each other. Look at how great they are! They’re helping out the poor orphan kids! You’re very familiar with these sort of events from back when the other Director was in charge. You just didn’t think you’d ever have to be near one again.

You take a step back and are stopped by Director Sarah.

“It’s okay, Isla,” Director Sarah murmurs. You didn’t even notice her falling back to your side. Her hand is gentle on your elbow. “It’s not what you think.”

Not what you think? You watch the Villager who runs the general store ask Josiah about the book he’s reading. The Bahrs are proudly introducing Annie and Hera to the Lord. There is something different about it, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. All you can see is the way the adults are watching the kids. You breathe in through your nose like Ivan taught you. In. Out. “What is it?”

“Fixing my mistake,” Director Sarah says.

That gets your attention. Your eyes dart from the happy scene in front of you to Sarah and back again. With the white umbrellas over the food tables, the streamers strung between garden trellises, and the kids dressed in their best, it looks like a painting. In contract, Sarah’s lips are pursed and the shadows of the house make her appear more tired than she is.

“There’s a parlor,” Mr. Dallen says. You jump when he speaks and he grimaces apologetically. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you need to talk.”

Marie is looking over the heads of the kids to where you’re standing, a frown on her face. She mouths your name, concern in her eyes. Your jaw clenches when the Merchant steps in front of her, hiding you from view.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s talk.” You spin on your heel.

Sarah follows you silently. You feel wrong-footed and caged by the entire situation. This was supposed to be a picnic, wasn’t it? No strings attached? Your dress shirt is tight around your neck and you flick open the top button.

“I should have told you,” Sarah says as soon as the door closes. There are two couches in the room adjacent to a large window that overlooks the party. Neither of you sits down. Sarah folds her hands in front of her skirts. “I apologize.”

“What are they doing here?” you ask. You gesture to the window. “The Lord, I understand. He’s the Lord. But the Baker? The Merchant?” You bark a laugh. “They’re not here to adopt anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah says evenly, “but they’re good connections to have.”

“Connections?” You scoff. You remember watching the empty road through that winter nearly seven years ago. “What good are their connections?”

“Annie loves baking,” Sarah says. She doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. She watches you calmly and doesn’t so much as shift her weight when you start to pace. “The Baker is a good connection for her to have, even if she doesn’t want to adopt. Many of the shopkeepers in town are open to taking on apprentices.”

You falter. You didn’t think about that. Your eyes drift towards the window. You can hear Hera laughing and Josiah complaining good naturedly. You’re nearly 15, just a few years away from aging out. You can’t say you’ve never thought about the future before. “They said they’d be willing to do that?”

“Who knows what the future holds?” Sarah sighs and goes to take a seat on the sofa. She makes a sound low in her throat when she sits. “That wagon ride was not good for my back.”

“I don’t trust them,” you say. You stop pacing to sit opposite her. From this point in the room, you can see the party on the patio. They can also see you. Ivan doesn’t turn away from the dessert table, but you can sense his attention on you. You swallow. “We don’t need anything from them.”

“I agree,” Sarah says.

You blink. “What?”

Sarah laughs. It’s not her usual laugh that she shows the kids, gentle and fond and warm. It’s cold and a little sharp. You’ve only heard it once before when the snow finally melted, chasing the snow spirits away, and the town came to see what had become of the orphanage.

“You and I are a lot alike,” Sarah says. Her eyes drift somewhere distant. “Like you, I remember that Winter. I remember waiting for any sort of response to our pleas. I remember hearing nothing back. The helplessness I felt as our stores dwindled…” Her voice cracks. She shakes herself, swallowing hard. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what their lack of aid cost us.”

It takes you two tries to speak. Director Sarah feels the same way as you. “So why?”

“Why did I agree to the party?”

“Yes.”

“Because I need to forgive, not forget, if I want to fix my mistake,” Sarah says. Her lips thin. “I’m not perfect. Since I’ve been Director of the orphanage, there hasn’t been a single new hire. There have been no volunteers or extracurricular programs for the kids. I’ve kept us hidden.”

“You’ve kept us protected,” you say. Things under Director Sarah have always been better than what they were before. The kids are happier and brighter, and the pantry is always full. No one disappears in the middle of the night or dies under her watch. “We know you have.”

“I’ve tried,” Sarah says. She opens her hands, palms facing the ceiling. “I rebuilt the orphanage to be independent. I thought that if we were completely self-sustaining, we’d be alright. But in doing so I’ve hurt the children. The orphanage is not supposed to be forever. They need connections with people, with the town, for when they grow up.”

“That—” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You fall silent, your anger fizzling out in your chest. She’s right. As much as you want everyone to stay together, you know that can’t happen. What Sarah is saying isn’t wrong, but… “Today is supposed to be for the kids. Not for them to feel better about themselves helping the orphans.”

“The kids are having fun,” Sarah says. There’s a peal of laughter from outside as if to underscore her words. She smiles as she stands. “Kids includes you too, you know. Let me worry about the adults.”

You stand too. You know the conversation is coming to a close and that, soon, you’ll be expected to go out there with Sarah. “Um…”

“Yes?”

You nearly don’t say it. But the way Sarah is waiting for you to speak is so patient that you muster up the courage. “The innkeepers are here. They aren’t…?”

Again, you’re not sure what you’re about to say. There’s a sick fear in your stomach that they’re here to tell the Bahrs all about how awful you were when you with them. Maybe they’re looking for another kid to demand too much of. Maybe they’re here because, in the end, you didn’t mean anything to them and what happened between you and them doesn’t make a difference--

Even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, Sarah must. Her smile darkens. “I’ll take care of the adults,” she repeats. She smooths her hand over your hair when you follow her to the door. “Why don’t you stay in here for a moment? I’ll just have a word with the innkeepers.”

You wait in the parlor while Sarah joins the party. You twist your hands together to keep from picking at the embroidery on your sleeves. You almost want to stop Sarah from talking to the innkeepers. It was so long ago, before the Winter, it shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re being ridiculous to be so worried about them when there are bigger things going on. You—

Hera throws open the door to the parlor. Her braids are a little frizzy already and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. “Isla! We’re playing team tag and you’re the only one fast enough to catch Marie. Come on!”

You don’t have the option to say no. Hera yanks you by the sleeve out onto the patio. The guests are much more dispersed now, pockets of adults around this table or that. They’re not studying the kids now. They’re just watching them as they run to and fro across the lawn, bemused smiles on their faces.

Ivan cheers when he sees you. Like Hera, his face is bright red. “Isla!” he pants. “You’re on my team!”

Marie sprints past, her skirts hiked up to her knee. She runs as if she’s in full armor, strides long and shoulders square. You wonder if she notices no one is chasing her anymore. “It won’t be enough!” she cries.

Josiah is laying on the grass. He chucks his fist in the air. “Go, Marie! Go!” He gasps for breath. “We’re unstoppable.”

“You’re out,” Annie tells him crossly. She’s also laying flat on her back, but seems to be faring better in the breathing department. “You’ve stopped.”

“Shut it—”

You scan the crowd. You don’t see the innkeepers anywhere, not even near where the Lord is sitting. You look over your shoulder back towards the house just in time to see Director Sarah disappearing around the corner. She’s talking to someone just ahead of her. Is she escorting the innkeepers out?

“Isla?” Hera slips her hand in yours. Her eyes are knowing. “You okay?”

You clear your throat, aware of all the eyes on you. You tuck  some hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “Just trying to decide which team I should join.”

Ivan cries out in dismay. “Isla, please!”

Grinning, you join the game.

-----

(part 1) (part 2)

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read the conclusion of Isla's tale before next week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

Up this week is a continuation of my Cinderella Retelling, Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales

[butchkaramazov]

The RG Kar Incident: DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES TO RAPE

I’m unsure of how many non-Indians or even non-Bengalis know of this. Regardless of whether you do or do not, I would request you to reblog this post & share awareness about this. DON'T LET INJUSTICE GO UNPUNISHED.

On August 9, 2024, the body of 31-year-old post-graduate medical trainee, Dr. Moumita Debnath, was found partially naked in the seminar room of RG Kar, a hospital in Kolkata. She had just finished working a 36-hour night shift before this and, out of exhaustion, had fallen asleep while studying in the nearest seminar room on the fourth floor of the hospital.

Her family was informed beforehand that she had committed suicide, to which her mother emphasized on the fact that her daughter could never carry out such an act. On further investigation, it was found that Dr. Debnath had been raped and murdered in her sleep.

According to the Deccan Herald,

“There was bleeding from both her eyes and mouth, injuries over the face and nail. The victim was also bleeding from her private parts. She also has injuries in her belly, left leg… neck, in her right hand, ring finger and… lips. [...] “Her neck bone was also found broken. It seems that she was first strangulated and then smothered to death.”

According to Medical Dialogues,

“There were multiple hairs on the mattress and blood was soaked on the blue mattress [...]”

Later, it was found that Dr. Debnath’s glasses were shattered and her eyes were pierced with the shards of her glasses themselves.

Although one of the criminals (Sanjoy Roy) has been arrested, I am certain that there are others involved. In fact, it has been found that Sanjoy Roy, despite being an outsider, was granted access to PG Kar via personal relations with senior police officers.

The chief minister of West Bengal (despite being a woman herself) as well as members other political parties are trying, behind the scenes, to let this case fade away. Why? Oh right, it's really the privileged, upper class & upper caste sons and brothers of ministers who are behind this! No major crime can happen in a country without there being the hand of one or more influential persons, often politically involved.

Sisters and brothers, দিদিরা ও দাদারা, it would be a sin to remain silent in the face of such a crime. Our brave brothers & sisters pursuing medical practise have ceased working in their hospitals to protest against this grave crime against women, against humanity. We cannot let this injustice go unpunished! A crime against a single woman is a crime against all of us! We were born from a woman, raised by a woman—and now, when we see the honour, dignity and life of women at stake, won’t we join the andolan? Won’t we fight for what is right?

Requesting all Kolkata residents (who can) to join in at least any one of the protests mentioned below. There are provisions for elderly & disabled people. Men are invited to join us as well.

For those who want to join the Reclaim the Night protest at 11:55 p.m., please refer to this list of contact numbers (according to your region) provided by Miru Didi ( @arachneofthoughts )

Take hold of the night! We have always been told to stay wary of nighttime and the dangers, manifested in the form of cruel men, we may face. Not anymore—we must reclaim the night! How much fear is fear enough? If anyone wants to know further details and the phone numbers regarding this first event, please DM me.

Blowing the conch has always been a signal of strength. In traditional Bengali culture, it is almost always the women who blow the conch, be it in Durga Puja or the everyday pujas carried out at home. It was, and always will remain a sign of victory over evil. At 11:55 p.m., all those who cannot join the midnight assembly (the aforementioned event) can, instead, blow the conch from their own houses! Let them know you're not afraid. Let them know you've had enough. Let them know that once a revolution starts, especially one spearheaded by women, takes a long, long time to end.

[Please Note: These protests are not personally organised by me. I simply am in touch and will be attending the protest tonight.]

If you can, please do take the time to sign this petition below (courtesy of Miru Didi @arachneofthoughts) to aid our efforts:

If nothing, please do take the time to share and reblog this post wherever you can! DON'T LET RAPE GO UNPUNISHED!