#false and true cleanliness

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Dangers of Tradition

1-2 Then some of the scribes and Pharisees from Jerusalem came and asked Jesus, “Why do your disciples break our ancient tradition and eat their food without washing their hands properly?”

3-9 “Tell me,” replied Jesus, “why do you break God’s commandment through your tradition? For God said, ‘Honour your father and your mother’, and ‘He who curses father or mother, let him be put to death’. But you say that if a man tells his parents, ‘Whatever use I might have been to you is now given to God’, then he owes no further duty to his parents. And so your tradition empties the commandment of God of all its meaning. You hypocrites! Isaiah describes you beautifully when he said: ‘These people draw near to me with their mouth, and honour me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. And in vain they worship me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men’.”

Superficial and true cleanliness

10-11 Then he called the crowd to him and said, “Listen, and understand this thoroughly! It is not what goes into a man’s mouth that makes him common or unclean. It is what comes out of a man’s mouth that makes him unclean.”

12 Later his disciples came to him and said, “Do you know that the Pharisees are deeply offended by what you said?”

13-14 “Every plant which my Heavenly Father did not plant will be pulled up by the roots,” returned Jesus. “Let them alone. They are blind guides, and when one blind man leads another blind man they will both end up in the ditch!”

15 “Explain this parable to us,” broke in Peter.

16 “Are you still unable to grasp things like that?” replied Jesus.

17-20 “Don’t you see that whatever goes into the mouth passes into the stomach and then out of the body altogether? But the things that come out of a man’s mouth come from his heart and mind, and it is they that really make a man unclean. For it is from a man’s mind that evil thoughts arise—murder, adultery, lust, theft, perjury and blasphemy. These are the things which make a man unclean, not eating without washing his hands properly!”

A gentile’s faith in Jesus

21-22 Jesus left that place and retired into the Tyre and Sidon district. There a Canaanite woman from those parts came to him crying at the top of her voice, “Lord, have pity on me! My daughter is in a terrible state—a devil has got into her!”

23 Jesus made no answer, and the disciples came up to him and said, “Do send her away—she’s still following us and calling out.”

24 “I was only sent,” replied Jesus, “to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

25 Then the woman came and knelt at his feet. “Lord, help me,” she said.

26 “It is not right, you know,” Jesus replied, “to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

27 “Yes, Lord, I know, but even the dogs live on the scraps that fall from their master’s table!”

28 “You certainly don’t lack faith,” returned Jesus, “it shall be as you wish.” And at that moment her daughter was cured.

Jesus heals and feeds vast crowds of people

29-31 Jesus left there, walked along the shore of the lake of Galilee, then climbed the hill and sat down. And great crowds came to him, bringing with them people who were lame, crippled, blind, dumb and many others. They simply put them down at his feet and he healed them. The result was that the people were astonished at seeing dumb men speak, crippled men healed, lame men walking about and blind men having recovered their sight. And they praised the God of Israel.

32 But Jesus quietly called his disciples to him. “My heart goes out to this crowd,” he said. “They’ve stayed with me three days now and have no more food. I don’t want to send them home without anything or they will collapse on the way.”

33 “Where could we find enough food to feed such a crowd in this deserted spot?” said the disciples.

34 “How many loaves have you?” asked Jesus. “Seven, and a few small fish,” they replied.

35-39 Then Jesus told the crowd to sit down comfortably on the ground. And when he had taken the seven loaves and the fish into his hands, he broke them with a prayer of thanksgiving and gave them to the disciples to pass on to the people. Everybody ate and was satisfied, and they picked up seven baskets full of the pieces left over. Those who ate numbered four thousand men apart from women and children. Then Jesus sent the crowds home, boarded the boat and arrived at the district of Magadan. — Matthew 15 | J.B. Phillips New Testament (PHILLIPS) The New Testament in Modern English by J.B Phillips copyright © 1960, 1972 J. B. Phillips. Cross References: Genesis 6:5; Exodus 20:12; Exodus 21:17; Numbers 22:29; 2 Kings 4:44; Proverbs 4:23; Isaiah 9:16; Isaiah 29:13; Isaiah 31:3; Isaiah 35:6; Isaiah 60:21; Isaiah 61:3; Matthew 4:18; Matthew 4:24; Matthew 5:10; Matthew 7:6; Matthew 8:2; Matthew 8:10; Matthew 9:22; Matthew 9:27; Matthew 10:6; Matthew 11:6; Matthew 11:21; Matthew 12:34; Matthew 13:18; Matthew 13:36; Matthew 14:19; Matthew 16:10; Mark 3:9; Mark 3:22; Mark 7:1-2; Mark 7:5; Mark 7:11; Mark 7:19; Mark 7:24; Mark 7:27-28; Mark 8:1; Luke 16:21; John 5:23; Acts 3:26; Acts 10:14-15; Romans 15:8; 1 Corinthians 6:13; Colossians 2:22

What does Matthew chapter 15 mean?

Key Events in Matthew 15

1. Jesus reproves the Scribes and Pharisees 7. for transgressing God's commandments through their own traditions; 10. teaches how that which goes into the mouth does not defile a man. 21. He heals the daughter of the woman of Canaan, 29. and other great multitudes; 32. and with seven loaves and a few small fish feeds four thousand men

[ooooo-mcyt]

Sometimes I see people pose the question of whether Scott gives to others because he cares about them, or out of selfish desire, because it in some way benefits him to do so- and a lot of times this is posed with this implication that he's being manipulative, lying, or using people. But I think this is a false dichotomy and I find it a bit ludicrous.

Scott Smajor is kind, he's generous, he's fun and he's giving and he loves his friends so much. He cares, genuinely and deeply about people, he doesn't give up on them, he makes them feel special because they are special to him and he wants nothing but joy for them.

Scott Smajor is also a person who desperately wants control over his life, and in many ways, being diplomatic and giving helps him achieve that, which I'm certain is an underlying motivator, especially given his past experiences with immense loss and lack of control.

This is not bad. This is not immoral. This is not evidence he's in any way 'lying' or 'manipulating' when he claims to give out of love.

It's very human to want to act in a way that will give you personal agency and minimize the likelihood that you'll be hurt. Having personal desires doesn't mean you're dishonest or evil, and it's not a 'lie' or 'manipulative' to do good and generous things without being 'pure enough' while you're doing them.

It rubs me the wrong way when people view any evidence of Scott having motivations that aren't completely purely 'selfless' as a betrayal or moral fault, a sign of inherent corruption and deception, instead of just human nature.

Ironically, I think this- the concept of purity- is one of the things Scott himself struggles with immensely.

One 'rule' of Scott's character for me is that he will typically not allow himself to do something if he cannot justify it as being 'correct' (i think Scott sees 'correct' as anything that contributes positively to peace, safety, cleanliness, or moral standing of himself and his group). Scott will, in many cases, actively withhold his own desires, even if they're broadly non-harmful, and will actively do things he doesn't seem to want to do because they are 'correct' to do.

Scott, in many ways, finds stability and safety in repression, in fixating on purity of thought, action, and motivation, as if he feels it's necessary to avoid bad things happening to himself or his loved ones.

But that's not true. When people say Scott is 'selfish'- with the implication that he's manipulative- for having non-selfless motivators, that's wrong, and when Scott himself believes he's obligated to meet a standard of moral purity, that's wrong too.

The thing I think Scott actually needs to learn, the main 'flaw' I think he has in many ways, is that 'purity' doesn't exist, and that being a human being with human desires and motivations is good. It's okay to want things, it's okay to desire things for reasons that aren't 'selfless', it isn't deceptive, or manipulative, or wrong, you aren't a bad person, nor will the world end, if you fail to please someone, or if you want to keep something for yourself, or if you have desires that are just about you and nobody else.

Being a good person who loves the people around you and having 'selfish' personal desires are not mutually exclusive.

(half of this is actual character analysis and half of it is me working through my ocd through scott smajor. i have not slept in like twenty eight hours sorry for the current posting quality.)

[fanfic-obsessed]

Duty

Here I try a hand at Emperor Obi Wan. It just feels right. 

It starts after Order 66, after the march on the temple. When Obi Wan says that he cannot go after Anakin, Yoda believes him. Instead of Yoda going for Sidious and Obi Wan for Anakin, they reverse it.  Yoda heads for Mustafar. 

Obi Wan goes for Sidious.He’s so done, traumatized and tired. He is also somewhere between passively suicidal and actively suicidal.  He attacks Sidious in front of the newly formed Imperial Senate and no one is more surprised than him when he takes Sidious’s head off cleanly (Sidious did not consider this one tired, hurting Jedi to be a threat and Obi Wan went in full throttle, hoping to do some damage before his death). Even though the Empire is only a few days old at this point, there are some old rules that are already in place, backed by the Force (which is why no one really questions what happens next). One of those rules is the right of conquest. 

To the winner goes the Empire. 

Now Obi Wan is the recognized Emperor, including to the chips in the Clones.   Obi Wan does not want to be the Emperor. Obi Wan wants to go sit in a depression cave and contemplate his infinite sadness in peace, please. 

Bail Organa manages to convince Obi Wan that being the Emperor and helping to unfuck everything is his duty (Bail is both semi reluctant-he knows that duty is Obi Wan’s buzzword and hates that he needs to take advantage of that-, and not, as he is pretty sure that is all that is keeping Obi Wan alive right now). 

So Obi Wan agrees to be Emperor until they can figure out how to undo the Sith’s great plan (while all 1000 years was not spent creating a web of fucked up laws that slowly built the trap they all fell into, a good portion of that time was).  He manages to rescind the Order that the Jedi are traitors, but is not able to deactivate the chips (this is another where the chips turn the clones into Automatons, with no independent thoughts). There is some code phrase that will shut the chips off, but only Palpatine knew it. The Kaminoans are sure that, now that the chips are active, removing the chips will cause brain damage and death to the clones (this is not true, but we are still several months away from Ahsoka and Rex-as the only two who have proof this is patently false- coming back into Obi Wan’s life).  Obi Wan has recalled the 212th, unable to stop himself from wanting them around him, even as they are. Yoda successfully captured Anakin, who is currently being held in a medically induced coma until they figure out what to do with him (he is decidedly fallen, but also is coming off as being in middle of a clinically psychotic episode-also both Yoda and Obi Wan are not so secretly hoping there is something that makes his actions…not Anakin of his own free will slaughtering children). Now Yoda is off in the galaxy trying to find Jedi survivors. Mace Windu was found and is Bacta and would be there for a minimum of a year. 

Padme is on bedrest for her own safety, and the safety of her children. She is also subject to frequent lectures on seeing an actual medical professional while pregnant. It turns out that she had an uncommon, but not rare, condition that meant that a natural birth would kill her. This condition can only be diagnosed in the third trimester (also notably that this condition could not be fixed with the Force, Light or Dark). Obi Wan cannot bring himself to visit her, if asked he would have the excuse of ‘too busy’ ready to go but the truth was he couldn’t face Padme, whom he had considered a friend, after she had spent so much time lying to him about her relationship with Anakin (Also he now has access to all the instances that Palpatine knew about where both of his dear friends abused their power for the sake of the other).  Even after the children are born, Obi Wan keeps his distance. 

So we have Obi Wan, holding himself by a thread as he simultaneously tries to: figure out how to undo hundreds of years of damage against democracy, run an empire (if he has to do this, he will do it right), deactivate the chips (this means going through every single Palpatine has ever recorded in hopes of discovering the code- no matter how horrific), figure out a place that the remaining Jedi can live (the temple is out of the question with the death that clings to the walls like a slime).  There is no one he can truly trust, not even Bail (For all that Bail entreaty to remain emperor was 100% necessary, it did damage Obi Wan and his friendship in a way that it would take a decade to recover).

It will eventually get better. Other Jedi will come from hiding, giving Obi Wan people he can fully rely on. But right now, about a year into the Empire, Obi Wan is running on the barest fumes, heart sick. He is surrounded by the Senate, whom he does not trust, and the puppeted bodies of the clones, whom he forces himself to treat just the same, to never forget that these are people. He has had to order the clones to ignore any order that contradicts his (in order to prevent abuse by senators) and make an explicit order for the clones to defend themselves and to see to their own needs. He is facing the prospect that there may be no way to undo this damage.  

However there is something that no one knows about the chips. Like in cannon, they do eventually break down, as the clones are forced to go against their own morals and fight the chip, it wears it down.  The irony is that Obi Wan treating them as sentients causes less wear than Palptine’s treatment. 

The 212 love their general, none more so than Cody.  As part of that, each one made a point to memorize the signs that Obi Wan was overworking himself.  Now Obi Wan is, to the clones trapped by the chips, overworking himself beyond anything they had seen. The chips do not allow for this kind of care, which starts to cause the same kind of wear that cannon saw. While most of the clones do not fight the chips with Obi Wan in charge, the 212th begins to fight even harder. 

Their general needs them. 

It starts around the 1 year mark, and is so small that Obi Wan thinks he is imagining it.  It starts with Cody frowning faintly at a senator bringing another unnecessary problem to the Emperor to solve (something that they should have been able to solve themselves).  Then Obi Wan realizes his cup of tea keeps getting refilled (Boil does it when Obi Wan isn’t looking-it both is and is not a breakthrough, the chip means that if Obi Wan had asked for the tea Boil would have provided it, but it is Boil himself that is able to anticipate the need and choose Obi Wan’s favorite tea). Several of his guards (all members of the 212th) subtly herd him down lesser known hallways and paths to his destination, causing him to avoid other senators trying, badly, to curry favor. All the while not able to say anything but “Yes, Sir” or answer direct questions with the least amount of words in a monotone.

Something shatters, just a little, in Obi Wan’s heart at those responses. He continues to talk to any of the clones,including promises that he will find a way to fix this, but does not ask as many questions. 

The first substantial sign that the chips were wearing out on their own came from Cody. It was late, Obi Wan had not slept in days, had not eaten in even longer. Cody's voice was raspy, and his words were slow, deliberate (if you have ever spoken to someone with mild aphasia, think of that with long pauses between words). He looked right at Obi Wan and said “You…have…not…eaten.”

Obi Wan found himself whipping around so fast he nearly tripped on the pretentious robes he had been forced into to stare at Cody, whose face was twisted into this incredibly focused look. 

“Cody?” Obi Wan asks, breathless. 

“You…need…to…eat” 

Obi Wan takes another step closer, almost close enough to touch “Cody?”

Cody’s jaw tightens,  “We…are..still…here…we…we…we...can…hear…you.”

Then all at once Cody’s face smoothed out again, responding to Obi Wan with a monotonous ‘yes sir’, back under the chips' control.  

It is both better and worse for Obi Wan. He now knows for sure that the clones are in there, but he still does not know how to free them.  His mindset and self care is bad enough that he actually cannot make the connection between what seems to bring members of the 212th forward in spite of the chips (and Cody is only the first, the spark is usually Obi Wan taking particularly bad care of himself, and that definition is variable for each clone-Helix the head medic is almost himself more than he is controlled within a few weeks).

It is a few weeks after this that Rex and Ahsoka finally arrive. They had been found by Yoda, who convinced them that it was safe to return to Coruscant.  Part of the reason they had not believed it before hand was that it was clear that the Clone were still controlled by the chips. 

They are the ones to break the news to Obi Wan that the Kaminoans were wrong (and it was they were wrong, not they were lying, they truly did believe that the chips could not be removed after they had been activated), the chips could be removed. 

Obi Wan takes that news in, asks a few questions on what is needed to remove the chips, then makes arrangements for the medics to have their chips removed (with the idea that they can then supervise the surgery of everyone else-Obi Wan currently has trust issues and cannot think of letting anyone who is not a clone operate on the 212th, in particular). At that point he sits on the floor of the room they were in and has a small breakdown (Disturbing both Rex and Ahsoka, and bringing his current guard, Wooley, to the point of breaking the chip entirely). 

There is still so much to do. Obi Wan still knows that. He still has a duty to keep the Empire together and undo enough damage that it can become a republic again.  He still has to live with the horrific things that Palpatine had recorded (experiments, thoughts, his plans for Anakin) and figure out what to do with Anakin (who is still being held in a medically induced coma). The knife’s edge of the politics he has been balancing on has not grown any easier (in fact Ahsoka and Rex, having internalized Anakin's beliefs more than they realized are going to make it more difficult not less). 

But Obi Wan has hope, hearing that the clones would soon be free. Through he does not make any kind of suggestion or let himself have an opinion on who goes when for choir removing (save that all of the medics needed to go first so they could sort out who was going next), the medics in charge prioritize the 212th, because Obi Wan desperately needs his battalion back. Also because no one is completely sure that they won’t all give themselves brain damage fighting against the chip. 

There are enough medics that Ghost Company is dechipped at the same time, with minimal recovery.  Boil and Wooley immediately take charge, while the others lock Cody and Obi Wan into Obi Wan’s ‘temporary’ apartment (What had been Palpatine’s living space- the senate insisted) opening the door only for to provide food while Obi Wan is made to take an enforced ‘vacation’ or at least a ten day (They accept no criticisms, or questions from the Senate. The first senator to protest was shot with a stunner and told to be glad for it-the others decide that they will accept Wooley and Boil as a substitute Emperor).

Cody cuddling Obi Wan produces the first true sleep he had since Utapau.  Obi Wan sleeps for a full 24 hours.

[blackjackkent]

I've never failed the strength check for cutting Nere's head off, but apparently the companions all have sarcastic dialogue if you muck the job up. XD

NARRATOR: The decaying corpse lies before you.

PLAYER: Remove the head. (Roll Strength vs 10)

[RollResult] True NARRATOR: The head breaks off cleanly from the drow's body.

[RollResult] False [TAGCINEMATIC] (DEVNOTE: Player removes head off-camera but does a terrible job of it. You see the player grimace as blood spatters on them.)

LAE'ZEL: Bah - a pathetic show. Yet undeniably satisfying to watch. SHADOWHEART: I sincerely hope you never find employment as an executioner. (DEVNOTE: A little aghast. (The player is cutting the head off a corpse and is making a bloody mess of the job.)) KARLACH: Like watching a lemure eat porridge. Messy and unsettling. ASTARION: What are you - have you never decapitated a corpse before?! Urgh, what a waste... (DEVNOTE: Watching someone make a balls of something you think should be easy.) WYLL: Ugh - more blood than an abattoir. (DEVNOTE: Grossed out by player messily beheading someone.) GALE: I can lend you a third left hand if you need one.

[spineless-lobster]

Okay so idk if others have pointed this out but I have Thoughts about the way characters refer to odysseus throughout the musical

The most glaring one I think is when the suitors say “whoever can string the old king’s bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly” while penelope says “whoever can string my husband’s old bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly”

It really shows how they view odysseus. To the suitors ody is dead to them, or has at least lost any respect they would’ve held for him. But penelope has hope that odysseus is alive, he’s not just some old king to her, he’s her husband and her one true love and she is still holding out for him even while “attempting” to choose a new husband

Another thing I noticed is how telemachus (before I Cant Help But Wonder) refers to odysseus as “you” or doesn’t refer to him at all. He addresses odysseus directly in Legendary by saying “you” and “your” which has this air of false-familiarity to it. When addressing someone as “you” it can be personal, you know each other enough to not use names. But it can also be very impersonal, “you” can be literally anyone. I think it greatly reflects how telemachus “knows” odysseus through stories of what he was like and tapestries and statues of his form, but he’s still a stranger to him. He’s never met odysseus and he doesn’t truly know him as much as he would like

We can also see the different ways people view ody in the way polites, eurylochus and the rest of the crew refer to odysseus. Obviously they LOVE yelling “captain” at him at any given moment, and it shows how to the vast majority of the crew odysseus is their leader more than a fellow comrade. That’s not to say they don’t have a close relationship with him (he’s clearly affected by all their deaths) but it shows that their professional relationship comes first

Eurylochus is the perfect example of this. He’s odysseus’ friend and second in command, and he takes the role of second in command very seriously. He doesn’t let personal hang ups get in the way of what’s best for the men (he was completely willing to abandon several of them on circe’s island in favour of not putting the others at risk). The only time we see him refer to odysseus as something other than “captain” is in mutiny when eury is exhausted and completely desperate, he tries to appeal to odysseus as a friend by calling him “ody”, he’s tried everything else to convince odysseus to listen to him and calling him by a nickname is the final way he can think of. It appeals to his humanity in a similar way polites does

Polites is the only person to refer to ody as “my friend” of course that’s because they’re childhood friends, but unlike eurylochus he puts their friendship first over any kind of business or hierarchy. Again, polites appeals to ody’s humanity, to him he’s more than a captain or a soldier or a king, he’s odysseus and he’s his friend and he’ll be that before anything else

I have no idea if someone has said the exact same thing already or if I’m even cooking but I was just thinking about this in the shower and I had to yap about it lol

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

What do you think each of the crowd would smell like? Not to be creepy, I just want to smell like Inej Ghafa

Interesting question; I’m afraid that Inej canonically smells of nothing according to Kaz, except for during the bathroom scene when he says that she smells of the hotel soap she just used. Nina does say when on parem that the table where she healed Inej’s stab wound smells of her but it’s strongly implied that the parem gives her the ability to distinguish the scent of one person’s blood from another and it’s the leftover blood she can still smell even after the table has been cleaned and know that it was Inej’s blood.

Nina canonically smells of the perfume that’s used to falsely scent the White Rose’s flower arrangements at the start of Six of Crows, according to Matthias, and later on the Ferolind during the journey to Fjerda smells of the toffees she stashed and has been eating.

During Crooked Kingdom, Nina and Jesper (and Kuwei, if you’d like to include him) canonically smell of coffee because they’re wearing it all the time like perfume to hide from the possibility that the Kerghud soldiers can smell the difference between Grisha and otkazats’ya

That’s all the canon mentions of people’s scents that I can recall off the top of my head, but if anyone remembers any others let me know, and as for headcanons:

Wylan probably spends most of the books smelling of the chemicals he uses in his explosives, Kaz claims that the scent of smoke can cling to people’s shirt cuffs and I expect that would ring true for Wylan. Pre and post canon he probably smells of fancy soap and, if it exists in the Grishaverse, nice curl cream or other products that he uses on his hair, but even if that does exist in the Grishaverse I very much doubt he had access to it during canon.

Jesper most likely often smells of smoke and gunpowder, pre and maybe during canon he probably often had the smell of alcohol on his clothes as well, and perhaps post canon fancy soap and the tinge of engine oil.

The Barrel may smell terrible but that doesn’t mean Kaz has to reduce himself to it and he most definitely won’t; he probably smells of soap and leather most of the time, plus he clearly puts a lot of effort into his suits so you may be able to smell whatever they’ve been so well washed in. Also quite possibly blood. I’m now thinking maybe he would deliberately choose scentless soaps because I read a book where lingering perfume was recognised at a crime scene and he would want to avoid anything that might be recognisable.

We know for a fact that Hellgate was a disgusting smelling place with poor access to hygiene and clean water, but after he was freed I imagine Matthias became hyper aware of cleanliness because of this limited access to hygiene products and kept himself very neat and clean. He probably smells of soap most of the time. Pre canon I imagine there were pretty strict hygiene and general cleanliness rules for the Drüskelle so again he probably smelt quite clean, but also had something of the rugged air and cold Northern winds about him. He also may have had the scent of some kind of shampoo since he had very long hair that the smell would remain clinging to, but I expect that whatever he used was standardised amongst the Drüskelle.

At home Inej probably smelled of spices and perfumes and chalk, and at the Menagerie she probably smelled of cheap, overpoweringly strong perfume. It’s a combination of both of these factors that make me think she was actively choosing to avoid scent during the duology, hence Kaz saying “she didn’t even have a scent”, and choosing scentless soaps. Post canon she probably smells of salt and the sea most of the time, and would maybe pick up a scented soap every now again to practice testing her limits and branching out since we know she actively pushes herself with some of the smaller things like this that she finds difficult

Honestly I’m not sure if i have any particular headcanons about Nina, though I think she would avoid rose-scented perfume post canon

Thanks for the ask! This was pretty fun to think about <33

This has been another episode of DK Finally Gets It Together And Answers Her Asks Because It’s About Damn Time (Working Title), thank you for joining me, if you’d like to see the rest of the series you can find it in the tags or if that isn’t working (again 🤦‍♀️) then in my pinned post <3

[creature-wizard]

This is very random but, can we talk about the rise in “toxin free eating/clean eating”? Because all of this is so wild to me. The rise in “cleanliness” in general is so weird. (Not saying caring about hygiene is weird that’s not what this “cleanliness culture” is about.)

I’m sorry but drinking raw milk isn’t going to give you this missing nutrition BIG DAIRY has been keeping from you so they could fill you with toxins. Pasteurizing milk is a process so you don’t fucking die!!!

An uptick in bird flu cases have been reported in Dairy cows recently, and with all the dumbasses drinking raw milk that’s just putting yourself and so many others at risk.

But do they see that risk no. They are too busy posting tiktoks about how Air Fryers give people autism. And how “processed” foods are filled with evil toxins and give people autism. (Why the fuck does everything now a days give you autism) What do they think processes food are?? Putting a food in a wrapping is processing it.

Sugar, pasteurized milk, chemicals in an ingredient list you don’t understand, aren’t giving you autism or parasites or “toxins”. It’s crazy they will say they have a borax deficiency and start eating LITERAL BORAX THE LAUNDRY DETERGENT, but demonize sugar or oil. Stop moralizing your EDs and spreading false information to feed your delusions. Let’s also not ignore the political rhetoric that also helps prop up these ideas. (That’s way bigger conversation I don’t want to get into. Also I’m saying “your” and “you” not at YOU but at them. Sorry for any typos, I hope you understand what I’m trying to get at.)

We can and should talk about this! So many people today have been led to believe that Food In The Past was so much better and nobody got sick from anything they ate, which was just. So Not True. Like the reality is that food today is way safer than food in the past, and the health problems people suffer today were absolutely suffered by people in the past. Like you only have to read something like the Lacnunga to see this for yourself.

[ghelgheli]

Can I ask why you would dis-recommend Decolonising Trans/Gender 101? I had heard good things about it and it is on my shortlist to check out.

So, both in the title ("101") and the introduction, binaohan is expressing a commitment to writing a text that can serve as an effective introductory reading for people looking to understand the relationships between transness and colonization. I would expect that with a commitment like this, the text is both cleanly argued and, you know, doesn't make very many false or misleading claims that could send the unfamiliar reader down a garden path. My experience was that this is not the case!

For example, binaohan asserts several times that 15th and 16th century colonialism marks the beginning of transmisogyny and the gender binary. As though there was no transmisogyny before this, in e.g. byzantine surgical practice or roman rhetoric! As though misogyny and its commitment to the opposition of men to women did not precede the use of misogyny as a technology of european colonialism. I just don't think this is a true or useful claim.

Or, take binaohan's defense of family structure against coming-out narratives—the criticism being that white trans culture presents coming out as an assertion of agency, but that this overlooks racialized experiences of commitment to the family over and above the notion that coming out is the only way to be true to oneself. Criticism of coming-out-as-responsibility is fair, but I don't think we should be doing "families are good as long as they're not nuclear" here.

There's a whole section on how "passing" and "stealth" language is essentially compromised because "trans women don't 'pass' as women, they just are women" (paraphrase). But this is just wordplay; nobody is using these terms with those connotations but to denote important material facts about moving thru the world as trans. And the section gives the impression that there's nothing important being done with these uses of language.

The book leans a bit too much on privilege-language, and combines it with gender-eternalism: that if you are a man, you were always a man, and if you are a woman, you were always a woman. This is a self-narrative that works for many trans people. It also doesn't work for many others, including e.g. trans lesbians I know who are comfortable narrativizing themselves as having been boys. I wouldn't want someone to read binaohan's prescription, delivered in the second person, and take it at face value.

I also didn't think I'd ever say this, but the book overcorrects against transandrophobia-truther arguments, denying that "transphobia" is a coherent concept. Now, I'm open to a particular line of reasoning: that perhaps all trans-antagonisms are reducible to mechanisms of transmisogyny. But that's not what's done here, and the possibility of something like anti-transmasculinity (not necessarily in those terms) is not even acknowledged.

I think binaohan writes effectively about the particulars of both contemporary and historical Tagalog gendered experience and embodiment. Those were the sections of the book I most enjoyed. I just thought they had been slot in between a great deal of arguments and claims I would not want to present to someone looking for a "101". I don't think the book succeeds at being the pedagogical text it wants to be.

[vyladromeave]

Knowledge We Are Given In Canon: after he went through guard training, Garroth faked his own death in order to get out of O’khasis and escape his arranged marriage.

Lore-Breaking Assumption: Despite going through all the hassle of Faking His Death, Running Away Across The Region, and Never Revealing His Face (something the average country bumpkin of Phoenix Drop probably would not recognize even remotely), the idea of using a fake name or moniker did not occur to him. Despite the name "Garroth Romeave" being much more widely recognizable than his face.

Generous Assumption: “Garroth” is a common enough first name in the region of Ru’aun that he didn’t see a point in using a false one. He’s not entirely stupid, he just didn’t see a reason to change it.

now stick with me here.

Knowledge We Are Given In Canon: Azura has known Garroth since they were in guard training together, which is likely when she developed a crush on him.

Lore-Breaking Assumption: Azura for some reason has determined Garroth’s true identity, despite the fact that he literally faked his own death in order to get away from the responsibilities that came with his name and status. (And she’s awesome and cool so she just never ratted him out about it.)

Really Funny Assumption: Azura actually developed a crush on some other guy named Garroth (common name) and lost touch with him after guard academy, and then falsely believes our Garroth (the one obscuring his face and true identity so he can’t cleanly explain to her the truth) to be the one she developed a crush on.

And the first time she sees him without his helmet, shes like. “What thefuck is that. Who the hell are you.”

and someone has to. explain it to her.

[indigo-constellation]

It's taken me far too long to have this thought out in public

Daniil should be Artemy's sacrifice in the termite ending.

tl;dr Haruspex route is the only one Daniil doesn't fit the criteria for a sacrifice in and it's been haunting me for years.

NOW, what's the criteria we get for the sacrifice? Beautiful young woman who is in love with Artemy right? well, yes, but that prophecy is given to the player by Katerina, the false mistress, all of her other prophecies are in some way wrong, why is this one followed to the letter? Well there is another definition to the sacrifice Artemy must make, two actually. (it's one, I know, but this is easier for me)

The first is that it has to be equal to the udurgh, which the polyhedron isn't. This is why Artemy does not become the foreman in the termite ending and why that ending feels so deeply unsatisfying and unfitting for him, because he never actually fulfils his goal (THIS IS WHY HARUSPEX ROUTE UTOPIAN ENDING IS SO MUCH BETTER but I already ranted about that) Aglaya fills that criteria.

Now you might ask why, and that leads very cleanly to the second point, the real need in the sacrifice to be equal to the udurgh is that it isn't a man, and in Aglaya's own words, "Simon was almost human. And me-I'm not quite human." Aglaya is not quite human, because she is aware of her status as a doll.

What does this have to do with Daniil?

Well, Daniil is "not quite human" himself in the two other routes.

Bachelor route is very simple to explain, not only does he get to discover that he is a doll, but even if he doesn't heal another bound and meet the powers that be, he is still the player character, he still has this level of separation from the world caused by the player, this distinction between the player and the character is made most clear in the Haruspex route where it's explicitly said that Aglaya isn't in love with Artemy, she's in love with the player, as the player themselves say, "Did you fall in love with him because he was free? But that wasn't him; it was me." Meaning that the player is separate enough from their character to justify the player character being "not quite human."

Now Changeling route is where this gets interesting. because there it is also not his route but Daniil is still aware of his status as a toy in it, claiming it to be the third time he's been deceived, outright stating, "I'm a plaything! And so, undoubtedly, are you." Now this obviously makes him fit the criteria of "not quite human" as established by Aglaya, but, this is where it gets interesting.

Because in that same conversation, Daniil can say, "Self-denial is the meaning here, silly. Deny yourself and you win. Yes, that's how it is! That's the essence of my discovery." And this, this line. This one line, which is specifically set after the player played the Bachelor's route, implies that he has known since. Now that might be a bit of a stretch but with the recommended order of playing being Bachelor -> Haruspex -> Changeling, how hard is it to believe that there is a chance that he is aware during the Haruspex's route? Honestly that makes that possibility so fascinating, because he is right when he's saying that he only wins by self-denial, because by denying to himself (and to Artemy, ie, still himself) the fact that he is a doll, he is keeping himself alive. Because otherwise, he would fit the criteria, being a Healer, a past (or future) player character, and "not quite human" he would very well fit the criteria to be an equal sacrifice to the udurgh.

Let us revisit the prophecy by Katerina, by Artemy's own description, Daniil is handsome, he is 28/29 so arguably young, not a woman, and well, in love with Artemy. Considering the fact that Katerina's prophecies are never outright true, this is as close to confirmation as I am going to get.

Why do I care?

WELL, one, potential, so much potential, I have a wip waiting about this.

But also, it would make the problem of Haruspex route termite ending being a kind of boring and unfulfilling ending not be that, and add another layer of tragedy to it. Let me explain, the problem with termite ending (Artemy route) as it is, is that Artemy makes the wrong choice, it's said multiple times that the right choice for him, is to destroy the town, this is stated in Clara's ice prince story, in the character selection screen, as well as the conversation with the executor in the end which states that "inevitability" is the only true villain. Daniil being his sacrifice would prove that wrong. It would give Artemy a way out of that trap laid for him. It would mean the acceptance of the butchers and Artemy gaining access to the living blood below the earth, not just what will spill from the polyhedron's base. It also adds another interesting aspect to the game in that this would be the one chance for a player character not your own to die, and it will be by your hand. Which assuming the player played/is planning to play Bachelor route, would hurt.

I'm not even going to go into the queer interpretation of that possible ending just know that I am thinking about it constantly

I hope this was somewhat coherent, I have been thinking about this specific thing for years and it's not leaving me alone.

[rainhidesmytears]

Valdemar x Wife! Reader

(This is honestly a cute little idea I had purely based upon my own fascination with this unique and lovingly violent character. We aren't here for perfection folks! The genre is called fantasy for a reason!! Please enjoy my sappy nonsense 🩷)

It was a fun little idea that I find amusing - this traveling doctor getting off from the ferry as it docks in Vesuvia, happens to be a penpal of Julian's that he's finally been able to convince to return home to visit everyone. Visiting the Palace to greet him because Nadia invited their friends to tea and he got permission to have a visitor join them.

It may be a little odd, but I don’t write much so it's okay, have fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ilya, is that you? You're much taller than I remember! It's good to see you! Nice eyepatch. It adds to the whole pirate look you've got going on." The woman greets the redhead warmly, embracing in a quick one armed hug as she still carried her bag on the opposite shoulder. "How've you been? Last I'd heard, you were off fighting magical beings and breaking chains and such. Bunch of sparkling, glittery nonsense, if you ask me." It gets Julian to laugh, as he was never very fond of magic to begin with, always preferring the cold hard facts of scientific research.

"You're telling me! I was thrown into a giant magical floating ocean with enormous flying sea creatures! They were very friendly, of course, and the view was incredible, but I didn't exactly appreciate being on a false ground that moved out from under my feet." As Julian had awaited her arrival on the ferry, the two had begun catching up as they made their way towards the Palace, having been granted permission to attend a sort of tea party with the Countess as everyone's relationships had since been mended after the defeat of the Devil. "You'll love the cakes, Portia bakes them herself. Oh! Did I tell you she and Nadia finally went on a date? You've much to catch up on, it's been ages since you've been home."

With the eager aggreance of his friend, the pair had finally made it inside and headed towards the salon where the others waited. Apparently the Countess had a last minute meeting that had to be dealt with, if the courtiers all filing out of the room after her were any indication. Though, before proper introductions could be held, the woman had suddenly dropped her bag and broke into a dead sprint towards the now somewhat reformed Quaestor. The five attendees of said tea party had no chance to warn her of the horned doctor's dislike of- well- anyone, before the entire hall was caught in a shocked silence at the scene before them.

Valdemar had originally intended to leave the meeting and return to the dungeons for more experiments, only to greet Julian's new friend with open arms when she had thrown herself into his waiting embrace. This mysterious friend of Julian's even has the audacity (or what any of the medical attendings would call the lack of a will to live) to press a chaste kiss to the side of the Quaestor's mask before being set back down. While the wide eyed stares on the pair of them seem to go unnoticed by the woman, Valdemar is very much amused by the current situation. Nadia doesn't have a chance to say anything before she's struck speechless by an amused and less than menacing chuckle from the Quaestor. No one has ever heard him show any sort of emotion that wasn't within malicious intent.

"You ruin the cleanliness of my masks at every turn. What am I going to do with you?" It's more of a tease than a true question, note even going as far as brushing himself off as he had done so with anyone else who came within close proximity. No one has the heart to move or say anything lest it end this confusion in bloodshed.

"I mean, you could always strap me to that vivisection table of yours, but then I think we'd both have a little too much fun and not in the way of science~" She had immediately began teasing the feared horned doctor, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, showing off more of the amusement he felt. The Quaestor certainly a master of composure, as anyone else would have laughed at such a frivolous remark. It was clear that this seemed to be a very happy reunion, but no one could figure out why.

"I take it you two know each other?" Julian's question sparks laughter from the woman and a quick amused glance away from the Quaestor. The current situation was hilarious in the eyes of the two, but he holds his reputation rather high, so they only laughter he usually allows is when it terrifies those around him. Had it not been for his friend jumping up and kissing his previous employer, he'd have been far braver in sense of curiosities needing to be quelled.

"Well, if I didn't know who he was, I doubt I'd have married him. Especially with that horrible habit of leaving unfinished experiments all over the dining room table~" She only teases her husband more, even in front of Julian and the Countess who was his underling and is his current employer respectively. Though instead of the fury or wrath they're expecting, all they see is his exasperated sigh and a light swatting at this cackling woman even while she pats his hands away. Their current view of the pair is almost like that of an old married couple they'd meet in the market.

"That is a stretch of the truth, as we are both well aware. You distract me frequently. How can I ever finish my work?" His tone is gentle and scolding, but it holds no real heat behind it. But his wife only laughs, beaming brightly up at the Quaestor as she still very clearly has to tilt her head back for them to see eye to eye. Had none of them been previously afraid of Valdemar, they'd see his gentle hand on the back of her head to prevent pain as endearing, and somewhat thoughtful.

"Every good doctor needs rest. Whether it's sleeping or reading a book by the fire with their ever distracting wife. You work too hard, Dear. I want you to be as healthy as you keep me. Demon capabilities or not, I am a woman and your wife. No matter how hard you try, you'll never win this argument." Her immediate reply to his light complaint is that of care and amusement, refusing to allow her beloved doctor to work himself to death regardless of the power he once held.

"You'd never allow me, regardless." Valdemar's brow raises at her quick agreance, only encouraging her further with another quiet chuckle before they've leaned down and moved their mask to leave a light kiss to the crown of her head. Once his posture had straightened, the Quaestor readjusted the mask and bid fairwell to the audience they had ended up with, as he left the party and headed back to the dungeons to work on an experiment.

No one had ever seen even the vague hints of his personal life, not even the other courtiers whom had known him for centuries had ever heard even a whisper from his lips of anything of himself that wasn't a carnal urge for blood or death. They all have so many questions once the party finally makes it into the salon, funnily enough by the woman's lead. Her laughter as the courtiers had quickly joined them, was only amplified by their rapid fire questions mixed together with Julian's and the others.

Nadia: "The Quaestor has a wife?"

Asra: "Wait- he's married? Like actually married?"

Portia: "You're not a zombie experiment that swears loyalty to him?"

Valerius: "How the fuck- please excuse my language, your Grace- but how the fuck did he get married?"

Julian: "The letters she writes are slanted and not nearly as neat as Valdemar’s and he's one dangerous stickler for neatness and cleanliness."

Vlastomis: "How the did you get him to exchange letters?"

Vulgora: "Did he best you in a fight? No? NO? WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?"

Her laughter turns to wheezes under their investigation, especially when the Pontifex had brought mention of a lost duel into the conversation. "Stars, no! Nothing like that at all! We've been married for the last 15 years. No fights, or deals, or magical spells or experiments gone wrong, I can assure you." They finally calm themselves enough for her laughter to die down, and when she has the chance to give a little bit of the history between them, it only shocks them again.

"He'd happened to need stitches while I was traveling the continent, and we just sort of hit it off. He likes to say he'd had an entire courtship planned out, but he's just full of hot air. I had that man red in the face and wide eyed every time I flirted with him. Especially when he was covered in blood after an amputation. But that's a story for another time." The collective whines of wanting to hear more of the sappy details came mainly from the Devorak twins and Volta, but the others seemed relieved they wouldn't have to head the more mushy side of the Quaestor. It only seemed to make him that much more intimidating.

"He prides himself on his work, so I can't blame him for never mentioning me. Honestly, I feel like people would worry too much about the thought of him having a wife instead of the effort he puts into his work, so I've never had the idea to go broadcasting his name or occupation. But I'm so glad to see that he's right here in Vesuvia! Just means I can move into that house I bought to be closer to him instead of traveling by sea every month. Now! Julian mentioned some cakes, do we still have a chance for those?"

[capricioussun]

A loose little guide to how i characterize 'swapped' skeleton brothers versus their nonswapped counterparts

These aren't hard rules and vary au to au due to background differences, but i felt the impulse to make this as a general sort of...thing. ✨

"The Judge"

I've always been fond of the hc that whatever gives 'the judges' their "judging ability" as i see it, sort of acts like a chronic illness, too. Poor health (low hp with difficulty raising it), susceptibility to illness, chronic fatigue, etc etc.

However, due to their more inherent natures, this manifests differently in Sanses and Papyruses.

As the older siblings more often than not, this tends to lead to the nonswapped Sanses feeling guilty for not being able to take better care of their brothers growing up. Typically, Sanses have better intuition though, so 'the judge' enhances that in a way they can usually easily handle.

As the younger siblings, 'the judge's effects on Papyri most often leads to low self esteem and worsened anxiety. They often feel like a burden on their brothers, and having poorer inherent intuition means the heightened sensitivity provided by the judge only adds confusion to their already unsteady social skills.

•

Sleep

Any Sans is capable of knocking out like a sack of bricks, but having better health gives swapped Sanses the ability to be awake and stay awake just fine, having more natural energy and actually being able to wake up feeling rested. Nonswapped Sanses can feel rested, it just wears off much more quickly </3

Conversely, any Papyrus struggles with sleep. Be it nightmares, terrors, chronic pain, or just insomnia, they all have a difficult relationship with sleep. The swapped Papyri get the shorter end of the stick though, since their poor health and lower energy leads to feeling extremely exhausted most of the time, and despite napping often, never really feeling rested upon waking.

•

Cleanliness

While both Nonswapped Sanses and Swapped Papyri struggle a bit with tidiness, there are very different methods to their madness.

Nonswapped Sanses function more with the 'prioritization' mindset. They have limited energy so they focus it on the important stuff.

They also aren't usually bothered by poor hygiene as much, so their mess tends towards the more unsanitary stuff. They are also more prone to the whole 'self punishment' mindset and won't do much to better their surroundings out of the feeling they deserve to wallow.

Swapped Papyri on the other hand, tend to be more distracted. It's less about being mindful of their energy and more about chasing what they're able to focus on and have the energy for when it comes, leading to a lot of cluttered spaces. It's the easiest way to function, and also leads to relying on the chaotic process for familiarity (it might look hectic, but they probably know where everything in their room is).

Contrary to the Sanses though, they're typically much more hygienic, or attempt to be, and try to keep their spaces clear of anything "gross". Less prone to wallowing, more prone to pushing themselves past their limits to not "fall short".

•

Trust

Any Sans tends towards skepticism. Even with the friendlier ones, tending to be Swapped Sanses, while they may not straightforwardly question or intimidate, they are nonetheless difficult to earn the true trust of. They even sometimes use their friendly disposition to their advantage to give someone a false sense of security to see if they have some ugly true colours to show.

Any Papyrus though, try as they might, almost always tend toward trusting more quickly and more easily than their brothers. They also have a tendency to be more forgiving. Whether that's because they want to believe in some inherent goodness, or because they're desperately lonely, who's to say.

•

Neuroses

(I usually give any and all skeleton brothers autism and or adhd)

Sanses tend toward depression and paranoia. This can take shape in a large variety of ways, and also makes them more susceptible, on average, to PTSD/worsened symptoms of it. They are not weak willed, but struggle greatly to self-motivate and usually rely on outside forces or the ones around them to function.

Papyruses tend toward anxiety, derealization, and OCD. This of course can also take many different forms, but often leads to panic disorder, difficulties socializing, and dangerously self isolating behaviors. While they aren't naive, they struggle to develop their own senses of self and world view, making them very susceptible to manipulation.

I might add more to this, or make one about other characters, but for now, this is all my overcooked brain can think of ✌️

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

It's 2:30, I'm at home, it's sunny outside, I rehearsed this morning. I received your letter from Friday and another from Sunday and I am angry. That, in summary, is my state. My love, you have to relax, you have to let yourself go, but you must not continue to slide down the slope you have taken these last few days. You are thirty-six years old, you live, you are here, in the open sky with love in your heart and a deep sense of beauty. I understand that your state of fatigue takes you away from everything and everyone; I understand your longing for sunshine and health, but you will overcome this illness and the sun will shine often for you. 

The tension in which you have always lived is exhausting, I know, but don't forget that you are one of those who must remain tense until the end, who does not give up, and this idea alone will give you the strength you need to continue. Remember our laughter, often. That's why you have to live, to laugh, to sing in Desdemona, for the peaceful hours of Ermenonville and its park, for thunderstorms, for the sun and the driving rain. I beg you, do not forget happiness. Don't forget that even if we are diminished, mutilated, limited, we are made for happiness, and that it is there, every day, at every moment, waiting for us, if we don't stiffen up, if we consent to it. 

Europe has its mists, it is true, but it also has its sun, which is all the more brilliant because it is, like life, not very long-lasting. And then, there are your eyes, the most beautiful eyes I know, my face of happiness and gratitude. There is your work so full of gratitude when, after days and days of drought and poverty, you feel friends with her. What more can I say to you? What else can I say to you but that you are only thirty-six years old and that I have just left a being who was sixty-five, who was only a breath, a spirit, and who still had more happiness, more joys, more energy and more wealth in him than a young man of twenty? Courage, my love! Perhaps you may not be fully aware of the part that I hold in you. 

The many weeks of absence erase the memory and replace it with a false change of scenery that we don't know at what to attribute. That's what happened to me lately, before Dad's death, when I was writing to you about my boredom. I was called to order, and I am now busy with the essential. You, abandoned a little, alone, you lose your way sometimes. Forgive me for telling you all this. I am perhaps boasting too much, but I don't think I'm completely wrong. On the other hand, the people around you are not very comforting. I don't know your brother. I don't know F[rancine], but your situation is not one that makes her presence radiant, even if she is exultant with life. As for the G[allimard], this is the couple that I would choose if I wanted to die of "disintegration". 

Everything falls on you, everyone cries out for you, everyone asks for you, at the very moment when you should only receive. But you'll see. The days are flying by, and in a very short time I'll be there. Don't come to me with a scowl on your face and the idea that we'll be curled up together in grief, regret, nostalgia and the cult of the past. The latter, it is in every gesture I make and every thought I have, but in a living way. It is expressed in the struggle, in the growing need for cleanliness, for righteousness, greatness. As for the rest, it remains in the depths of my heart, there, in the background, where it mingles with my life to make it richer. It may seem strange to you that I should speak to you in this tone, but you don't know me very well if you expected anything else from me. 

If I am angry today, it is because I have received a letter from my sister who takes on the appearance of Saint Sebastian and indulges in scenes in front of her distraught daughter, scenes that have no real basis, given that she has hardly seen my father in twenty years and that she left on her own as soon as she wanted to. Anyway, let's leave that. No one in the world, I'm sure, misses the presence of Dad more than I do. I miss him every moment, but the crying and complaints are not my doing; like him, I have a disgust for death, like him I have a thirst for life and happiness. I love him infinitely and he helps me to live, and it is for him also that I want to laugh. That's where I am. 

As for the follies I wanted to warn you against, don't worry about it, I wasn't thinking of anything out of the ordinary. Only you were telling me about a trip to make, and I thought that we shouldn't build too many castles in Spain, that it was important first of all to find ourselves, to see where we were with our life and health and to weigh the possibilities that would be granted to us. That was all. I got your "picture". You have cheeks! And a little scoundrel look...! My love, my beautiful love, courage again. Work. Work well, the best you can. 

By the way, I don't know if I told you about your preface. Did I tell you that I had tears in my eyes when I read it? Oh, yes. It is beautiful! After its publication, you'll have to retire to a deserted island, but a beautiful island! Okay, I'm leaving you. I'm going to write to my sister again and write a few more letters. Then I'll go and buy some pretty flowers for Feli. Then I will finish at the theater. See you tomorrow, darling. Angeles asks me to ask your permission to kiss you. Four eyes on your picture. The house, black and yellow, smiles at the thought of seeing you soon. As for me, here I am, in the most patient and impatient wait that one can imagine. In your arms, in your warmth, I will be happy again. I love you.

Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, February 28, 1950 [#219]  

[tenebrisdivina]

Demonic Divine Darkness and Human Energy Interactions

Artist: Bastien Lecouffe Deharme on artstation

Disclaimer: please note when I use the term “pure”(adjective) - I do not mean in a derogatory manner, it is a neutral term and conveys a cleanliness, clarity, directness ( possible uniformity) of energy structure and a clear vibrational essence of energy conveyed- ie with divine purity- meaning undistorted- not shadowy or containing anything extraneous.

I wanted to speak a little about how demonic divine darkness interacts with human energy and what it can look like. This is something that I think bears understanding in general and  for those who are beginning to work with demonic divine beings or in traversing and exploring the darkness. As I have mentioned in previous posts, there is a distinct difference in what is demonic divine darkness and regular darkness. Demonic divine darkness tends to have a “purity,”  vastness and a majesty to it. This is especially true on the level I connect with the demonic divine on- as outer/other multiversal beings. (On this level it is closer to like star or planetary levels of energy and is highly “purified”). This darkness is only carried in true demonic divine beings- egregores, pagan deities, thought forms, or sock puppets will not often have the effects mentioned since they don’t have true demonic divine darkness.

In the process of a human practitioner connecting to this energy; the basic way of connecting to this energy is to become attuned to and aligned with it. This is why using enns, sigils, offerings and the other paraphernalia (sound/vocal vibrations, altars with correspondences, sigils etc) is important in order to connect- because it attunes the human’s vibration to the demonic divines. This attunement process enables one to connect with the demonic divine beings. (Also to note; not everyone will necessarily always be able to align or connect well, if at all- also given the practitioners own vibrations and energies and that is fine and natural.) The more attuned and aligned one is to the specific Demonic Divine’s presence; the clearer communication between parties and ritual, magick involving such beings more effective. In attuning to these energies (even if it is not to specific entity and just demonic divine energies in general); it has a tendency to bring up in the human practitioners- the practitioners underlying darkness, shadows, fears, traumas, false darkness, parasites etc. This is because in attuning to such high level darkness (and the purer/clearer the entities energy is; the more the “sediment” is brought up) this “low level” internalised “darkness” – like false darkness, repressed things in personal shadows (shadow work), needs to be cleared out of the practitioners system to affectively and more closely align and resonate with the demonic divines energies. This is simply the natural process of connecting with the demonic divine though it can be especially difficult for the human to understand and process if they have never done this before and are not used to it.

This process can be thought of as though the demonic divine’s energy is a magnet and it brings out all the sediment to be dealt with (ideally to be processed and dealt with before going further in working with the demonic divine). On a vibrational level this is an entirely natural and organic process between the energies if seeking to commune or work with Them. The demonic divine being connected with- is often not doing this deliberately- it is simply what happens when connecting with Their high-level darkness and energies. At times DLs will deliberately focus on doing this, but even so it is not done in a malicious way. (At least for entities that are known to humans and humans work with regularly). Some DL’s may do this so that the energy is cleared, and a more consistent and direct connection can occur between the human and Themselves.  Even though connecting to the demonic divine energies will likely bring up this darkness to be faced- it is up to the practitioner themselves to deal with it- by alchemy, transforming it etc. The Demonic divine energy just makes this apparent in the practitioners’ energy field, it does not automatically transmute it- this is up to the practitioners themselves. Of course, one can always ask for aid with the demonic divine they are working or connecting with to help in the clearing of these energies.

This is one of the reasons I do not believe that practitioners who have never had experience working with spirits or deities, nor those who have never done self examination, shadow work, working on healing their own traumas and facing their inner darkness - false or natural  etc- should start their paths by working with the demonic divine. In such cases there is a great tendency to misunderstand what is occurring and for such people to “get lost in the sauce” of their egoic and/or mental narratives, psychological tendencies, trauma, false darkness and very easily fall into delusional territory. If the practitioner in question does not know themselves well and has never done self examination, shadow work, at least attempted to process their trauma or psychological tendencies, if they do not know their personal internal, energetic and mental mechanisms ( how easily the mind creates and “fills in the blanks”) and how to differentiate themselves from Other (discernment) ( ie having previously done deity work or similar) then the practitioner may misinterpret and misunderstand what is occurring. The human in question may end up as well connecting with their false darkness as though it was the divine being themselves, and not even engaging with the demonic divine at all. (This is of course alongside other basic practices such as energy work, shielding, cleansing, grounding etc).

There can also be a tendency with the above; to move from a fear-based place as well. While fear can be a natural reaction (especially to darkness and the unknown), it should not be the place from which one approaches darker beings. As there is a tendency for false darkness and misunderstanding to create illusions and basically for those fears to be experienced. The potential problem of this is that people can begin to attribute this to the demonic divine themselves and beginning to think of Them as “evil” or dangerous. As if the demonic divine being in maliciously doing this to them. Which then creates a vicious cycle with more fear. The practitioners often end up spiralling in their own shadows, darkness and falsities and getting further and further away from the actual divinity of the demonic divines’ energies. Approaching from a fear-based place (which basically induces varying states of survival instinct) also limits how one perceives and understands the energies and interactions. That said; the answer to these fears and more “negative” experiences or false darkness etc arising in oneself- is not to blame or try to bind/compel, banish or try to control the demonic divine being. That does nothing- since these experiences and energies are not originating/ sourced in the demonic divine- but from the within the self. (assuming one is of course actually connecting to a demonic divine being and its not a sock puppet, egregore, parasite etc). This distinction is very important to realise. (Note; as stated ad nauseum; true demonic divine beings cannot be bound, compelled or controlled period- They are far to vast and powerful for that and it is incredibly disrespectful to try). If one is having frightening or fearful experiences with the (genuine) demonic divine It is important to self-examine since most likely (unless otherwise asked for, known that a DL is deliberately doing this for/with you, rare cases or one is connecting with unknown demonic divine) it is originating in/coming from the practitioner themselves and their own energies to deal with ( shadows false darkness etc) not the demonic divine being. And more people would do well to understand this distinction.

Working with the demonic divine and Their high-level darkness is an advanced practice. This is not to say that the demonic divine cannot be asked for help if one is actively working on facing their darkness, shadows, fears etc- but it needs to be an active choice to do so on the practitioner’s part.  And even with asking; the demonic divine will not do the work for you. In working with the demonic divine beings many of these internalised and uncomfortable aspects, shadows, false darkness etc are regularly challenged, providing a chance for alchemy and growth to occur- if one puts in the work and knows how to deal with these energies. It is beneficial for practitioners to be aware that this happens ( and can happen naturally) when connecting with the demonic divine darkness and energies. In one of S Connolly’s books she makes mention of needing to face/process all your fears before being able to ascend to the demonic divine plane (to commune on Their level) and this I have found is very true and relevant.

I have witnessed many in the spaces of working/ connecting with the demonic divine, who seemingly lack who lack critical discernment when interacting with these darker beings and do not seem to recognise nor understand how the energies interact or can affect them. Unfortunately, this has led to a lot of confusion and delusion- as is usual it seems, in traversing darker paths. That said, I especially dislike the trend of seeing demons as harmless, your bestest friend, fluffy and overly loving- some may choose to be with some They work with (and that often is more long term connecting that things can become more relaxed between parties). But this is certainly not the standard and isn’t likely to begin that way. To portray that it is, is quite detrimental. Those of the demonic divine and darkness carry a gravity and severity to Their energy, along with the vastness, majesty and beauty of it.  All demonic divine beings have the capacity of being dangerous to humans ( whether this is due to their energies- intended or not, the nature of Their specific type of darkness and domains, Their own volition or otherwise). This is much more of a significant risk among those of the demonic divine not known or connected to by humans and in the further reaches of darkness.  Among those that are known to humans and whom humans generally work with, this is quite a minimal issue, and extremely rare or unusual circumstance where They would be actively deliberately and intentionally dangerous to people.  However this does not mean Their energies are compatible or agreeable with everyone. It is even more unlikely and rare that it would ever be deliberately malicious. That said, the demonic divine are beings of darkness and while that darkness is also of divinity in a way, it does not mean that They are harmless and endlessly beneficent, soft  and all loving. To make light of this darkness and depth simply so the human ego feels more comfortable is to misunderstand.

artist: Billelis on behance

[bbygrldaemon]

Worse Things

Chapter 13

Flashbacks High Valyrian warnings - graphic descriptions of violence

ao3 | spanish translation | masterlist

Five Months Later

Baelon swung his sword, the blade slicing cleanly through his opponent’s throat. He quickly turned when he heard a battle cry behind him, raising his weapon just in time to block a powerful blow. With a swift motion, he pushed his attacker back and cut through his chest. As the man collapsed to his knees, a strong gust of wind swept across the battlefield, knocking some soldiers off their feet. Baelon looked up to see Moondancer soaring overhead, Baela perched firmly on her back.

At her rider's command, the dragon swept over enemy lines, releasing a scorching breath of fire. Baela heard the agonized screams of the burning men below, but she paid them no mind as she circled above. Moondancer’s roar rumbled through the battlefield, sending shivers down the spines of those still standing.

The dragon’s flames carved a path through the enemy ranks, allowing their forces to push forward. From there, it was easy to overpower their opponents and seize Rook’s Rest. Its defenders surrendered quickly. House Staunton had declared loyalty to the Greens five months prior—only three days after Queen Rhaenyra’s coronation. In turn, they had crowned Aegon II Targaryen, claiming to follow the late King Viserys’ dying will.

The false king had wasted no time securing allies among the Lannisters and Baratheons—cowardly turncloaks, in Baelon’s opinion. He strode out of Rook’s Rest’s great hall and into the courtyard, where their prisoners had been gathered. A few yards away, he watched as Moondancer descended, Baela gracefully dismounting.

She approached as he turned to face the assembled prisoners, his hands settling on the hilt of his sword.

“Lord Staunton,” Baelon called, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “I offer you and your house one chance—renounce the false King Aegon and bend the knee to the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen.” His gaze swept across the faces before him, his next words like steel. “Or your house burns.”

As if to emphasize his point, Moondancer let out a low, menacing growl. Fear flickered across the prisoners’ faces as they shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away from Baelon’s piercing stare. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

One by one, the men lowered themselves to their knees, their gazes cast downward, too afraid to meet his eyes. Baelon smirked. These were the same burly alphas and betas who had once believed they could betray their oaths without consequence—now reduced to silent submission.

But not all of them. His eyes landed on Lord Staunton, who remained standing, shoulders squared, head held high. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes burned with the defiance of a proud man.

Baelon’s smirk widened as he stepped down from the ledge where he and Baela had been standing. “Lord Staunton,” he drawled, coming to a stop before him. “Did you not hear me?” The lord met his gaze unflinchingly. Baelon’s expression darkened. “Are your ears failing you?” His voice lowered, sharp with anger.

He saw the flicker of uncertainty in the older man’s eyes, but Staunton did not yield. “I am no turncloak,” he said, his voice firm with pride.

Baelon chuckled. “No?” He tilted his head. “Then allow me to remind you of the oath you swore years ago—to the true heir of the throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen.” His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, itching to strike. “You claim you are no turncloak, yet your actions are treason, my lord.”

Silence followed. Baelon let it stretch between them, watching as Lord Staunton shifted ever so slightly under his scrutiny. A slow satisfaction settled over him. He had spent years being looked down upon by alphas and betas alike. Now, they knelt before him. Avoided his gaze in fear. He understood his mother now.

But still, Staunton refused to kneel. His pride seemed to outweigh his fear. Baelon’s patience thinned. Anger crawled up his spine, his fingers twitching with the urge to wrap around the man's throat. Instead, he grabbed his sword, unsheathing it in a single fluid motion. He extended his arm, pressing the blade’s sharp edge lightly against Staunton’s throat.

A single drop of blood welled at the cut. The lord audibly swallowed, his eyes widening in fear. “Kneel,” Baelon ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The courtyard fell into complete silence. Even Moondancer remained still, watching with predatory interest. Baelon did not move. He simply waited. Finally, slowly, Lord Staunton sank to his knees.

Baelon’s smirk returned as the man dropped his gaze. A once-proud lord, now kneeling before him, begging for mercy. He could get used to this.

—————————————

Rhaenyra watched her omega fuss over their youngest children throughout the day. For three months now, Daemon had refused to let Joffrey, Viserys, Aegon, Visenya, or even Rhaena out of his sight, keeping them constantly close. Every time she saw her husband, he was touching one of them in some way - a hand on their shoulder, fingers brushing through their hair.

She knew this behavior stemmed from their eldest children's absence. Baelon and Baela had departed three months earlier for Rook's Rest, which they had since captured. Then, just days ago, Jace and Luke had flown off on Vermax and Arrax to deliver messages to their allies. Now Rhaenyra understood Daemon's anxiety on a deeper level. Each arriving raven or visit from the maester made her heart leap into her throat.

They had only recently reconciled after she permitted Baelon and Baela to join the fighting. Daemon had been furious, believing she was punishing his son following the incidents with Otto and Ser Arryk. But the truth was simpler - Baelon had personally requested to be sent into battle without his mother's knowledge, and Baela had immediately volunteered to accompany him on Moondancer, threatening to sneak away if denied.

Left with little choice, Rhaenyra had allowed them to depart with the troops bound for Rook's Rest. That morning, she'd deliberately let Daemon sleep late to honor the children's wishes. When he awoke to find two of them missing, he'd stormed into the council chamber, demanding answers.

Her honesty had sparked his rage. He'd screamed that she had no right to conceal such important matters about his children. In a rare moment of vulnerability, frustration had brought tears to his eyes. The sight shattered Rhaenyra's heart– her omega in pain, yet pulling away when she tried to comfort him.

The situation tore at her. As an alpha, she understood Baelon and Baela's need to prove themselves in war. As a mother, she equally understood Daemon's desperate need to keep his children safe, no matter their age.

His anger had lasted over two months. For the first fortnight, he refused to speak to her, retreating to sleep in his own chambers. Only after Jace and Luke's departure did he return - recognizing how deeply their leaving affected her, he set aside his pride and slipped into her bedchamber one night. Without words, he climbed into bed and let her hold him as she cried.

She still wondered whether this signaled forgiveness or simply his willingness to comfort her despite his own pain. His quiet sniffles against her chest told her own story. They didn't need words - their shared grief spoke volumes. They'd fallen asleep entwined just so.

By morning, Daemon's mood had lightened. He resumed his consort duties around the Red Keep rather than isolating himself. Aegon and Viserys became his constant shadows, with Joffrey and Rhaena frequently joining them.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra spent her days mired in council meetings and petitions. Lord Corlys had come to King's Landing, while Laenor remained at Driftmark, to strategize about tightening the blockade on Green trading routes. She admitted privately how lost she'd felt since her coronation–her father had named her heir but never taught her to rule.

For this, she thanked the gods for Princess Rhaenys' political acumen, Daemon's military brilliance, and Lady Mysaria's ability to sway the smallfolk. She knew the rest of her small council disapproved of two women and an omega serving as her closest advisors—particularly with a queen ruling in her own right. But she'd trust these three with her life before relying on the proud lords of her council.

She sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace in her chambers, attempting to focus on her book while her husband sat on the bed. He wore a sleeveless white nightgown that accentuated his full breasts, which he kept adjusting with soft winces— a distraction she found impossible to ignore.

"What's the matter, my love?" Rhaenyra asked, setting her book aside as she rose from the chair.

She approached the bed, watching her omega squeeze his breasts. A small wet spot had formed on the white fabric. "They're so full it hurts," Daemon responded, reaching for a rag on the bedside table to dab at the dampness. "And Visenya is already asleep."

Rhaenyra's tongue darted across her lips as her gaze fixed on the swollen curves of his chest. She sat on the edge of the bed and took the rag from his hand. "If the pain keeps you awake..." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to look away. "I could help relieve it."

"How?" Daemon asked with a slight frown, watching as his alpha licked her lips again while staring at his chest. His cheeks flushed when understanding dawned. "I-" His protest was cut short as Rhaenyra leaned forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Daemon responded eagerly, arms encircling her neck as she pulled him closer by his hips. A soft moan escaped him when her tongue explored his mouth— it had been months since they'd been intimate. When her hand cupped one tender breast, a whimper of mixed pleasure and pain slipped past his lips.

Rhaenyra broke the kiss just enough for a strand of saliva to connect them before trailing kisses and gentle bites down his neck. Daemon moaned loudly as her other hand gripped his rear, guiding him down onto the bed. She positioned herself between his thighs, pushing up his nightgown to expose him completely.

Her fingers traced along his hips and waist beneath the fabric, each touch making him tremble. When their eyes met, Daemon glanced away in embarrassment, prompting a smile from his alpha as she resumed kissing his neck.

Rhaenyra's lips traveled lower, brushing over one breast just above the nipple before giving attention to the other. Daemon whined when she pulled back, arching his back in a silent plea for more contact.

Smirking at his neediness, Rhaenyra moved away completely, circling the bed with deliberate slowness. She could feel Daemon's heated gaze following her as she removed her own nightgown, finally sitting naked on the opposite side.

The scent of Daemon's arousal filled the air. His dark eyes traveled hungrily over her body, lingering on her erect cock. She watched his tongue swipe across his lips, his cheeks flushing darker as his thighs rubbed together under her scrutiny. With a smile, she grasped his waist and pulled him into her lap.

Daemon settled astride her, hands resting on her shoulders as her grip tightened around his waist. "How I've missed you, kepus," Rhaenyra murmured, her hands sliding beneath his nightgown.

"Rhaenyra..." Daemon whined, feeling moisture gather between his thighs as his niece caressed him.

"My good omega," she whispered, slowly lowering one strap of his nightgown to expose a breast. After placing a kiss on his shoulder, she repeated the motion with the other strap.

Leaning back, she admired his full breasts before teasing his nipples with playful flicks and rubs. Daemon moaned and squirmed in her lap until she finally took one nipple into her mouth. The warm, slightly sweet taste of milk flooded her tongue as she suckled.

Daemon became a writhing mess above her, one hand pressing her head closer as she alternated between suckling one breast and teasing the other with her fingers. She could feel his wetness seeping onto her lap, his body begging for more.

Rhaenyra continued until the milk stopped flowing, prolonging his pleasure before finally releasing him. Daemon whimpered, hips rocking needily against her.

"Alpha—please," her uncle begged.

"What do you want, omega?" she whispered, gripping his hips to still his movements. "Tell me."

When he reached for her cock, she intercepted his hand. "Use your words."

"I—" His sentence dissolved into a moan. "I need—"

"What do you need, my love?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper as she circled a nipple with her thumb.

"I need your cock, alpha," Daemon managed in a breathy whimper.

His bold words drew a smile from Rhaenyra. Without speaking, she pulled him into another kiss while guiding his hips. She felt his hand slip between them to position her at his entrance.

As he sank down, Daemon broke the kiss with a gasp, mouth falling open in pleasure. Rhaenyra moaned loudly at the exquisite sensation of his warm, wet heat enveloping her. After five months apart— first due to his recovery from Visenya's birth, then her royal duties during the war— the feeling of his tightness around her was nothing short of heavenly.

Daemon wasted no time wrapping his arms around her shoulders, beginning to move up and down on his alpha's lap. Rhaenyra moaned loudly at the delicious sensation of her omega's cunt. The room filled with the wet sounds of their lovemaking as her uncle quickened his pace, chasing his release.

Rhaenyra gripped his hips, helping him bounce on her cock. She studied his face– his parted lips releasing soft moans and gasps, his forehead creased in a small frown, his eyes glazed with pleasure. Licking her lips, the alpha reached up to grasp one full breast, squeezing gently. Daemon whimpered, his rhythm faltering as he continued riding her. She leaned forward to take his nipple into her mouth, sucking enthusiastically as warm, sweet milk flooded her mouth, drawing another moan from her.

Her omega had become a whining, whimpering mess above her, his hips now rocking back and forth as pleasure overwhelmed him. With her free hand, she rubbed his other nipple, making him cry out in surprise.

"Alpha, don't stop!" Daemon screamed, his movements growing erratic.

Rhaenyra smirked, feeling his body tremble in her arms, his cunt pulsing around her cock. She knew he was close. Suddenly, she flipped them without withdrawing, now hovering above him. Without hesitation, she began thrusting.

Daemon could only moan loudly as her cock plunged in and out of him. The wet sounds filling the room mirrored his overwhelming pleasure. He felt his slick pooling beneath them, soaking the sheets. A sudden yell escaped him when her cock struck that perfect spot inside him.

"Right there! Yes, don't stop!" he managed before Rhaenyra increased her pace. He dissolved into incoherent moans as she repeatedly hit that sweet spot.

"Fuck, omega," she groaned, feeling her own climax approaching.

The alpha tried to pull away, unwilling to risk another pregnancy, but Daemon locked his legs tightly around her waist. "Don't," he pleaded, squirming beneath her as the motion drove her deeper into that sensitive spot. "I want to feel your essence inside me. Please, alpha."

Rhaenyra groaned. Her omega begged so sweetly, and she was but mortal, powerless against her husband's charms. Unable to resist their mutual desire, she gripped his thighs and forcefully spread his legs. Without pause, she resumed thrusting, watching her cock move in and out of his slick cunt, their fluids mixing on the sheets.

Daemon could only moan as he tumbled over the edge, his entire body convulsing with climax. Rhaenyra continued thrusting through his orgasm, chasing her own release. The omega whined and whimpered through the overstimulation as she kept moving inside him.

Finally, Rhaenyra's rhythm faltered as she flooded him with her hot cum. She maintained gentle thrusts, drawing more moans from the overstimulated omega. Suddenly, intense pleasure overwhelmed Daemon as copious amounts of slick gushed from his cunt. Rhaenyra kept moving slowly, watching her omega's powerful orgasm.

Their movements stilled as they came down from their highs. The room filled with their heavy breathing as they recovered. Rhaenyra withdrew, gazing at their combined essence leaking from Daemon's still-pulsing cunt before lying beside him and pulling him to her chest.

Daemon rested his head on her bare chest, panting as he caught his breath. They remained like that until Rhaenyra nearly drifted asleep, only rousing when her omega spoke.

"Baelon needs a dragon," Daemon declared, his determined voice breaking the peaceful silence. Propping himself up to look at her, he continued, "And we need more dragons to fight the Greens."

Rhaenyra studied her omega's face, struggling to process his words through her sleep-fogged mind. "We already have more dragons than the Greens," she managed, her thoughts still clearing from their eventful evening.

"They have Vhagar," Daemon countered matter-of-factly. "Even if we don't need more, we must ensure they can't acquire additional ones." His eyes remained locked on hers as he laid out his plan. "I propose we go to Dragonstone - Vermithor and Silverwing reside there. Baelon could claim Vermithor."

"And Silverwing?" Rhaenyra asked, her mind finally sharpening. "We have no other rider besides Rhaena, and she's already been rejected."

"I hadn't considered that," Daemon admitted, his gaze dropping uncharacteristically. "But I wanted to give Rhaena one of Syrax's recently laid eggs." His voice softened. "Hatching her own egg would restore her confidence."

Rhaenyra couldn't suppress her doubt. "Are we certain it will hatch?" She loved Rhaena, but the girl's repeated failures with dragons left room for skepticism.

Daemon's face darkened immediately. "It must," he growled, his voice deepening with anger. "She's my daughter. She's a Targaryen."

Rhaenyra sighed as her omega subtly withdrew from her touch— not completely, but enough to notice. "I'm sorry, my love," she murmured, gently caressing his cheek.

His demeanor softened as he nuzzled into her palm like an affectionate cat. They lapsed into comfortable silence— Rhaenyra contemplating Daemon's proposal while her omega patiently waited.

Finally breaking the quiet, she decided, "I'll have Maester Orwyle send ravens to Rook's Rest and Dragonstone to prepare for our arrival."

She'd concluded Daemon was right: securing dragons like Vermithor and Silverwing before the Greens could was crucial. Moreover, claiming a dragon might help Baelon manage his growing anger issues, while Rhaena hatching her own egg could bolster her waning confidence during these turbulent times.

Daemon's smile bloomed at her words, his happy omega scent filling the chamber. Rhaenyra smiled in return, leaning in to brush a tender kiss against his lips before drawing him down to rest against her chest. As Daemon's sweet scent enveloped her, she finally drifted into peaceful sleep.

—————————————

Rhaena walked through the Red Keep's gardens, trailing behind Ser Luthor with her hands clasped behind her back in self-comfort. Her mother had summoned her - not an unusual occurrence, but with Baelon and Baela away at war, any meeting with the omega made her nervous.

They approached a vine-covered structure where flowers cascaded over a white round table set with two chairs. As she entered, she saw her mother standing by a wide window-like opening that overlooked the gardens and calm waters beyond. Ser Luthor and her own sworn shield, Ser Darklyn, took positions on either side of the entrance.

Daemon wore a long, structured overcoat that fell below his knees, its waist tightly tailored with pleats flaring slightly at the hem. A belt accentuated his waist further, creating that characteristically elegant yet powerful silhouette. Simple black trousers and knee-high black boots completed the look. Hearing her approach, he turned, and Rhaena found some comfort in her mother's smiling face.

"Would you take lunch with me, little dragon?" Daemon asked, moving to sit in one chair while gesturing to the other.

Rhaena joined him, and with a signal from her mother, servants brought their midday meal. They ate in companionable silence until Rhaena noticed the omega's barely contained excitement. "What is it, mother? I can smell your happiness."

Daemon chuckled, setting down his cutlery. "Wonderful news, my dragon. Syrax has laid a fresh clutch of eggs, and Rhaenyra has agreed to give you one."

The beta frowned, the words not immediately registering. As understanding dawned, conflicting emotions arose. Since childhood, she'd dreamed of claiming a dragon. Unlike Baela's, her own egg had never hatched.

Her alpha mother had always reassured her this didn't make her lesser, but court gossip persisted. Some whispered something must be wrong with her; others dared suggest Daemon had been unfaithful to Laena, that Rhaena was some lowborn beta's child. Being beta herself with no dragon only fueled these cruel rumors.

Her omega mother constantly reminded her that lacking a dragon didn't diminish her Targaryen blood or his love for her. "I—"

Daemon anticipated her hesitation. "It could hatch," he interjected, "and when it does, no one will question you again."

"And if it doesn't?" Rhaena appreciated her mother's encouragement but couldn't indulge in false hope.

"Then nothing changes," Daemon said gently. "There's no harm in trying."

Rhaena picked at her food without responding. Daemon sighed, watching his daughter withdraw. Comforting others never came naturally to him— a skill he'd had to learn through motherhood, unlike Laena and Rhaenyra's innate talent for it.

"Did you know my egg turned to stone?" he offered, falling back on a familiar story. "And I didn't claim Caraxes until I was twenty-four— much older than you." His gaze held hers intently.

"Yes, but you're an omega. You had a role regardless," Rhaena snapped, dropping her utensils. "I'm just a beta with no purpose beyond that."

Daemon's frown deepened. "My position wasn't given because of my subgender, Rhaena," he said, leaning forward. "I fought for everything I have." His arms crossed as his tone turned stern. "We're ruled by alphas too arrogant to recognize others' worth. Our place at court isn't granted— it is taken. I thought I'd taught you that." His voice carried clear disappointment. "Perhaps I was wrong."

Rhaena remained silent, regretting her outburst. She knew her mother's struggles and how hard he'd fought for recognition. Years of court scrutiny and whispers had simply worn her down.

With a sigh, Daemon rose. "We leave for Dragonstone on the morrow. We’ll be meeting your brother and sister there. I hope you decide to accompany us." Without waiting for a response, he departed with Ser Luthor in tow.

Rhaena sat motionless, contemplating her mother's words. As servants cleared the table, she reached her decision. Standing resolutely, she exited the floral pavilion and strode toward her chambers, Ser Darklyn following closely behind.

—————————————

Baela looked up from the letter as Baelon entered the room. A raven had arrived from King's Landing that morning as they prepared to depart for Harrenhal. The queen's message summoned them urgently to Dragonstone, though the reasons remained unspecified.

She suspected their mother would be present as well—which likely meant facing his displeasure upon arrival. Knowing her brother would resist this change of plans, she had called for him immediately.

"This better be important; we need to be leaving soon," Baelon said before she could speak.

"Actually, we won’t be leaving for Harrenhall. There has been a change in plans," Baela informed him, standing from the wooden desk.

"What?" Baelon's voice darkened as he snatched the letter. After scanning its contents, he thrust it back. "The queen's idea or our mother's?" His tone dripped with suspicion.

"Baelon, don't be like that," she chided, frowning at his accusation.

"Don't pretend you think this came from Rhaenyra," he retorted, stepping away. "Muña's been searching for any excuse to recall us since we left. He doesn't trust us—this is his doing." His angry pacing filled the room with tension.

"Baelon!" Baela's sharp rebuke matched her deepening scowl. "You can't speak of muña that way."

"Baelon!" Baela exclaimed, her face darkening. "What has gotten into you? You can't speak about muña like that."

"I'm just pointing out the facts," he shrugged, glancing at her. "He's too overprotective, he doesn't let us breathe. He needs to understand that he can't shelter us for the rest of his life."

Baela shook her head, studying her brother's uncharacteristic outburst. "He worries because he wants better for us than he had," she said gently. "His life hasn't been easy."

"I know what he has gone through!" Baelon shouted, his thick scent overwhelming the room. "He just needs to realize that he can't protect us from everything."

"You're being unfair," Baela countered, disapproving of his harsh tone. When he turned away in silence, she puzzled over this sudden resentment. Their mother had always shared a special bond with his firstborn—even while loving all his children equally, those early years with just Baelon had forged something unique.

At his continued silence, she sighed. "We can always slip away later if needed," she offered, "but we should go. This might be important."

Baelon stood motionless, arms crossed, weighing his options. Finally, he met her gaze. "To Dragonstone then."

—————————————

Rhaenyra watched as both Vermax and Arrax landed a short distance from where they stood. A heavy weight lifted from her shoulders upon seeing both her boys dismount their dragons and make their way toward them. They were currently in the Dragonpit, preparing to leave for Dragonstone to meet with Baelon and Baela. She had wanted to wait for her sons to return before departing, but the matter at hand was urgent.

She swiftly met them halfway, enveloping them in her arms. She kissed both their heads and breathed in their comforting scents. After a moment, she finally let them go—but not before making sure they were unharmed.

Luke and Jace then turned to Daemon, who stood close behind them, and with great enthusiasm hugged the omega, burying their faces in his chest. He wrapped his arms around them without hesitation.

After they pulled away, Luke turned to a smiling Rhaena and surprised her by pulling her into a warm hug. The beta had fortunately agreed to accompany them after Daemon had spoken with her. Jace turned to her with a confused expression, his question evident in his gaze.

“We’re leaving for Dragonstone to meet Baelon and Baela. There’s an important matter we need to attend to,” she explained while caressing Jace’s dark hair. “You should go and freshen up.”

“No, we’re coming with you,” Jace exclaimed immediately, his tone firm and determined.

“No, my sweet boy,” Rhaenyra smiled as she took her son’s hands in hers. “You need to stay here, take care of your younger siblings, and assist Princess Rhaenys with the small council’s men if she requires it.” That seemed to appease the young alphas, who nodded and puffed out their chests slightly.

After final farewell hugs, Rhaenyra watched them depart for the Red Keep. She nodded to Daemon, and they mounted their dragons—Rhaena riding Caraxes with the omega. Traveling by dragonback would ensure a swift journey.

She observed Caraxes take several steps forward before emitting his distinctive high-pitched growl and launching himself skyward. Waiting until they'd gained some distance, Rhaenyra leaned down to stroke Syrax's scales.

"Soves, Syrax," she commanded. With a powerful roar, the golden dragon charged forward and soared after Caraxes toward Dragonstone.

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[crimsonwolf715]

False Lead

(TW: Dazai cuts skin that's been infected by a poison off of Kunikida and himself. While it's not graphic, I want you guys to stay safe. Poison. Mentions of self-harm. It's Dazai from when he was a teenager, but it's just briefly mentioned.)

DAZAI AND CHUUYA, AGE 16

“You are absolute shit at that,” Chuuya says. “Give it to me.” 

Dazai sticks his tongue out and keeps gathering the things to stitch himself up. 

“Okay, fine. Don’t come crying to me when you screw it up.” Chuuya kicks his feet up and leans back. 

“You’re a dick,” Dazai says. 

“Yeah, I am,” Chuuya replies, turning his head back towards Dazai. “You gonna hand the stuff over?” 

Dazai offers the first aid kit to Chuuya and he takes it. 

“Maybe I should teach you this so you don’t come back from missions with those ugly-ass stitches you normally come back with.” 

“I don’t go on that many missions without you anymore.” 

“I know, but it’s stupid that you can’t do this with how much you hurt yourself. Or others hurt you, but that’s usually your fault as well.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Taunting someone who could kill you with their hands tied behind their back is stupid, Shitty Dazai.” 

“Yeah, like Chibi could do better,” Dazai shoots back at him. 

Chuuya grabs Dazai’s arm and starts stitching him up. Chuuya talks Dazai through properly stitching himself up. Dazai flinches once or twice, but otherwise he doesn’t react. 

PRESENT TIME

“Kunikida, the president wants to speak to you,” Tanizaki says when Kunikida comes in. 

“Alright, thank you,” Kunikida replies, then heads to the President’s office. 

“Hello, Kunikida,” Fukuzawa says when Kunikida opens the door and walks in. 

“Mr. President, what can I do for you?” 

“I have a case for you and Dazai.” 

Fukuzawa hands Kunikida a file and Kunikida glances over the first page. 

“I’d like you to deal with this as cleanly as you can. The police have started complaining that we always leave a mess for them to clean up. Not that I agree with them, but just to be safe.” 

“I’ll make sure that Dazai behaves, sir.” 

“Thank you, you’re dismissed. Can you send Ranpo in here on your way out?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Kunikida walks out of the President’s office. “Ranpo, he wants to see you.” 

“Oh, nice,” Ranpo says, then gets up and heads into the office. 

Kunikida finishes reading the file as he gets to his desk. He looks up and Dazai’s sitting at his desk. 

“You’re on time,” Kunikida says. 

“I’m only late fifty percent of the time,” Dazai replies. 

“That can’t be true, but we have a case. There are ability users tormenting villages outside of town. We have an idea of where the base is, so we’re going to check it out and deal with it if they’re there.” 

“Alrighty. Guess I’m not spending the morning on this paperwork.” 

They head out to the car and then start driving to the warehouse. The drive to the warehouse is quiet, Dazai seeming lost in his own thoughts and Kunikida not feeling up to a conversation with Dazai. They park and there’s no sign of anybody. 

“Maybe they’re out feeding ducks,” Dazai says. 

Kunikida slaps him upside his head, then they walk into the warehouse and it’s eerily silent. 

“Creepy,” Dazai mutters. 

Kunikida ignores the comment and keeps walking. 

“Nobody seems to be here,” Kunikida says. 

“Mhm.” 

As they get further into the warehouse, there are symbols and words painted on the walls. Most of them Kunikida doesn’t recognize or can’t understand. There are a couple he does know. Slurs for ability users and anti-ability symbols are painted in random places. Kunikida turns in just enough time to see Dazai flipping off one of the slurs painted on the wall. 

“If it’s a group of ability users, shouldn’t they not like these no-no terms?” Dazai asks. 

Kunikida nods. “I have a bad feeling about this place.” 

“Great. Since nobody’s here, can we leave? The police can do a thorough check seeing if there are any important documents or something.” 

Kunikida stops in front of the large, middle area of the warehouse. The entire room is painted in clowns and warning signs. 

“What the hell is that?” Kunikida hears a click sound. “Did you…?” 

Dazai doesn’t even let Kunikida finish the question before grabbing his arm and running back towards the exit. Kunikida runs with Dazai. 

“What is happening?” Kunikida asks. 

Before Dazai can answer, a knife shoots out of the wall and cuts Kunikida’s side. 

“Damn,” Dazai hisses. 

Dazai pushes Kunikida away from him and a knife flies past where Kunikida just was. Another knife knicks Kunikida’s arm. Kunikida turns to check on Dazai and he can see fire at the end of the hallway. Dazai grabs Kunikida and drags him out of the building. Kunikida falls and Dazai kneels down next to him. 

“Don’t fight me right now,” Dazai says. 

“I won’t.” 

Dazai checks Kunikida’s injuries, then sighs. He pulls a knife out of his pocket. 

“You’re feeling pretty numb, right?” 

Kunikida nods. 

“Hold still then. This is still gonna hurt,” Dazai says. 

Kunikida opens his mouth to respond and Dazai puts Kunikida’s belt in his mouth.

“Bite down on that and try not to squirm.” 

Kunikida bites down on the belt and Dazai cuts the skin around Kunikida’s injuries off. Kunikida bites down harder on the belt. Dazai skillfully cuts all of the infected skin away. 

“I’m sorry, Kunikida,” Dazai says. 

Kunikida feels the darkness taking over his vision and Dazai taps his face. Kunikida turns his head. 

“I need you to stay awake. I can’t risk you dying on me after I just had to do that. Hopefully the drugs will kick in soon.” 

“Drugs?” Kunikida chokes out. 

“Yeah, I gave you some after I got you out of the house. You didn’t notice?” 

Kunikida shakes his head. Dazai nods, then looks at his shirt and pants. They’re covered in Kunikida’s blood and Kunikida tries not to think about how much blood he must have lost. It takes a while for him to start feeling better. 

“Feel any better?” Dazai asks. 

Kunikida nods. 

Dazai pulls the first aid kit out of his bag and starts expertly tending to Kunikida’s wounds. 

“Where did you learn that?” Kunikida mumbles. 

“What?” Dazai asks. 

“You’re good at that. Where did you learn?” 

“I learned from a friend who used to patch me up. I wasn’t all that good at it before.” 

“Why did you say friend like that?” 

“Those drugs sure make you curious. We were friends. We haven’t been on good terms in a while. I like to think we’ll get back on good terms, but that would require work on my end and I’m afraid to reach out like that. I have a feeling he won’t want to work things out.” 

“Are you talking about that redhead from the Mafia?” 

“Chuuya or Tachihara?” 

“The one that wasn’t a Hunting Dog, so Chuuya, if I remember correctly.” 

“Very observant of you.” 

“I saw how the two of you interacted and the President mentioned how fondly Mori spoke of you working with Chuuya.” 

Dazai grips Kunikida’s arm for a moment, then it’s like it never happened. “Mori was very fond of what Chuuya could do, and he can’t do it without me.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Nothing we should discuss. I made a promise that I intend to keep. Anyway, look at that. Both injuries tended to and you only almost bled to death.” 

“That’s not as comforting of a thought as you think it is, Dazai,” Kunikida growls. 

“Oops,” Dazai says with a shrug. 

Dazai pulls his jacket off, then starts unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Kunikida asks. 

“What I just did for you. What, you thought that I somehow managed to avoid the dozen flying knives when you didn’t?” 

Dazai’s arm has a nasty cut on it. Dazai pulls the bandages off his arm and bites down on his belt. He starts cutting his own skin off and Kunikida turns away. Dazai groans several times, but that’s it. Dazai’s arm, blood dripping down it, reaches over Kunikida and grabs the bandages from the first aid kit. Dazai carefully wraps his arm up, then pulls his shirt and jacket back on. 

The sounds of an engine echo through the hills. Dazai grabs the pistol from next to him and checks the bullet count. 

“Yeah, if it’s anybody other than the Agency, we’re dead,” Dazai says. “Good a time as any to die, I guess.” 

“You were just talking about talking it out with Chuuya.” 

“Yeah, and? I’ve almost died a dozen times since I came to the conclusion that I wanted to do that.” 

“A dozen? What have you been doing?” 

“Lots of beautiful women,” Dazai answers sarcastically. 

Dazai’s attention returns to the road. An Agency car comes into view and Dazai sighs and puts the gun down. 

“Well, guess I get to live.” 

Kunikida’s vision goes dark and he passes out. 

Kunikida wakes up in the Agency’s infirmary. He sits up and his head spins. 

“Hey, take it easy,” Yosano says. “I just finished healing you not that long ago.” 

“Sorry, Akki,” Kunikida says. “What happened?” 

“What do you remember?” 

“I remember leaving the Agency on time with Dazai for once because he showed up early. I remember driving out of town to find the cause of those problems, but nothing clear after that. Fire. Dazai being far too close to my face. Sounds like an engine.” 

“Dazai wrote up a report that you should read when you’re feeling better, but he said that the place was rigged with a bunch of traps. Something set on fire, he didn’t think it was intentional. You got cut twice by a knife that had some kind of drug or poison on it. He said you were out of it within minutes of being cut. He patched you up and called for backup since the car you guys took was disabled. Tanizaki went and picked you guys up with Kenji.” 

Kunikida nods, feeling like he’s missing an important event. Kunikida’s hand subconsciously goes to his side. 

“Phantom pain?” Yosano asks. “You had a pretty nasty cut there. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that someone cut you. Not just a knife flying at you.” 

“There’s no pain. Your ability is amazing, as usual,” Kunikida answers. “Can you grab me that report?” 

Yosano nods, then heads out. Once she comes back, she hands him the report. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Three hours after you came back, so four hours total counting the car ride and making sure that you were fine before getting in the car.” 

Kunikida nods. “Why did it take that long for you to heal me if it was only recently?” 

“I wasn’t in the office and it took me that long to get back after we got word of your injury,” Yosano answers. 

Kunikida reads the report and it matches up with Yosano’s story, nothing extra that sticks out. More details, but no extra events. 

“Weird,” Kunikida mutters. “Is Dazai still here?” 

“He is. He’s currently talking to Atsushi about going to a park. Not really sure why, but he is.” 

Kunikida nods. “I’ll talk to him later.” 

After almost an hour of talking with Yosano and Ranpo when he comes in for a few minutes, Kunikida heads out to the main office. Dazai’s working on paperwork with a somewhat distant expression on his face. 

“Dazai.” 

Dazai looks up, then gives Kunikida his usual somewhat mocking smile. “Hey, Kunikida. Akki told me that you didn’t remember much of the mission, that still true?” 

“Unfortunately, yes. Did I miss anything?” 

“Other than my exceptional first aid skills, you’re not missing anything,” Dazai says. “Trust me, it wasn’t worth remembering. You’re such a bore when you’re high.” 

Kunikida sighs. “Alright.” 

It still feels like something important’s missing. Wait… 

“Did you get injured? It wasn’t in the report.” 

“Me? No. There weren’t that many knives and I got in the way of you properly dodging them. Pretty normal stuff for us.” 

Kunikida cuts his eyes at Dazai, but heads to his desk to get some work done.