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m-kyun · 2 months ago

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Bleeding Heart (Jason Todd x Reader)

Part 6: NSFW

The sun feels warm on your skin. You keep your eyes closed as you immerse yourself in the moment. You listen to the sounds of nearby laughter from children playing, the hushed murmurs of lovers strolling through the park, and occasionally that one weird person who still carries a boombox on their shoulder at full volume as they skate by.

It had been 2 weeks since Red kissed you. It felt like there was no chance you'd ever see him again. Since then, you've been lost in thought, replaying every detail of that night, trying to keep the memory of your intimate moment with the brooding vigilante alive.

You thought that being outside might help clear your head and quell your feelings. It doesn't. You still find yourself daydreaming about him. Wondering how he is.

Your feelings are in disarray. You had imagined what it would be like if you ever saw him again. Would you yell at him? Would you try to talk things out? Maybe you'd give in to your obvious attraction and kiss him abruptly, like he did you. Or maybe, you'd hang him by his ankles outside of your window for stealing your heart and then ghosting you.

'Oh yeah. I'd totally hang him by his ankles.' A sigh of annoyance leaves your lips as you decide to finally go back home to sulk in solitude.

Meanwhile, Red Hood is on the other side of Gotham, bedridden. He lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling with intense focus. He can't afford to let his mind wander. It always goes back to you. You plague his dreams at night and his thoughts during the day. Tempting him like a siren's call. A tired sigh leaves his lips as his eyes beg to close, if even momentarily.

His fever has worn down his resolve. His determination, a faraway echo as he finally lets his eyes fall shut. Like a ghost haunting him, you turn up in the reveries of his unconscious mind. Little glimpses of you from his recollection begin to fray his self-restraint.

Your smile, the sound of your voice, the warmth you radiate, and the taste of your lips.

Red's eyes shoot open as he props himself up. He lets off a few curses before he gets dressed in his suit. He can't do this. He needs a distraction.

He stays stooped on one of the rooftops near the slums. He overlooks the heavily crime-ridden area. His vision begins to blur at the edges, and he shakes his head to try and keep focus. He feels himself stumble backwards slightly from the action. He is in no condition to fight. But he can't rest. He can't sit still. He has to keep moving, or your sirens' call will pull him under.

A shriek tears through the air, catching his attention. He moves in the direction of the sound. A simple mugging. 'Should be easy enough. There are only 2 of them.'

He steadies himself before jumping into action. From the rooftop, he lands a kick from behind on one of the assailants. This gives the victim an opening to flee. However, this action exerts more energy than he thought. His breathing is ragged, his lungs feel like they're on fire. The other assailant doesn't miss the vigilantes' weakened condition and goes in for the kill.

Red does his best to dodge the majority of the assailants' attacks. But his body feels heavy, and his movements are sluggish. The assailant sees an opening and successfully slashes Red in the torso with his knife. Red hisses through the pain before landing one solid blow to his attacker's face.

Both muggers are now unconscious, the victim has fled safely, but Red has taken too much damage. "Gotta..get..home"

He holds his side tightly, trying to minimize the bleeding. He grapples back to the rooftop and fails the landing. Even if he has to drag himself to safety, he doesn't stop moving.

His mind is dazed. He feels as though he's been wandering from rooftop to rooftop for hours. He finally crumbles to his knees in exhaustion. When he finally looks up, a defeated chuckle leaves him.

He's made it to your apartment. "y/n." A desperate whisper of your name hangs from his lips.

He forces himself up and uses his grapple to cross the bridge that he's been avoiding for weeks now. He crashes against your window, announcing his presence.

You come running out of your bedroom to watch as Red Hood slips through your window and tumbles to the ground.

Red?!

You rush to his side to help him up. His breathing is ragged, he's hot to the touch, and his shirt is wet from blood. "What happened to you?" Your heart aches to see him like this.

You slowly drag him to your bed. He falls limp upon hitting the soft sheets. You try to carefully lift his shirt to inspect his wound, but his hands grab your wrist to stop you.

Your brows furrow in confusion. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"Cuz it's addicting, doll. You're addicting."

"Please, Red. Don't make me beg." A sigh leaves his lips in defeat. How can he say no when you're looking so desperately at him like that? "Fine. What do you need me to do?"

"The jacket, the shirt, and the helmet. Take them off."

He scoffs at your demands. "You can't be se-"

"You have a high fever. I bet trying to breathe through that thing is difficult right now. You also need medicine and water. Take it off." Your tone is firm and unwavering.

All good points. Red knows this, but he's worried that when you finally see how he looks at you from behind the mask, you'll be smart enough to run.

With reluctance, he reaches his hand back to release the latch. You can't deny the excitement you feel deep inside you. You'd be lying if you said you were never curious to see the man behind the mask. You watch as he lifts the helmet off to reveal piercing green eyes. His intense gaze makes you snap your head away bashfully.

Jason bites back his grin at your cute reaction. No mask to hide behind now. He continues to remove his jacket, flinching from the pain.

You notice his discomfort and assist him. You slowly lift his shirt over his head for him. You focus on inspecting the severity of his wound. Thankfully, the cut isn't so deep that he'll need stitches. You douse a small towel with alcohol and lightly press it against his cut. You hear him hiss slightly, but don't look up; you need to focus, and his pretty face is a bad distraction. "I'm sorry, bear with me."

His eyes rake over you appreciatively. He likes it when you get like this. So tunnel visioned on patching him up. Far too distracted to see what you do to him. How starved you make him feel.

You successfully bandaged his wound with a patch and quickly grabbed him water and medicine. You grab a damp towel and begin cleaning off the rest of the blood from his body. You slowly drag the fabric across his skin, taking in his impressive physique. You don't even notice that you bite your bottom lip as your fingers glide against his skin.

But he does.

He grabs your jaw, thumb rubbing your bottom lip. His eyes narrow, a warning in his tone, "Don't...Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Tempt me." He responds through gritted teeth. "Don't tempt me, y/n."

Eyes half-lidded, you ignore his warning and slowly stick your tongue out to lick his thumb.

Red inhales a sharp gasp before pulling you onto his lap. Wound and fever be damned. His senses are overwhelmed with newfound energy, and a singular focus to unravel you beneath him.

His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you in for a deep kiss. His other hand grips your thigh, anchoring you to him. He savors the taste, groaning into the kiss. His lips travel from your jaw to your neck, where he sinks his teeth in, marking you his.

"Ah!" You let out a sharp gasp, the pain mixing with pleasure, making you dizzy. He pulls back just far enough to pull your shirt over your head. The sight of you exposed and on his lap has him intoxicated.

"God. You're beautiful, angel."

He lays you on your back, trailing light kisses on newly exposed skin. His feverish skin touches yours, adding to the heat building between you two.

"Red-" You whisper his name in between gasps.

"Not Red, doll." He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. "Jason. Remember it well, it's what you'll be screaming tonight."

His hands slide down your sides, pulling your panties down. You're too far gone to do anything but lie there and wait for him. You watch as he unbuckles his belt and slowly unzips his pants. The anticipation is unbearable.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his girth. He can see the nervousness on your face. Jason leans down to trail kisses on your face in reassurance, "Don't worry, doll. I'll make sure to go slow...at first." His wolfish grin belies any implication of gentleness.

You feel the tip of his dick prop your entrance. Smearing your slick all over himself. He lets out a low moan at the lewd sound. 'Maybe I should make her beg.' He smiles at the idea of you pleading for him to fuck you.

"Don't tease." You give him a slight pout. 'How unfair, y/n. You've got me wrapped around your fucking fingers.'

He grips your thigh before plunging himself into you. A violent scream is ripped from your throat at the sudden fullness. Tremors wash over his body at the feel of your tightness. A heavy groan is dragged out of him from how good you feel wrapped around his dick.

"Jesus, angel."

He meant to pace himself. He wanted the rhythm to be glacial at first. He wanted to slowly unravel you, until you were squirming under him, begging him for more.

But the concept of control was foreign to him at this moment. He couldn't stop. He wanted more, he wanted everything. He wanted you. Body, mind, and soul. And he means to take it.

You're struggling to breathe. His pace is relentless. Like he's trying to break you. You drag your nails down his back as he bucks his hips into you with reckless abandon. "God! J-Jason."

"Yeah, that's it." He lifts your hips to hit a deeper angle, "Show me how you come undone."

"Ah fuck!" This new angle has you reaching new heights of ecstasy. Your eyes close shut, and your head falls back. The moans spilling out of you sound like sin itself. The sight itself has Jason close, but he won't stop until he's ruined you first.

With a grunt, he repositions you on your side, throwing your leg over his shoulder. He continues his assault, driving deeper into you, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your breath hitches before a scream of pure, concentrated pleasure leaves you. Jason's pace falters as you tighten around him; he can't stop himself from going over the edge with you. Your leg slips off his shoulder as he props himself on his elbows above you. His body shivers violently as pleasure washes over him.

His breathing slows as he tries to regain himself. He looks down on your exhausted form. You're a mess, covered in sweat, breathing heavily, and utterly ruined by him. You've never looked more stunning.

#jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #red hood #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x reader #dc comics

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evans23 · 8 months ago

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RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 2 - SECRET WATCHING

Pairing : Judge Turpin x OC

Summary : 5 years. 5 years that The Death's Judge had noticed you. 5 years he was watcing you in silence. But now, it's time to speak out if he doesn't want to lose you... for ever.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Angst. Violence towards a woman. Manipulation. Deceptiveness.

A/N : I didn't proofread, therefore let me know (or not) if there are any too obvious mistakes.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had been a long time since he had noticed you. 5 years, 8 months, 23 days and 6 hours to be exact.

Lord Richard Turpin, High Judge of London, The Death's Judge, was a man of precision, even more so when it came to you.

It was a cold and foggy evening in November that he had noticed you. You were walking down Fleet Street, your bun letting loose little unruly hairs that flew in the wind and in your hands, you held books. On your back, you had a coat much too thin for the harsh winter that was coming.

Who were you ?

This question haunted him the second you raised your big green eyes to him without seeing him.

That evening, he had followed you under the pretext that nothing happened to you. After all, the streets of London can be dangerous, especially in the middle of the night, when they are lit only by the weak lanterns that adorn the sidewalks of the City without really illuminating it.

A creature as beautiful as you... what an unconscious judge he would have been not to stay hidden in the shadows to watch over you... and find out where you lived.

You entered a small modest house in a poor neighborhood of Bloomsbury, in a small shop where the sign read [[Y/S] - Watchmaker].

Now that he knew your address and your supposed last name, he rushed to his gloomy mansion without wasting a second. In the comfort of his leather armchair, far from the slums of London, he waited for his faithful and deceitful secretary while watching the wood fire crackling in the fireplace of his office. He found himself wondering if you were shivering with cold in your small house that must have let the wind through every window. If that was the case, he wanted to be the one to warm you up... even if he had to learn that you were married.

"BEADLE !" he had shouted, putting down the book that he wasn't even trying to call a book.

"My lord ?" The Beadle had asked in his honeyed voice, appearing out of nowhere, like a rat waiting for a good reason to come out of its hole.

"Find me everything you can about a young woman. Her name is [Y/S]. She lives in the deprived area along Goodge Street."

It didn't take much for The Beadle to come back in just a few days with everything Richard was burning to know.

Your full name was [Y/N] [Y/S]. The watchmaker's shop you had entered belonged to your father, but it barely allowed you to live decently. You weren't married and no fiancé was in sight. This last piece of information had strangely relieved Richard.

You were a little schoolteacher with no real official qualification except for a certificate with no real value, but the little informal girls' school you worked for didn't care about your qualifications. You knew how to read, write and count to teach these poor little girls to do the same in addition to learning sewing, embroidery and all those domestic tasks that would become theirs.

Richard deduced that you had to work hard for a salary that must have been very meager, but according to The Beadle, that didn't stop you from doing your job well. Your students liked you, especially since you were the only teacher who didn't beat them with that long wooden stick that bruised the hands of the other little girls in the school and the parents had no complaints about you.

And after that, he had continued to observe you. For a long time. Without ever trying to approach you, but not without acting. Indeed, strangely enough, your father had found himself counting lords and important men among his clientele. Your school had received new notebooks and the stoves that heated the classrooms had never run out of coal in 5 years.

And yet, he had never tried to speak to you. Certainly not because he was too embarrassed by your 20-year age gap or your differences in social class. No, it was much darker than that. You exuded innocence, purity and Richard, in his depraved nature, wanted to take all that away from you. He knew that the moment he allowed himself to be close to you, that he would say hello and let you know that he had noticed you, he would ruin all that pure beauty that was in you. Because he wanted you and what he wanted to do to you would have made God himself blush.

5 years he had been watching you, his heart singing for you every time he saw you while you were in total ignorance. How could you have suspected for a single second that you had made the terrible Lord Turpin fall in love ?

Oh, you knew his name, he was certain of it. Everyone in London knew the terrible Richard Turpin, The Death's Judge. But no one could have imagined that a man like him could have let such a pretty little thing as you creep into his mind so much that it was your face that he saw when he was fucking the whores of Whitechapel.

In five years, he had never seen you with any friend. Sometimes your father accompanied you on your walks, but most of the time, you were alone. Always impeccable, despite the modesty of your outfits, always friendly and smiling, there was nevertheless no one around you.

Until last week. For the first time, Richard felt his heart pinch, almost break, at the sight of a young man who walked beside you, a stupid smile on his face. He was clean on him, of a higher class than yours, but certainly not higher than Richard's.

Jealousy completely consumed Richard in the face of this sight.

It hadn't taken more than half a day for Richard to have a detailed report on this young man who answered to the name of Robert Crawford. He had hoped to find something, anything, to send this impertinent little boy who had set his sights on you to the depths of a colony in Australia. But nothing. He had found nothing and neither had The Beadle and it made Richard sick.

He could not bear that you had finally found the one who was going to take you away from your father and take your purity, especially this purity.

Robert came from a family of rich merchants and he himself was a fierce and renowned trader. However, there was something about this Robert that Richard did not like. He could not say what, but there was something disturbing about this young man.

Perhaps it was this reserve that you always seemed to have around him. You only half smiled and in truth, you did not really seem in love with him. But it was not surprising. Few women had the luxury of dreaming of love, even less when, like you, they had no money. Marriage was not a matter of the heart but of pragmatism.

On the contrary, Robert never failed to smile in your presence, but it seemed false to Richard. This man was hiding something, he was certain of it, his cold, calculating and manipulative nature had never deceived him and he promised himself to keep an eye on this young man.

For the first time, he had hesitated to come and talk to you. He could have easily torn you away from this boy, but it would have been so hypocritical of him. It was surely not better, he who had often wondered what he would feel if he took you on his desk in court between two trials.

Months passed and this young man became more and more present in your life, until Richard saw a ring with a tiny diamond adorning your finger. And yet, you still did not seem happy. There was no excitement in your eyes, only resignation.

And once again, he did nothing, waiting to see the banns announce your marriage and when they finally came out, he felt his world collapse, his certainties fly away, his heart break for good, he who had always thought he was made of nothing but ice. In two months, you would become Mrs. Crawford.

It was three weeks before your wedding that something changed. You were crossing the street when Richard saw you, but what he noticed most was the bruise on your cheek. Black. Painful. And finally, he understood why this Robert was bothering him so much, why his instinct was screaming at him to send this man to the end of the world or to the end of a rope.

Taken by an impulse, Richard crossed the street to find himself in your path and gently jostled you, as if nothing had happened, making the books you were holding in your trembling hands fall.

"Forgive me, miss, I was distracted," Richard lied.

"It's nothing," you replied as you bent down, not even daring to look up at him.

He bent down to help you, holding out a hand to help you up while his other hand held two of your books. You finally looked up at his, your big green eyes widening in surprise when you recognized the man who had just helped you.

"Lord Turpin," you said in a breath.

"So you know who I am," Turpin said softly with a sad smile.

He was not fooled, if you knew his name, it was because of his terrible reputation and nothing was made up. What earned him the nickname The Death's Judge came from his ruthless judgments, his austere nature and his ability to manipulate the course of events to his will.

"Your cheek," he said softly, unable to take his eyes off the dark stain, that even though didn't spoil your beauty.

"I fell against a piece of furniture," you whispered, looking away.

Liar, Richard thought. You had been slapped. Hard. Probably hard enough to make you fall. But that mark on your face was a mark made by a hand. The hand of a man. Certainly the hand of the man who would soon swear to love and protect you.

A shiver ran down Richard's spine thinking about it. You were going to marry a man who was going to make your life hell, who would beat you every chance he got and who would make a shadow of you. In three weeks, you would no longer be allowed to teach. You would be a prisoner in your own house and corrected for every sideways glance. He would teach you not to think for yourself anymore, because every time you tried to contradict him, he would remind you of your place with a good slap... or worse.

"A very brutal piece of furniture," Richard said coldly.

"Yes, indeed," you answered in a whisper.

"Can I walk you home, miss..." he asked, pretending not to know your name.

"[Y/N], my name is [Y/N] [Y/S]."

"A very pretty name, Miss [Y/S]," he said before asking you again if he could walk beside you.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Richard hadn't missed the glint of panic that had crossed your eyes. The hold had already begun. You couldn't even talk to a man without fear of being punished. He wondered if your father knew or if you had told him the story of the furniture and he had believed it.

"In that case, be careful. The streets of London can be dangerous in the dark for a woman," he said without taking his piercing gaze away from your small, frail figure.

"Closed doors are even more dangerous," you replied in spite of yourself before greeting him respectfully and leaving.

Indeed, closed doors could be dangerous, but enough of watching you in secret. Richard knew. Richard was going to act. This marriage would not take place, he promised himself that.

The Beadle was tasked with finding something, anything that could legally indict this young man from a good family. Richard had to play it smart, he wasn't going after some scumbag from the London slums. The Crawford family, though untitled, had some good allies thanks to their money.

But when, three days later, he saw you with a split lip and a new bruise near your nose, a dull anger filled him, and nothing was going to stop him from getting rid of this Robert.

"Miss [Y/S]," you heard behind you.

You turned around with a start before raising an eyebrow in surprise when you recognized Lord Turpin.

"Your furniture seems to particularly hold a grudge against you," Richard said immediately without giving you time to greet him formally.

"I..."

"No lies, miss. I am the High Judge of London, I punish lies," he interrupted you.

You looked down, not knowing what to say.

"Is it the action of your fiancé ?"

You looked up at him questioningly before looking away again, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

"Miss [Y/S], are you in danger ?"

"I don't know," you answered in a breath, tears in your eyes.

Richard grabbed your arm roughly and dragged you inside the courthouse to his office. You didn't even have the strength to protest, too surprised by his actions, also afraid that someone in the street had seen you and would report it to Robert. That you had let another man touch you would earn you a new punishment, you knew that.

"Sit down," Turpin ordered you, closing the heavy wooden door of his office behind you.

You obeyed without daring to look at him, wondering what he was going to do. You had nothing to reproach yourself for, but you were not afraid that he would imprison you. Your recent experiences had taught you that there were many other things you had to fear from a man.

"When did it start ?" Richard asked, coming to sit in front of you.

"Why do you care ?" you asked, raising your chin a little.

Richard smiled imperceptibly. You were certainly not broken. You still had the strength to rebel, your flame was not extinguished, this man had not yet completely subjugated you by making terror your worst enemy.

"Miss [Y/S], it is my duty to worry about the citizens of London."

You finally looked him in the eye, a small ironic smile on your lips that Richard didn't miss.

"I can protect you, Miss [Y/S]. But you have to tell me the truth for that."

You hesitated. Even though he was the highest authority in the court, you weren't sure that a man like him could be trusted. Not without having to pay the price. But at this point, it was after all, choosing between the plague or cholera.

"I..." you began, hesitant, not knowing what to say.

"Is he your fiancé ?" Richard asked again.

"Yes," you finally answered.

"When ?"

You shook your head, hoping to stop the tears that had just welled up in your beautiful, bruised eyes from flowing.

"A little after the marriage proposal. He..."

The tears began to flow in spite of yourself. Richard handed you his handkerchief embroidered with his initials. You took it, trembling, and you finally tell everything.

You had met Robert by chance in your father's shop and he had courted you almost immediately. You weren't really interested in this young man, but he was kind, well-mannered, and above all he had money. It was this last criterion that had pushed your father to encourage you to frequent him. Your father was not unaware that when he died, you would inherit nothing and he could not bear the idea of you ending up on the street. It was not your meager income as a schoolteacher that could have supported you.

At first, Robert was only kind. He covered you with gifts, his parents seemed happy to welcome you into the family, and you had ended up telling yourself that with time, you could learn to love him. But after the marriage proposal, he had changed. It had first been a slap in the face because you had reprimanded him for a simple language error. Then another, and another, until he promised to "re-educate" you once you were married. As if to prove his point, he had hit you with the hand that held your family's signet ring, splitting your lip. Each time, it was for stupid reasons. Because you were too smart, because you were too intelligent, because you had said no.

"And your father, does he know?"

"No !" you cried, "he must not know. He would kill Lord Turpin and I do not want my father to be hanged," you said quickly.

Richard clenched his fists. He too wanted to kill him, this Robert who thought he could beat you for his own pleasure.

"And he believes your stories about falling on a piece of furniture ?" Richard asked coldly.

"I don't think so," you murmured, "but I don't want my father to get into trouble."

Richard's features softened slightly. Of course, as a good, loving daughter, you didn't want your father to have blood on his hands because of you. But you were the one who would end up dead if this match went through.

"Do you really have to marry him ?"

"I said yes, the banns have been published," you answered as if it were obvious.

"You could go away, hide yourself," Richard suggested.

"But where would I go ? I only have my father and he's too old to start a new life anywhere else. All he has is here in London and his job has worn him down more than he'll ever admit."

Richard watched you, letting the silence settle between you. You shifted slightly, uneasy under his scrutiny. He had a plan. A plan that wouldn't alienate anyone, an immediate solution to get you out of this situation. After that, he would have plenty of time to take care of this Robert Crawford.

"I have a home in Scotland. You would be safe there. The governess who lives there and takes care of the house will watch over you. You would be housed and fed and you would want for nothing."

You raised your head, surprised by this proposal.

"Going to Scotland ?" you asked suspiciously.

"Indeed."

And be his without really being his. To be far from this Robert. Protected. This country house in the depths of the Highlands was occupied only by a governess and by the ghosts of his past, the screams of his mother and the sound of his father's belt falling on his back at the slightest reason. A house filled with shadow and bad memories that he had not been able to bring himself to sell after his father's disappearance. His mother had stayed living in their main home, leaving Richard this place that he had never liked but that today would finally find its use.

"I... I don't know," you said, hesitant.

"You will be very alone, I'm afraid. But no one will come looking for you there. You will be fine there and protected, I promise you."

"But... and my father ?"

"I will keep an eye on him, but it might be wiser not to tell him where you are going."

"And the wedding ?"

"You want it to happen ? You know the miserable life you'll have if you marry this man. And if you ever have children, they'll live in fear. Fear of their mother getting beaten, fear of their father's violence falling on them while you stand there, too afraid of getting another beating after the children," he spat vehemently.

You shuddered as you heard him say the cold truth, a truth you guessed he had known when he was younger.

"What's the price ?" you finally asked.

"The price ?" Richard repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"What's the price of your protection, Lord Turpin?"

Richard, fascinated by your frankness, wanted to tell you that the price would be that you would be his. But he said nothing. You would become his, but at your own pace. He wouldn't force it on you, and you'd end up believing it came from you.

"Nothing at all, I promise you."

"I don't believe you. Everything has a price. You're The Death's Judge. I can't believe you are doing something for free for a complete stranger," you said briskly.

"Believe me, miss [Y/S], you're not a stranger to me," he replied mysteriously.

A cold sweat ran down your spine. He had noticed you. You weren't sure if that was a good thing.

"If you agree, we'll go see your father and tell him why we're going to scare you away. But, we'll be careful not to tell him where. If you want to write to him, you will have to address the letters to me and I promise to get them to him."

You felt trapped. Trapped on all sides. Trapped by this marriage that you didn't know how to get out of, trapped by Lord Turpin who had just made you an offer that you feared was poisonous. But you also knew that he was right. Robert had shown you his true nature. He would end up breaking you.

"What if he hurts my father ?" you asked.

"Do you think he is so influential ?"

"He certainly does. And his family is rich. Money rules everything, you must know that, Lord Turpin."

"Indeed, Miss [Y/S], but his family is only a small merchant family. They do have some contacts in high society, but certainly not in the nobility," he said firmly, "and... they have me as an enemy now," he added coldly.

You shivered when you heard him say that, but when he gently moved his hand towards your scarred face, you didn't move. However, he gave you the space you needed to do so, you could have backed away a thousand times before he gently placed his warm palm against your cheek. He gently caressed your bruises before whispering:

"Accept, miss [Y/S], and I promise you that you will be safe."

And without even realizing it, you whispered yes.

Richard didn't wait a second longer to send The Beadles to get your father. The poor man arrived all trembling in the judge's office, but when he saw you, his protective instincts immediately kicked in awake.

"[Y/N], are you in trouble ?" he asked you, genuinely worried.

"Indeed, mister [Y/S], trouble that you should have noticed instead of encouraging your daughter to marry that Crawford," Richard scolded.

Your father looked at him with wide eyes, but his face darkened when Richard told him what you had been through when you weren't even married yet. Your father didn't like the idea of letting you go, especially not without knowing where and especially not under Lord Turpin's tutelage, but when you told him that you were afraid Robert would kill you, your father finally gave in.

That same evening, he had you get into one of his carriages. After you kissed your father one last time, Richard had you get into the carriage, cozy and provided with blankets and soft cushions.

"My coachman is a trustworthy man. You will arrive in Scotland in a week and he will keep you safe the whole journey."

"You promise to watch over my father ?" you asked gently.

"I promise," Richard replied firmly before handing you a letter, "don't open it until you arrive in Scotland. Please."

The please, spoken with such vulnerability made your heart beat a little faster.

"You are intelligent... and brave. You deserve the best. I promise you that you will have nothing to fear in Scotland, no one will come looking for you there."

Before you could answer, Richard had already turned away, his gaze dark, already busy thinking of a plan to get rid of Robert Crawford.

Throughout the journey, you clutched the letter in your hands, aware that it must contain much more than just words, but you held on without ever opening it. The journey was long, tiring and the coachman was not very talkative, but as Richard had promised you, he had watched over you like an eagle.

Once you arrived in Scotland, you were greeted by a stern-looking lady, the famous governess of the mansion.

"Miss [Y/S], I presume ? I have received a letter from Lord Turpin announcing your arrival. Come in, I will show you to your room."

The natural authority of the old governess did not make you want to upset her. She looked a lot like her master, you thought with a small, discreet laugh. She briefly introduced you to the mansion before showing you to your room.

"I'll let you settle in, miss," she said before leaving, leaving you alone.

It was a large room with off-white walls. Thick velvet drapes framed large windows that looked out onto a magnificent garden that winter had not yet extinguished with its biting cold.

You waited for nightfall and, after sharing dinner with the governess who was much more kind than you had imagined, you retired to your room. With trembling hands, yous grabbed the letter, opened it, and by candlelight you lost yourself in Richard's words, words that filled an entire page in firm handwriting.

"Miss [Y/S],

[Y/N],

I haven't been completely honest with you. It's been a long time since I noticed you. 5 years, 11 months and 28 days, to be exact.

I don't know how to reveal the depth of what I feel for you without scaring you, but the truth is that my heart started beating faster the moment I looked into your green eyes without you even really noticing me.

It's not for lack of courage that I never approached you before that day when I understood that your life was in danger. It's out of love that I never wanted to enter your life.

My nature... my nature is not the noblest. You are such a pure creature [Y/N] and I refuse to corrupt this beauty, this purity with the darkness that surrounds me.

Here, in Scotland, you can choose to start a new life, far from London, far from memories that you probably want to forget.

[Y/N], I love you and when I come to see you, it will not be as a judge, it will not be as a protector. It will be as a man in love and I will leave you the choice to do what you desire with my heart.

Richard Turpin"

You had a lump in your throat, you didn't know what to think. Millions of emotions passed through you, violent, like waves that submerged you. That night, you didn't sleep. The following nights, you only fell asleep after rereading the letter, again, again and again.

Meanwhile, in London, Turpin and Beadle Bamford were working on a... Machiavellian plan.

"I have a plan, my lord. It will require... some financial means of course," Beadle told Turpin with a sly smile.

"It doesn't matter as long as there is nothing to link us to what is going to happen," Turpin replied in a cold voice.

"Believe me, my lord, you will never be implicated."

"What part will that little rascal you found, Bamford, play ?"

"A foreign investor. He will flatter your nemesis by promising to make him even richer than his own father. A personal fortune that he will think he can build on his own without papa's help."

"Good. Good. I know men like that well. They always want more and they take even when they don't deserve it," Turpin muttered darkly.

It had only taken one poor but desperately rich young man to bring Robert down. In a luxuriously decorated office rented by Turpin in a prestigious club in central London, the young man dressed like a true gentleman by Bamford stood before Crawford with a simple but terribly dishonest offer. Richard knew the world well enough to know that every man, even the most perfect, had flaws and for the majority of them, money was their greatest weakness. Despite his family's wealth, Robert was one of them.

"Don't worry, Mr. Crawford. The deals I propose are common in our circles. Money is moving discreetly, and I promise you that your income will be... tripled."

The man hired by The Beadle had learned his lines well. The deal was simple: he would get Robert involved in suspicious business and in exchange he would receive a substantial sum of money... on the condition that he go into exile in Australia where an honest job was already waiting for him for a certain Elliot Marston, a cousin of Richard who would keep an eye on the corrupt man if ever he got the idea of blackmailing the High Judge of London.

"Laws are made to be circumvented," Robert replied, "I am not a novice. Prepare the documents and let's conclude this matter quickly."

And while hidden in the shadows, Richard watched with the hint of a carnivorous smile, the trap had just closed on Crawford.

A surprise inspection of the goods received orchestrated anonymously by Richard and the rumor was launched. Robert, ruined, was not a man to be trusted. He laundered money, made fraudulent investments and in less than a month, the reputation of the entire family was tarnished and Robert, arrested, was brought before Richard.

"Mr. Crawford, you have flouted the laws of our beautiful country. You have humiliated yourself and you have humiliated the name of your family! The evidence is overwhelming: commercial fraud, money laundering and fraud," Turpin listed, icy.

"That is false! It's a plot!" cried Robert in a vain attempt to defend himself.

"Out of kindness to your parents who have a respected name in worldly circles, I will spare you the rope. In the name of the Crown, it will be forced labour in a sugar colony in America," said Turpin without blinking.

He struck his gavel without a glance at Robert, but inwardly Richard gloated. He did. He left the courtroom and went to his office. He threw his powdered wig on a chair before turning to Beadle with a broad smile.

"My friend, once again you have been brilliant," Richard whispered.

"I live only to serve you, my lord," Beadle replied, honeyed.

A week later, Robert boarded a ship for the Americas without his family even trying to buy his freedom. The Crawfords were far too humiliated by their son's actions and in a hope of not falling out of the good graces of the nobility, Crawford senior had publicly disowned his son.

In the cab that took him to Scotland, Richard was torn. Now you knew he had noticed you and if you had read his letter, you knew he loved you. But could you ever love him back ?

What does it matter, he thought. He had gotten rid of that parasite Robert and he would never touch you again. If you were Richard's, his hands would never lay on you to hurt you. Oh, he would make you scream, for sure, but only from pleasure. But would you be able to see beyond the shadows that surrounded him ?

As Christmas approached, that holiday that Richard abhorred more than anything, the Scottish moor was already covered in a thin white film. The smoking smoke from his house indicated that you were nice and warm and he had no doubt that the old governess was watching over you as he had asked her to.

"Lord Turpin," you murmured when he came back into the living room where you were busy embroidering a handkerchief.

"Miss [Y/S], I wanted to come in person to tell you that you have nothing more to fear. Never."

You looked down, intimidated, before telling him in a whisper that you had read his letter. Richard looked at you attentively but you did not dare to look up at him. For the first time, he was unable to probe the mind of another human being.

"And ?" he finally dared to ask.

"5 years is a long time," you said, finally plunging your eyes into his, "why did you never say anything ?"

Richard sighed, searching for the right words without scaring you.

"Because I am a coward," he finally said. "Not in a courtroom, not in the middle of a crowd of nobles, not in a political plot. But in front of you, I am nothing more than a man and a coward."

His raw sincerity disarmed you for a moment.

"But why me ? I'm just a merchant's daughter. A little governess barely educated enough to teach other little girls to read. And you... you're Lord Richard Turpin."

Richard approached you gently and reached out to caress your cheek. You shivered slightly but at no point did you try to pull away.

"You are the sweetness. The light. Perhaps my redemption," he replied softly.

You looked at him, not knowing what to say. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but he finally pulled away. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his hand on your cheek.

"Will you come back to London with me?" he asked you with ill-concealed hope.

"Yes," you breathed with an emotion you couldn't quite define.

The journey home was long, but Richard made sure you had everything you needed. Every time you shivered, he would adjust a blanket around your shoulders, pay for the best rooms in the best inns, and make sure the journey didn’t take too much of a toll on you.

“We’ll be back in time for you to celebrate Christmas with your father,” he said one day as you struggled to stay awake.

But to your surprise, when you arrived in London, Richard didn’t take you back to your father. He showed you into his imposing mansion. The interior was just as impressive as the exterior, but not as ornate as you’d imagined, nor as well-kept as one would expect for a man like Richard. There were many cobwebs and a certain amount of disarray. Books were scattered everywhere, and as he led you up a large wooden staircase, you noticed very few servants milling about the manor.

"This whole part of the manor could be yours," Turpin finally said, stopping in the middle of a hallway that housed four different rooms.

"I don't understand," you said, turning your large green eyes toward him.

"The manor is austere, like me, but I'm sure your presence will brighten it. Robert... Robert won't come to haunt you anymore, but your engagement was announced and I don't want you to have to face the whispers and cruelty of the outside world. This manor could be your refuge."

"I... I don't want to force you into anything," you answered timidly.

“Miss [Y/S], you’re not forcing me to do anything,” Richard replied, taking your hand, “you deserve to be cherished, protected. And if you give me permission, I coulds give you all that and more. You deserve more than whispers in tea rooms or sideways glances on the street. Let me be your protector."

"I don't want you to be my protector," you whispered.

A shadow passed over Turpin's face as his heart clenched like a dagger had pierced it, but he recovered so quickly that you could have imagined the flash of pain in his hazel eyes.

"I want a husband."

Richard looked at you, eyes wide as you looked down, your cheeks tinging pink. With a finger, he lifted your head, forcing you to look at him.

"Are you sure about what you just said, [Y/N] ?" Richard asked in his deep voice, using your first name for the first time, "Because once you say yes, there's no going back."

"So be it," you whispered.

Without waiting, Richard's lips landed on yours with passion, ardor, desire. And for the first time, Richard thought that Christmas had a very nice surprise in store for him.

A year later

"My dear, if you continue to eat so many gingerbread cookies you'll get indigestion," Richard said as he sat down nonchalantly next to you on the library couch.

Wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace where a good fire was crackling, your aching legs resting on a stool and a book lying next to you, you made a little pouty face.

"It's not me who wants gingerbread cookies, it's the little inhabitant who keeps me awake every night and who prevents me from walking more than five minutes without my feet hurting," you replied as you grabbed another cookie.

Richard, smiled, a real smile, one of those that was reserved only for you. He still sometimes wondered how he had been lucky enough to marry you, you whom he had so often watched in secret, thinking he would never be able to have you. And yet, you had chosen him despite these faults. Your light was enough to balance his darkness.

"Enough biscuit," Richard finally said, taking the plate away from you as you were about to take a third, "it's time for bed, my dear."

And without giving you time to protest, he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing to take you to the room you shared. As often, he helped you take off your dress and put on your nightgown and while you settled under the covers, he came to sit next to you. In a caring gesture, he placed a hand on your round belly.

"It would be wise to let your mother sleep tonight. She is particularly insolent when she is sleep deprived," Richard said in a soft voice.

You smiled, shaking your head before placing your hand on his.

"I hope it will be a girl. A little girl who will give you a hard time," you joked.

"My dear, whether it is a son or a daughter doesn't matter to me, either one or another will be loved as much because they will be a part of you."

He kissed you tenderly, grateful for the second chance you were giving him, promising himself that the world would never come to hurt the child to come,. This child who was his redemption. He would watch carefully to it. In secret.

#rickmas2024 #alan rickman #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin #judge turpin x you #sweeny todd #evans23

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btescape · 2 months ago

Text

Unbound VIII - (BTS x Reader)

↳index

T/W: Mentions of injury

Pairing: Reader x Taehyung, Reader x Jungkook (and a tiny bit of ot7),

A/N: Tried not to make this slow, but I think I failed. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, since updates will be more slow the next week and the week after (I won't have access to my computer too much)!

In this one; a letter from the Headmistress, meeting another professor and another Elite member appears to warn you.

** Credits for line divider by strangergraphics-archive

Word count: 4627

Previous ∘•···•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•···• Next

Chapter VIII - The Weight of Control

The remaining part of the day had passed in a haze. With a blank face and careful steps, you had avoided Jungkook’s gaze when you passed him in the corridors. Not that he spared you a glance— he may have been the only noble who had not looked at you since the Coliseum. Still, the tension was tangible.

After classes ended, you had gone straight to the dormitory, skipping dinner and the never ending lingering eyes all-together.

Your room is quiet.

The only sounds that fills the space comes from your uneven breath.

You’re seated on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest and your back resting against the headboard. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of a single candle on the nightstand and the moonlight seeping through the velvet curtains.

You keep replaying it in your head.

The chains. The way they had absorbed Jungkook's magic. The way you had absorbed his life force. How his face had changed— from superiority, to surprise, ending in fear. How his magic had reacted to yours by releasing a part of his untamed powers.

You shouldn’t have lost control.

No, you shouldn't have volunteered in the first place.

You bury your face into your hands. What the hell were you thinking? Challenging Jeon Jungkook, the most powerful and influential student in the Academy? Nearly unleashing a necromantic incident in front of half the school?

You could have hurt someone.

You could have killed someone.

The whispers are going to be worse now. And the Headmistress.. You don't even want to think about the consequences.

You were lucky to be invited. A girl from the slums with forbidden magic. After your affinities were shown to the entire school, you should have remained in the background. Instead, you lit yourself on fire just to prove you deserved to be seen. And now you were starting to wonder if Jungkook and Jennie were right.

Maybe you don't belong here.

Maybe you never did.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

You try to ignore it, but Soyeon’s voice follows, muffled through the door. “Open up before Shuhua picks the lock.”

“I was going to knock politely next.” Shuhua grumbles from the living area.

Reluctantly dragging yourself from the bed, your feet slowly carry you toward the door. The clink feels cold beneath your fingertips, before you open it to allow entrance to the three faces behind it. Yuqi, Shuhua and Soyeon all stand in front of you, eyes filled with concern and anger in equal measure.

Soyeon is the first to speak. “Are you insane?” She exclaims, waving her hands in the air. “Tell me you temporarily lost your mind and forgot who Jeon freaking Jungkook is.”

“Did you suffer a spell-induced concussion before the match?” Shuhua gasps dramatically. “Because that's the only explanation I can think of.”

Yuqi is the only one to stay silent. Her eyes are soft, as if she can see right through you and knows you have been spiraling since the duel.

You lower your head, brushing hair behind your hair with shaky fingers. “I don’t know.. I just.. I wanted to prove that I could do it.”

Soyeon merely scoffs at your explanation. “The only thing you proved, was that you could almost die in the first ten minutes.”

“Twice,” Shuhua adds. “We counted.”

Yuqi steps further into the room, sitting down on the edge of your bed. “That’s enough,” She says in a quiet voice. “I'm sure she's aware.”

Shuhua backs off and leans against your wardrobe, whilst Soyeon doesn't argue, running a hand through her hair. Their gaze instantly softens when they turn to look at you.

“I'm sorry,” Shuhua murmurs under her breath. “We’re just worried about you.”

“Are you alright?” Yuqi asks as she places a hand on your shoulder. Her voice is gentle, the worry within genuine.

You want to lie and tell her that everything is fine. That Jungkook deserved what was thrown at him. That you're not scared of what might happen next, but in the faces of the people who had been nothing if not supportive, you weren't able to.

“I'm scared,” You admit quietly. “My powers scared me today.”

Shuhua pushes off from the closet and sinks onto the end of your bed, her usual flair subdued. “It’s okay,” She whispers, her voice gentler than before. “I would be scared too. Honestly, if I had pulled chains from the underworld mid-duel, I would have screamed and passed out.”

“You did scream.” Soyeon mutters.

“It was a dramatic gasp,” Shuhua hisses, then softens again. “But really. You’re allowed to be shaken.”

“I.. I lost control,” You whisper. “I didn't mean to hurt him. I just wanted to prove to him, and to everyone, that I do belong here. That I'm not some mistake they let in, even if I thought so at first.”

Yuqi's expression turns to slight guilt. “You know you don't have to prove anything, right? Not to us, at least.” She states. “You do belong here. The fact that you were personally invited by Headmistress Choi proves that.”

Briefly, you close your eyes before opening them again. “I found Jungkook in the library last night,” You admit. “He told me I didn't belong. That I'm an accident waiting to happen. So, when his name showed up, I just wanted to shut him up. But instead, I made it worse. I was a danger. To him. To everyone.”

“You are not dangerous. You just have something powerful inside you that no one taught you how to handle.” Yuqi says immediately.

Soyeon lets out a deep exhale and drops to sit on your other side. “You do need to get control over your powers. That’s not up for debate. And what happened during the duel was.. awful, but it doesn’t mean that Jungkook is right,” She smiles softly, rarely so. “You lost control once. It’s not the same as being a monster. Besides, he lost control too.”

Shuhua nods. “From you? People expect that. From him? Not a chance. I bet he’s fuming in his room right now and can’t stop thinking about you.”

Despite yourself, a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“We will help you find a way to control your powers,” Yuqi says. “There’s gotta be something in the library.. Maybe a training method.”

“Or perhaps a spell that binds necromancy until you're ready,” Shuhua suggests. “Like a magical leash. Sexy, right?”

Soyeon glares at her. “This isn’t the time to joke around.”

“Who says I was joking?” Shuhua protests.

Your lips curve into a smile, though the ache in your chest remains alongside the thoughts running through your mind. What if you go too far next time and really hurt somebody? Would there even be a next time?

Another knock shatters the moment of peace and silence. Everyone freezes, then all of you stand up slowly to make your way toward the living area. Yuqi glances toward the door, eyes filled with confusion. “Are we expecting someone?”

“No.” You respond immediately.

Shuhua gasps, whispering, “It’s a bomb. A personal bomb. Sent by Jungkook himself. I knew it.”

“Jungkook doesn’t send bombs,” Soyeon sighs. “He sends lawsuits.”

“Same energy.” Shuhua whispers.

After a short debate on who would open, Soyeon grunts and marches toward it. “If I die, I want a necromantic funeral. I want my corpse to rise and sue all of you.”

Once she opens the door, a black crow flies in. It circles twice, before neatly landing on the back of a velvet chair. It cocks its head, staring directly at you, and drops a sealed envelope onto the floor.

Picking up the letter, you freeze. The seal is silver, adorned with the Headmistress's personal sigil. The paper smells faintly of sage.

In crimson inked writing, the message reads:

You are hereby summoned to my office tomorrow at first light. Do not be late.” — Headmistress Choi.

Shit.

“She must have heard about what happened.” You say, folding the parchment with stiff fingers.

“Maybe she just wants to talk to you,” Yuqi's words are meant to be reassuring, but you are not convinced. “She wasn't even there. She might just want to understand what happened.”

“Or she wants to find out if I have finally become a threat.”

Soyeon shakes her head. “You're just powerful. There's a difference.”

You remind yourself of the last conversation you had, when she had visited you in the infirmary. But you doubt that what you had showcased, was what she meant.

“They are shaken. Some frightened. But I suppose they are all awake now, in ways they were not before,” There’s a pause, before she continues. “You showed every student something they were raised to disbelieve: that power is not bred in gold-lined halls or inherited in family names. You showed them that greatness can come from the slums, from shadows.”

“Power scares people, she said so herself.”

Yuqi, beside you, loops an arm over your shoulder. “Please, you don’t scare us.”

Shuhua nods quickly in agreement. “Honestly, I’m more scared of Yuqi when someone messes with her hairbrush.”

“I will hex someone over my hairbrush.”

You smile weakly. “Thanks,” You whisper. “For not… freaking out. Or treating me like I’m cursed.”

“You are cursed,” Soyeon says. “But we like you anyway.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shuhua chuckles. “I’m in this for the future bragging rights. Do you know how many people I’ll tell if you become Head Sorcerer or Conduit of the Dead or whatever? They will be so jealous when I tell them I know you personally.”

Yuqi rolls her eyes. “Ignore them. You’re not alone. You never were.”

The words ease the burden in your heart if only slightly, yet you wonder what it is the headmistress wishes to speak to you about.

The next morning, at first light as instructed, you find yourself outside of the Headmistress's office.

You have counted the floor tiles five times. They're flawless, polished into an unnatural shine. Maybe you'll miss them. You're certain you're about to be expelled, after all.

Sighing deeply, you try not to picture yourself being escorted out of the Academy by a pair of guards. Or worse— by Jeon Jungkook himself, personally requested to drag your slum-born disgrace back to 'the gutter where it belongs', as Jennie would say.

Though, you doubt he would sully his shoes.

You take one last deep breath and knock.

The door swings open by itself and, reluctantly, you step inside.

The Headmistress's office looks exactly as it did before. The shelves still curve around the room's circular core, the arched windows are framed by deep velvet curtains. The Grand Courtyard looks different than usual underneath the clouded sky.

Headmistress Choi sits in the centre of it all, behind her grand desk. “Punctual. I appreciate that.” She states with a nod.

Swallowing the nerves, you step inside. “I figured if I was going to be expelled, I should at least be on time.”

A small smile crosses her face. “I assure you, if I were planning to expel you, you would not have received a letter. You would have simply vanished from the records.”

Comforting.

She gestures to the chair and you take a seat. “Tea?” She offers as she conjures a set of delicate glass cups with a flick of her fingers.

“You’re offering me tea?” You ask, slightly uncertain.

“Would you prefer something stronger?”

“No. I just didn’t think tea was part of the execution protocol.”

“Miss [L/N],” Headmistress Choi says, voice laced with amusement, “You are not being executed.”

“Expelled, then?”

“No.”

“Forced into eternal servitude?”

That earns a small laugh from her. After a short silence, she shakes her head. “…Not today.”

You take the tea, hands trembling less now you that you knew expulsion was off the table.

“Professor Jung told me what happened at the duel,” She starts. “I would like to hear your side of it.” She gestures for you to speak.

“I.. I don't know. I lost control,” You mutter, staring down into your cup as if it has the answers to your questions. “One moment, we were simply dueling. I panicked, and against my wishes, my magic..” You clear your throat. “.. my necromancy magic reacted. I didn't want to summon those chains. I didn't mean to hurt Jungkook, but I couldn't control it.”

“Why did you wish to duel him? Professor Jung said you volunteered.”

“I just wanted to prove them wrong.” Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

When you look up, the Headmistress is watching you, though her eyes hold no malice. Only patience. She sets her teacup down. “Power is not meant to be proven in the eyes of others. It is meant to be known within your own soul.”

You nod, uncertain if those words were meant to comfort or terrify you.

“But I suppose you are right and it comforts me to know you are aware,” She continues. “You did lose control. And that is precisely why I have found a personal instructor..”

Your lift your head, cocking your brow in confusion. “Wait—you’re not punishing me?”

“I am preparing you. Punishment is for those who act out of malice. You acted out of desperation, as you did during the trials. This time it may have been poor judgment, yes, but it was not cruelty,” She narrows her eyes slightly. “However, the next time you lose control it may not be so easy to distinguish the difference.”

You nod understandingly. “So what happens now?”

“I am assigning you to someone. An instructor who specializes in difficult magic. Unique cases. And students who do not fit the regular curriculum.. Professor Kwon is waiting for you outside.”

“Wait. Right now?”

“Do you know how control is learned?” She asks as she rises from her seat. “It is not through theory, nor polite conversation. It is learned in pressure. In proximity to what you fear,” She opens the door with a small motion of her fingers. “And right now, it is yourself that you fear.”

Rising to your feet, you make your way toward the door but you halt before stepping through. “Headmistress?” you ask. “Did you find out who tampered with the trials?”

“We are still investigating,” She replies. “But whoever it is, they knew what they were doing. They masked their interference in a way we haven’t seen in decades. Whoever did it, it was personal. We do not yet know who did it, but I intend to find out,” With a slight incline of her head, she adds, “Go on. Your training begins now. And Miss [L/N]?” You pause, turning to look at her. “You do belong here. But whether you stay here… that will depend on how hard you are willing to fight for control.”

You walk through the door and waiting just down the hallway, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, is a man dressed in deep grey robes and worn leather gloves. His hair is ink-dark and cut short and his posture relaxed. His eyes seem clever, yet impossible to read, as they lock onto yours when you approach.

“Miss [L/N],” He says with a crooked smile. “Heard you’ve got a knack for chaos.”

You stare at him warily. “And you’re here to fix that?”

He pushes off the wall, his grin sharpening. “I’m here to teach you how to use it before it eats you alive.”

There are few names that carry both admiration and wariness in the magic world— Kwon Jiyong is one of them.

Once a rising star among the Arcblades, Jiyong was known for his brutal application of high-concept theory within battle. As a prodigy in multiple schools of magic, he could have secured a seat on the Grand Mage Council or led military divisions. Instead, he vanished from public life.

Rumors spread that he walked away because of principle, other whisper about a duel that went too far and ended with scorched earth and no survivors. They are all mistaken.

He started training students deemed "complicated".

Students like yourself.

The training grounds are mostly empty, besides the rows of wooden dummies lined in place, their limbs wrapped in burned cloth and lined with wards. Lingering in the air, is a faint scent of smoke. The years of magic duels have left their marks through a web of cracked stone.

Professor Kwon stands at the edge of the field, arms crossed as his coat sweeps back by a soft wind. “First lesson,” He says the moment you stop in front of him. “I don’t care what you think you’re capable of, but what you can do when it counts,” He turns his head toward the line of dummies. “We start simple. Show me what you've got.”

Hesitantly, you step forward, cracking your knuckles once to release the tension and steady your stance.

The first fire spell you cast is clean and controlled. A simple flame launches from your palm and strikes the dummy square in the chest. The wood smokes and it’s clear you’ve studied.

When you cast your second hurl of fire, hoping to push harder only slightly, the flame explodes too wide. The burst strikes two targets, before it twists unpredictably. The heat singes your arm and you stagger backward, muttering a series of curses under your breath.

Professor Kwon doesn’t flinch. “Typical,” he mutters softly as he rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “You’re overcorrecting. Fire obeys intention, not emotion.”

You furrow your brows, brushing the remnants of ash from your sleeve. “Aren’t they basically the same thing?”

His eyes flick to yours. “Not when you’re trying to stay alive.”

Remaining in the same spot, he gestures toward you again. “Let’s test your second affinity. Abjuration. I’ll throw some spells—nothing lethal. Your job is to simply shield them.”

The first spell is a light wind burst and you react with a basic ward with little effort. The next spell follows soon after, a line of fire. You panic and cast a barrier so large it curves around not just yourself but several meters beyond.

Professor Kwon raises a brow. “Are you trying to defend the entire school?”

You release the spell, breathing heavily, but offering no reply. He circles you slowly now, voice calm. “This is your pattern. You go too small out of fear. Then too big out of fear.. If you don't change, you're going to end up killing yourself or somebody else.”

You press your lips together, a feeling of discouragement coursing through your body due to your inability to control simple magic spells

“And now,” he says, slowly stepping back, “I want to see the one thing no one will train you to use.”

He doesn't name it, yet you know what he means.

Taking a deep breath, you reach inward.

Nothing happens.

You try to reach deeper.

Still, nothing.

“I.. I can’t,” you say, frustration audible in the tone of your voice. “It doesn’t answer unless it has to.”

Professor Kwon studies you. “What kind of situations has it awakened in?”

You hesitate, then glance away. “Life-or-death.”

“Survival?”

You nod in reply.

He takes a single step back and rolls his shoulders. “Very well, then survive.”

Before you can say anything, Professor Kwon strikes. The spell lunges at you, a conjured silver spear, and you scream whilst instinctively summoning a barrier. It shatters on impact.

You're knocked off your feet, his spell grazes you shoulder as you are send sliding across the floor.

But, he doesn't quit.

Spell after spell are thrown at you— searing wind, binding force, illusion blades that slice the air. You scramble to your feet, dive sideways, conjure barriers that shatter instantly. Your body moves on adrenaline alone now, your mind barely able to keep up.

Professor Kwon's coat trails behind him as he walks forward without hesitation and uses one spell after the other. The way he moves is fluid, even more so than Jungkook. Worse? He has no pattern.

You duck low as ice splits the air overhead, roll and raise another barrier just in time to block a burst of flames.

Still, your forbidden magic stays silent.

Professor Kwon merely watches.

Only when your legs threaten to give out does he raise a hand. The spells vanish into thin air.

Collapsing to one knee, you gasp for air. Every bone aches with exhaustion. Your finger dig into the stone floor, heartbeat so loud you can barely hear the silence that follows.

He walks over slowly, then crouches beside you, elbows resting on his knees. “Do you want the truth?” He asks in a low voice.

You look up, but your body doesn't stop shaking.

“You’re not dangerous,” he says, his gaze flicking to the scorch marks on the field. “But you’re unrefined. Incomplete. Like a blade half-tempered,” He straightens again, brushing ash from his gloves. “It makes you more of a threat to the Academy, and to yourself.”

You grit your teeth. “So what do we do now?”

He raises a brow as he stands back up. “Now we train until you are no longer a threat.”

The rest of the session blurs together. Repetition. Sweat. Flame drills, abjuration exercises, theory thrown out the window in favor of instinct. He pushes you until your hands tremble from the sheer strain and your mouth tastes like metal. You don't speak much, don't ask for mercy and he doesn't offer praise.

By the end, your head is spinning and your fingers are burning, but you realize that this man may be your only shot at surviving your powers.

You nearly miss him at first.

The skies of grey have been replaced by a bright blue, cloudless sky. Your limbs ache, sweat clinging to the back of your neck and your head feels like it's about to burst.

All you wish to do is return to your dorm, collapse onto your bed and scream into a pillow for a while.

When you catch a silhouette leaning against the black-iron gate beyond the training field, you assume, foolishly so, that it's just another upper year cutting through the grounds. But as you step closer, the face before you is all too familiar.

His shoulders are relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest and one ankle over the other. The edge of his cloak dances along to the faintest breeze.

Park Jimin.

Instantly, you slow your steps. The first thought running through your mind is: Why is he here?

The second: How the hell did he know where to find me?

Jimin looks too composed, too clean. There is not a single crease in his robes and the silver crest embroidered on his chest is gleaming as if it was polished on the way here. There is not a drop of sweat visible on his perfectly sculpted face and the man has an infuriatingly, effortless grace that all the Elite seem to have.

His chocolate brown eyes find yours before you can look away and act like you hadn't seen him. Strangely, there is no animosity in them. Just mere curiosity that reminded you of another member of the Elite.

“I thought Elites don't usually loiter around broken-down arena's,” You say sarcastically as you approach. “Not enough mirrors out here.”

Jimin smiles lazily at your words. “I make exceptions.”

A few feet away from him, you halt your steps, arms folding across your chest. “How did you even know I was here?”

He lifts his shoulder in a small shrug. “Let’s just say I know where interesting things tend to happen.”

“So, what, this is curiosity, then?” You ask, arching a brow.

Jimin tilts his head in mock thought. “Let’s call it... professional concern.”

That only increases the confusion edged onto your face. “Did you see what happened in there?”

“I didn’t have to,” He replies in a casual tone. “You’re limping, your sleeve’s scorched, and you look like someone who just survived a small war. I’d guess the Headmistress has finally taken into consideration assigning you a teacher. And there's only one teacher who helps special cases,” He pauses, exhales slowly, and studies you. “From the looks of it Professor Kwon didn’t go easy on you.”

You don't look away, refusing to feel threatened by somebody like him. “Is that your way of saying I look hideous now?”

His eyes widen in surprise, then a soft chuckle escapes his lips. “I didn’t come here to mock you.”

“So why did you come?”

“To give you a warning.” He states simply, gaze still watching your face.

This catches your attention. “A warning?” You ask confusedly.

Jimin straightens from the gate, pushing off it and steps a little closer, yet not close enough to crowd you. “You've drawn attention. And I'm not talking about the petty, jealous kind. You challenged someone nobody else dared to and walked away unscathed. That's enough for them to see you as a threat.”

“So this is about Jungkook? If it is, I feel bad about it as it is. No need to rub it in. Tell him I said sorry.”

“It's not just about him. It's about all of them,” He clarifies. “To them, it doesn't matter how sorry you are. In their eyes, you were not supposed to survive the confrontation, let alone look competent when doing it. Hell, you're not even supposed to exist on the same playing field. Whether you want to or not, you check all those boxes.”

You tilt your head. “This wouldn’t happen to be a threat on behalf of someone else, would it?”

“If I wanted to threaten you,” He says easily, “Believe me, you’d know. And it wouldn’t start with a conversation.”

“That's reassuring.”

“I just came to tell you to be careful,” Jimin continues. “Jungkook doesn’t forget. Jennie doesn’t forgive. And Taehyung…”

Your stomach twists at his name..

“…doesn’t always know what he wants. That makes him unpredictable.”

“Why are you warning me at all?” You narrow your eyes, trying to read his face, but there's only genuine concern. It's the same way your grandmother used to look at you when patching your wounds, the same way Yuqi, Soyeon and Shuhua have been looking at you.

“Because I know what it feels like to be where you are.”

You suddenly remember Yuqi telling you that Park Jimin isn't from an influential family and made his way to the top. Now, you find yourself listening to him, though still wary.

“My family had influence. But not status. Not the kind that opens doors. I had to claw my way in. Charm them. Outmaneuver them. Become useful before they ackowledged me,” He glances down at the stone beneath his feet. “And even then, I nearly got swallowed whole.”

“And now?” you ask. “You became one of them.”

His faint smile returns. “Not quite. I just wear the mask better.”

“Why tell me all this?”

He looks at you sternly. “Because they will come for you in ways you won’t expect. Not fire and lightning, but reputation. Doubt. They’ll whisper you out of existence if they can.”

You fold your arms tighter across your chest. “Why should I trust anything you say?”

“You don't have to,” He mutters. “But if you're smart, then you know when to listen.”

You hesitate, then nod once.

He turns to leave, robes brushing against the stone as he walks. But after a few steps, he glances back over his shoulder.

“Oh, and don’t mistake silence for safety,” He says. “Sometimes the quiet ones are already planning their move.”

And with that, he disappears down the path, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat behind.

taglist:

@enfppuff

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naxalbari1967 · 6 days ago

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Israel Didn’t Start in 1948 it Was a Century Long US Backed Colonial Project

The idea that Jews were “rich” while being persecuted is one of the oldest lies used to justify that persecution. It was a myth built by monarchies, reinforced by fascists, and recycled by modern reactionaries. The truth is more complex and far uglier. Jews were locked out of most sources of power for centuries. They were forced into a handful of professions, denied land, banned from guilds, taxed extra, and murdered in waves. When a few succeeded under those brutal constraints, their visibility was used to paint the entire people as somehow privileged. But behind that illusion was centuries of theft, humiliation, expulsion, and violence. The real story is not how Jews got rich. It is how Europe got rich off Jewish scapegoating.

Feudal Europe did not tolerate Jews so much as it contained them. In the Middle Ages Jews were barred from owning land, joining craft guilds, entering most professions, or holding public office. Most were restricted to ghettos or designated areas. In many regions they could not even walk freely without special permits. The Church forbade Christians from lending money at interest so Jews were pushed into finance and moneylending not by culture or greed but because it was one of the only legal jobs available to them. It was dirty work. Necessary for kingdoms but despised by the public. So the Jews became convenient middlemen between rulers and the masses. When peasants revolted against taxes or debts rulers pointed to the Jewish moneylenders as the face of oppression. That is how you engineer a scapegoat.

Every time a Jewish community became too successful or visible it was destroyed. England expelled its Jews in 1290. France followed in 1306. Spain kicked them out in 1492 and seized their property. Portugal forced conversions. Pogroms in Eastern Europe wiped out entire towns. The Russian Empire later confined Jews to the Pale of Settlement, blocked them from education and government, and let mobs murder them with state approval. Even in cities like Vienna or Berlin where Jewish professionals thrived for a brief time antisemitism followed fast behind. Laws were passed. Riots erupted. Synagogues burned. The cycle was always the same. Tolerate, isolate, scapegoat, expel, plunder.

This did not stop in modern times. In Tsarist Russia Jewish villages were set on fire and the survivors pushed into slums. In Germany Jews were accused of controlling banks, media, and politics while being less than one percent of the population. In America quotas kept Jews out of universities and country clubs. They were barred from big law firms and corporations for decades. Wealth did not insulate them. Assimilation did not protect them. Being poor did not spare them. Persecution was not about class. It was about using Jews to stabilize power.

The myth of Jewish wealth got its power not from reality but from propaganda. It was always focused on visibility. If a Jewish family owned a bank it proved Jews controlled finance. If a Jewish writer published books it proved Jews controlled culture. If a Jewish lawyer won a case it proved Jews controlled the courts. The rare exceptions were held up as proof of total domination. No one said all Italians were mobsters just because some were. No one said all Protestants were bankers because a few ran JPMorgan. But with Jews the rule was reversed. A few success stories meant collective guilt. That lie became the backbone of European fascism.

Even today the same logic is used. People point to prominent Jewish billionaires and ignore that most Jews are middle class or working class. They talk about Jewish privilege while ignoring the forced migrations, the racial laws, the ghettoes, the genocide. They confuse survival with power. But a people forced to adapt to persecution does not become rich. They become resourceful. They are pushed into niches and when they succeed in those niches they are punished for it. That is not privilege. That is a trap.

The rise of Israel is sometimes used to retroactively justify the myth. But Israel was not built by global Jewish wealth. It was built through a settler colonial process backed by British and later American support, funded by a mix of foreign donations, reparations from Germany, and strategic alliances. The early Zionist movement faced fierce resistance from both Arab Palestinians and anti Zionist Jews. It succeeded not because Jews were rich but because Western empires wanted a loyal outpost in the Middle East. That is not Jewish power. That is imperial strategy.

If you really want to know why the myth persists follow who benefits from it. Antisemites use it to shift blame. Ruling classes use it to split working people. Fascists use it to make nationalism seem like justice. It is always easier to blame a neighbor than to attack the system. So instead of organizing against capitalists people are taught to fear Jews. Instead of uniting with fellow workers they are told a cabal runs the world. This lie has killed millions. It is still killing.

So no Jews were not rich. They were made visible, made useful, then made disposable. They were punished when they were poor, envied when they survived, and hunted when they succeeded. Their wealth real or imagined was never the cause of persecution. It was the excuse. The hatred came first. The story was built after.

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arkus-rhapsode · 1 year ago

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When you see yourself in trash (Gachiakuta Discussion)

So with the positive reception of my recent thinkpiece, I wanted to make good on my promise that I’d post more. And this has kinda been one I’ve been wanting to do for a while. But due to the deeply personal nature of it, I wanted to really give it the time it deserved to come together.

This is going to be a post about Gachiakuta, which if my multiple posts on it haven’t been an indicator, I'm kinda a big fan. But what’s more, I really wanted to talk about why Gachiakuta speaks to me more in depth.

Background

So for those who don’t know, Gachiakuta is a weekly manga series by mangaka Kei Urana. Urana is a former assistant of the student of the Soul Eater and Fire Force creator, Atsushi Okubo. This series premiered shortly after Okubo’s Fire Force finished up, and stars a young boy named Rudo who lives in the slum area of a place called “The Sphere” (Or Heaven depending on the translation). Rudo has a habit of stealing from waste deposit sites and repairing broken items he finds. He lives with his adopted father Regeto after his biological father was sentenced to “The Abyss” for murder. The Abyss is a gaping chasm where all of the Sphere’s trash and prisoners are dumped.

Rudo is a somewhat surly child, and noticeably struggles with properly expressing his emotions despite the fact he is a highly emotional person. Smiling in particular is a struggle for him. Rudo one day comes to find Regto killed by a mysterious masked man, and blamed for this crime. Rudo is sentenced to the Abyss where he cries in anger he will return and kill everyone here. In the Abyss, Rudo is met by monsters made of trash and people devoted to fighting them, the Cleaners (Or Janitors depending on the translation). This fighting force of magic garbage men use the power of a “Giver” to empower items dear to them known as Jinki. With Rudo discovering that he can do the same with his gloves given to him by Regeto. Now he’ll work with the Cleaners killing trash monsters as he unravels the mystery of who killed his adoptive father and how he’ll escape the Abyss.

And it has been the newest manga series in the last four years that has not only made me feel hyped but await every chapter since its release.

Now if everything I said previously sounded like “well that sounds like a fairly straight forward if somewhat interestingly flavored revenge action manga. What makes it special?” Well then we’re going have to talk about Rudo.

Rudo

So Gachiakuta is a series with a lot of weirdos in it and some unconventional story structures to it (and we’ll touch on that later) but I think the character who embodies the core of this series is its MC, Rudo.

On the surface Rudo is a character that could feel at home with any number of shonen manga protags. Really expressive, yells a lot, spiky hair, and a power that’s kinda special amongst its power system. Basically, If Deku from MHA was a bit more angry and sleep deprived, you probably think he and Rudo were the same person on the surface. And for the most part, Rudo seemed to be that way, an angry kid out for revenge who treasured the last remaining gift he received from his foster father. Yet then we get to chapter 15 of Gachiakuta. A truly special chapter.

When Griss, Rudo’s teammate for this mission, was run through with claws by the villain, Jabber Wongar, Rudo seems to suffer some for of PTSD as the world goes hazy and he sees Griss as Regeto, stabbed and bleeding. We cut to Rudo as a child in Regto’s care and there, Rudo is banging his head against a wall to the point blood is coming out.

When Regto asks why Rudo would do this, the only thing Rudo can describe is how he has nothing. He has these feelings he doesn’t know how to describe yet he believes he’s nothing from the abuse he suffered at the hands of parents. All he has to really express it it this sort of frustration. While Rudo’s parents being murders may have been a lot for any child, Rudo carries literal scars given to him by his father. His hands peeled and scared and burnt black. The pain in his hands stops when he wears the gloves Regto gave him.

And when Regto wants Rudo to find something to focus his passion into, the thing that catches Rudo’s attention the most is a broken mannequin. Rudo cries letting out those feelings he said he couldn’t describe. Wanting to fix something and can’t believe it was tossed away because it was “a little broken.” At that moment, Regto realizes something about Rudo. He sees himself in those same objects that weren’t valued and tossed away.

So this is where I get to one of the things about Gachiakuta and Rudo in particular that speaks to me. Rudo, to me, is an example of a neurodivergent child and the text actually bothers to focus on how this affects his life. Now I know the moment I’ve said that there will be a lot of people who want me to explain, and the first thing is, no the manga doesn’t come out and say that Rudo is on the spectrum. But rather it lays a pretty explicit analogy to someone who may not be typical in some regard mentally or emotionally. I know in the space of neurodivergent individuals representation is… difficult. Not just to find in the media, but also represented in a way that isn’t just “they’re a super genius.” Because there are many many forms of neurodivergence and how the manifest can be different for many individuals. Someone with ADHD may have their life affected in ways different than someone diagnosed with Autism. This is where I think it's very important for me to say, I’m just one guy on the spectrum. I’m speaking from my personal experience but you shouldn’t take my opinion as gospel. This is just me and my experiences. And my personal reading of this

So when I say, a “mentally different character” in the media can be a tricky tightrope to walk, I mean it. Wanting there to be a positive representation for a community that may not get representation, but also not wanting to be like some monolithic depiction of what living with one of these conditions may be like. And there are plenty of ways where this could go very wrong (Anyone remember the time Aquaman cured Autism?). So when the text can’t just say “I am X” it's not uncommon for the readers to begin to see or relate to how a character may act. Speaking of how they act, in the case of anime and manga another “complication” can occur in the fact that many of these characters can act… well whacky and that’s treated as most acceptable in the universe. Whereas in real life, its likely anywhere from Gon to Goku would get side eye with their behavior. And thus you have the basis for plenty of head canons, one prominently being a character’s place on the spectrum.

Let's take any character, say Rill Boismortier from the series Black Clover. He’s a relatively second character in the series with an aptitude for art magic, who had locked himself in his room isolating himself from others till his butler reached him and now he’s a very eccentric, excitable, outgoing character. From the fact that he has a fixation on art to things like making sounds that could be read as vocal stimming, Rill could be read as an autistic character.

Or how about we look at one of the more memetic takes of the internet and all the jokes that Fern and Frieren from Frieren: Beyond the Journey’s End are autistic. This joke mainly comes from how in this world everything has a cool, somewhat mellow vibe with many people acting very muted. With Frieren herself struggling with making a distinction in the passage of time thanks to her elven aging and trying to understand the human condition. And Fern also a relatively reserved and subdued individual only really expresses her feeling a sensation of frustration or annoyance through “Kawaii pouting” puffing out her cheeks.

There are plenty more examples, but I wanted to illustrate that there are characters in manga and anime that I believe-yes, someone with neurodivergence could identify with, however, would I go as far as to say that this was the writer's original intention? Well choosing to err on the side of caution, I'm going to guess not likely. Someone could easily say, “you’re reading too much into it. There is nothing in the canon that outright says that. Rill is just a joke character, Frieren is a completely different species so it can’t really be neuro-atypical from a human standpoint, Fern’s pouting is just a gap moe trope.” And to be honest, I don’t necessarily think people holding these beliefs would be wrong. Nor do I wish to imply that if someone sees themselves in one of these characters that means they’re on the spectrum.

I'm saying there’s nothing wrong with either option. If you are someone neurodivergent and you see yourself in someone like Rill, that’s great. If you are someone who isn’t neurodivergent but still sees themselves in someone like Rill, that’s also great. The point I’m trying to make is that it may be unintentional, but a neurodivergent person seeing a neurodivergent story inside a specific character can happen and in many ways offer insights into the character.

And for someone like me who has spent a long time coming to grips with how my atypicality has affected my identity, Rudo’s story hit me. Hit me in a way I don’t think many series have. Rudo is a character who shows a fixation on trash, particularly broken pieces of trash. His old wounds he covers and just the feelings on this specific piece of clothing is able to make the feelings of his wounds go away. And just the way he described having emotion inside, but not being able to properly express it to the point he was doing self harm, it tore me up inside.

Made even more dramatic by the fact that Rudo is having this flashback being triggered by Griss being stabbed. Griss is a guy Rudo has known for a day who is shown to be a cool guy, but most importantly, when Rudo spent his welcome party sulking in a corner all tied up in his shell, only for Griss to ask him about his future. Rudo truly was feeling like he was losing a fatherly figure again in front of him

This was one of the moments that in my mind showed me the sort of direction this series wanted to go in with Rudo. Edgy, dark, cool, and stylistic revenge series in manga have existed for years. In fact, they’ll exist long after Gachiakuta and myself have expired. Many of these series can vary on the portrayal of their MC, conflicted, ready to embrace destruction, righteous in their pursuit, yet Gachiakuta has been unique for me, seeing Rudo have all the hallmarks for a vengeful story yet people always come to speak with him on his behavior.

Not in a sort of guidance counselor way, but more in a natural way of trying to make this kid who has had a life where he hasn’t had to properly think about/experience certain things life can throw at you and they want him to improve. From telling him it's okay to not know what he wants to do in the future, to letting him know it's okay to make mistakes, to learning how to properly have a conversation and connect with others. I think a lot of these moments can feel like sweet nothings, but for me I saw it as a part of growing up. Or rather something I wanted growing up. I’ve experienced many moments of my life where I felt lost not in small part to the fact it felt like no one could meet me on my ground. And something about Gachiakuta is the attempt that almost every character has made trying to reach Rudo and show him a form of empathy. And as the series has gone on that empathy has really changed. He went from a kid not understanding what was wrong about saying “I'm only working with you till fulfill my goal!,” demanding cooperation from others, to actively trying to ask for help when hears of an opportunity to come closer to his goal.

This sort of vulnerability I think was present in his moment screaming his revenge. He’s visibly crying. Despite all the bluster and crassness, there’s clearly a frustrated and overwhelmed boy who has been condemned by a society that brands him “unclean.” This is also where I should mention Urana is an absolute master with art and expressions. Making everyone feel so alive. Rudo’s faces are an absolute highlight. Despite a person who seems set up to have a chip on his shoulder, he may be one of the wackiest in just how big he can let his emotions go. Which ties into our next part.

Zodyl and the Watchman Series

Now I'm sure you’re wondering, “Arkus, you said that this manga hasn’t hard confirmed Rudo is actually neurodivergent, yet you say the text makes the analogy so does someone finally say it?” Well to answer that, I’m gonna need to talk about the main villain of this series and the tools he’s after, The Watchman series.

Our seemingly main antagonist of the series is a man named Zodyl Typhon, leader of the organization The Raiders (Or the Vandals depending on the translation) a group of evil givers who seem to be devoted to the destruction of The Sphere. As they living in a world where the natural order is simply that they are a people who have garbage raining down upon them. Polluting them, crushing them, and people of the Abyss have gradually become accustomed to it all. Zodyl wants to shock the system and he wishes to get his hands on all the various powerful Jink known as the “Watchman series.” So far it's known that only Rudo’s gloves, Amo’s boots, and Zodyl’s coat are part of this set.

Zodyl is depicted as an amoral, somewhat sociopathic person, with intense eyes, viewing people as experiments to test his theories, and showing practically no emotion. He describes each piece of the Watchman series as containing extremely powerful emotions in them. A normal person couldn’t use these items with going mad due to these emotions. Yet people like Rudo and Zodyl haven't gone mad. Well that’s being they’re not like others.

In one of the most painful visual analogies, Zodyl describes that in this world there are people born missing pieces that every other human is born with. This leaves them as something sort of empty. WIth Rudo knowing exactly what he’s talking about. This was already hinted at by Amo who says wearing her Watchman boots feels as though she’s a toy that had a new battery inside. Zodyl doesn’t think that missing something fundamental is a bad thing though, in his opinion not being born with it has made him a vessel for this power.

I once again cannot say with a hundred percent certainty that Kei Urana was intentionally channeling the experiences of those who may be told “they’re not like others because they were born atypical” but it's so hard for me to not read it that way. Especially the part where Zodyl rejects the idea that there’s anything wrong with this. He’s not wrong for how he’s born, look at all the cool stuff he can do now. While Rudo stands there and thinks about how isolated he felt from everyone else. It's easy to see these as two very valid responses to someone with a mental health diagnosis, lamenting how this puts you at odds with others and how being different in this way makes it harder for you to connect. While the other rejects needing the validation of others, there isn’t a problem.

Once again, no one just flat out says it, but so much of the subtext is basically there in your face in regards to Watchman and Zodyl’s speech. But the fact this power is only wielded by something that is described as a missing piece. With the image of a heart in pieces. To me, the emphasis placed on the value of one’s emotional and mental capacity as something that can be filled, like its just so out there how can I not see something there?

Well maybe its because I want to?

Artistic Interpretation

Look, I'm not gonna to give you a dry lecture on the value of artistic interpretation. I think we’re all mature enough that multiple people can have multiple different interpretations of a single world. With art being something that lends itself to being read in a variety of ways. I'm not making this post to delegitimize any interpretation.

Rather I wanted to come all the way back to the pin I put in when mentioning the unconventional story structures. Now it should come to no one’s surprise that the woman who was an assistant and student of the guy who made Soul Eater makes some bizarre choices. Not the least of which being the characters and tone.

No, rather I wanna touch on something that I find Urana and Okubo do better than a lot of people which is visual interpretation. Both utilize the visual aspect of this visual medium to make some points. But rather, both of them allow these visuals to hang out there and allow you the reader to come to your own interpretation of this.

This type of storytelling in my opinion can force the audience to actually engage with the work in a deeper meaningful way. While some would argue that it leaves things open in a way that may never truly be satisfying. I think in the case of Gachiakuta it has less of that tha an Okubo work, but there are plenty of things I do believe Urana leaves out there for you to read as you will.

When I see her going out of her way to make a doll with their heart missing and a man describing a feeling of them missing, Uruana is not expressly saying anything, but allowing us the audience to decide how we read it. I'm certain she has her own way of viewing this story, but I do appreciate that she’s allowed Gachiakuta to be a series where we are allowed some creative liberties. Especially in the fact this is a weekly shonen manga. A demographic I feel often can suffer from needing to make everything somewhat obvious in its meaning or intent.

But Urana really knows how to capture this sort of vibe. Allow the art to speak for itself and I find myself having to put some of myself in the series when I read and interact with it. So while I’m sure there will be people who think I have basically convinced them of nothing and that this might all be reading to deep, I do at least want to point out that Urana herself has at least allowed for me to make these connections on my own and I think that is worth something at least on her part as a creative.

Conclusion

So yeah what was that all about? Welp like I said this was to be a more personal thinkpiece. One where I wanted to work through my own feelings on why this series had me captivated. Also it's possibly my attempt to broaden the discussion of Gachiakuta.

Despite the fact many have made the prediction its gonna be a “big deal” it really isn’t. At least by pure sales wise. Nothing bad, but nothing remarkable at the time of writing this. Honestly its doing much better than a series that’s not on the extremely accessible SJ app. It’s a good series but it may just always be underground.

Every influencer wants to be on the ground floor, whether it's this, Red Hood, Kagurabachi, Nue’s Exorcist, Astro Royale, Mama Yuyu, Centuria, etc. I get that hype and memes are a powerful thing in this internet consumer world. But I do want a series that may be big or important one day to touch on things that make it good beyond hype and anticipation.

And for me that is what I got with Gachiakuta. There’s an element to it that I haven’t really felt in manga in other media. And the fact it could make me feel that… that’s special to me. I know I’ve talked about some heavy topics and I do hope I was as respectful as I possibly could be. Opening up like this was hard for me.

As I do truly love this series and hoped I could illustrate why it resonated with me, perhaps it resonated with a lot of people who can see themselves in this one trashy boy.

I hope everyone reading can have that sort of character they see themselves in, and if you enjoyed please like or reblog as it tells me you'd be interested in reading more

#discussion #manga #anime #gachiakuta #rudo #rudo surebrec #zodyl typhon #gachiakuta zodyl #autism #neurodivergent #interpretation #black clover #sousou no frieren #frieren: beyond journey's end #fern frieren #frieren #rill boismortier

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unsoundedcomic · 1 year ago

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I feel like Duane might have called for the slum homes to be burned out years ago. Filthy parasites, all of them, burn the poors so they may have a greater chance of being closer to Ssael in the next life. To the fire pits with them all!

Durlyne is a majority Ssaelit city, and one of the two Aldish capitals of the Ssaelit faith. Outside of these two large, bustling cities, the world either actively persecutes Ssaelism, or only barely tolerates it. They say the Gefendur twin gods are dead, after all, and their god killed them. It's quite a rude belief.

Because the Ssaelit are so disliked even in much of Alderode, they are insecure, and very greedy with the little power they do have. That power is most easily seen in Durlyne, in how the Ssaelit there treat the Gefendur minority. The Gefendur there find it hard to get a leg up. They get elbowed out of local government, they have trouble finding housing, they have trouble practising their faith. They start to feel as insecure and truculent as the Aldish, even though nationally, Alderode has always been skewed towards the Gefendur.

And so these two faiths fight. But because the Gefendur are at a disadvantage inside Durlyne, they are most concentrated in the slums. The slums is a mix of all manner of people, from foreign refugees, to lowborn bastards, to exiled ghersit, to professional criminals, but most of them are Gefendur.

So! You have an area of the city that is rife with crime, heresy, poverty, and pervasive anti-Ssaelit sentiment. There are lowborn and exiled Ssaelit there, but it's really the domain of the violent and impoverished Gefendur, many of them organised into criminal gangs.

So Duane's feelings on the place are Complicated. On the one hand, he used to go in there to minister to Soud; on the other hand, you can't walk down the street without child prostitutes trying to sell you their ass and their pimp trying to guide you down an alley and cut your throat. Duane grew up in Durlyne, it's his hometown, and he knows the horrible things that have happened there in the slums (called Sevencrow Court, and Blue Boy Bridge). There legitimately is not a more merciful thing to do, he thinks, than to raze the place. Not necessarily because the people there are poor, or Gefendur, but because it feels like a wholly miserable nest of suffering and hopelessness, one that only spreads its misery to the rest of Durlyne thanks to the gangs.

It's not a "haha, filthy heretics and poors, die." It's a "Anteit Vaosa, these streets break my heart, Ssael, with your khert guide these lost souls to better lives."

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allwormdiet · 10 months ago

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Interlude 6

Justice for Paige McAbee

This is. Fucking evil. Chaining a woman up like an animal and parading her around the courtroom. Like what the shit.

Utterly fucking barbaric

Brief detour I guess to provide exposition on the existence of rogues

Going from heartbreak to outrage this quickly in succession was some fucking whiplash when I first read this arc, fucking tell you what

Actual torture.

The inhumanity of this entire arrangement is borderline sickening to see play out. What an utter failure of the system

Oh hey you two

I can see how people would get. Touchy. About a power like that. But touchy enough for a life sentence is fucked.

Also, credit where it's due, Bakuda's ingenuity in this situation is still pretty well on display

Bakuda is playing with fucking fire here, and not just pyrokinesis, har har

Okay you know what, callousness and cruelty aside, this is a fucking badass display from Bakuda.

Okay so what the fuck is up with the ABB capes, actually. Bakuda built a bomb that would've devastated, like, the entire Eastern Seaboard, and probably even further beyond that into the west and north. I'd say that she was slumming it as part of a gang that's only got a minor presence in one city and a few neighboring areas, but honestly Lung feels just as cracked.

Dude basically only fights harder over time, he would've taken down everyone in that warehouse if Skitter didn't make a Hail Mary play with Newter's hallucinogen. Kaiser, Sundancer, Bitch, Newter, and one or both of the twins would've been fucking smoked, maybe Labyrinth if Coil's guys didn't bother to pull her out. This dude could've been putting up massive numbers throughout his entire reign as the head of the ABB.

So what the fuck was he doing instead? If he's a gang boss with this kind of power at his fingertips, where's the fucking appetite that should come with it? Skitter didn't even think he was an A-lister before they fought and he proved her wrong, she thought he was like, a step above Uber and Leet? In what world does that misconception become publicly accepted?

I'd say this is gonna bug me, but uhh, Lung's going to the fucking oubliette to end all oubliettes so it's a bit of a moot point, isn't it

Like, okay. Fucked up, sure thing. But this is still such a massive injustice; it was a one-time thing and she couldn't have possibly known if this was the first time it ever happened. You could've demanded training for her power, if nothing else, but you throw her into Hell on Earth. Fuck me.

This is a level of determination that I think has so far gone unmatched in this story. Like, I'll give Taylor time to pull off something even more outrageously self-harming for the sake of an objective, it's her story after all and there's a lot of words left, but Bakuda really is something else.

Of course that "something else" does include being an abrasive piece of shit, but hell, she's a parahuman, I don't think I've met one of them that's without some kind of baggage.

Maybe there's a world out there where after her trigger event she comes down on the other end of the hero/villain line. Bombs aren't exactly heroic but she could build non-lethally for standard use and save the big damage for shit like Endbringers. Plus the obvious potential of having a bomb Tinker as an EOD expert, that would be game-changing.

She'd still probably be an asshole, but like. You don't have to be pleasant to be a hero, we know that one for sure.

Alas.

I was torn between wanting Paige to get out of this and wanting Lung and Bakuda to get what's coming to them.

Hi Dragon, wish you weren't the warden of the worst prison I've ever heard of in my life, see you later in the story maybe

Also. Six hundred prisoners in the Birdcage. Not counting whoever's died. That's a fucking lot of them.

Wait what the fuck happened to Newfoundland

Oh, Dragon hates this too, well there's a small fucking mercy.

Also, "the hole the men opened into the women's half of the Birdcage" is a fucking alarming phrase. We're just fucking letting anything fly down here, huh? Jesus Christ.

Dragon's description of the Birdcage's security measures is. Fucking extreme. This is a fucking nightmare, an absolute cavalcade of human rights abuses that I can't even begin to fathom.

Have children been born in the Birdcage? If not, who's preventing that? Is everyone being covertly dosed with contraceptives to keep them from having children? Do the block leaders have people on hand to deal with abortions? How do you handle dietary restrictions? Religious restrictions? What if it turns out you were wrongly convicted?

Literally everything about this place is a horror show. Every implication is dark as fucking Vantablack.

Gross

I guess this is what passes for society down here, huh

Well shit, I guess I'm glad Bakuda has some enrichment at least.

Okay, so, Marquis is a supervillain who's taken over a cell block, and he's a Brockton native invested in learning what he's missed out on

...Easy money says he's Amy Dallon's old man.

Not entirely shocked that Lung's spent time behind bars, though I assume that was before he got his powers.

And uhh. I'm gonna be real, I feel kinda bad for Bakuda here. Like she's a piece of shit, obviously, but for all her insults she seemed happy to work for Lung, enough that she made a point of freeing him from the Protectorate and putting him back in charge when she could've stayed in charge, taken advantage of his arrest and done whatever she pleased

and now he's gonna kill her. Because she insulted him. Because it'll make life in prison easier.

I mean, shit. I do not like Bakuda's odds in this exchange. It probably doesn't take a lot for Lung to have her debilitated, and from there the kill is even easier. Maybe he dies too, but I don't expect that to be the case.

Current Thoughts

Justice for Paige McAbee

The Birdcage is, I think, a very reasonable simulacrum of Hell, and its very existence probably gives in-universe philosophers, ethicists, defense attorneys, and human rights activists fucking hives.

Also, justice for Paige McAbee

I'm not going to mourn Bakuda, but maybe I'll mourn the version of her that could've been in a kinder world.

Last thing, just in case we weren't clear:

Justice for Paige McAbee

#wormblr #parahumans #worm liveblogging #liveblog #worm tangle

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remyfire · 1 year ago

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Now I'm thinking too hard about some of the surgeons and my personal headcanons for them again, god fucking help me.

Thinking about Hawkeye raised in a rural community with Daniel being more of a horse-and-buggy doctor who made house calls just as often as he saw people in his office or his home. Thinking about Hawk who was a child when he was first needed to hold pressure on a belly wound, not yet a teenager when he became the only person who could assist if someone made it to the Pierce house in the middle of the night and needed emergency care. Thinking about how money never even occurred to him because Daniel's been getting paid more often in eggs and bread and fresh crops and delicious fish and services in turn for as long as Hawk's been alive. A man who walked into medical school already having seen and experienced far, far more of the visceral parts of surgery than anybody else there, who got mistaken for a prodigy, who never thought to correct them but instead expected them all to keep up.

Thinking about Trapper growing up in the thick of Boston slums where it was so much harder to get adequate healthcare, just a kid hearing about how almost all of his friends were supposed to have a baby sibling on the way, but now they're not. How often the men in his area—physical laborers—would be laid off after they lost a limb, how it would pull his friends out of school one by one once they completed their requisite education because they needed to work when their parents no longer could. How many times he had to see someone sick or injured and having nowhere to go for care because they couldn't afford it, coughing on the side of the road, bleeding in an alley. A man who walked into medical school with more fucking determination than anyone else there, gritted teeth, fire in his chest, because he'd be damned if he watched that cycle continue.

Thinking about BJ in a fine home, expensive neighborhood, upper class, parents determined to tick their way up the ladder into new money by marrying their kids into wealthier families so that by extension, they can experience the height of luxury. His grandfather's legacy which led to his father's excellent private practice, high prices, tied up neatly in a bow of how disdainfully he'd often speak of his patients or colleagues at home. The Depression hitting and wiping out his father's and grandfather's money—stored in banks, in stocks, in bonds—instantaneously, and how his father had to pivot to barely making anything because there was so little that his patients could give, and how cold it made him because why should he be a surgeon if he doesn't even get paid for his work? Why should he help anybody at all when he'd receive so little personal benefit? A full eighteen years immersed in his father's bitterness, every minute spent distancing himself from him. A man who walked into medical school having already cut them off cleanly, a mission in his chest, the drive to provide care out of compassion, his principles already firmly locked in place, his desire to be the best out of anybody else around him so that no one ever has to feel like they need to beg him so that he would deign to save their life.

I'm unwell about the surgeons. I don't know if y'all knew this or not.

#charles and i are still on less than great speaking terms so he is not telling me his motivations #we'll get there when he's ready #god do i wanna put this in the main tags #only doing so so i can find this on my blog later #these are for MY personal iterations of them #if you disagree with my thoughts then please go make your own post where you can expound to your heart's content #because it's an incredible delight for me to hear how everyone else headcanons the characters #hawkeye pierce #trapper john mcintyre #bj hunnicutt #my writing

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strxwberrybtch · 1 year ago

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A Hellish Love Story // Pt. 1

Pairing(s): Vox x F!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Alcohol and Drugs

A/N: Hello my lovies! This is my first fic here on tumblr- it's a little short butttt I'm hoping to make this a multi-part series. This will definitely be a NSFW series with eventual smut ;) I would love to hear your input on this first part! Without further ado, enjoy :)

---

In life, the art of literature enthralled you. It captivated you in more ways than one. The way that words could transport you to another place completely fascinated you. At first, you treated it as a hobby or one could argue a distraction. One to drown out the harsh words that your parents constantly threw back and forth at each other.

It was no surprise that you found yourself constantly with a pen and paper in hand, jotting down your never ending ideas. You started taking it more seriously once you started high school. Normal english classes didn't excite you as much as the creative writing course did. Once you were done with school, you began to devote your young adulthood to writing. You quickly found a sufficient job and instantly got to work. All you wanted was to do was share your creative visions with the world. You wanted people to feel the passion and emotion that you felt while writing it.

It was a somewhat peaceful day at the shitty office you worked at. You had pulled an all nighter the night before working on a screenplay. Not just any screenplay though. This had to of been your best work yet. It was your ticket out of the slums and to the big leagues. This was your chance.

You sat in your tiny cubicle typing your heart away. Solely relying on caffeine and adderall- which you may or may not have abused from time to time. But this was your livelihood, your purpose in life if you will. The sun had slowly began to set at the office. Many of your fellow peers were chit-chatting about their plans for the weekend. You easily tuned them out as you focused on the writing in front of you. Feeling a wave of tiredness, you popped another pill into your mouth- washing it down with your coffee. The adrenaline and thought of being so close to being finished had you eager and motivated. You almost didn’t acknowledge the loud screech of the building’s fire alarm.

Apparently a fire had broken out and quickly began to ensue absolute chaos within the building. Of course with the building being in a not so fortunate area- the sprinklers had stopped working years ago. While your coworkers scrambled to escape the ever growing deadly smoke and flames, you stayed behind at your desk. You anxiously gnawed at your nails, waiting for your files to download onto a usb drive. You cursed at yourself for getting carried away with writing and not saving throughout the day as you usually did. Your career's future was on that computer. You’d rather die than lose it all.

Unfortunately that’s where your human life had come to a fiery end, engulfed in the flames along with your life’s work. So you assume that’s why you ended up with fiery, crimson eyes and the ability to manipulate fire. Ironic.. in a shitty sorta way. Scratch that… a very shitty way.

After seeing ‘Writers Wanted’ at the end of a VoxTek commercial, your heart fluttered at the thought of pursuing your passion in the afterlife. Hell, you did die for it so you might as well give your death meaning. You quickly memorized the address and beelined it to the VVV tower.

Given your obvious passion for the job, you were immediately hired by a higher up employee, of course with the quick text of approval from Vox. After getting a brief job description, you were over the moon excited. Writing scripts for TV, like are you kidding?? You had spent your entire mortal life trying to get to that point in your career. Who woulda thought all it took was well… your life.

You didn’t have think twice before signing over your soul to the demon overlord. Why would you? Selling your soul in exchange for your dream job was an easy decision. Especially since it came with great pay and an apartment to live in.

As for Vox though, you really never saw him too much. When you did he always gave a charming smile your way which you kindly reciprocated. He was undeniably attractive, even with a TV for a head.

Whilst working at the V tower you were able to meet the one and only adult star, Angel Dust. He quickly introduced you to Cherri Bomb, and boom (no pun intended) your trio of friendship was born.

It’s been a few years since then and that’s how you ended up here, sitting at your desk aimlessly typing away listening to a very whiny spider demon.

“Come onnnn Y/N!! We haven’t gone out in forever and we both have the night off for once” Angel exasperated, throwing his arms up into the air, desperately trying to convince you to go out with himself and Cherri.

You sighed quietly to yourself knowing this wasn’t going to end soon. He had been going on and on about how you work too much and haven’t been able to have fun for the past 20 minutes now. You rubbed your temples and took off your blue light glasses. Quickly closing your laptop and spinning around in your chair, you were met with Angel laying upside down on your bed, with his head hanging off the side.

“Okay! Fine! You win! And you shouldn’t lay like that,” You laughed while leaning down to lightly flick his forehead.

Angel swatted your hand away and sat up. Though you could tell he did it too fast after he placed a hand to his head, feeling dizzy from all the blood rushing back to the rest of his body. All you could do was shake your head and smile at the goof.

“HAHA YES!! I’ll text Cherri and let her know. Now get your ass up outta that chair and get ready! Show them what all of hell’s been missin lately,” He winked and quickly picked up his phone to message the missing piece to our trio.

You rolled your eyes briefly and went into your bathroom to make yourself look presentable.

“Can you find me something to wear pretty pleaseee!” You shouted from the bathroom.

“Oh you know I gotcha toots,” By hearing the muffled tone of his voice you could just tell he was smirking. You had a feeling you’d regret asking for his help but quickly shook the thought away. Angel was right. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you went out with your two troublemaker friends. It had to of been at least a few months. You needed this.

You deserved this.

With one last glance at your bare, tired face you got to work. Seeing as it had been forever, you decided to go all out. It took only about an hour or so for you to be satisfied with your hair and makeup. Once finished you came out of your bathroom to see Angel was no longer on your bed. However replacing him was the outfit he had picked out for you.

A simple black crop top, the shortest denim skirt you owned, a silver chain belt that connected with hearts, and to top it all off a pair of black chunky heeled boots. He knew you all too well.

After putting on the outfit you stared at yourself in the mirror. You almost didn’t recognize the reflection in front of you. It reminded you of when you were in high school. Sure you were addicted to writing but your living friends were a little bit of a bad influence, much like the ones you have now. They had convinced you to get a fake id so that you could go clubbing with them. And to be honest, you were glad they did. Who would’ve wanted to miss out on a early 2000’s club scene? You had a lot of fun during that time. Yet, that’s the very place you discovered the drug that got you through pretty much the rest of your living life.

A smile began to spread across your face as you checked yourself out. The outfit accentuated every part of your body perfectly. Out of all the time you’ve spent in hell, this was undoubtedly the best you had ever looked. With one last once over in the mirror, you turned off your bedroom lights and went to find Angel.

It didn’t take long to find him sprawled out on your couch with his phone in hand. A VoxTech sitcom played quietly on your tv in the background.

“You ready to go?” He asked without looking up once he heard you enter the living room.

“What do you think?” You questioned him with a coy smile.

He quickly glanced up at you and dropped his phone onto his lap. In an instant he was standing in front of you.

“Holy shit toots! I knew you were good looking but this makes me question my own sexuality,” He said in a teasingly, seductive voice as he twirled you around.

“Shut up loser,” You laughed, shoving his shoulder.

“I’m just speaking the truth! But come on Cherri is already there,”

You turned off everything and locked your apartment. You held onto the door knob for a moment before taking a deep breath and letting go to trail after Angel.

---

It wasn’t long before you and Angel arrived at Club 666, one of the Pride Ring’s most popular clubs owned by your boss’s situationship, Valentino. You never really came across the moth man while you were at work, only hearing stories from Angel Dust. Some of the stories were good but the majority… not so much. It's pretty safe to say, you don't want to cross him while he's in one of his moods.

After climbing out of the cab, your hands found the hem of your skirt almost instantly. You hastily pulled down the short material that had ridden up your thighs on the way there, almost flashing the black lace panties you decided to wear. Once situated outside of the club, hand in hand, you and Angel made your way into the booming club. After fighting your way through the seemingly never ending crowd, you spot Cherri at the bar downing a shot with a group of random sinners, not very surprising.

She perks up at the sight of you and Angel, waving her hand in the air with a toothy grin.

“There you fuckers are! I thought you up and ditched me for a second there,” She said quickly pulling Angel into a tight hug. Once she got to you she paused for a moment with both her hands on your shoulders.

“Holy shit Y/N, you look hot!!” She exclaimed examining every part of you.

“Awe thanks Cherri,” You smiled and brought her into a warm hug.

“Hey! How come when I complimented you earlier I got shoved?!” Angel asked with his arms crossed.

“Because I’m used to your flirty compliments,” You laughed as his pouty expression slowly turned into a sly smile.

He brushed his hair back and huffed out, “Point taken. Alright enough bullshit. Let’s get this party started bitches!”.

---

You had lost track of how many shots you and your friends had taken. You knew it had to of been a lot though with how much the club was spinning. It wasn’t spinning in a bad way though. Sure you’d feel like shit in the morning but at this point you didn’t care. The lights of the dance floor strobed bright green as it flashed through the fog. You felt euphoric and giddy as you danced alongside Cherri.

Angel had ditched you both pretty early on once he noticed Val. He took place under one of Valentino’s lengthy arms. Even in your drunken state, you glanced over a few times to make sure he was okay. And from what you observed he was laughing with a fellow star, taking in the moth’s red smoke. Cherri broke you out of your worry as she tapped on your shoulder.

“I’m gonna go grab another round yeah? Want one?” She slurred with a lazy smile, shouting over the intense music.

You thought for a brief moment before slightly slurring back, "Sure why not!"

You watched as her form slowly disappeared through the sea of dancing, sweaty bodies. Feeling the music, you felt yourself truly let loose. This was the most fun you had in a very long time. A dazed smile found its way across your lips as you swayed your body to the beat of the music. You danced without a care in the world. As if nobody was watching.

However, someone was watching.

From a secluded area of the club, a certain TV demon sat with a drink in one of his clawed hands...

Watching your every move.

///

AHHHH I really hope you guys enjoyed this first part. I wrote it in one sitting... oops XD. Let me know what you think!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x fem reader #vox x y/n #vox the tv demon #vox #f!reader #x reader #fem reader #angel dust #cherri bomb #imagine #fanfic

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glittergear · 2 years ago

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Un-horny BG2 mods

Ok, so I often hear that BG2 mods are very horny--not denying that, but here are some horny-free BG2 mods that I enjoy. I'm only including Quest and NPC mods here. I'm also only including mods that I have entirely played through myself.

The White Queen, by Lava: a quest mod that allows player to visit brand new place - Silent Swamps - where something happened some time ago. Curious? Let yourself discover what lies under the layers of the mud, meet the White Queen and her servants. Also, the music is bangin'

I Shall Never Forget, by Lava: This Baldur's Gate 2 mod allows you to work with Orion - a mage who has lost the sense of his life. Either help him regain what he lost or let him die without the faintest ray of hope.

Southern Edge, by Lava: Southern Edge is a new district for Athkatla available from the very start, once you talk to Gaelan and hear his offer. You can get a Book of Intelligence as a reward for one of the quests, and there's a scribe who will buy your unneeded quest documents (like The Tome of Amaunator, the Noontime Ritual, the Book of Kaza, etc. It's a nice lore-friendly way to get rid of some items)

Ooze's Lounge, by Lava: The mod introduces a brand new part of Athkatlan sewers. You may now use the originally inactive grate in Slums to enter a locked part of the sewers and discover its dark corners. The mod offers three new areas as well as a couple of mini-quests, new items and graphics.

Yoshimo Romance, by Lava: Mod includes 16 timered talks with Yoshimo (pre-Brynnlaw) plus those fired by circumstances - including talk in Brynnlaw and at entrance of Spellhold. Those who love reading may also install additional portion of text - dialogues for both male and female players fired by in-game events. There's no horniness here; the most you can do is kiss his cheek once, IIRC

Everything else, by Lava: seriously, all of his mods are great, and none of the ones on his site are horny

Trials of the Luremaster, by Argent77: This mod makes the Icewind Dale expansion "Trials of the Luremaster" available to BG2:EE (v2.0 or later), Siege of Dragonspear and EET (Enhanced Edition Trilogy).

✨Adrian✨, by Rhealla: Adrian has lived an interesting life, for lack of a better term, though he's hoping to finally put his past behind him. Aside from his magic, he has a background in espionage and a decadent -- some might say romantic -- streak that has gotten him into trouble in the past. He once pursued (and ultimately wrecked) a political career with one of the most notorious organizations in the Realms, and may very much enjoy the opportunities for intrigue the Shadow Thieves have to offer... if you can drag him away from fighting with the Harper and the Red Wizard long enough to notice, that is. Don't let his alignment scare you off. He's the least evil Evil character in the game, and his alignment can seamlessly shift to LN. He does fine in my good-aligned playthroughs. His romance isn't particularly horny--he offers once, but you can turn him down just fine (and there are multiple ways to tell him no). He's by far my favorite romance and favorite NPC in the game; I am not normal about him at all; and I could probably write an entire essay about his character arc. Please do try him out

Sir Ajantis by jastey: With this modification Ajantis can be acquired as a member of the PC's group after the fight in the Windspear Hills (which was not changed by the mod principally). The player must first solve a quest to free Ajantis from Firkraag's ransom. You have the option to continue his romance from BG1 or start a new romance with him--I've done the new romance route, and I didn't notice any horniness.

#baldurs gate #baldur's gate #bg2 #gg plays #recs

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stele3 · 8 months ago

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https://www.reuters.com/world/middle-east/deadliest-israeli-strike-yet-central-beirut-leaves-gruesome-scenes-2024-11-25/

#destiel daily digest

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help-me-im-in-the-fandom · 1 year ago

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Okay, so with all the ATLA stuff going on with the disgraceful live action series, I have been inspired so here is an idea.

When the Convergence happens and the Spirit World is thrown into a mess, a small slum district of Republic City is caught in the crossfire.

Gotham District is suddenly displaced into a new world, about early 1800’s maybe?

So starts the City of Gotham, born in a flash of light into a deep swamp across the bay from the City of Metropolis. The people quickly work to hide themselves in this new world, and the few earthbenders that were among them were able to move what buildings they had into the large cave system beneath the surface as they set up temporary shelters, very aware that the bustling people across the bay could see them.

The Metropolis people who did come to check on what was going on assumed the newly built area to be made my the miscreant and lawless population of their city, and the Gothamites, scornfully, allowed the misconception to stand.

They hide the few member of their community who can bend away after one awful day where a young earth bender girl was accused of witchcraft and almost burned at the stake while joining a company of people searching for supplies. A rule is made then, that no one would ever bend above the surface, and no one would ever speak of benders either.

Fast forward a few centuries, and one night Bruce Wayne watches his parents get murdered, and decides on two things.

1) To never allow another person to be orphaned on his watch.

So starts Batman, the protector of Gotham on the Surface.

2) To make sure no one was so in need that they had to commit crimes in order to survive.

So starts a series of bending schools and food banks in the Underground, the Sacred part of Gotham that no blood should ever be shed in. All of which are funded by Bruce Wayne the skilled Earthbender.

When Bruce begins to find himself taking in children, he finds out that all of them are benders themselves, and is excited to teach them bending himself. Though he does enforce one rule, to never bend in costume.

Okay now onto what I think the Batfam would be as Benders! This is my own opinion you don’t have to agree, just don’t be rude in comments!

Alfred:

Alfred is a waterbender, kind and soothing but never destroyed and always there. He is the lifeblood of the family, even though he hides behind the title of a Butler he is really everyone’s grandfather/father.

Bruce:

Bruce is an earthbender, results and determined, never moving and unbreakable. He has devoted himself to his beliefs and to his family, and nothing will ever change that.

Dick:

I think Dick would be a Firebender, while Airbender would be an easy answer, it doesn’t really suit him. Dick has a mean streak and donned the Robin suit in order to commit literal murder, he almost killed Joker, and he fights with Bruce constantly. He is a smoldering flame that will burn bright and hot but keep you warm on even the coldest of nights, he has so much love and affection and to me, he just embodies the character of a firebender, like Uncle Iroh.

Babs:

I think Babs would be a fire bender, similar to what is said above with Dick, but also the fact is, she chose to become a vigilante herself, she chose to fight and protect despite not having anyone to support her at first. When she was paralyzed she still fought, she still does everything she can to protect her friends and family.

Jason:

Jason embodies the Earth, calm and strong and unmoving. Each decision he makes is with reason and choice, and he is confident and willful but also soft when needed. When Jason is revived and filled with anger it shakes his foundations and his morals are shattered, but he reigns destruction like a landslide, devastating and all consuming and utterly unstoppable. Perhaps as he heals he learns to Lavabend, to put the anger and hurt and pain to control and tame the destructive force.

Cass:

Cass is a waterbender, she is used to moving with the tides and rolling with the punches, she is calm and consistent, but also powerful and strong. She can heal just as much as she can hurt, and be beautiful and powerful at the same time.

Steph:

Steph is an airbender, she is carefree and playful and doesn’t need physical things to be happy. She can never sit in one place to long, she wants to know everything and meet every one. She is kind but not merciful, and when she is angered she is as powerful as a tornado and just as destructive.

Tim:

Tim is an earthbender, he is headstrong and willfully stubborn, he has devoted his entire being to his beliefs and cannot be persuaded away.

Duke:

Duke is an airbender, though his meta gene may affect the power he can use. He is calm and straightforward, but dances with the blows life gives him and learns to adapt.

Damian:

Damian I think is a waterbender, he is strong and powerful like the sea, ever changing and never the same. The sea can be calm and merciful or harsh and deadly, and I think that embodies what Damian can be. He can also learn to be kind, to be gentle and loving and oh so very careful. Perhaps part of his recovering is learning how to heal, to use his powers to help instead of harm.

So! That’s it! If anyone has anything to add or if this inspires any fics, pls add them!

Also, here have a drawing I made while thinking about this!

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dailyanarchistposts · 10 months ago

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Global Warming & Climate Change

Since the 1970s there has been a steady increase in global temperatures as a result of the build-up of heat-trapping pollutant gases in the atmosphere. As evidence of the effects of global warming begins to accumulate, it is absolutely certain that the world is facing a dangerous acceleration of climate change and extremes of weather. These changes will be considerably worse than hotter summers and wetter winters for some and vice versa for others. Whole continents are going to be affected by severe and extended periods of changed climate. Its not just the Saharan region that is experiencing prolonged drought and disastrous fires. Even tropical and temperate regions are suffering, countries like Australia, Malaysia, Mexico, Nicaragua, Cyprus and East Africa. In one year forest fires consumed more than one million hectares of Sumatra and Kalimantan. Agriculture in many different regions of the world will become virtually impossible as desertification spreads in hot areas and rainfall drowns fields and paddocks in the world’s monsoon belt. Storms and ocean swelling will inundate lowlying regions, drowning fishing ports and the hinterlands they feed. Global warming will expand ocean water and raise sea levels two feet by the year 2010: low-lying regions such as the delta portions of Bangladesh, Egypt and Southern China and low-lying islands in the Indian and Pacific oceans may be flooded or even submerged.

This may all seem very academic and the problem of distant peoples. But climate change doesn’t just affect far-off countries we will never visit. Torrential rain and melting in 1998 combined to cause landslides and severe flooding in California, Idaho, Nevada and Oregon. Flash floods forced the evacuation of 125,000 people, and destroyed or badly damaged 24,000 houses and several hundred square kilometres of farmland. Economic losses were estimated at $2billion. Dermatologists in Australia and the United States are witnessing an explosion in cases of the deadly skin cancer, melanoma.

Rising sea levels will drown tourist beaches, coastal wetlands, cultural and heritage sites, fishing centres and other areas and require massive investment in coastal defences, new sewage systems and relocation costs – whole new towns – houses, schools, hospitals, factories — will have to be built as people are forced inland at massive cost. Who is to pay for all this, if not the working peoples of the world? These changes will have major consequences for food production and create many more refugees, with the poorest being most affected, as ever. Changes to the oceans will also drive fish from traditional grounds, making it dangerous or impossible to catch them without using factory vessels and the latest sonar technology. Think of the literally billions of people who live and work in the river and deltas of the great rivers of the world: the Amazon, Ganges, Indus, Mekon, Mississippi, Niger, Nile, Po, and Yangtze. These are hugely productive agricultural reasons and are all at risk from rising sea levels and climate change.

Sustainable agriculture will become more difficult, leading to land being taken by Big Food and peasant farmers being forced into fetid slums beaten down by extremes of heat and rain where cholera, typhus and diphtheria are endemic. Across the world tropical insects are invading temperate zones where people and cattle have no immunity or the means to combat them while at the same time, up to 40% of all plant and animal species alive today are facing extinction. Crops are dying from water shortages and drought causes thousands of cattle to die of starvation or the heat. The coral reefs of the world are dying, unable to adapt to warming seas and the human diseases that enter the seas in sewage and thrive in warmer water. Don’t think these are problems only affecting the Majority World, far away. In 2002 30% of the USA was officially declared drought-affected. The response of Big Money – government and business – is not to tax petrol, reduce carbon emissions or change patterns of consumption to conserve water but build more dams to line the pockets of the corporations responsible for the mess in the first place.

We are often told that climate change is produced by oldfashioned polluting technologies and that – if sufficient money is given to big business and the universities – they will produce the technological solutions that will save the planet. Yet, as this pamphlet shows elsewhere, the nature, speed and scope of technological change is not dictated by human need (or even humanity’s actual survival on this planet) but by the corporations’ ability to make profit from their development, introduction and control. They dictate when products and technologies enter the market, not us. It is the corporations that increasingly dictate what, how and how much we consume by their control of technology and product development. Patterns of consumption, the waste and excess created by capitalism, dictate our methods of production. And it is the total mass of production – which is bound to go on increasing as western patterns of consumption are spread to the developing world by globalisation – that is the problem. What is also being spread – unfortunately – are the grotesquely unfair and destructive inequalities that capitalism creates and fosters. These are not just inequalities of wealth, status or power, though these are scandalous enough in a world that pretends to human equality and rights (and how hollow these must ring as dust sweeps across the farm of your ancestors or floods drown crop, cattle and kin). They are also inequalities in the one of the fundamentals that defines humanity: the kind and quality of our lives and the ways in which we die.

For it is the poor, the marginalized and the weak, who already die in their tens of millions every year who will bear the brunt of global warming and climate change. If the price of flour goes up a few cents a kilo as a result of bad weather or failed crops bread in America will be a little bit more expensive. But if you live on $1 a day in Ethiopia or Brazil then a drought in the maize fields can be a matter of life and death. If the vaccines and antibiotics that helped control endemic disease no longer work and you can’t afford the new drugs from the West, how do you choose who will get them? If the upland peoples have been driven from their land by drought and come armed to your village, will you fight or flee? And where will you go the slums are already full? When the privatised water company turns off the neighbourhood’s water supply to preserve it for the rich who can afford to pay, how will you wash (to avoid disease), find clean water (to cook with) or flush that already stinking toilet where infection is breeding? The inevitable result of global warming is not an ‘English Riviera’ that the media and some scientists like to popularise, it is war, civil war, intercommunal violence, mass poverty, starvation and disease, man-made catastrophe and millions of blighted lives. Even though the consumption-obsessed western economies are the engine of global warming, its effects are largely not felt there. We are content to let international aid agencies provide sticking plaster solutions to the environmental disasters that business has created. Capitalism is blighting the planet; only the free society of the future, made here today, will restore it to health.

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