#i was VILE in that route my god

[bro-man-dude-guy]

my beautiful handsome boy, just born, already 2 years of age

[cozcat]

This comic refers to the Djab Wurrung birthing trees.

They were destroyed to expand a highway.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone. 

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night. 

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash. 

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up. 

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods. 

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain. 

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches. 

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.” 

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow. 

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed. 

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall. 

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor. 

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood. 

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression. 

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale. 

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.” 

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years. 

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.” 

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood. 

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten. 

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal. 

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest. 

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin. 

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art. 

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons. 

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling. 

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out. 

You ease at that. 

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.” 

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?” 

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips. 

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding. 

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap. 

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs. 

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?” 

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in. 

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door. 

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside. 

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches. 

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides. 

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs. 

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.” 

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly. 

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.” 

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.” 

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb. 

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver. 

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all. 

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him. 

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth. 

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it. 

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut. 

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger. 

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.” 

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all. 

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off. 

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material. 

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows. 

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head. 

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing. 

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him. 

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man. 

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into. 

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.” 

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display. 

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important. 

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern. 

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet. 

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids. 

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.” 

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh. 

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure. 

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?” 

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek. 

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord. 

That was really all that matted. 

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night. 

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug. 

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward. 

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?” 

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree. 

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes. 

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger. 

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[anti-workshop]

Hey US friends! Ok, so obviously the voting discourse on here is vile. We don't know who's a psyop, who's a bot etc. Also people are legitimately pissed at the failures of the system to actually represent us in any meaningful way, and livid about the myriad ongoing genocides being committed with our money, in our name.

So, I'm not going to tell you what to do in November.

Before November, after November, NOW, for the love of God, please fucking organize at your jobs. That is probably the only place you can actually exercise real, direct power.

Voting is one very very small way to exercise indirect power. It's saying, "ok I am giving power to you, other person/people, now please do what you said you would that enticed me to give you this power in the first place."

Direct power is saying "Fuck you, no. We're doing this." and then doing that.

Organizing is hard and it takes time and you have to learn how to do it well, or it doesn't work. But when it works it works really fucking well. And when we organize a lot of us, we can win everything.

Y'all know I'm in the IWW. Right now the union is struggling with some administrative bs, same old story it's always been a messy organization. Doesn't matter. Branches and Unions in the IWW are autonomous to organize how they want to. It's a structure you can use if you want, to organize well. That's the route I'm taking because I trust and respect the people in my local, and I desperately want to help build worker power in my city and I'll do anything to help that.

You don't have to join an org, but please take a training on organizing and start organizing. The IWW has an intensive, 16 hour training that is free called the OT101. We feed you 4 meals and teach you how to organize to win. The training is even fun!

If there are unions in your area, or a labor council, reach out to them too, they regularly have organizing trainings! Theirs are more geared to getting contract negotiations, which in my opinion isn't the main goal, but training is always good and helpful.

But please please please, you have to organize your jobs. That's where we have them by the balls. They need us to run this shit, everything runs because we make it run.

Yes, they can fire you if you organize or get uppity. Yeah, right now that's illegal but probably won't be for long. Guess what, they have to hire someone to replace you! If that worker is also organizing, the bosses are fucked and we win!

The other thing is everyone can organize! My ass is disabled, decrepit, a major depressive and I can do it! You can too! You're not alone! That's the whole point! We can't do shit alone, we need each other and when we have each others' backs we can get shit done.

We all can see with our own eyes that shit is bad, it's been bad forever and it's going to get worse before it gets better and the only way it gets better is us making it better.

If you're in Milwaukee, or Wisconsin, or fuck generally the Midwest feel free to reach out to me and I will personally get you set up in an OT101 here. Get yourself here and we'll put you up somewhere, feed you, train you, get your connected to people in your area who are also organizing and build through from there.

Solidarity is where we have power, so let's use it.

[escapedaudios]

God I need to bullshit another reason to get Scythe Audio to do heavy metal screams and growls in one of my audios again. If he wasn't already playing the Grimest Reaper in My True Love is Dead I'd invent a metal-themed slasher for him to play. Slash's gallery of rivals is already full of quirky villains with themes and gimmicks. A heavy metal slasher would actually rule.

Maybe I could just ressurect the lead singer of Bruderhof Death Machine as a ghoul and upgrade him from a side character that died after two minutes to a full character.

Uhhh ok I'm entering a stream of consciousness now. I'm gonna yap about My True Love is Dead. So far I have a few official character estsblishesd.

Killer Ride (aka the Route 66 Killer)

Motorcycle themed villain. She rides a ghoulish motorbike with a frame of bones called The Murdercycle. It's gas tank is filled with the tormented souls of her victims, and it's powered by their eternal screams. When the revs up her engine, you hear them wailing alongside the roaring sound of the engine. Her main weapon is a whip made from an oversized motorcycle chain with a dagger at the end, when she cracks her whip it moves faster than a bullet and makes sonic booms as it strikes. Her biker jscket has shoulder pads made from human skulls. She's campy and outrageous and larger than life cool and I love her even though she only exists in my outlines right now.

The Ace of Blades (aka the Great Plains Killer)

A rebellious slasher that defies the mandates of the Grimest Reaper. He's unspeakably evil. He spent 100 years in hell before his first ressurection as a ghoul. He spent so long in hell that hell itself follows him wherever he goes. Cracks bursting with flames and magma open in the ground where he steps. His weapons are two flaming sabers and his deceased victims follow him around as possesed skeletons and zombies bound to his vile will. They rise from the ground where his feet split the earth, and beg for death as they carry out his orders. He's the final boss and so unbelievably evil that even slashers find him despicable. Killer of virgins, killer of killers, and killer of all witnesses. There are no legends about him among mortals, because no one has ever survived him.

Demon Candy Undead (aka the Underground Killer)

Demon Candy, returned to life as a ghoul and servant of the Reaper. Enthusiastically obedient to the mandates of the Grimest Reaper, even more deranged and cruel than she was in life. Enamored by spectacle and flair, she records and disseminates her murders through VHS tapes that she leaves around for people to find. Dazzling and darkly glamorous, she's a charismatic showman that turns her cruelty into entertainment for the sick and twisted. Believers in her legend idolize her in a cult-like fashion, and capture living victims that they leave as offerings for her to collect and trap in her cruel games.

The Grimest Reaper

The master of Slash and The Basher. He never breaks a promise or a deal, but always makes sure that deals are in his favor. One of the only characters that is aware of worlds outside of his own. All universes have a Reaper. Some are kind ferrymen between life and death, others are cruel forces of terror. He is the most cruel one of them all. All who serve him must obey his mandates, or else be hunted down by his other servants with their souls devoured by him.

Some other reapers exist in my other universes! You've already seen one. Father Ernst from Der Wolfsjäger is an Angel of Death, though he'll never admit it to a mortal. It's only ever implied shortly before he appears, when Jäger explains that you can hear a holy choir of the dead singing when Death is near. Swan Song from Neon Memoriam is also a Reaper. She hasn't appeared directly yet, but she's been around. When Raven was dying in Neon Wings, she was there. The only reason Raven didn't die was because Crow was keeping her from taking Raven's soul, even though he didn't know it yet.

[aquagirl1978]

Nightmares and Dreamscapes - Drake x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Whelp. I did it. I wrote about Drake and monster...something. Don't worry, there's no smut - I was not going there so I got creative. Thank @yanderepuck for poisoning my brain to the point that I wrote this, um...let's call it a crack kraken fic which could possibly be the most ridiculous thing I've ever written posted. If I even make one of you out there laugh, I'll be happy. Unlike Drake...

A/N #2: Disclaimer - I have not read any translations for Drake's route or his events. I am certain this will be wildly ooc and this was written as a joke between friends. I am sure Drake's deserves better, and one day I might write him a better. But that day is not today.

Pairing: Drake x Reader

Prompt: Drake has a nightmare. A very scary one. And it might have nvolved a kraken.

Word Count: 781

Tags: no actual smut, but Drake is...well...he's got some kinks.

“Drake?”

It was dark when Drake stirred in his sleep, awakening you from your slumber. He was mumbling incoherently, most likely in the midst of a dream. 

“No… No more…” His arms flailed in the bed, almost as if he was pushing something away. “Begone you vile creature!”

“Drake?” you whispered in his ear, rubbing your palm gently down his arm, hoping if this didn’t wake him, it would at least calm him. “Shhhh… It’s just a dream.”

When that didn’t seem to work, you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your body against his. “Drake,” you whispered in his ear, a bit louder this time, “you’re safe in your bed. In your home. Next to me, your lover.”

His body slowly stilled and the incoherent mumbling stopped. He turned in your arms and faced you; his silver hair was a complete mess, but he had the most adorable, embarrassed look on his face.

“Do you want to talk about your dream?” you asked softly as any caring lover would.

“Dream? It was a bloody nightmare! My God, it was horrible. Dreadful….” You listened as Drake described his nightmare – most of which involved a rather angry kraken – in far more detail than you ever cared to know.

“And then the Kraken finally let me go. Oh, it was awful. Please hold me.”

You took him into your arms, your fingertips barely touching him as you rubbed his shoulder. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, making soft whimpering sounds as he settled in.

You pulled back when you heard a different yet familiar sound. Worried he was dreaming again or something, your cause for alarm increased when you felt something wet on your skin.

“Are you….weeping?” Your hand flew to your mouth, preventing the laugh that was bubbling in your throat from escaping. You knew in your heart it was wrong to laugh at Drake right now, he was your lover after all. But instead, your mind kept imagining a giant – and ridiculous looking – kraken.

Drake looked up at you, teardrops glistening in his eyes. “You were not there. You do not know how….horrible…it was. It was truly frightening. Hold me again.” 

You tried your best to be a sympathetic lover. But try as you might, Drake did just remind you that you were not there in his nightmare, and clearly had no idea of how truly horrific his ordeal with the kraken exactly was.

“I know I wasn’t there,” you said, in your most soothing voice, “but…” Drake pressed his body against yours, causing you to pause, a familiar firmness pushing against your thigh.

“Drake?” you asked, truly confused as to how you would broach this touchy subject.

“Yes, my dear?” he replied sweetly in between sobs. 

You grimaced as if you just swallowed some awful tasting medicine. Here goes nothing. “Drake, are you, um…”

He looked up at you with the saddest puppy dog eyes. Maybe if you closed your eyes, you’d find yourself in a nightmare of your own and save you from whatever this was.

“How do I say this delicately…” you pondered aloud, “but are you…I dunno…excited right now?”

Utter confusion washed over his face. “Excited?"

You let out a very heavy sigh, “Really, Drake? You’re gonna make me say this?” He stared at you cutely; was he…batting his eyelashes at you? “Oh, for fuck’s sake…Drake, did the kraken turn you on?”

“What?! No! Absolutely not. That’s disgusting! What kind of animal do you think I am??” he shrieked at you, horrified. He then lowered his voice, his face hovering close to yours. “What would ever make you think that way?”

“Well, um….” Your gaze drifted down towards his hips. 

“Oh…that,” he said in a strangled voice. “Well, that’s rather embarrassing, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes because maybe if you opened them, you’d wake up from this nightmarish hell. Right about now, the kraken wasn’t sounding too terrible.

“Hey…” 

You opened your eyes to find Drake staring at you. Nope, not a dream. Yet.

“Would you find me any less of a man if I did say that I did find the kraken…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Drake.”

“Sometimes…when I’m out at sea…”

“No, Drake…”

“And I have no idea when I will see you again…”

“Go to bed, Drake.”

You rolled over on your side, hoping this would give him a much needed hint.

“Psst…”

“Yes, Drake?”

“Did I mention they have tentacles?”

Drake soon found himself unceremoniously removed from the bed. He took his favorite blanket with him as he made a nest on the couch. 

“Well, that didn’t end well, did it? How disappointing.” 

Tagging: @redheadkittys @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381 @alydra @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @fang-and-feather @lunaaka @ikesenwritings

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Y'all I been doing Dazai route in eng for the collection event and I'm just.

WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE WRITING HERE. DAZAI AND MC ARE OFF THE CHARTS???? I FEEL LIKE I'M IN IKESEN RN HELP

I never want off this tragicomedy this is amazing. Just look at this shit:

There's so much going on here???? I'm in stitches?????

Dazai if you're going to roll with familial obligation PICK ONE ROLE, what is this madness!!!

MC full on out here UNIRONICALLY looking at Charles and going:

MC: I could make him worse twirling hair around her finger

What's even more uproarious to me is Dazai like "I must. Protect MC from his vile eboy clutches." And MC is straight up like "Dazai if you won't tap this then I will have my hot girl summer." Can you tell I love her so much for this I'm sobbing. Girl math queen of "I want what's bad for me"

Charles. Trying to whine his way into a hot night and Dazai's abrupt "Haha, no." Just imagining the delivery of that line straight up made me astral project, Dazai is feeling petty and I'm LIVING

"NotMyName-san." Do I even need to say it. MC dragging his ass and I'm wheeze--

Aight but that last screenshot. I swear to God that's where I lost my veritable shit. I think I've just gotten so used to Comte and Leonardo being so literal of like "oh yeah that f**ker can't keep his hands to himself, give me a second to get rid of him" that I just did not see Dazai's roast coming. And not only how iconic and subtle a jab that is, but the ENDLESS implications????????????

"He seems like someone who can't keep his hands out of the picnic basket." Dazai was COOKING. He said "boy's got no patience, he can't pace a relationship properly." [Note: Dazai can't pace a relationship at all, so uh, pot meet kettle--]. He said "man's going to get to third base on the first date and that is GAUCHE." I love this bit because of how much it gives him away. Dazai out here like "I'm just a silly silly goofy no thoughts guy! Hahaha!" And then the second Charles tries to drag MC around like a rag doll, Dazai comes out like "what is this. menace doing with a nice young woman. I say, young man, cease this horny shitfkery at once!" The man who sat in bed with MC naked after a month's worth of knowing her and does not explain (though in fairness he was trying to be helpful [?]). Can you tell I love him. Osamu "Do As I Say, Not As I Do" Dazai.

Dazai out here like "I just know he's going to ask too much of her, and that could have grievous implications when it comes to being a vampire." As much as it might be a throwaway line, I gotta say I see that amongst his concerns. And tbh I think he means it both in the sense of bloodlust but also in the sense that Charles is a bit wayward with his self-control (not entirely Charles' fault). Dazai out here like "I know this little shit ain't got an ounce of foresight, and I hate this for my best girl." No beef to Charles, but the man lives in the present (in some ways by circumstance) and I can see how he might not be able to have MC's best interests for the future in mind (he's got a lot of healing to do).

Man can you tell I just can't get over the way Dazai flamed him. It's giving:

Also for the record no shade to Charles as an LI, I just think it's hilarious how jealous Dazai is and how that makes him uncharacteristically choose so much violence khafjlsjkshgdfjh

I gotta say if there's one thing that gets my ass so bad when it comes to Comte and Dazai it's how they're so like. "Peace and love on planet earth~"

Charles/Vlad: hi

Comte and Dazai:

Comte and Dazai:

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - chapter 26

Morning finally arises and boy am I glad that I can’t be exhausted. Sleep is still nice while immortal; a full night’s sleep gets my brain functioning fully. On top of that, if I sleep, I feel more powerful than before, which is well needed in these strange times. I turn over to face Gale, noticing him wide awake with Jenevelle in his arms. She notices me waking up, smiling and cooing as she becomes alert.

“Ah, my little baby. Such a happy girl,” I remark, admiring her. Gale chuckles and rolls his eyes as if that wasn’t a true statement. She could never be a handful.

“Mmm, not this morning. On top of her wanting a bottle super early, which she let me know with anger by the way, she had a massive blowout like you wouldn’t believe. I had to bathe her and then eventually bathe myself. I’m just glad you got your rest after last night.” I snuggle my head into his neck comfortably.

“Well, Mr. Dekarios, I’d be happy to stay here while you go kick some Bhaalspawn arse.” He laughs and shrugs his bare shoulders, placing our daughter on my chest. I know he had an eventful morning with her, but I honestly love that he didn’t complain.

“Let’s chat with our counterparts –”

“Friends,” I interrupt, giving him a smirk.

“Right. Then we can come up with a plan.” Well damn, this means we will either need to visit most of our friends by foot, or we can visit with Withers. So, we are going the easy route and summoning Withers because walking all over Waterdeep is the biggest of hassles. For the purpose of Jenevelle not getting terrified, we place her in her playpen in the living area for a few moments while we discuss important matters with him in the kitchen. Tara is keeping her company in the meantime.

Gale performs the summoning spell and Withers appears before our very eyes, which never fails to make me jump because it either takes him one minute to appear or ten minutes. Either way, his entry is startlesome.

“Ah, does thou need assistance? I assume companionship is what is desired.”

“Good to see you again, Withers. Yes, that is the matter we wanted to discuss with you,” Gale responds. “Can you have them come our way please?”

“I can, but please be advised that Jaheira has passed on and Minsc is in a grieving state over her unpredicted death.” My jaw drops hearing this devastating news over Jaheira. No. This can’t be. I’m just now hearing about this?

“Wait…how did she die?” I ask, my voice cracking as I’m holding back tears. “It can’t be.”

“The Bhaalists. Jaheira’s soul flies on and is as bright as the moonlight. She protected the ones she loved and told them to run. I can say no more on the matter.”

“The Bhaalists…got her?”

“Yes.” Gale and I are astonished at this horrible news I didn’t expect to hear today. And Minsc? Oh poor Minsc. His heart must be so shattered. “Shall I alert thy companions for your needs?”

“Yes please,” I murmur, my heart shattered, and a tear delicately rolling down my cheek. Gale pulls me in for a gentle hug, holding me close as I cry into his chest. “Not Jaheira.”

Withers comes back after roughly five minutes.

“Thy companions should arrive here soon. Death and danger lie ahead, but those strong enough to bear it can end the darkness of Bhaal.” Poof. He vanishes again, leaving behind a cloud of blue smoke.

“Well, it’s happening. Hopefully our little group would be willing to conquer this journey with us. I’m so sorry we had to hear such horrible news,” Gale says apologetically. “From what I gathered from that, she told her family to run. It was just her against these horrible people, if you can even call them that.”

“They’re far from human. They’re deranged monsters.”

What is causing these horrible cultists to go on a rampage like this all of a sudden? I assume Bhaal had plans for them since Orin is no longer in the picture. They feared her, they obeyed her. They knew they couldn’t compete. Now that she’s dead, it’s a battle to the death to take her spot. Their God is vile and I’ll never understand his charms.

Everyone arrives at the tower quicker than we expected. Well, mostly everyone – excluding Minsc and Lae’zel. We open the door and everyone comes inside to gather around the living area. We all pour ourselves a glass of wine as we get ready to discuss the next steps.

“The babies… What are we to do?” Shadowheart questions, holding her baby in her arms. She genuinely looks terrified, and understandably so. The same fear eats me alive like a virus.

“My dear, you should stay with Emmy. I’m a vampire after all, I have nothing to fear. I’ll get to thirst on these heinous, filthy Bhaalists like it’s a buffet. I can’t wait. Plus, I need you and the child safe.”

“On top of that, you’ll get to be with Jenevelle and I. I could use the company,” I add. She gasps in excitement and Astarion takes the baby from her so she can jump up and down.

“Okay, I’m sold.”

“Wow, that was easy. Normally it’s hard to convince–” Shadowheart glares at Astarion for a moment and he clears his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you’ll be staying, my love.” I feel much more comfortable at the idea of staying home with Jenevelle now if it means Shadowheart would stay. Some sort of adult conversation will at least keep my mind at ease.

“Wyll and I will ABSOLUTELY join! We have nothing to live for,” Karlach chimes in. Wyll raises his eyebrow and cocks his head at her in confusion, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing.

“Hey now!”

“Sorry, that came off much worse out loud than it did in my head.” I burst out in laughter, which caused me to snort, which I tried not to do but it caused another laughing fit. Astarion is giving me a petty look of judgment, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

“Alright, which one of you fools casted Tasha’s Hideous Laughter on this poor soul?” Astarion mutters. “Unbelievable.”

“Count me in as part of the team against these vile murderers,” Halsin comments. “May we restore peace once more and get justice for Jaheira.” Every single one of us holds up our wine glasses for a toast, and we all say simultaneously, “For Jaheira.” Both babies are lying on the rug on their bellies, trying to figure each other out. It’s so cute to see Jenevelle make her first friend, though Shadowheart and Astarion’s baby Asher will eventually age and ours will not. At least Asher is a half-elf, which means it might take him longer to age anyway.

“Well, when should we leave? I’ll need to pack some necessities for the adventure there,” Gale questions as he sits down on the sofa next to me. “I really hope we aren’t gone too long.” Sadness can be heard within his voice; it will be so hard for him to leave us.

“The sooner the better, before the already dire situations get much worse,” Astarion replies. “I just want to get this over with. And I suppose the less deaths around the world, the better. The old me would never say that.”

“So, tomorrow then? I’m with Astarion on this one,” Wyll chimes in. “For once.”

“Tomorrow it is then!”

I did not realize they’d all be leaving so soon, but I suppose it’s best they leave as soon as possible. Who knows how long Gale will be away from us and what sort of dangers they’ll run into? All I have to say is, thank the Gods he’s immortal otherwise I’d lose my shit.

“I’ll miss you,” I tell him as he wraps me in his warm embrace. He kisses my forehead as he holds me, hesitating on his next word. I know he’s just taking it all in.

“I’ll miss you too. Hopefully we won’t be gone terribly long.”

“You two are so fucking cute! It…makes me want to cry,” Karlach comments with a dramatic sniffle. “Sorry, I just love sappy shit like this.” Wyll wraps his arm around Karlach, laughing as he pulls her close and kisses the side of her head. “There it is. About time, Wyll.”

After everyone leaves, Gale packs his backpack with necessities needed for the dreaded adventure back to Baldur’s Gate and I decide to get dinner started. I just hope they can all at least get rid of the sick, monstrous fucks that are murdering everyone. I also keep hoping that Gale’s mother is alright. She’s older and fragile, I can’t imagine anything happening to her. While she lives in Waterdeep, I just know the cultists are bound to head here at any given time if they haven’t already.

We sat down at the table ready to eat dinner. Tara joins us, but basically licks her paws the whole time.

“I will do my best to protect our friends the best I can,” Gale mutters, taking a bite of venison. “I will do my damned best to get rid of the source of this catastrophe. After seeing the horrific influence Bhaal has on people, it makes me so glad I never chose godhood.”

“I agree completely. I can’t imagine you losing yourself for power like that. And you probably would have left me behind and we wouldn’t have the life we have now. I can’t fathom it.” We talk about it a lot, but it’s true. The influence a god has on people is terrifying. What if Bhaal was once a good person and turned to murder once he became a god?

It’s time for Jenevelle to go to sleep. I’m letting Gale feed her and prepare for her bed since he will leave early tomorrow morning.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he mumbles to her as he gives her a bottle. “May you always stay so precious and sweet. I love you so very much. You are the greatest gift anyone could have ever given me.” He smiles down at her as she watches him speak. His soothing voice makes her eyes heavy and she looks as if she’s going to fall asleep in his arms.

[jalwyn21]

read some reviews on the brutalist on letterboxd and i’m so happy some reviewers were praising joe’s performance! some reviews that i saved:

“For something with such a grandiose scope and the overly ambitious nature of the production (70mm VistaVision really “insists upon itself” right off the bat), the performances are for the most part surprisingly understated, especially given the calibre of someone like Brody who is inevitably being immediately hailed as an Oscar frontrunner. You’d think this is something that would be broad and showy and it’s all nuance.

Joe Alwyn, however, doesn’t go that route at all and is transparently conniving right away, and sustains that the whole time. Most obviously villainous character here, but never quite clear how it will play out. He goes hard and is kind of a scene-stealer at times. I don’t know much about him but he seems to pop up in really cool shit and deliver.”

—

another reviewer said: “Oscar campaigns for all involved, including in front of the camera. Brody obviously, but they’re nuts if they don’t make a play for Supporting nods for Jones, Pierce, and Joe Alwyn who masticates and gnaws at the role Jesse Plemmons would’ve got 5 years ago. ”

—

another one also said: “Brody’s accent work, his cadence, and even the way he closes a lighter adds texture to a character who comes off as a real figure. Guy Pearce who’s also been an underrated performer for decades finally gets his time to shine. Equal parts hypnotic and smarmily vile. Felicity Jones also gives the best work she’s done in years tapping into a very hypo sexual energy that’s baked in devastation. Hell, I’m not even the biggest Joe Alwyn fan and he’s lights out in this. ”

can’t wait for this film to be available worldwide!

It's such a joy to see things going well for Joe. My God, he deserves it so much!! And I'm so happy for him. 🥰

And I'm so excited for The Brutalist!

[mossy-rainfrog]

Build A Cowboy Round 5!

Hi good evening sorry for vanishing OK SO i mentioned in the tags of my first poll that this cowboy is not just going to be a vaguely historical cowboy, but from a Very specific time frame, because of the fic that his partner Javi exists in. That being said, there is a lot to unpack here with this! The time period exactly is 1841, the setting is Texas (because I am texan and we are predictable) and oh my god this is one of the most insane times for a character to be from texas 😭

Our cowboy will have in fact lived through the Mexican War of Independence (1810-1821), the Texas Revolution (1835-1836), tx's CRINGEFAIL attempt at self governing, rapidly approaching our annexation into the US in 1844-5, and then coming right up on the fuckign CIVIL WAR in 1861. These guys deeply understand the concept of "get me the fuck out of the interesting times, im sick of the interesting times". im so sorry cowboys, you can blame Herman Melville for this.

anyways yall didnt come here for a history lesson but you are in fact going to get one because i am insufferable first and an artist second :) and also as a note, race and backstory are always intertwined things but Especially when it is fuckign 1841 so. yeah exercise caution, there will be discussion of racism, medical close-calls, and anti-indigenous genocide. PLEASE ACTUALLY READ THE BACKGROUNDS BEFORE CHOOSING ONE! you dont have to read the sources. those are just there because i have autism. 👍

DETAILS BELOW THE READMORE BC I GOT WAYYY TOO WORDY⬇️

BACKSTORY A: Black Cowboy fled Texas* to Oklahoma with his family after the revolution, now travels up the trade routes breaking wild horses, passing along abolitionist messages, and assisting refugees. A miracle baby surviving a cleft lip with limited surgery and sustained permanent hearing damage as a result, he took up the trade of horsebreaking with flying colors, keeping right up with his older brothers. A sharp shot, keen eye, and a talented horseman, his best trained horses help him identify sounds that he otherwise can't hear. Loosely familiar with PSL, but primarily used a mix of lip-reading, localized/community generated sign growing up.

* After the US aided Texas in staging a coup against Mexico and declaring independence, an ordinance passed in 1836 that fully banished free Black people from the region unless they had personal pardon from Congress. This ordinance was not passed without pushback, and it changed shape and restriction over the years as people of color such as Joseph Tate, John and Charity Bird, Diana Leonard, Allen Dimery, and more all fought for their right to their own lands and lives. The law eventually settled into what was known as the Ashworth Act in 1840, which allowed free Black people to stay IF they had been residing in the state before 1836. It certainly wasn't the victory many had hoped, and even though many free Black persons in Texas were granted pardon to stay, like the Ashworths who the act was named after, many others were forced to leave after their allotted time was up, and were threatened with the future of slavery should they return. thank you texas history for being a vile piece of shit 👍

BACKSTORY B: Mexican/Tejano Vaquero from West Texas whose family has been ranching and cattle driving for decades. Has no interest in moving post-revolution, fuck you very much. If the borders are going to cross his family without asking*, then there's no need to cross them back. Technically lives with his family, but spends extensive periods of time away from home on cattle drives. Steady-handed, steadfast, quick to keep his herd safe. Miraculously survived a cleft lip as a baby and sustained permanent hearing damage** as a result, but that didn't stop his father from teaching him everything he knew, nor our man from taking to it like a fish to water. Knows more about cattle driving than you will ever forget.

*Some brief notes on the borders shifting and alienating people in their own rightful land.

**There was no official sign language of Mexico until the first Deaf school was established in 1869, but he and his family likely have a community-based one that works for them.

BACKSTORY C: Coahuiltecan (specifically Payaya)* cowboy, farrier, and leatherworker. Picked up the line of work as family was pushed to assimilate, one of the few still claiming Coahuiltecan identity at this time**, and has made a good living for himself and his sisters with it. Like the others, miraculously survived a cleft lip as a child but sustained permanent hearing damage as a result. Knows Plains Indian Sign fluently, and also relies on the direction of his horse for picking up sudden sounds before he can spot them. Tries to keep his work as local as possible to avoid separation from family for long, and whenever that is necessary, makes sure to come back soon.

*Note: Coahuiltecan is a term referring to several northern-Mexican and southern-Texan autonomous groups with distinct cultural differences. However, since Spanish and French colonizers lumped these groups together, an immense amount of distinguishing knowledge has since been lost.

** Also note: the Tāp Pīlam Coahuiltecan Nation is still very much around today (check out their site!) but nearing the mid 19th century, people at least claiming/listing this heritage on legal documents dwindled immensely for a variety of reasons.

[webadgals]

“God forbid we should what people call, settle, turn into a pond, a stagnant Lethe, a vile crescent, row or buildings. Better be imprudent moveables than prudent fixtures. Open my mouth at the street door like the Lion’s head at Venice to receive hateful cards, letters, messages. Go out and wither at Tea parties; freeze at dinners; bake at dances; simmer at routs. No my love, trust yourself to me and I will find you nobler amusements, fortune favouring”

J. Keats

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers CHAOS LINEAGE ー Laito [04]

ー The scene starts outside of the manor

Laito: Thank god the weather’s so nice today. Absolutely perfect for going out on a walk. Look, you can get a pretty view of the stars as well. 

Yui: Yeah...

Laito: Too bad the moon is barely visible. If only we had a full moon. 

Yui: Yeah...

Laito: Ah, but I always get terribly worked up during a full moon, so I might have just sucked you dry.

Yui: I see...

Laito: Oiー Bitch-chaaanー?

Yui: Haah...

Laito: ...Phewー

Yui: ...Hyaah!?

( H-He blew air into my ear...!? )

Laito: Nfu~ What a lovely reaction. You have very sensitive ears as well, don’t you?

Yui: W-Why did you do that!?

Laito: I mean, because you’ve been ignoring me this whole time, obviously? On top of that you’ve got that big frown stuck on your face.

Yui: Well...It’s because you suddenly took me out of the manor.

( He grabbed my hand and said we’re going out for a walk, then before I knew it... )

( The manor may be closeby, but if somebody spots us... )

Even though Carla-san said you shouldn’t let me set foot outside the manor under any circumstances. If he finds out...

Laito: I’m sure an incredibly severe punishment would be waiting for us. Carla can be incredibly stubborn after all. 

I can imagine him hitting us with a whip countless times...not showing any signs of mercy no matter how hard we cry or beg.

Yui: N-No way...! Why did you bring me here when you know that!?

Laito: Good question. Why do you think?

Yui: ( Knowing Laito-kun, I’m sure... )

Selection

→ Because it seemed fun (♡)

Yui: Because it seemed fun...Right?

Laito: I expected no less from you, Bitch-chan! You know me very well!

That’s also because the two of us are...in・love, right?

What if Carla were to find out about this...The thrill of this whole situation really gets one’s adrenaline pumping, don’t you think?

Yui: We won’t get away with just an adrenaline kick if he does...

→ To take my mind off things (🖤)

Yui: To help me take my mind off things? 

Laito: Wow, you’re pretty shameless to assume I’m doing this for you.

Do you truly believe I brought you out here for that purpose?

Yui: I guess not...

( I sort of knew already, but I wanted to believe that it was out of kindness... )

Laito: I did it just because it seemed fun. 

The more you’re told not to do something, the more you actually want to do it, no?

Yui: I can’t say I relate...

( Especially when someone like Carla-san is involved. )

Laito: Oh well, who cares about the future consequences. We’re already outside, aren’t we?

Now you have to enjoy our stroll to the fullest. ...That being said, I did plan out a route around the manor just in case.

Yui: That’s easier said than done...

Laito: Geez, Bitch-chan. There you go looking upset again.

Then how about I do this? 

*Rustle* 

Yui: Ah...

Laito: You’ll get a little more excited if you think of it as a date, no? 

Yui: ( It’s been so long since we’ve held hands...For some reason it’s really taking me back. )

( Even though this used to be daily fare not too long ago... )

Laito: You look so happy, Bitch-chan. You must really like holding hands.

Yui: It’s not the action itself but...The fact that it’s with you, I guess?

Laito: Heeh, you must truly love me, huh?

Hmー We’re a couple inside your imagination, aren’t we...?

Yui: ( It’s the truth though, not just my imagination... )

( He doesn’t remember any of the moments we spent together right now. Even though I know, it still makes me sad... )

Laito: Say, which point has our relationship reached inside your head?

Yui: Eh? What do you mean?

Laito: Oh come on, don’t dodge the question. What kind of outrageous things have we done inside your fantasies? 

I have actually sucked your blood, so I’m pretty sure we’re well experienced in that regard...In which case, I’m sureーー

Yui: Stop, stop! You don’t need to say it out loud!

( I’m sure he’ll say something vile! I know that much by now! )

Laito: Geez, someone’s getting all flustered~ If it’s too embarrassing to say out loud, I wouldn’t mind returning to the manor and reenacting it insteaーー 

ー Ayato and Kanato suddenly show up

Ayato: Hm? 

Yui: ...Eh?

A-Ayato-kun and...Kanato-kun!?

Ayato: Haah!? Why is Eve here!?

Kanato: I heard that she was being carefully hidden inside the manor. What is going on?

Laito: ...Likewise, what are the two of you doing here?

Ayato: To investigate your place, duh! Ruki has been on our case ‘bout it the whole damn time.

Yui: ( Investigate...I guess Ruki-kun and the others are getting everything ready for the war as well... )

Kanato: If he’s that concerned about what Carla and you lot are doing, he should just go himself. He always acts so high and mighty just because he’s older than us.

...Aah,  just thinking back to it is making me upset.

Can someone please explain to me why I have to bother with any of this?

Laito: Uwaah...He’s really mad.

Yui: Y-Yeah...

( The two of them haven’t changed at all in that regard. )

( But their memories have been altered. That’s why right now ーー They’re our enemy. )

Ayato, do something about this annoying situation at once.

Ayato: Don’t order me ‘round! I was gonna do that anyway. Eve is right in front of us after all.

*Woosh*

Yui: ( ...A sword...Could it be made out of silver? )

( A silver weapon which could kill even a Vampire...They’re both serious about this... )

Laito: Hmー This is bad. I can’t let them take Bitch-chan from us.

That being said, I don’t think I can take on both of you at the same time either.

Yui: Laito-kun! Now’s not the time to be calmly weighing your optioーー

Laito: ...Aah! I just had a great idea~

Hey, you two. Could you perhaps let me off the hook this once if I give you permission to suck Eve’s blood?

Yui: Eh!?

Ayato: Hah? The fuck are you on about?

Kanato: Do you really think that’ll fix the issue?

Yui: E-Exactly, Laito-kun! Giving them permission to my blood won’t...

Laito: But I’m obviously at a disadvantage, no? 

So I have no other choice but to get them to have mercy on me by playing my cards right~

All I care about is that they don’t take you away.

Yui: No way! Even so...

Laito: Of course, you don’t get to have a say in any of this.

ー Laito pulls her close

Yui: Kyaah!

Laito: Hey, you guys. If I do this, you’ll be able to tell just how sweet she smells, right? Nn...Nnh...

ー He bites Yui

Yui: Nn...No...

( I can’t believe...He’s sucking my blood in such a way...where he’s obviously trying to show off to them... )

( On top of that, he’s using me to negotiate with them...promising my blood in return for letting us get away... )

( Right now, I’m not worth more than that to him. That’s just so... )

Laito: ...Haah...Geez, Bitch-chan. You’re tearing up?

However, I feel like your sweet scent isn’t as strong as usual? Should I have made it hurt even more?

Yui: No...That’s not it...

Laito: It’s okay. I’ll thrust them in real deepーー ...Phew...Nnh...Nn...

Yui: Nn...Aah...

( I’m being swept away by the pain...My consciousness...is growing faint... )

Ayato: ...The fuck’s this scent...?

Kanato: I’ve never smelt something quite as sweet and rich...

Laito: Say, I bet the two of you are dying to suck her blood as well now, aren’t you?

What do you say? If you promise that you’ll let us go, I’ll let you have a taste.

Kanato: While I hate the thought of letting this guy talk me into something...

Ayato: Yeah, you can’t expect us to hold off on such a delicious treat.

Come on, give her to us!

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah!

*Rustle*

Yui: Stop!

Ayato: Hehe, nobody’s goin’ to actually listen to that. Nn...

Yui: Ah...

( He’s sucking from my nape... )

Kanato: These fingertips look scrumptious. Nn...Nnh...

Yui: Nn...Aah...

( Their fangs are sinking into me simultaneously...It’s incredibly painful... )

Ayato: Haah...Holy shit, it’s hella delicious...

Kanato: And very sweet on top as well. Seems like your blood is right up my alley at the very least. I can’t stop...

Yui: ( ...They’re biting me left and right...I don’t even know anymoreーー )

Laito: Oh wow, Bitch-chan. You’re making such a lovely expression.

It must really be that good, huh? Hey, tell me how it feels.

Yui: That’s...Aah...

Laito: I guess it’s just so good, you can’t even put it into words?

Yui: Nn...Kuh...

( Their fangs...are sinking in even deeper... )

Laito: Haah...You’re the best while being messed up like that. 

Ayato: Why are you over there enjoying the show? You freak!

Kanato: The fact we’re both Vampires disgusts me.

Laito: Gosh, you’re making me blush with all those compliments!

Kanato: They’re compliments! Honestly, I could not be any more grateful that we’re not brothers at least.

I don’t think I could stand having to live underneath the same roof as someone like you. 

Yui: ( ...Brothers... )

( Even though the three of them have been together...ever since the moment they were born...Yet they don’t even remember that... )

Laito: Well then, I say it’s about time we wrap things up. You’ve had your fill, haven’t you?

Ayato: Ah? I haven’t had enough yet! Actually, I wouldn’t mind taking her home with us and sucking her dry.

Laito: You can’t do that. She’d die.

Besides, you promised to let us off the hook if you got to drink her blood, remember?

Ayato: Hah! She’ll be ours eventually either way. So we can do with her as we please, no? 

I’ll be the next Supreme Overlord and become number one after all!

Laito: Hm? ...Number one...?

...Kuh...Uu...

Yui: ( ...? Laito-kun...? )

Ayato: Ah? What’s wrong?

Laito: No...It’s nothing. What you said just now sounded a little familiar, that’s all...

Ayato: Haah? I don’t get you. ...Uwah...

Kanato: What’s the matter? ...Uu!

Yui: ( The two of them as well...? What on earth is going on...? )

Ayato: The fuck’s happening...? My head’s spinnin’...

Kanato: I feel...sick...I’m sure I’m exhausted...after being forced to investigate...

I don’t care about Eve anymore. I’m going back home...

ー Kanato leaves

Ayato: Damnit, you better believe she’ll be mine eventually...

ー Ayato leaves as well

Yui: ( They both left... )

Laito: Ugh...It finally stopped...

Haah, I always get dizzy after sucking your blood. I guess it’s because it’s just so rich?

Well, we got lucky that the two of them left.

Yui: Laito-kun...

Laito: Hm? What’s wrong?

Yui: Why did you...do this...?

Laito: Why, you ask...? Aren’t you glad that they let us go?

Besides, I got to enjoy watching you get all flustered and squirm around. It was amazing.

Yui: So you don’t care at all...who sucks my blood...?

Laito: Of course! As long as I get a kick out of it, that’s all what matters. 

Yui: ...!

( I knew that already but...It hurts to hear those words directly from his mouth. )

( I mean, I clearly recall him treasuring me. )

( Memories of us laughing together. Yet those have all been lost...? )

Laito: You look hurt. I don’t really understand why, to be honest.

I mean, it’s the truth, isn’t it? We’re in the middle of a war over the position of Supreme Overlord, so I don’t even know if I’ll live to see tomorrow.

So just enjoy every day as it comes. Don’t you agree?

Yui: Is that...how you think...?

Laito: Yup.

Yui: ( ...No way... )

Laito: Well then, we should probably head back now. You don’t want Carla to spot us, do you?

Yui: Ah...

( Right. Rather than getting depressed, we gotta go back to the manor...If Carla-san were to find out about thiーー )

ー Carla approaches them

Carla: ...What are you two doing?

Yui: ...!

Laito: Whoopsie. ...Mission failed.

Yui: ( Carla-san...! )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[ineffectualdemon]

The Shen Jiu and Yue Qingyuan chapter was so sad but also....

God damnit I like Shen Jiu so much as a character

He's a horrible person. Like he does without question fucked up shit to a child we know that

But, and this is going to sound fucked up, but as someone who was a victim of child abuse...I get it

It's not that I have ever raised my hand in violence towards a child or ever really wanted to...but at the same time I've been able to see how going down that route would be easier

It's hard to explain if you haven't lived through it

But there is this feeling of almost being able to see the road you didn't take and a longing....not to hurt the innocent....but to have things be simpler

By continuing the cycle of abuse you don't have to confront the abuse that happened to you. You don't have to question why they got what you never had

Because the abuse he put Luo Binghe through was never about Luo Binghe

And even when Yue Qingyuan tried to get him to admit he had done wrong by Luo Binghe he couldn't agree. Because he hates himself through the medium of Luo Binghe

He thinks if himself in the worst terms:

Some people were rotten from birth. Shen Jiu thought of himself in exactly this way—someone vile and poisonous from the start.

SVSSS Vol 4 p 95

Now this he thinks because he had just thought he would have rathered Yue Qi had died remembering him, than become powerful and, to his eyes, forgotten him.

But later when talking about Luo Binghe he talks of him as rotten from the start. That his abuse of Binghe is justified because Luo Binghe was always vile as evidenced by his later deeds.

But it's not really about justifying his treatment of Binghe. He has to do that because he has to justify what happened to him. He's saying Binghe's abuse was justified because his was justified because he briefly wished Yue Qi had died trying to save him

And I know that sounds ridiculous but unless you've experienced abuse you have no idea how alluring that type of thinking it

It is hard to face your past and choose to be different than the people who abused you. And it makes you angry sometimes to see people happy when you weren't. To see children protected. And it would be so much easier to justify it. It feels like a lot of self destructive tendencies: easy.

Simple

A way to stop fighting

And it's a lie.

So if you're someone who doesn't want to be an asshole you don't look at it like a real option. It's just a thing that's over there. Through a twisted looking glass.

Again it's not a choice I have any real desire to make. Just like I have no actual desire to stab people on the eye with pens or throw a full mug of tea as hard as a I can at the wall. I'm not the fun house mirror abuse option I never took anymore than I am my intrusive thoughts

But that's just my two cents on Shen Jiu and why I think as a character he's really interesting

But also why I want to write a fic where Shang Qinghua becomes his trauma bonded pal and fixes his relationships

[l-una-c]

Art fight piece for @ramyeonguksu! Hillevi x Hubert

Microfiction under the cut:

They had to be around here somewhere.

Hubert’s heart skipped a beat when he saw her Wyvern fall… it was near the end of the battle, Garreg Mach was nearly theirs, and the Seiros forces were routed.  His eyes to the skies, a smile on his face when he saw the fires lighting the underside scales of Altena, Hillevi’s gleaming axe clutched in her hands. 

The battle was nearly won, and yet, a volley of arrows, loosed by their vile archers, blanketed Hillevi in quills as Altena took a dive to the ground, graceless, tumbling.

Hubert rushes through the ruins.

They had to be around here somewhere.

And then, there he saw them.

Struggling to stand, using one of her perforated wings to push herself up, was Altena, bleeding, but not down for the count.  She nudges Hillevi with her snout, trying to get the woman to move, when Hubert notices…

She wasn’t moving.  Her body lie twisted in an unnatural contortion, and the fires of grief and rage stir within his heart.  An arrow protrudes from her abdomen, her usually immaculate tabard torn and stained.

He rushes forward, skidding into a kneel, as he grasps her hand, feeling for a pulse, but he tries his best to not stir her body too much.

Nothing, and then… a heartbeat, and another.  Her chest rose and fell shakily, but her eyes were closed, her head lilting to the side.

“There, there, girl…” Hubert says, reaching over to Altena to comfort the beast a moment, though, he wasn’t sure what the prognosis was.

The closest healer was quite far away from where she fell, and he had to send his mages to continue defending the front.  Alone with her, he silently curses himself for not paying attention to the healing courses that Byleth made him take.

And yet, his mind reaches back to that time…

“Hubert, healing isn’t…” Lindhardt yawned.  “…Isn’t so tough, you know.  Look, you’re wearing gloves, that’s automatically going to make things harder for you when you’re a novice.”

Hubert grit his teeth.  “The gloves do not come off.”

Linhardt shrugged, a little smirk on his face.  “Suit yourself, but you’re only making it harder on yourself…”

Hubert reaches down, hands trembling, as he feels a bit of his own blood trickling down his face.  With much trepidation, he reaches down to his right hand, peeling off his glove.  Closing his eyes, he begins to mutter the incantation, repressing the urge to curse the gods themselves for what they’ve done.

And nothing.

The depths of memories come back to him.

“Hubie, you have to feel your own life force, your own heart beating in your chest, to be able to heal.”  Dorothea said, in her sing-song voice.  “Feel your breath, the blood flowing in your veins”

Hubert huffed.  “I would prefer if my own interiority remain a mystery to me.”

Dorothea shook her head.  “Hubie, that’s no way to live! You’re a living being!”

“For now.” Hubert scoffed.

Hubert takes another stabilizing breath, feeling the air flow into his lungs.  He was much more used to snuffing out the life force in others, and dark magic very much involved accessing the non-physical side of yourself, it had almost nothing to do with the blood in your veins, the breath in your chest.

And yet, the focus allows him to calm himself.

But his mind once again reaches back to the past.

“Hubert, it’s not about faith in the gods.” Lindhardt said, as he shook his head.  “It’s faith.  Your fellow man, the future, hell, even the Empire.  You don’t need to believe in the supernatural.  You just need to believe.”

And Hubert’s mind draws back to the present, as he feels his heart beating in his chest, the breath in his lungs, and, suddenly, he feels his perception reach out towards Hillevi, her weak heartbeat, her shallow breathing…

And he focuses on that, and on his resolve, what he’s been fighting for. 

And the woman that he loves.

And suddenly, a bright blue-white light erupts from his palms, spreading to his fingertips, lighting their faces with a brilliant azure gleam as her wounds glow bright white.  The arrow, embedded in her side, slowly pushes its way out of her body.

And Hillevi takes a gasping breath, her eyes shooting open.

“…H-Hubert?”

[tybpxbzn]

The King of Copper

I set off as usual that day, I wore my bright orange suit, bright orange pants, and bright orange shoes. It was inspection day at the federal mint, and it’s my job to ensure that the pennies are up to snuff. I’m what you would call… sort of a big deal. I am Penelope Von Pennington, superintendent of the penny department. It’s my divine purpose to bestow my blessing of copper upon mortal man.

My pennies are always perfect. Pure, raw, unbridled copper, with our lord Abraham Lincoln embossed on its face. But lately, the government proposed a preposterous idea, filling my flesh an blood (pennies) with zinc. This vile, dull, trash tarnished my very being, and for what? Budget cuts? Foolish. Who cares that pennies cost more than a penny to make? Who cares that the copper is currently in a worldwide shortage? I don’t, that’s for certain. Zinc can’t bring joy to a sweet summer child getting a single penny as a yearly allowance, copper can. Zinc can’t appease a greedy homeless man begging for mercy from the service workers, copper can. It is my mission, no, my god given duty to bring forth my copper crusade.

Only hours away from the watchful judgement of Mr. Inn Specter -the inspector guy- disaster struck. My loyal unpaid intern had informed me that we don’t have enough copper for the next batch of coin. My heart stopped; I was in disbelief. For once in my life, we had to change our immortal penny. Our legacy was either going to end, or get tainted by the devil’s metal, zinc. Despite my deep held beliefs, I knew the penny must live on. I quickly swapped out most of the copper with zinc, and replaced the “in god we trust”, with “Pig With Six Diseases In Latin”, as that is my unpaid intern’s name.

I thought I was in the clear after swapping the wondrous copper for sinful zinc, but as Inn Specter, the inspector guy, stepped his left foot through the pure copper doorway, a chain of events triggered by my unsagaciousness sprung forth. The minting machine rattled and shook in ways no machine (other than a maraca machine) should. Zinc bullets rained on this day of judgement, upwards of 32.56 horses per jiffy. As I searched for an escape route, my beloved Pig With Six Diseases In Latin was shot down by the zinc filled hand of God. I wept as that was probably an infraction in Inn Specter’s, the inspector guy’s, little checklist thing. In my moment of grief, a beam of clarity shined on my copper coated scalp. I realized that this calamity could have been prevented if only I had calibrated the minting machine for the lighter, dirtier, zinc pennies. Zinc did this. Zinc got Pig With Six Diseases In Latin killed. Zinc got me an OSHA violation. And as the zinc rapture came to collect my pure soul, only one thought rung through my skull.

Zinc got me.

[for context theres this guy named Zync running for student council president and his catchphrase is "Zync got you!!!"]

drawing of a penny from memory by someone who has never seen a penny irl for sillys

-Mir :3

[natasha-in-space]

Nothing but Deception

Saeyoung & cmc Natasha Stakh;

Somewhat of a prelude to the Fractured Heart piece I wrote a while ago, but can be read separately without loosing anything crucial to the story! This time, I wanted to explore such a complicated situation from Saeyoung's perspective as he finally gains control of his mind after days spent in a drugged haze.

This scenario takes place after the 3rd Bad Ending of 707 Route, in which Saeyoung is taken hostage by Unknown after a failed attempt to get him out of Mint Eye.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2 (you are here!)

A violent coughing fit put an abrupt end to the peaceful silence enveloping the tiny living space in which both Saeyoung and Natasha have resided for a few days now, thus quickly waking them both up from their slumber, albeit with completely differing experiences. The redhead let out a painful groan, instinctively clutching onto the nearest surface as a searing migraine wreaked havoc on his disoriented mind. He tried to open his tired eyes to assess his surroundings, only to heavily regret his decision soon after. God... Everything in his line of sight was spinning. Fighting through the pain and exhaustion trapping his entire body in invisible shackles, he managed to clumsily raise himself up on one of his hands, quickly finding that it took practically all of his strength just to keep his balance, regardless of a simplicity of such a light movement. Still, once he gave himself a minute to catch his breath and calm his racing thoughts, it took him only a couple of seconds to acknowledge who was the person studying him with apprehension in their eyes of an unnaturally mint hue from a few feet away.

In a hoarse voice, he called out Natasha's name a few times, still finding it hard to distinguish reality from illusion, thus repeating his actions in order to make sure that he did, in fact, do exactly what he desired to.

Damn... He has no idea just how long he's been here already. It feels like it's been centuries as his mind was completely overcome by a drugged haze, too thick even for him to fight through, despite all the training he had faced back in the agency. So, why... Why is he suddenly feeling like himself again? In here? He vaguely remembered that he had already crossed paths with her many times before, and yet... Usually, Saeran was there, making it impossible to have a normal conversation.

He doesn't understand a single thing about this!

"Are you okay...?" He tilted his head slightly towards the young woman, hoping - no - praying that she won't view him as a threat and force yet another doze of a vile mint liquid down his throat while he's still too weak to put up a fight even if he tries.

She was still obviously feeling quite drowsy, judging my her groggy gaze and sluggish body language, which made him come to the conclusion that this clarity of mind of his was definitely not planned on her part. Well... He can't remember any useful info about her unique position in this place, except for the fact that she was almost always by Saeran's side. He doubted she'd tell him anything crucial, though. Finally, she replied to his question, allowing him to hear her voice clearly.

"Hm?" Much to his surprise, she merely yawned and rubbed at her eyes, as if there was absolutely nothing strange about this situation they were currently in. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be okay?"

Saeyoung could only stare silently as she slowly sat up in her bed with a satisfied groan falling from her lips, stretching out her limbs in the most casual way possible. The sheer contrast of her nonchalant behavior in these dire circumstances only made him feel more and more desperate, as the pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together, all while the former control of his own thoughts was gradually returning to him the longer he stayed awake.

She was... She was one of them, wasn't she...?

"Hm... Wait a bit."

He watched silently, studying her from afar, as Natasha lazily reached out for her phone laying on the bland nightstand nearby. Not much was visible from his position on the couch, but he did manage to sneak in a small glance at what seemed to be a messenger app of sorts. Although, it was hard to call it a proper messenger, since there was only one user for her to contact, and he didn't need to think hard in order to guess their identity.

But, if she's close with Saeran, then why is she treating him so calmly? While she definitely wasn't rushing to help him, there was no ill will or hatred in her eyes as well. It was difficult to read her intentions, and he didn't know whether or not he should trust her at all.

Once she was done typing out her message, she chuckled with clear amusement flickering behind her minty eyes and then turned her full attention back to Saeyoung, much to his discomfort. "Are you feeling better now? If that's so, you can go wash away all that sweat and dirt, and then I might take you out on a walk to our kitchen. I'll cook something normal for you to eat for once. How does that sound?"

She was obviously in a fairly good mood, and he quickly found himself feeling completely dumbfounded by her suggestions. It didn't make sense to him whatsoever, and it wasn't like anything he had encountered here before. She wasn't disgusted by him or actively trying to harm him, but, all at the same time, she was treating this whole situation as if he was on a vacation or something!

It made him start to feel frustrated.

"Why..." Why is this woman so damn calm and cheerful about this!? Sure, he was probably on a way higher dose of drugs than she had to experience in her time here, but still, this place... It was terrible, vile, cruel! He needed to get Saeran out of here as soon as possible, not walk around and cook breakfast as if it's a normal Tuesday! "We need to get out of this place."

Actually, he really should act as soon as possible while he's still somewhat conscious. But, the bitter truth is... In order for him to start planning on the escape route, he first needed to find a computer, or at least a phone.

She merely blinked, staring at him with a dumbfounded expression slowly creeping its way onto her previously obliviously cheerful face, before it shifted into something more somber.

"...Oh."

It seems that his clear sense of mind was made obvious to her only now, judging by the vague understanding filling her gaze. She quickly darted her eyes back to the phone screen, as if trying to avoid any sort of eye contact with him. He easily could pinpoint evident conflict happening within her thoughts. Though, it was a conflict he could not make sense of. At least she wasn't actively trying to rat him out... by the looks of it. He didn't know if she's just the type of person who's very bad at hiding their emotions, or she feels comfortable enough in his presence to be so open for some reason.

But, maybe, there is some hope for him at last.

Before he could think of a single word, he was interrupted by a heavy sigh falling from her lips. "Look... I can help you get out of here. I guess. But... It's going to be you, and only you . And if you decide to do something that would cause any harm to this place then we'll have to get you back, and I won't be able to help you. But, um... I'd rather just go and cook us breakfast now."

She was trying to avoid this conversation all together, he could see it clear as day. Help him get out of here...? So, does that mean that she's not with this organization by her free will? But then why is she actively warning him against causing harm to this place? Her actions contradicted her words so evidently, that it was making his head spin. Or, maybe it was just the drug. He didn't know.

But, it seems that they were both feeling pretty confused about their own separate circumstances, which is pretty ironic in and of itself.

She awkwardly scratched at the back of her neck, still avoiding looking him straight in the eye and quickly getting up from her place on the bed. Her voice was filled with heavy uncertainty, however hard she tried to seem friendly and unbothered. "Well... You can pretend to be still under the influence of the elixir. At least I would advise you to do that. I don't know just how busy your... brother will be today, so you might have to be taken under surveillance while I'm at work."

At the mere mention of Saeran, before he could stop himself, the words were flying off the tip of his tongue. "There's nothing to advise me about! I'll take Saeran and go. If you're willing to help me get out for some reason, then you can come with us as well. We... we need to get out here."

He ran a hand over his face. Along with the pain, small fragments of memories flashed through his mind. Natasha was... smiling? Whether it was a true event that really happened or a mere fragment of his confused imagination was hard to tell, but the thought unnerved him quite a bit.

Judging from her reaction... It looked like she was happier when he was under the influence of the drug. Although... It was probably too early to make any concrete assumptions on her character like that. But still... Why is she acting so strangely?

Perhaps he should try a softer approach. After all, she was a victim of this cult too... he might be able to lure her onto his side if he appeals to her somehow? She seemed much softer in nature than other 'believers' he had come across, so, perhaps, he could appeal to her kinder side if he plays his cards right.

So, this time, he tried to make his voice sound gentler, carefully leaning towards her and addressing her by name. "Natasha, this place is no good for anyone, you... do understand that, right?"

This was a test. He needed to find out just how far gone she was before he would plan on his further stragedy.

In response, she shifted nervously from one foot to another, clearly getting more and more jittery the harder he pushed her. Still, there was no anger, only discomfort. "Well... Yes, I understand what you're trying to say, but... I don't want to leave. Look, I agree that you're better off escaping and never coming back, because... Uh, I guess, I shouldn't go into details about your situation and why you're just suffering by staying in here."

Another shaky sigh followed suit, she almost looked... somewhat guilty standing there all hunched over and unsure of herself.

"But me...? I... I like it here. We all like it here. While yes... Maybe this place is far beyond the comprehension of the outside world, but... We're happy here. And... Saeran is too. S-Sort of." That last phrase was clearly out of place, making her stumble over her next jumble of words, almost mumbling to herself as if trying to fix her own mess-up in wording and changing the subject all together. "W-Well, I can probably distract him... Just enough for you to leave, that is. And I could tell you about the structure of the building and where all the exits are. Um... I might even lead you there myself, but I can't promise anything on that..."

Hearing her speak so absentmindedly about both Saeran's and her own dangerous situation, Saeyoung didn't even realize how frighteningly quickly he succumbed to the irritation persistently gnawing at his temples like a vicious parasite, clutching his hands into tight fists and inadvertently scowling at her in a moment of pure and righteous anger. "He is not happy here! No one is happy here! Why don't you understand that?!"

He almost sprang to his feet, completely ignoring the protests of his sluggish and tired limbs, before he caught himself halfway through the action, realizing his grave mistake straight away from just one look on the young woman's face in front of him.

Well... It took him only a couple of seconds to realize that this wasn't what he was planning on doing or saying whatsoever. It wasn't at all like him act out so... sporadically, even despite his dire circumstances. No, this outburst was just outward strange, unpleasant and... If he was to be completely honest with himself, kind of frightening to go through. It's like he lost complete control over his own mind and body for a few fleeting moments, and he did not like what that possibility entailed whatsoever. Moreover, his headache only got worse from his own shouting, making the hacker feel even worse, both physically and mentally.

He could only exhale uneasily, casting his eyes to the ground and gritting his teeth to mask his growing anxiety. God, he hoped this outburst of his wouldn't ruin all the hope he had left. "N-No, I'm sorry... I didn't mean that. But this place is no 'paradise'. Cruelty and violence has no place in true heaven where everyone is happy, surely you understand that if you think that I'm suffering."

His mood was definitely changing way to sporadically and quickly for his liking, a change that was not a welcome one. Even he could feel that his behavior seemed unnatural, only to add to the growing pit of despair deep in his empty stomach. It wasn't hard to guess the reason behind this sudden change in behavior, but it didn't make it any easier to cope with it in the moment. After all, he had no idea for how much longer he'll have to stay here and choke on the bitter mint liquid until there's nothing left of his autonomy whatsoever.

No, he has to put himself together. He didn't care what would happen to him, but he needed to get Saeran out of this wretched place, whether he wanted to or not. Even if it will cost him his own life in the process.

It's the least thing he could do to fix this mess.

Judging by the anxious look on Natasha's face, his sudden shouting more scared than angered her, much to his huge relief. In fact, she seemed to be feeling rather lost, uncertain on how exactly should she respond to such a violent reaction coming from him. Was she, perhaps, not expecting him to act out like this?

"Uh..." At last, she merely let out a shallow sigh, casting her gaze somewhere on the wall behind him, a distant look clouding her light mint eyes. "Even if you might think so because of your bad experience here, there's no unnecessary cruelty when it comes to my fellow believers. W-Well... I'm just too softhearted for my own good, so my personal opinion might be too biased to bring up."

Didn't sound so encouraging to him.

Regardless, she continued, ignoring the painfully clear contradictions in her speech like they weren't even there. She pinched a bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes for a few moments, seemingly trying to compose herself. "Ugh, look Luciel: I can't help you right now anyway. Just go wash up and wait here while I make breakfast for all of us. And then... And then I don't know. Whatever happens will happen. If you want, you can pretend to be under the elixir in front of Unknown and the believers. I won't snitch on you, if that's what you are afraid of. And... I'll help you escape. But neither of us want to leave, so... Just think about it. While I do want to help you, I will also do what I must to protect our paradise. I hope you won't take my word lightly on that."

Before he could utter a single word to argue, she quickly went out into the corridor without even waiting for his answer. He could hear the audible sound of a mechanical lock being put in place, thus making this tiny room his new prison, albeit a way more comfortable one when compared to the damp jail cell he was being kept in before. And while he probably could escape out of here with ease if he put his mind to it... Was there really any point in doing that when he has no valuable info or equipment on him whatsoever?

All he could do was just sit there, feeling an entire hurricane of various emotions flowing through him as he replayed this worryingly short dialogue between him and Natasha over and over in his own head, searching for answers that just weren't there, no matter how hard he tried to look for them. She was just as confusing to him as Saeran in her contradicting behavior, but maybe, that was the entire point from the very beginning. He had no idea what they had to go through in this hellish place, and the mere thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. At least, she seemed like a truly kindhearted soul, even if her motives were a bit twisted. He could only hope she was good to his brother, whatever that even meant in this disgusting cult. Thinking it all over again, such a reaction coming from her was to be expected, and he should be happy enough that she didn't throw him in the basement, at least.

----

"You should eat at least something, it's highly unlikely that you'll escape anywhere today and the effects of the elixir won't't hit you as hard on a full stomach, trust me on that. There's no drugs in there, if that's what you are so afraid of."

Saeyoung flinched, swiftly lifting his paranoid gaze back up at a young woman sitting just a few feet away from him. They didn't say a single word to each other ever since she came back into the room with a tray of steaming food in her hands. And while it was temting to sink his teeth into something other than some bland piece of bread his brother would usually throw his way, it's true that he was cautious to put anything into his system at the moment. He just got rid of the debilitating effects of that drug and he didn't want to risk it. Though, Natasha didn't seem to mind as she casually put a piece of ham in her mouth.

"I don't want to fight with you, okay? Like I said, you can leave here safely and I'll help you. This place is not for everyone. But... It does bug me that you're trying to force your way on us. I like it here. And it... It upsets me that you want to take this happiness away from me, from all of us. We are all happy and like one big family in here. I don't agree with some things... But it's the only place where I feel like I belong. I hope you'll understand that."

He scowled, although this time around, his anger wasn't directed at her specifically. "No, I won't understand, sorry. This place is just using and exploiting your pain, just like it did with Saeran. It's cruel and vile. Saeran he... He's too unstable to see right from wrong right now. And since you're not trying to pour that drug down my throat right at this very second, surely you see what I mean, even if you try to deny it to yourself."

He attempted to put all the hope he had left into his pleading gaze as he looked straight into her eyes, searching - no - begging for a glimer of understanding. He truly didn't want to escape out of here alone. Besides, Saeran could have easily prepared a plan B for this exact scenario as well. And... Saeyoung didn't want for his brother to get hurt even further because of his escape. He was under Saeran's 'care'... Who knows what will happen to him if he, by some miracle, manages to escape? And even if he'll come back as soon as possible with a backup plan... The mere thought of Saeran suffering even further because of his actions sickened him to his very core.

He needed to escape, and he needed to do it with Saeran by his side, or die trying.

"Please, Natasha..." He sounded weak and vulnerable, his voice breaking into a hushed plea. If there really was a God, he only wished for him to grant him this one miracle to save his brother's life. Nothing else mattered anymore. Nothing else has ever mattered to him more than Saeran's well-being. He couldn't allow himself to fail him like that again. "Surely you realize that this isn't a life worth living...?"

She held his gaze for a few fleeting moments, before deciding to break the eye contact all together with a single tired sigh, choosing instead to stare down at her plate with a blank expression slowly making its way onto her face, while she absentmindedly picked at it with her fork. "Luciel... I... I don't want to talk about this, okay? It may seem wrong and crazy to you, but... I like it here, alright? I don't want to argue about this."

All the resemblance of her cheery mood that was present at the beginning was now replaced only by a clear discomfort that was practically oozing off of her in waves, whether it was intentional or not. Saeyoung could see her glancing anxiously at her phone, her fingers twitching as they held on to the utensil in her hand, her lips pursing into a thin line, as if she was debating over something within her own mind, unsure on what to do. Much to his relief, though, in the end, she turned her head away from the phone all together, her brows furrowing into a rather sour expression.

Regardless of that small win, though, he was definitely getting more and more exasperated as his attempts to reason with her were shut down one by one. He groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair in an effort to calm his racing thoughts, one even worse than the last. "Ugh... But when you first came here, didn't they give you that drug too? Even in small doses, I doubt that it's a pleasant experience to go through. All this 'elixir' does - is hurt you and makes your mind easier to bend and break to their liking. If I'm wrong, why do you advice me to pretend that I'm still drugged? Is this really how people supposed help each other in an ideal world? Lie to each other because you'll get punished if you go against their wishes? That's not freedom, it's prison."

It was getting harder and harder to hide his growing annoyance with her contradictions when so much was at stake here. Still, it's not like him to give into anger so easily when he knows perfectly well that it is not safe to do so. Sure, anger wasn't anything bizarre to Saeyoung - quite the opposite, actually - but it's the way that he expressed it that was bothering him. Could this increased irritability of his be a side effect of the elixir...? And if that is indeed the case here, what else is there to expect in the future?

God, he wanted Natasha to believe him more than anything. He genuinely thought she was on his side once he realized that she was actively trying to protect him. Everything and everyone was against him in this place, and the notion of having even just one single ally in this hell? It was just enough to make him hope that there is a happy ending to this tragedy that can be achieved if he'd just try hard enough.

He knew... That she took care of him all this time.

He remembers just enough to make sense of a few phrases and her caring touch when it was the only possible consolation after hours of both physical and mental torture in the basement. He really thought that she was just scared to act on her own... That once he proposes to her the idea of escaping this shithole with him and Saeran, she would take it without any hesitation. Now, though, the thought of a successful escape, especially with Saeran, seemed more unattainable than ever before. While, yes, she, without a doubt, was treating him with sincere kindness and respect, that is not nearly enough for the desirable outcome.

It seems now he has found yet another way that this place manages to corrupt even the gentlest of souls.

But, he has no right to give up... No matter how hopeless everything around him is, he has to keep fighting. Lowering his head in defeat, he picked up some of the warm food with his fork, without much enthusiasm in his movements despite the hunger laying heavy on his bruised limbs. "So, you still won't believe me, no matter what I say...? Is that what you're trying to convey?"

Yet another quiet sigh was his only response, however this time, the young woman put away her fork all together, clearly loosing her appetite, much like he did. Looks like they really were in painfully similar situations, only on different sides of this invisible battle. “I don’t know. At least today, I definitely won’t decide to go with you anywhere. And it already makes me feel pretty bad to realize that I'll have to betray Unknown's trust, even if I know that I'm doing the right thing. As an assistant, I'm not supposed to make such drastic decisions on my own. Although it shouldn't matter to you anyway. And listen: I don't want to argue about this with you. You have every right to hate this place, just as I have every right to love it. I'm telling you to leave Magenta and never come back if you despise so much... Why force us to go with you?"

He couldn't find the words to respond to that. All that was left is a tense silence as they both tried their best to stay afloat in a raging sea of conflicting thoughts and emotions that could swallow them whole if they are to loose their composure even for a single moment.

If only she could realize just how similar they really are in this mess, and see him as an ally and not as a burden to get rid of.