#ill just let everyone know i edited ir

[via-crucis]

re: don't use queer, just as an fyi the "don't use the word queer" whole movement cropped up quite recently mainly in terf spaces. and the word "gay" is also used to be hurtful, especially globally, but we don't have a problem using it in the acronym. besides queer as an umbrella term has been in use for a really long time and many of us aren't gonna let a small but vocal group of terfs stop us! you don't have to post this or anything just wanted to let you know! :)

Many LGBT people have had a problem with that word before the current TERF movement, and by those that aren't TERFs. Blaming TERFs for not liking that word is a very simplistic view and dismisses many LGBT people's experiences and views.

The q-word is used to describe something that is "freakish, creepy, deviant, illegal, dishonest, ill, ruin, blight and nefarious." Looking at literature in history we can see it used for these meanings. It's not unreasonable that many in the LGBT community would not want to have that connected to them.

Gay originally meant "carefree, cheerful, bright, and showy." So I don't think it's fair to compare the two. Although the term "gay" can be used in a hurtful way, it does not carry the same weight for most LGBT people. Gay is seen largely as a neutral word by many LGBT people and non-LGBT, while qu**r is not, many see it as a slur. I don't see any other marginalized groups calling themselves or their entire community by the current slurs that have been used against them, so I don't get why LGBT have to either. The people that call the LGBT community qu**rs online will often not use it irl, and we all know why.

If qu**r can be used as a catch all term why not the f slur? I saw just recently a map of America that showed the number of times that word has been said in hate crimes. I'll look for it and edit this with a link or screenshot. If anyone knows what I'm talking about a link would be great.

People are willing to say the acronyms of other communities like USA, FBI, IRS, POC/BIPOC and others, but when it comes to LGBT suddenly it's too difficult, even though qu**r is longer.

If a person wants to use it for themselves that's fine, an individual can call themselves whatever they may like, but that's not something they can do for everyone else. Many in the LGBT community don't like it, don't agree with it, and have had it used as a slur towards them, especially the older LGBT people.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 10)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 9

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt has found a djinn as your ticket for your way home. Though, some conditions doomed his fate. Your confession for the witcher got him climbing down towards the goal of sending you away; reconsidering what could happen when you stay for a week or maybe more. Howbeit, your panic-stricken confession lead into unlocking the Djinn out of its confinement and thus, leading you into becoming one possessed human and giving Geralt factual reasons as to why he was destined to you.

Warnings: Possessed reader. A gushing reader who managed to accidentally confess her feelings for the witcher. Upset Cirilla. Weird shit going on. Soft, hardheaded but smiley and frustrated Geralt all at once. A VERY MUCH NOT accurate words of Elder speech. AHONHONHON. I’m sorry in advance. Mention of blood. LOTS of Geralt Gif’s because…why not?

Words: 5.9k

A/N: You’ll have tension on the next chapters. When I mean tension, I mean sexual tension. I can hear y'all screaming and waiting for this moment to shine. HAHAHHAHAHA. I hope the wait is worth it.

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

You understood everything now. Very perfectly. Geralt was acting weirdly soft to you because he was finally throwing you away.

That was a more reasonable explanation to his sudden supple treatment towards you as you remembered how he was avoiding you the day before you were captured by those asshats. Though, it stopped there. He saved you and that was it. That was the only thing you remembered aside from the blurry image of you confessing something heartfelt to the witcher as he carried you to send you off to some healer.

You didn’t tell him anything ridiculous, didn’t you?

Those cheeky, dashing smiles he tries to give whenever he catches you staring made you narrow your eyes once you timidly avoided his beams like a blushing baby.

He was probably just happy that you were going to be out of his majestic hair once you wish for a genie to take you back home. It hurts to know that the witcher was happy and basically twerking inside his head about shooing you away.

Truly, your heart was feeling heavy because of it. The heavy feeling being brought as you had your steady hike with his family. Those lips that were jutted out in a pout was ineradicable even till the moment you’ve arrived at a tranquil looking lake.

Geralt took notice of your vexatious pout that was permanently carved as he threw the fishnet out in the lake. Dismissing your attitude with a faint shake of his head at the wonder why you were looking downright dejected when it was finally the time you could go home and leave the havoc that you were in.

“So, a Djinn is a fish? Since you’re using a fish net…” he’d heard you question the bard that was leaning on a dead tree, arms crossed like an executive in some company as he watched Geralt trawl for your Djinn. The witcher tugged on the rope of the fishnet and pulled; seeing no pitcher yet that had a Djinn and only an empty bottle of wine that was thrown out in the lake. He frustratingly exhaled a breath and ceaselessly tossed the fishnet back in the water.

Cirilla and Kolby were crouching down beside the swamp as they were playing with the water in their hands. Patiently waiting for whatever you were finding.

“Haven’t you heard of genies?” Jaskier bellowed, making your eyebrows twist together in ire for his attitude. You crossed your arm and gave yourself a second before a loud cajole left your lips, “—The mystical creatures that grant you three wishes?”

Your frowning self promptly turned the opposite as you remembered a movie that you’ve loved back in your laptop, “Oh! The one from Aladdin! Will the Genie come out of it? Is it a smoke of blue?!”

The bard let out a perceptible loud sigh, eyes focused at the witcher who was mindlessly cussing to himself for finding his Djinnie-Djinn-Djinn that took three hours already. He gave you a look that consisted of abounding judgement.

You shrugged to yourself; dusting off his sarcasm, “I suppose not,”

“—The last time it came out, it attacked my throat and gave me the ill-fate of having no voice to talk nor sing. I’ve been brought to a healer—thanks to Geralt and his selfless virtue, and been brought to an orgy which eventually; Yennefer–” Jaskier’s chatters were ceased by Geralt’s stern tone that echoed a meter away as he was hauling over his fishnet, audibly groaning as he felt something heavy that has been caught.

He hoped it was no monster or anything.

“That’s enough, Bard.”

Jaskier leaned off the dead tree, hands on either side of his hips as he looked offended by always being cut-off in the middle of his chitter-chatters with you, “Why do you always cut me off when it’s about the mage from Vengerberg?” a teasing pause. “—It’s like you don’t want me mentioning about her because the small rat is around,”

The witcher gave no response other than a displeased hum, not giving his amber eyes while the fish net dripped as he dragged it out to see some type of vase that had a peculiar seal, “Hmm.”

He’d heard a clap and it was from the bard, “Oh, a pitcher! It’s the Djinn!” before his voice suddenly upturned into a softer tone like he was avoiding something. The leaves crumpled beneath his shoe as you felt Jaskier discreetly side stepped away from you or everyone like a frog in the mud, “I’m just going to…give you space and peace like you hoped for,”

The message was for Geralt as he slowly but surely hid behind a tree where Cirilla and Kolby was. A distance which is still coherent for him to hear you both from a distance. You’ve eyed him like he was going loco when he gave a thumbs up behind the tree and peeked with only his head showing to the both of you, a beam on show.

“Don’t forget to make three wishes when the harsh wind hits you! Also, make it fast so it doesn’t thwack you in the neck!”

Geralt held onto the pitcher, inspecting a different seal in his hands. Much more different than the one they had decades ago. It was an eight figure hand clustered in a circle with random stars all over.

“Are you sure this wouldn’t be a snake in the grass, Geralt?” the witcher heard the bard speak from behind the tree, loud enough for you to hear his question thrown. There was a moment of silence as Geralt studied the pitcher a lot more closely, trying to understand and remember what the seal meant.

He’d finally taken the chance to voice out to the bard in a gruff tone, “As long as she doesn’t wish for anything that would mutilate anyone,”

You gave them looks; back and forth as they went on to their talk like you weren’t there with them. It’s not like you could understand whatever magic or terms they were even talking about. This was the problem for living in a world that you weren’t familiar with; not a single thing that you were used to besides the cooking. Other than that, their world was living in history that you somehow didn’t wish to have lived in.

With magic even involved in their lives like it was a normal thing.

“What if this backfires, Geralt? You know..like it would give her a tumor in the neck and then you’ll go find a healer again and—” Jaskier cut his sentence in haste when the witcher gave him a scolding glare. He’d shut his mouth, contemplating on what his next words would be.

“—You sure it’ll give her what she wants?”

“It can grant the most far-fetched wishes,”

“So, when you wished for peace prior to that day; giving me tumor is the best idea for your Djinn?”

Geralt gave him a mocking smile, one that consists that his patience was wearing thin again for the talkative bard who asks too much questions like he was the person who came from another world and not you, “But, it quite helped, didn’t it?”

The bard rolled his eyes back at him, puffing out a breath as he emerged behind the tree and leaned his shoulders on the dry wood; his face contorting in anxiety as he saw Kolby crouched in front who was giving him those puppy eyes.

You were too engrossed from their talk and didn’t notice Geralt who was now in front of you; handing over the pitcher where a Djinn was kept.

“As long as she’s the master, the Djinn won’t hurt her.” he reassured for you; feeling your agitation take over as you were realizing that there was a risk that their genie could hurt you. Though, those glowing eyes of his that resting on you; giving an unfamiliar tenderness of his gaze was simply telling you that it won’t happen.

But, the stingy feeling inside your heart wasn’t helping those warmth within his eyes.

“Make your wish, Midget.” he simply said, dropping his gaze for a second before returning back on your glum filled eyes, “—Once unbarred and has three of your wishes, the djinn is set free,”

You loosely held onto the pitcher like you were hesitant. It was there now. Your way for home. One of the options that can get you coming back from where you came from. Away from their chaotic world that had too many fremd explanations about their way of living other than earth where having a stable job was the only problem you had.

Not for the fear of monsters and people selling you off to some duke or king.

“—and…you are also..” the witcher drawled out his words, seeming to be in deep thought as his features turned stony and inexplainable, “—free. Back to where you came from,”

He sounded like he was choking when the witcher continued his speech; or maybe it was just you who wanted to think he actually didn’t want you leaving?

Shocking to say, you actually didn’t want to. His family was extraordinaire and caring. The type where they wouldn’t blink just to save you from danger even if it would involve them bleeding to death.

Geralt’s family was one of a kind. Thus, you realize how much of a family you had back in earth. A family who let you work overseas to help them in their lives as you work your ass off so they could pay their bills. It’s not that you weren’t thankful that they’ve taken care of you when you were a kid and even paid for your college fees, but sometimes working abroad can be depressing when you have no one around.

No one to hold and share your sadness with.

“What if I…” Wish to stay? your thoughts were in a mess. You trailed off and anxiously bit the insides of your cheeks as Geralt waited for you to finish your sentence. Yet, you clicked your tongue and changed what you wanted to say instead, “—What if it hurts me? As much as how it did to Jaskier?”

Geralt’s shook his head, frowning as he does so, “I won’t let that happen, midget.”

The way he said it; soft and reassuring like he promised that this option you had involves no pain. Leading you into yearning for something that seemed to be unreachable and utterly fantastical for it to happen in reality. That is; if their world was really your reality.

Nevertheless, you could feel every sorts of emotions and feelings. It was frustrating you to the point of being unreasonable by wanting to stay.

Jaskier faintly smiled as the bard realized what you were already holding. This was it. The last time to have you around. He was indecisive about it despite of him not wanting to welcome you warmly on the first day since you were hunted by an Alghoul. However, it seems like the latter had a change of heart and actually began to appreciate your annoying, little presence. Definitely like a cute rat that he probably feeds when nobody is looking.

“Should I bid you a goodbye right now?” he solemnly muttered as he fidgeted with his fingers. An action he does when he was anxious or thinking about something. You gave him back a gloomy smile and felt your chest feel even more heavier than it ever did.

The princess had her nose scrunched to its extent. Eyebrows furrowed in total bewilderment as she was trying to understand what was happening behind her back. “Why do we need to say farewell? To whom?”

Jaskier mustered up the courage to tell her, expecting for another set of her tantrums because of the sudden decision that Geralt has made for you, “—To Y/N.”

With just two words, it was enough for the princess to squeak and protest, completely objecting at the plan ahead as she gave the witcher a furious glare. “What? Geralt!”

She’d hopped forward against the muddy ground, hissing as she does so while Jaskier tried to catch her but she was too quick for him to slide away from. Geralt heard her heavy marches, closing his eyes in fatigue and stress as he murmured, “I shouldn’t have brought you both with me,”

It took five seconds for Cirilla’s steam to blow like a train; throwing angered protests at the witcher that was bound to protect her till the day she dies, “How dare you not tell me this?! I demand for her not to leave!”

“Princess.” Geralt firmly stated, a sigh leaving his lips as he does so and continued, “She doesn’t belong here,”

“I don’t want her to leave!”

“She belongs to her rightful dimension,”

Cirilla gave out a frustrated huff of her breath, snobbishly crossing her arms before the witcher as she gave him a scowl, “Don’t act like I didn’t see you both together in your bed last night, hugging her to sleep!”

Jaskier blinked repeatedly at that; giving the witcher a double take and also making you narrow your eyes at them from what they were pointing out.

The princess knew. She knew what she saw when she wanted to check if you were already awake yet and saw Geralt sleeping like a baby. Beside you with an arm surrounding you close as his palms rested along the middle of your back; intentionally avoiding the wounds before it could even open up itself.

It was the first time she ever saw the witcher having to sleep like a deadbeat without waking up due to his heightened senses because she tried to peek. He was completely vulnerable and seemed like to be in deep slumber; cuddling another person in his arms like it was his comfort.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.” Geralt snarled, giving her the sharp eyes as and a tone that tells her to stop before he doesn’t talk to her for weeks end. He’d used her full name for the first time in forever and simply to say; Geralt was pissed.

Cirilla’s voice wavered, feeling her throat run dry and eyes seem to appear cloudy as she took in Geralt’s hostility towards the truth that has been said. He was always like this, pushing people away when he seemed to feel like they were finally having a connection; fearing for being attached and for what outcomes it may bring.

“You are certainly an idiot, Geralt.”

The witcher’s nose flared in discontent, her narks immediately went straight to his head as he wore a nasty scowl; letting the irritation straight out of his mouth as he starts spitting ire at everyone who seemed to make his life a little more difficult, “Are you done talking shit now?”

The princess went on with her glares, peering up at the witcher with a piercing glint of her eyes, “You never fail to disappoint me,”

“Thank you, Princess. I always do plan to disappoint people. Comes in becoming a witcher,” was the only sarcastic remark that the witcher managed to reply with a rough grouse and an obvious roll of his eyes.

In between their heated argument, Jaskier even had the guts to butt in like what he always do; his face sketched in opposition for the sudden decision at hand like Geralt wanted it done in haste, “Do you really need to go back? I mean, I’ve talked to Geralt about it last night! He’s just one stubborn witcher and trying to push you away because he’s scared of being attached! We can always keep your Djinnie-Djinn-Djinn and just use it when you feel like going home—”

The latter was harshly cut off by a gruff sputter of Geralt’s warning, “Bard.” his nose flared even more, “—Will you fucking shut up? Even just for a minute?”

You didn’t know what to do. Everyone was telling you not to do it yet, even your heart as well. It was crazy, to even choose between living in a dimension that was full of peril or a world where it keeps you depressed because something was hugely missing in your life back in earth.

There was someone intensely staring at your face and you knew it was the angered witcher, no doubt because he seemed like he wanted you away already, “Wish for what your heart desires, midget.” he lowly hissed and gave a nasty grimace to the two pair of people who was strongly ceasing the progression of you going home to where you belong.

Everybody didn’t dare to make any form of noise except for the Hirikka who was looking at you in curiosity; never knowing what was going on. Jaskier shook his head in disappointment at the witcher, giving him a look that was pure of dissatisfaction and it was the first time that the bard ever did. He was trying to make Geralt feel guilty for his decisions or whatsoever.

“Final words for us before you go, small rat?”

Your heart was downright heavy as you began to send off your final messages to the people who did nothing but be kind enough for letting you stay despite of not knowing who you are. You gave Cirilla a look full of warmth, faintly smiling back at the princess who was now sobbing because the only person whom she felt a different type of connection was now leaving. The idea of not being able to see you again because you didn’t belong to their world was giving her distraught as you were the only person she connected with that involved with a woman’s touch.

“To Cirilla,” you choked in your own words, feeling the hesitance in your throat as you evidently swallowed. “—Hey, don’t cry. You’re going to be the strongest and bravest woman I can ever know. With a witcher by your side, he’ll mold you into becoming a better person as well,”

Your voice was faltering like a thin sheet of paper. Silently, the witcher stared; feeling the heat of his gaze grazing on the side of your face as you continued to bid your goodbyes.

“Jaskier,” an acknowledge that made the bard scoff with a forced grin, trying to make the situation lighter for everyone, “I know you’re utterly enamoured by my singing, small rat. Now is the perfect time for your confession!”

You managed to roll your eyes a him, “Keep annoying everyone. I hope Kolby bites you in your sleep,”

“I shall die a brokenhearted man!”

Last but not the least, a message for the witcher who has always been saving you like a knight in shining armor. An expected knight in your fantasies.

Never even expecting to like him in a way that you wondered how it would be like to be his lover. Nonetheless, the thought was a blur because he wasn’t just a mere human. He was a mutated one and a person who takes his job very seriously as a monster-slayer.

Maybe being his other half would be pretty much an adventure.

“Geralt,” you turned your heel to face him, considering the distance that he was an arm away from you. He’d given you an apathetic gaze, masking in whatever he was feeling right now as you couldn’t see right through him as of the moment, “—I’ve seen this in the movies too much and I understand why you’re handling everything in silence,”

He was just that type of person. You knew because there has been lots of people you’ve encountered who had his type of personality and you understood his character completely.

Hence, the type of person he was needed care because they weren’t used to people caring for them. He needed the conciliatory affection because he craves for it even though he hardly says he don’t; and even when he does receives it, the brightest way to do it is to push that person away because he knew he didn’t deserve the tender care.

“You’re no monster for me,” you genuinely spoke with all your heart. Geralt’s stoic expression seeming to waver as you’ve given him a look of appreciation for everything he did for you, “—You’ll never be because I know you have a good heart,”

He gazed at you even longer than he should, eyebrows in a pained twist that created a frown etched on his face. What were you even saying? Your mind was literally a ball of yarn right now as you stand in front of him; thoughts flying elsewhere as you started to panic because you wanted something off your chest before you go. Permanently.

Therefore, your mind thought it was the right moment to confess such feelings that you knew it wouldn’t ever be said once you go back, you snapped your head away as you cringed for your stupidity, “—andthatIlikeyoubutnobodyneedstoknowthatbecauseIneverconfessedtoanymanever! Like really really like you. My heart is just–just pounding like a drum whenever you’re around—”

It was fast. A mere whisper of your heart being a YOLO little bitch by speaking out your feelings like a crazed woman offering some type of sacrifice as you were citing spells to your own; that type of fast talking that won’t get any normal person to understand the heck you wanted to comprehend.

You were idiotic enough to forget that he wasn’t any type of normal.

Geralt’s hum seem to stop your panicking mental state. His hum sounded perplexed and utterly…amused.

You swallowed the nervous jitters down your throat before opening an eye to see him cocking his head to the side, judging your embarrassed self and probably judging you from even confessing despite knowing it would be a one-sided affection from the witcher.

“Midget.” you’ve heard your conscience speaking to you, his tone somewhat quieter but still in that gruff voice of his that made your insides tingle. Your eyes was squinted shut as you looked away, avoiding his stares and went on with your audible monologue, “Oh my God, I should’ve wished first before confessing like a lovestruck high school girl,”

Geralt couldn’t help but subtly clear his throat. You always never fail to amaze him in terms of your panicking, clumsy gestures. He raised a surprised brow, thoroughly understanding what has happened prior to your rants.

“Midget.”

“You didn’t hear anything!” you squealed and held onto the handle of the Djinn, furiously tapping it with your index finger in sheer embarrassment for the failed confession. The witcher clicked his tongue, shifting on his own burly weight and keeping his teeth together as he tried to think of an answer to your sudden confession.

“Hmm.”

“What do you mean hmm? IT WAS JUST A WHISPER!?”

Jaskier had his forehead furrowed in utter curiosity, just hearing the soft mumbles and your yelping kept his curiosity at bay. Yet, he’d heard you screaming, “Small rat, don’t you know that witchers have heightened senses and he understood you a lot? Probably even hear your heart pounding fast every time you’re—”

You’ve snapped your eyes open, realizing you were covering your face away from the witcher who was faintly smirking down at you with an unfathomable twinkle in his eyes that weirded you out. However, Jaskier’s words seeming to whack you in the head for being stupid and not asking more for what the witcher’s abilities consists of.

“Wait, what? He can even hear my—I SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID THAT!” His super hearing caught you off-guard. You didn’t expect that he had that kind of skill because all you knew was that he was strong and exceptionally good at using his swords.

Well, the news definitely shocked you to the core. You were mouthing words at Jaskier as the bard narrowed his eyes back, not understanding a thing from your silent mouthing of words as you wanted the ground to eat you alive. “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME, THEN?!”

Your hostile reactions was surely bewildering the bard, “Why? What did you tell him, Y/N?”

“Midget.”

You’ve heard Geralt’s stern baritone pitch of his, thus igniting a fast shake of your head as you could feel the heat travelling up in your face like a jet plane, ignoring the witcher who stood tall before you, “NOTHING, Jaskier! I’m so stupid!”

“Your reaction doesn’t mean nothing…”

The discomfort was making you deal with a lot of things. Rejection, anxiety and being a butter finger. Your eyes caught the Djinn wrapped around your fingers as you tried to cover your face from the witcher. So, you’ve did the inevitable and ungracefully held onto the seal before giving Geralt a once over.

Hence, you didn’t know what he was thinking when he suddenly ceased your wrists from doing so.

His bright amber eyes looked at you in warning, meeting yours in a reluctant shadow of his emotions when you’ve held onto the seal looking like he had a change of heart and didn’t want it to happen.

Maybe, it wasn’t too bad to let you stay for a little more while. Just a week or maybe more. His consciousness spoke at the back of his Ivory head. He wanted to make sure of something; if it was really destiny trying to play with his emotions for whatever bullcrap he was feeling when he’d heard your confession.

“Midget!” roughly scolded Geralt as he’d realized you already had opened the seal before he even stopped you. Jaskier had Cirilla and Kolby behind a far end tree as they watched you both struggle from trying to open the Djinn prior to your confession.

Both of you held onto the seal. Eyes locked onto each other; his in utmost dismay and worry as the pitcher was ajar from the seal, currently unimpeded from its body. Then, there was a strong ripple of the brisk wind clawing down your feet, crawling up the curves of your bodice in a way that could frighten you because it was not any normal.

The whistle of the wind came in with hushed voices that you couldn’t understand nor recognized. An invisible phantom of cold fingers reaching your head like it wanted to crush your skull as the voices whispered louder; like a spell that you couldn’t comprehend.

Your knees were giving up from the pain it wanted to bestow. Those eyelids of yours fluttering shut as the spirit was trying to suck on the energy you only had. But, you didn’t flop on the ground as you could feel tangible warmth surrounding your body; not letting you fall nor letting go.

The cluster of wind became stronger. You’ve heard him yell back, keeping you as close as he can and felt strong, calloused fingers grab onto the side of your face; shaking you awake as he kept you standing still, “Make your wish!” he loudly demanded amongst the rustle of everything.

The pitcher loosely lost its touch from you as it fell to the ground. A wish. You needed to make wishes. Your eyes drooped, blinking in a daze as your vision caught the only thing in your fore sight.

A medallion. His medallion. A witcher’s medallion that was currently vibrating on his chest like something alarming was happening or was nearby.

“I-I wish…” you whispered more so to yourself, hearing the witcher groan out loud as he tried hard to keep you still. The force trying to keep you both apart but Geralt wasn’t backing down nor did he plan on letting go.

Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby had their palms over their ears from the harsh wind encircling them. Keeping still behind the huge Oak tree. Then, the winds abruptly ceased as they were crouched behind for cover.

You were unconscious for one second; your whole weight given to the witcher as he had an arm on the small of your back, your face tightly smothered on his hairy chest that you awfully find endearing and pleasing. You’ve inhaled a long breath like you weren’t given oxygen, batting your eyelashes up at the witcher who was supporting all your weight with his strength.

A listless look for the witcher was all it took for him to narrow his eyes back at you, checking for any signs that you weren’t you. Though, none. You were okay and…you were still there with them.

The bard peeked his head out, checking what happened when he seen you with complete limbs and being hugged by the witcher himself. Jaskier shrugged to whatever the hell happened and hollered, “Well, that was pretty much an anticlimax for the second time.”

Gently, the witcher pulled you away from him. His strong fingers clasped upon your shoulders as he eyed you very seriously. The sudden shift of the wind keeping him uneasy as he didn’t trusted the harmless process of having your wishes. “What did you wish for, Midget?”

You shook your head from the delicate pain in your head; sighing as you wearily told him, trying to give him a smile that appeared thoroughly forced because you kept on wincing and holding onto your temples, “Don’t wishes shouldn’t be told? Because it never comes true when it does? Especially when you wish upon the stars? I’m not telling it—”

Your words were cut short by a shrilling scream that made Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby jumped from behind their tree; hastily striding to where you were. “Stay back!” the latter ceased them from coming any closer as you fell on the ground, back flat and your back arched in a horrifying way.

The veins in your throat was throbbing as you felt pain in the valley of your breast. A part that was scorching hot like you were being burnt alive. You painfully whimpered as your body felt fluid, desperately grasping onto your chest to relieve the pain or try to take off whatever causes it but there was none.

You yelped another loud scream; feeling it boring holes inside your body and in your heart. Geralt hurriedly knelt in panic, the panic suddenly crashing him like a freight train as his face was stern in confusion. He’d held onto the side if your neck, his thumb stroking your jaw which got you hissing as the pain incredibly added another; like a gas to the flames as you’ve moaned from the intolerable pain.

“Cáerme,” You’ve suddenly hushed, hearing the unfamiliar voices violently ruining your peace; making everything hurt as you whispered it out loud.

The witcher couldn’t help but stare you down in ponder and utter worry. He heard you. A word that sounded familiar but he didn’t quite understand as it only took a person who was an expertise in it that could interpret the words you started to say.

“Saov,” Geralt’s breath hitched, golden eyes agape and his expression in thorough shock as he tried shaking your body to wake you up from whatever is trying to possess you.

It was like fighting for something you could never see.

“Y/N!”

Amber eyes. Chalky white hair. A distinguishable face was the only image in your head as you could hear Geralt’s angered voice screaming ‘no!’ in the background; a blurry image sketched inside your head as he was fighting knights and unfamiliar people surrounding his family who came with him.

Including you.

With Jaskier and Cirilla who had blood staining their clothes as the night swallows her loud cries.

“Raenn,”

Despite of the witcher’s warning, the bard scooted off to where you were; dragging Cirilla with him as Kolby trailed like a pup. Howling at the same time as you screamed once more, “Geralt, what’s happening?!”

You’ve suddenly snapped your eyes opened as you threw your head back, the color of your eyes giving Jaskier a fright as he also knelt before you, his eyes bulging out of his eye sockets as he saw black. Raven black.

“Certainly not the small rat!” the bard shrieked before pulling away from peering down at you, falling onto his back as he gave Geralt a once over.

His brawny physique was crouched beside you, his wild, disheveled hair framing his face as he loudly groaned out loud like he was also in deep pain, seeming to hold onto his chest like he was having a toxic heart attack.

“Aep.”

Your words. It was used for magic and spells. Next thing Geralt knows is that he was suddenly pushed off the ground, his back hitting the ground with a loud thud as he felt phantom fingers keeping him steady and still. He harshly breathed through his nose, struggling with the force that was keeping him down.

Though, to no use; he couldn’t. It was some sort of potent spirit.

“Yn.”

Every word you say was filling vile inside his chest. It hurt as much as you did. But, he could withstand the pain more than you do as he was roughly growling beneath his chest.

“Geralt?!” Jaskier and Cirilla yelled out in chorus when they’ve seen him get hauled back by some unforeseen creature. Their focal point on Geralt that they didn’t notice you hurriedly crawling towards the witcher like a possessed woman.

You sat on his shredded, prominent torso once you’ve reached the witcher, tilting your head to the side as your eyes were completely pitch black. His eyelids fell shut once he was dragged down; Geralt was unconscious. You’ve held a palm in front of his face before uttering one last speech that certainly didn’t come from yourself. It was a bedevilled version of you that had no control over your system.

“Vatt'ghern.”

With that, you’ve leaned down very closely to his face. Warm breath hitting his face as you were tilting your head like a single strand of string can only be passed onto both of your lips together. The witcher sighed as he does so, face in a peaceful state as an unpredictable line of dark smoke escaped your lips, streaming down his ajar lips of the witcher who was down and unconscious.

Jaskier and Cirilla couldn’t move. They were dumbstruck at the scene that unfolded before them. All of your energy was taken from you as the possession has started and so, you’ve dropped dead on the ground. Closely beside Geralt as a blurry vision of you dropping on the rocky ground in the night sky ended your consciousness.

It was a blurry image that had you seeing Geralt run over for you, his face covered in grime and blood as he appeared to be on the verge of crying.

As your head fell on the ground with a soft thud; without warning, the witcher snapped his eyes open. Thick, robust fingers grasping onto his medallion that laid on his sturdy, bewhiskered chest. His eyelids drooping in total weary as he remembered a short event that concluded when he’d shortly fallen off in unconsciousness; giving him a dream as to why you were bound to him; destined to be with him forever.

The witcher saw a future with you. It wasn’t just any ordinary dream that he had because this time; he was euphoric in it. Utterly happy and smiling with you in the picture.

Destiny really never fails to fuck him hard for the second damn time.

YES. THIS IS ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAVE CHAPTERS THAT I’VE WRITTEN. Guess what midget wished for? 

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister​​ @vania-marie​​ @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​ @nympeth​ @amirahiddleston​ @gabethelobster​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​ @uncoolcloudyhead​ @melaninstylezz​ @psychosupernatural​ @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​​​ @marvelousell​​​​ @kingniazx​​​​ @angelias134​​​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007

[seeminglyseph]

Guess who can't fucking sleep again I took an ambien tomorrow is fucked but soon. Yes soon sleep will be mine.

(This sentence explains more than I thought it did, let's study it as things go further I can't figure out the cut right now I'll edit later but I wanna see what I sleep rite

Also like... the way y'all talk about my art makes me wanna hunt down my old art school teachers like "is it good enough now????? Now do I have the skill to go pro???? Oh god just give me more than one full grade pieces please???"

Like I do need to admit to myself that I was hampered by the physical medium and lacking in skills. But I fixed it myself years later, with the help of a dude online who just liked my work and started giving me really good advice. So I can be taught. But not by them...

And not with like two tons of muscle relaxers and a regularly dislocated leg, fuck I wasn't uses to pain pills yet... god my body was so wrecked by art school. I know all colleges are intense but art school was like "get used to working 60 hours a week minimum. You have to barter for every scent your art should be worth. We're not going to discuss at all how the art world changes, we assume you are joining Video Game Studio."

It didn't always look crap but it took me 6 months to feel comfortable drawing again after I dropped out officially. I was just as I recovered from a similar illness to now and I think the exact point of me getting me/cfs so I really didn't under stand why I couldn't physically handle a workload I was barely handling the first time... anyway they went bankrupt so who knows... at least I don't gotta warn people "expect to be paid pennies for ages of work, and putting in insane hours to keep up with penny jobs to keep getting through"

Artists have glorified suffering to the point where corporations think we can be paid in it.

Anyway. I dunno. You guys are so kind and considerate and motivating. You always seem to have the best things to say. I was doing 'typical OC artist' thing. And I just got used to not much attention being paid. Which is unfortunately normal. But arcana everyone has OCs we love and get excited when other people love. I feel like Muriel staring in bewildered confusion as people take interest in my fantasy world building post. I might try introducing a couple non arcana OCs just for flavour to see if I can still remember how.

I need to fix my old shitty designs... ir draw them with better anatomy. A person could get addicted to babbling about OCs and world building.

I feel like it's been a year since I drew my cat boy and that's sad... I should take a break and draw some of them as warmup. Though now everyone will know my trope habits. My phone wanted to make that habbit and... I have a memory device that a habit is not a hobbit. And samwise and frodo's two hobbits. So habit has one b.

For the record my memory is shit and I learned spelling with phonics okay it sucks.

[cinnaminsvga]

💋 | tlhc!yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ tlhc!yoongi ft. jungkook | 3.5K words → a/n: this was written after an anon sent me a REALLY angsty idea for tlhc and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since. also, this takes place after namjin’s wedding but before yoongi and y/n get together (in this drabble, they’re “dating” but i say that loosely because... well. they’re fucking yoongi and y/n so OFC they’re stupidly, emotionally constipated). anyway... here’s This!! rip!!

Yoongi knows he’s being childish when he leaves your shared apartment with a large pout on his face. He knows that if he just tried a little harder, he could’ve convinced you to let him stay at home instead of going to some godforsaken bachelor party. He hasn’t been to a party involving body shots and strippers since he graduated from university, and he isn’t exactly keen on returning to that particular scene either. He has always been a more wine and dine type of guy, and everyone is aware of this.

It’s a well-known fact amongst his circle of friends that Min Yoongi isn’t keen on attending most types of social gatherings. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, casual get-togethers… It didn’t matter what the occasion is because Yoongi is certainly going to hate every second of it. It didn’t even matter if the party was being hosted by a long-time friend; after all, sitting in a room filled with half-strangers and estranged friends isn’t exactly what Yoongi would consider a “fun time.”

It doesn’t stop people from inviting him out of courtesy, though.

Most of the time, Yoongi is able to grit through the pain of human interaction as long as you tagged along with him. You’re kind of like Yoongi’s walking meat shield when it comes to parties, though you aren’t exactly fond of his analogy when he had explained himself to you. Nevertheless, you always did understand him better than anyone else, always being his savior from awkward small talk by redirecting the conversation away from him. Or, you would quietly tug him outside to the backyard so that the two of you could pet the party owner’s dog or something.

Truly, what would he have done without you?

“I still don’t understand why you expect me to go to this party alone. You’re practically feeding me to the sharks,” Yoongi whines, not at all immaturely. He can hear your exasperated sigh through his phone speakers, though he imagines that you hadn’t been aiming to conceal your ire in the first place.

“Yoonie, it’s Jungkook’s bachelor party. You heard what that dweeb said: ‘No girls allowed’ or some shit. Like some sort of toddler. I’m surprised he even asked you to attend.”

“Are you implying that I should be barred entry because of my feminine hips?” Yoongi asks, hopeful. “Cause honestly, I was only kinda offended when Jungkook said I had twink-sized proportions, so I mean…”

You scoff, though Yoongi can imagine you shaking your head with tired fondness. AKA, your default mood towards him on most days. Yoongi doubts that fondness is going to help him convince you to let him get the fuck out of this party, though. “Save it. You’re going to that party or else.”

Yoongi sniffs, offended. “Honestly, you should be the one going instead of me. I’m not as close to that pussyboi as you are.”

“Hey, only I’m allowed to call him that,” you chide. “Besides, you already left the house. I don’t understand why you’re calling me in the first place. It’s almost 8PM and you should be at the restaurant by now.”

It’s true. Yoongi is literally already in front of the restaurant where they all agreed to meet before heading out to the “main event,” or whatever the hell that means. It could only end badly; after all, Park Jimin had been the one to organize this shitshow of a bachelor party. Things will not go in Yoongi’s favor tonight if Jimin can help it.

“I’m only here because you threatened to disfigure Kobe Bryant-sunbaenim! That bobblehead is limited edition!” Yoongi has the strongest urge to stomp his feet, though he restrains himself only so that the hostess by the entrance of the restaurant won’t call the manager on him (again.) He is nearing his 30’s for fuck’s sake! Then again, Seokjin is a year older than him and if Yoongi’s future is anything like his, he shudders to think what might become of him.

“Yoonie,” you say, voice steely and quiet. Uh oh. You’re getting genuinely angry by now, and Yoongi knows he’s pushing your buttons to their limits. However, he wouldn’t be doing it otherwise if he really didn’t want to go to this party. He hates disappointing you, but nothing on this planet could ever make him want to go through those mahogany doors and face that bucktoothed loser with stars in his googly eyes.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I know, I know. I’m being childish. It’s just a party and I should just endure it. Although, I’m not promising that I’ll even try to pretend that I’m enjoying it. That’s beyond my paygrade, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says, picking his hangnails as he gazes at the entrance of the restaurant. The hostess’ left eyebrow twitches slightly, a forced customer service smile on her lips. Yoongi feels a sudden sense of strong camaraderie with this stranger.

“I was just gonna say that if you really can’t stand the party, then I’m allowing you an out. If you can stay there for at least two hours, then you can leave once you’ve––“

You hardly get to finish your sentence when Yoongi cuts you off, a strangled sob of relief escaping his throat. “Oh, thank you, my goddess! You are truly the apple of my eye; I shalt never speak ill of you no longer! You are heaven incarnate, my fair and beautiful mistress, the sun who has chased away the darkness––“

“Shut the fuck up, court jester,” you say, endearment dripping like honey off of your words. But Yoongi is already smiling ear to ear, hopelessly warm for some reason. If Hoseok had been around, he would have gagged at the sight of the two of you.

We’re so whipped, Yoongi thinks idly to himself.

“Now go say hello to Jungkook for me, will you? And please, if either he or Jimin do anything stupid or illegal, try to hold them back a little, okay?”

“Nope, I don’t think so,” Yoongi says, before promptly hanging up. Before he pockets his phone, he texts a short “ily” just in case he actually might have pissed you off. Either way, that will be a problem for future Yoongi to figure out.

Just as he ended the calls, a muffled crash and what sounds like a hyena being forced down a trash compactor from inside the restaurant echoes ominously through the open streets. Yoongi and the hostess hardly flinch at the cacophany, both of them staring glassily at the smoggy South Korean sky with quiet acquiescence.

“Fuck me,” Yoongi says. “Fuck me, indeed.”

*.*.*.*.*

The party is as terrible as Yoongi had imagined. Scratch that––Yoongi doesn’t think his imagination is capable of conjuring such a nightmarish scene. He’s pretty sure at least 99% of the inhabitants of this strip club were doing something slightly to moderately illegal. Case in point:

“Jeon Jungkook, I don’t think you should be doing that,” Yoongi yells over the discordant noise that the DJ is trying to pass off as “music.” Jungkook pauses in his ministrations to turn to face Yoongi, which is a feat in itself, as it appears that Jungkook’s eyes were facing opposite directions. Yoongi chooses to maintain eye contact with his left one.

“Whaaa? Why not, coconut?” Jungkook giggles at his little rhyme at the end, but his laughter sounds garbled, probably hindered by the amount of saliva pooling inside his mouth.

Yoongi points at his hands. “Jungkook. I’m pretty sure that is not salt that you are pouring over your fries.”

It takes a few moments for Jungkook to register anything that Yoongi had said. In fact, Yoongi doesn’t think he registers them at all; Yoongi has to forcefully take away the soiled plate of “mystery powder fries” away from him before Jungkook even realizes anything is going on.

“Heeeey, getchur own food, boomer!” Jungkook whines, making grabby hands at the plate before flopping pathetically onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi, ever the gentleman, pushes the younger off until he tumbles off the side of the booth and into a mysterious puddle spilled by one of the scantily clad “mechanics.” Jungkook, to his credit, gets up back onto his seat with some semblance of grace (which is to say, he managed to get his ass onto the couch without any additional injury.)

“I can’t believe I’m literally at a glorified children’s party. And I thought babysitting Namjoon’s little demon was bad enough,” Yoongi groans, grimacing in disgust at the mystery liquid from the floor oozes gently down the side of Jungkook’s face. “Dude. Wipe your fucking face.”

Jungkook, known laundry-fanatic and clean freak extraordinaire, promptly takes off his pristine white shirt and uses it to dab his face away. After which, he throws it somewhere behind him, right into a circle of twinks who proceed to fight over who gets to keep it. “Better,” he mutters, same dopey smile on his face.

“Just 1 hour, 18 minutes and 34 seconds left, Yoongi… I can do this,” Yoongi says through clenched teeth. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, tries to remember what his therapist told him to do when he’s slowly losing his grip on reality. Then, Jungkook throws up all over his new leather shoes.

“Hyung,” Jungkook mutters sleepily, head lolling like he’s about to drop dead in a second. He grins dopily at Yoongi, a string of saliva dripping down the side of his cheek. “I think I’m sick.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” And so, like the kind person that he is, he drags Jungkook by the armpits, dodging sweaty strippers and drunken guests alike as he tows the younger to the nearby restroom. Yoongi contemplates bringing Jungkook to Jimin to take care of him instead, but that idea is completely dashed the moment he sees the latter drinking shots as if it were water. The risk of having two people vomit on his shoes in one night would have been extremely high, and Yoongi isn’t an idiot. So he takes the idiot draped across his back to the toilet himself.

The restroom is empty when they arrive. When Yoongi slams the door shut, it becomes shockingly quiet as the noise from outside gets dulled to a soft throb. Yoongi immediately dumps Jungkook against one of the chipped porcelain sinks, grimacing slightly when the younger causes the sink to groan precariously from his weight.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook warbles. The sweat on his brow has made his bangs stick to his forehead in strange patterns, and Yoongi imagines he could rearrange his hair to spell out “SHITHEAD” if he so desired.

“What.” Yoongi grabs a handful of paper towels and proceeds to try (and fail) to clean the carnage on his shoes. Meanwhile, Jungkook just stands there quietly, spit long since dried on his face, adding to the sheen already there. The quietness of the restroom is both jarring and awkward compared to the insanity just behind the door, and Yoongi finds himself preferring to look at his black-turned-brown shoes instead of the boy standing just to his right.

“I think I overdid it,” Jungkook admits after a while. Yoongi chances a glance upwards before looking back down at the floor, uncomfortable when he sees the surprisingly sober face of a man who had just finished drinking ten tequila shots. 

“You think?” Yoongi snorts, rolling his eyes. He inches forward towards the sink, gently nudging Jungkook out of the way to wash his hands. Jungkook has still yet made a move towards the faucet himself, but Yoongi isn’t about to offer to clean him up either. He’s already a Samaritan for bringing him to the restroom; he’s used up all his empathy points for today.

“Y/N and Tae always say that I have severely low impulse control.”

True to form, Yoongi’s traitorous ears perk up at the mention of your name, and he finally makes full eye contact with Jungkook through the mirror. “It took two people and ten tequila shots to figure it out? Geez. No wonder you almost didn’t graduate kindergarten.”

“Hey, I told you that in confidence,” Jungkook pouts.

“Not my problem,” Yoongi retorts, indifferent. Yoongi stares at him for a moment. “Jesus. You look like a fucking mess. You sure you’re getting married next week?”

“I’m pretty sure, unless Taehyung changes his mind,” Jungkook shrugs. Well, that was certainly not quite the answer Yoongi was expecting. Yoongi must not have been quick enough to hide his surprise because Jungkook laughs coldly, the sound mirthless and paper-thin––not at all like the ridiculously mirthful manchild he’s always known him to be.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?” Yoongi had meant to say it like a joke, but his harsh tone doesn’t escape his own ears. God, he wishes he was better at this, but sue him for lacking practice at consoling other human beings.

Luckily, Jungkook takes it in stride, shrugging his shoulders. “Not really. More like… I’m in disbelief? That he’d actually… after all this time…”

Yoongi doesn’t reply at first. For as long as Yoongi has known him, the elder has never quite connected with Jungkook, for whatever reason. Hearing him speak so candidly about his feelings like this is new territory for Yoongi, and it’s strangely making him nervous. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as he is faced with a side of Jungkook that Yoongi didn’t think he was capable of having. Sure, you’ve told him vaguely about the problems that Jungkook has asked advice about, but never has Yoongi ever thought that he’d be doing the same. The two of them just weren’t… like that.

“I’m sure Taehyung likes––no, loves you. A lot. Anyone with eyes can see that he absolutely adores you,” Yoongi says after a while, coughing awkwardly into his fist. God, he sucks at this. Where are you when he needs you? You always knew what to say in moments like this.

Jungkook laughs again, and it’s just as discordant as the first. He shakes his head, empty smile on his lips. “It’s not that. I don’t doubt him in the slightest. It’s more like… I’m doubting myself.”

Now that catches Yoongi’s attention. Self-doubt, loneliness, fear: if Yoongi had to be an expert on anything, it would be for those three. He… he gets it. “Jungkook, if this is about feeling like you don’t deserve him, then you’re dead wrong. You’re allowed to be loved, Jungkook. Believe me, I know more than anyone what denial feels like. The two of you aren’t going to crash and burn, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Jungkook smiles wryly at that. “Thanks. But it’s not… it’s not that.” Jungkook pauses, and it looks like the words get caught in his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it. Grimaces like he’s swallowed something bitter. He takes a deep breath, looking as uncomfortable as Yoongi feels. “Yoongi-hyung, I have a confession to make.”

Now Yoongi’s confused. “What?”

“I haven’t been… candid. With you. About…” Jungkook takes another shaky breath. “About me and Y/N.”

Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He feels the sweat start to form across his palms, and he clenches them into fists to stop them from shaking. He can almost sense the disaster before it even hits, feels the floor swimming underneath his feet, waiting to devour him whole.

“What?” Yoongi repeats.

“I’ve been thinking about it, recently. It’s been years since I last even remembered it, but then it started plaguing my dreams, and it’s… It’s ruining me. I need––I need to come clean or else I might die with regret,” Jungkook says. Yoongi still doesn’t understand what he means; Jungkook is just saying words without saying anything at all, and it’s making the wait even more terrible.

“Kook, just spit it out already.”

“Hyung, I beg of you. Please don’t think badly of me but…” Jungkook slumps to the floor just then, both the sink and his legs unable to keep him up any longer. Against his will, Yoongi tumbles with him, compelled to follow him down.

“What? What? What?”

“I kissed her,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low. Whispered like a secret. Because it is a secret, even though it isn’t any longer. Not when the words have crawled out his mouth and into Yoongi’s ears, making its way to his brain where it refuses to be understood, to be processed.

“What?” Yoongi can’t seem to remember how to breathe, much less how to speak. He can’t say anything else except, “What?”

“N-not recently. A long time ago,” Jungkook hurries, fear crossing his face when he realizes how he must have sounded. “I would never cheat on––Y/N would never cheat on you––“

His words do nothing to quell the thunderous beating in Yoongi’s chest. He can only stare as the younger jumbles over his words, fat tears starting to dribble out of his eyes like waterfalls. Why is he crying? This is so wrong.

“We––when you broke her heart, all those years ago. Before she ran away to Daegu––“

Yoongi remembers. Of course he does. He doesn’t think he can ever forget.

“––she was so so sad, and it fucking hurt. It hurt seeing her like that, you know? I… I hated you for it. So much, hyung,” Jungkook sobs, hiding behind his hands. He wipes at his face, smearing his sweat, tears, and vomit with shaky movements. “And then she kissed me but it was a mistake because she was heartbroken and she just wanted to feel––to feel something? I don’t know… And then I pushed her away––“

“You pushed her away?” Yoongi interrupts, uncharacteristically calm. He thinks like he should be screaming, maybe. Or feel jealous, even. But then again, this had happened years ago, when you and he hadn’t even been… anything, at the time. Hell, he has no right to be hurt by this. He shouldn’t even be allowed to resent Jungkook for it. Shouldn’t have to feel like he won’t be able to forgive Jungkook. So then why is he..?

Jungkook nods. “I-I did, but that’s not… the whole thing. For a while, I thought that maybe…” He curls into himself, bowing his head in shame. Yoongi doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what he was about to say.

“You used to love her, didn’t you?”  

Jungkook nods again, ashamed. Disgusted with himself. “Pathetic, right?” 

But the thing is, Yoongi already knew this. You’ve told him about Jungkook’s misplaced affections for you; it had happened during a stressful time for the both of you, and you had assured Jungkook that his feelings were just a figment of his imagination. You believed that Jungkook had just been lonely, desperate for someone to cling onto especially after all that drama between Taehyung and Hoseok at the time.

“She kept telling me that I wasn’t in love with her. And for a while, I believed her. But then, when she was about to leave for America, we… we kissed again. Just to… I wanted to make sure,” Jungkook slams his fist onto the dirty restroom floor, clawing at the tiles like an animal in pain. It’s getting harder for Yoongi to understand Jungkook through his sobs, but he is afraid of even moving lest Jungkook stops speaking. It’s like watching a car crash––no matter how much Yoongi is afraid, he can’t look away.

“When we kissed the second time... She laughed. I laughed. ‘No spark,’ was what she said. I agreed because I had no other choice but to,” Jungkook admits. He exhales like his chest has been ripped open, like he’s drowning. Yoongi feels the same way.

“It would be unfair if I said anything. To her, to you, to Taehyung… but most of all, to myself. Because it would never work. It’s not… I’m not...” Jungkook coughs, trailing off. He hacks his lungs out, forehead banging against his knees from the force. He heaves for air once, twice. Then, silence.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi whispers, momentarily stunned. When the younger doesn’t reply, he nudges his shoulder. No movement. Yoongi tilts his head upwards, only to find Jungkook���s eyelids already closed and breathing steadily through his nose. The bastard had finally passed out.

“Jesus,” Yoongi sighs, letting go of the younger and letting him crumple to the floor. Yoongi contemplates passing out as well. “Jesus,” Yoongi repeats.

He sits there in silence for a while, accompanied only by his thoughts and the muffled sounds of the party outside. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, only thinks to leave the restroom when a young couple (Jungkook’s college friends) burst in while making out, both incognizant of the odd pair slumped on the floor.

Yoongi leaves Jungkook there, but not before sending a short text to Jimin to go check on Jungkook, and sending another one to Taehyung for good measure. Yoongi rushes out of the club without looking back, feeling slightly more empty than he had before the night started.

You don’t comment when Yoongi comes back home earlier than expected. You don’t even scold him for breaking his side in the agreement. Wrapped up in blankets in front of the TV, you wordlessly open up your cocoon to let him slither in beside you, allowing him to wrap his cold feet against your legs. You don’t even complain when he falls asleep without another word, just gently caressing his hair as he descends into fitful dreams. He doesn’t bring up the party the next day, and neither do you.

The following week, the two of you attend Taehyung and Jungkook’s wedding.

[bodytothefifthpower]

Would you be able to go into the katya stuff if you dont mind ?? Im not sure if its being released after this so im just curious what exactly happened

Okay so clearly after all of the speculation and hostility in the fandom recently, some people are interested to learn how exactly Trixie Mattel: Moving Parts portrays Katya. I was at the premiere at Tribeca, and I’m happy to give you a brief overview of what was shown and my opinions on it.

FROM THIS POINT ON THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR TRIXIE MATTEL: MOVING PARTS! SCROLL PAST NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT ANY SPOILERS!

So while this is a film about Brian Firkus, the lynchpin of the whole film (the underpinning that holds the story together) is really Trixie & Katya’s relationship. Which is perfectly reasonable! They are a huge part of each other’s lives, and they just happened to be filming this documentary while all of Katya’s health issues were going on. To completely strike what happened from the record would, frankly, probably mean they couldn’t use a lot of the footage they had- to the point where I really think it could’ve scrapped whole chunks of the movie.

One of the first things they show in the film is Katya gifting Trixie with dolls that look like the two of them; it really portrays their friendship in a lovely light. Trixie also talks about how much she loves Katya and loves working with her, and about how everyone got to see their friendship develop over the course of filming UNHhhh. For those of us who know what’s coming, this obviously produces a lot of anxiety. But I have to tell you: that is just good filmmaking. To create a level of suspense like that is almost Greek Tragedy-eqsue with its dramatic irony.

The next part I’m going to talk about is one of the parts everyone is worried about: Katya’s last day on set at the Trixie & Katya Show. You can tell she’s unwell; she has a very short temper and very little patience for anything happening around her. But she also says “What I need is to quit, but she [Trixie] is my friend and I won’t do that to her.” Even though Katya is clearly unwell, the perspective of the film also paints her as sympathetic. Trixie’s reactions to what’s happening really does indicate that Katya is not in her right mind, and it’s not her fault. Obviously it hurt Trixie, for multiple reasons: one of her best friends is unwell, it seems like an important relationship in her life- and we learn that she doesn’t have a lot of them- is unraveling, and in addition to that, what’s happening could potentially permanently damage her career. The fact that she handles all of those issues with such humility and grace, while still trying to be understanding towards and a good friend to Katya really, REALLY speaks to her character.

The part that is most unflattering to Katya are the text messages she sends to Trixie after the premiere of All Stars 3. She says some incredibly nasty things about Trixie. She is downright mean. For those of us who know Katya though, that is just a clear indicator of how sick she was. I think we all know Katya in her right mind would not send someone- let alone one of her best friends- messages like that. But yeah, I can see how someone might feel hostile towards Katya after seeing what she did. But again, this is a thing that happened. It’s not made up for the sake of the film, and it’s not anyone slandering Katya’s name; it’s a real thing that really happened, and the only difference is that now you know about it. And again, I would like to remind everyone that this is a film about Trixie, not about Katya. So while you do walk away from the scene feeling sad for Katya (because obviously no one wants her to be unravelling like that), you mainly feel bad for Trixie. She clearly doesn’t deserve any of the ire Katya is throwing at her, as we’ve seen her trying to be a good friend. And that is what is expected! This is a film about Trixie, you know? Of course she’s the protagonist!

Overall, through the whole arc of the film that focuses on the dissolution of Trixie & Katya’s friendship the theme is really that Trixie wishes Katya was better, because she misses her friend. That’s the take away. Not that Katya is evil or anything, but that Trixie misses her friend. So do I think the film portrays Katya in a negative light? No. I think it shows the things she did- and they were not good things by any means- but, 1. It doesn’t blame her for her mental illness or addiction, and 2. It isn’t focused on the things that Katya did, but the way that it affected Trixie.

By the end of the film, we see that Trixie and Katya are friends again. It shows them having some funny- and at times tender- interactions backstage at Trixie’s LA Moving Parts show. Katya mentions that she’s better now, and we wrap up the film with Trixie & Katya back together again, and ready to take on the world. In terms of the storyline, it does feel like there’s a bit missing, because it goes from Trixie & Katya not being friends- and the uncertainty in the air over that- to suddenly they’re friends again with no explanation. From a story standpoint, I wish they would’ve included something about how they started on the road to recovering their friendship, rather than just jumping to it recovered.

Personally, I think the reason some fans are so freaked out about the way Katya is portrayed in the film is because they hold her up as this beacon of perfection. She’s mentally ill, but she’s still so funny and personable. She’s an addict, but she doesn’t appear to struggle- or if she does, she turns it into comedy. I think she’s what a lot of people who view themselves as broken hope they can be. But she’s not perfect. She is capable of hurting people. She’s capable of making horrible decisions, and getting sick, and relapsing, and ruining friendships, and honestly that is just the reality of it. We’re all capable of things like that! But you don’t love Katya because she’s perfect, you love her because she’s real. So if you’re angry in the name of your love for her that her reality is being shown, it’s possible that you love the idea of Katya, and you love what she represents, but you might not love the man himself. Just some food for thought.

Can you imagine if Katya heard everyone freaking out about the film portraying her in a bad light? The kind of pressure that’d put on her, to feel like her fans will only like her or support her provided she doesn’t slip up? Certainly that is not conducive to being supportive of her. Personally, I think holding celebrities to a level of perfection is just unfair. I think we as a fandom need to accept that sometimes Katya may not be well, and sometimes she might make mistakes, and it’s okay to acknowledge the things that have happened, and to still continue to love her.

One thing I can tell you for certain is that Trixie is NOT exploiting or taking advantage of Katya. From a purely legal standpoint, the filmmakers would have had to get Katya’s written consent to have her in the film. Katya quite literally would have had to sign off on it. Additionally, Trixie said that Katya had already seen the film. Katya was already aware of what was going to be shown. People seem to forget that Katya is a grown-ass man with autonomy, and that it wouldn’t have gone ahead without her foreknowledge. And after watching the film, I can say with certainty that Trixie absolutely wouldn’t have kept in anything that Katya didn’t okay; she’s too good and too thoughtful of a person to do something like that.

Another major thing people are forgetting, it seems, is that this is not a movie about Katya! This is about Trixie! There is a part in the movie where she says something along the lines of: “No one will want me without Katya.” It absolutely breaks my heart to think that Trixie has no idea how much we love her on her own, how much she means to us, how funny and talented she is by herself, and how much worth she has by herself. And the fact that all anyone wants to talk about is Katya- regarding Trixie’s movie- really irks me. Because she’s basically being proven right.

My last big point I’d like to make is directly related to something Trixie says in the film. She talks about how she gave all of those vague answers about Katya because it wasn’t her story to share, and she didn’t want to make the issue about herself when it clearly wasn’t. She points out that other queens were like, “we all struggle with things! Personally, I’ve dealt with [blank]!” And while the other queens were trying to demonstrate that Katya wasn’t alone, what they were really doing was making it about themselves. I can’t help but see a parallel in the fans that are angry over Katya’s portrayal in this film; the issue is about Katya, and Katya is clearly fine with it, so when you’re freaking out over it, aren’t you really just making it about yourself?

So, there are a plethora of reasons I think people should stop sending hate Trixie’s way because of this movie:

1. This is Trixie’s story. This is really what happened over the past year. To cut half of it out would be doing a disservice to Trixie and to the filmmakers.

2. The filmmakers had final say. They shot all the footage and edited it all together. Trixie really had no part in the creation of this movie aside from being the subject of it, and it’s not fair to throw hate her way for something she had very little control over; that’s like being mad at an actor for a decision the showrunners made.

3. To cut out the parts where Katya is unwell would be a disservice to Katya, because it says “we only want you when you’re perfect.”

4. Maybe someone who is struggling with addiction or who has a loved one struggling with addiction needs to see something like this! No one is being helped by just sweeping all the ugly parts under the rug.

5. Both of them have seen the movie, knew what was going to be shown, and were clearly okay with it because it went ahead and made the final cut.

6. It’s not anyone else’s business how either Trixie or Katya live their lives, or what they choose to share with their public.

7. Katya is not painted as some kind of monster. She’s painted as someone who is mentally unwell, sometimes sympathetic, sometimes not, but ultimately as a flawed human being, who does in fact get a redemption arc!

8. This is a movie about Trixie, not about Katya, and I think people need to respect that and stop shifting the focus.

In conclusion, what I walked away from this movie with was that, yes, it was very sad and at times disturbing to see Katya so hurt and broken. But more than anything, I walked away with an appreciation for Brian Firkus. For how selfless, and caring, and giving, and hardworking the man behind Trixie is. If you get a chance to see Trixie Mattel: Moving Parts I highly recommend you do so; I hope you’ll be just as in awe of Trixie as I am.

[apparitionism]

Mercury 11

This is basically just one scene. It was going to be more (and this scene was going to be better), but I’m being fussy about what follows it, so I figured some content, sooner, was better than more later. (Some previous content: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, and part 10.) I was additionally having a little hiccup of trouble figuring out exactly how to start this part... but “in the middle of things” is usually a good rule, particularly when the “things” in question are important, so “in medias pie” it is!

(P.S. to anon who asked about a masterpost: That’s too much housekeeping for me. But you’ll find I’m diligent with tags, plus my tumblr has search and an archive, so you shouldn’t have to scroll too much. Also, much of my stuff can indeed be found on AO3, where I move it after posting on Tumblr, usually with copy and/or content edits, depending on what seems warranted. Thanks for asking!)

Mercury 11

“But this pie,” Myka said with her mouth full.

“Has rendered you ill-mannered and inarticulate,” Helena said. “Interesting.”

“And here I thought demolishing cars was gonna be the entertainment,” Pete added.

They all had to work hard to be heard over the soundtrack provided by the derby: the roar of engines, the sharp bang and crunch of metal colliding with metal at speed, the shouts of extremely invested spectators. Myka had been paying some attention to it before she embarked on this trip to pastry-girded key-lime paradise. She hadn’t had any idea that bliss was in fact a combination of citrus and... whatever other things it was combined with, here in this very-nearly-literal slice-of-heaven pie, but Pete was right: this had been a really educational trip.

Ida said, “This is closer to what I’d call a show.”

“Here in Wisconsin?” Pete asked.

“Anywhere. Is she always like this about pie?”

“I’ve only known her five years,” Pete said, “but I think it’s safe to go with ‘never in her life has she been like this about pie.’ Or maybe anything.”

“Well,” Helena began.

“Don’t say it,” Pete advised.

Ida temporized, “She doesn’t need to. Everyone understands innuendo. And subtext.”

Myka didn’t care, not even a little—not about the kind of show she was putting on, not about how innuendo-y and subtext-y Helena was getting with regard to what Myka might find heavenly in other contexts—as long as nobody took this miracle of a pie away.

She certainly hadn’t expected this to be the outcome when she, Helena, and Pete had taken the lengthy walk—thankfully, in their normal configuration, with Myka reclaiming her “run interference” slot between Helena and Pete—to the site of the demolition derby, some distance away from the fairgrounds proper, accompanied by what had seemed like an additional fair’s worth of people. Were these things really so popular? Maybe Pete was right, maybe “the IRS” should sponsor one in Univille. For purposes of general sociability, because for all Myka didn’t like the place, she did still care what its denizens thought of her, and if—“Bet these’re cow pastures in real life,” Pete had said, interrupting her speculation. That prompted Myka to start taking careful note of where she was placing her feet during that long walk along not a path as such, but rather through grass that had been marked at irregular intervals with spray-painted arrows.

“You’re so prissy,” Pete said.

Myka shrugged that off. “Maybe. But cows. Or rabbits. Nobody with sense in their head want to walk in anything they leave behind.”

Helena said, to Pete, “Are you as unnerved by bovines as you are by lagomorphs?”

As a dig, it seemed mild, even polite, but Pete reacted as if she’d reached across Myka and slapped him. “Leave me alone! I’m not scared of anything unless it’s freakishly huge!”

They were passing the cars’ inspection area: the same spray paint had been applied to a piece of plywood, leaning against a fence enclosing those cars, to spell “INSP AREA.” It could have meant “inspiration area,” Myka supposed, but people with clipboards had seemed to be inspecting rather than inspiring, or being inspired... she tried to think of another word that began with “insp.” Nothing came to her.

“Size-wise,” she told Pete, “the bumpers on that Sable over there must be giving you nightmares already.”

Pete looked where she’d indicated. He did a cartoon double-take. “Are those even legal? I think I just found my horse.”

“I like the Pinto next to it,” Myka said.

He scoffed, “Nobody likes a Pinto.”

“The ponies enjoyed a brief vogue when I was a girl,” Helena mused, as if to herself. “Would that the car were painted like those...it’s a shame that a pinto—and, in fact, a sable—shouldn’t resemble their namesake animals in some way.”

Myka said, “I guess we can call my Pinto a Palomino, then. The color’s why I like it.”

“That’s not a good reason,” Pete said. “Not for a demo derby.”

“It’s a great reason. Look.” Myka pointed toward a corral ringed with bleachers. “There’s a lot of mud over there, where I assume they’ll do the demolishing, right?”

Pete nodded. “Mud slows ’em down. Safer, plus it’s a better show. Upset it’s gonna be such a messy show, Miss Prissy?”

“My point is, the Pinto’s yellow, so I’ll be able to keep track of it through the muck, while it does its demo-ing. Or gets demo-ed. As I watch it happen, because I’ve got a horse—almost literally—too. Do you want me interested or not?”

He glanced at the Pinto, then looked back at Myka. “Not sure,” he said, like he thought she was trying to trick him.

“You wanted us here so bad you won it,” she reminded him.

“Mostly wanted to make you suffer.”

“Then I think your win is more of a ‘win,’ because I refuse to suffer,” Myka told him. “Not about this.”

She was holding Helena’s hand. She had been, for the entire walk, “because I didn’t get to on the Ferris wheel,” she’d said when she first reached for the contact, her voiced reason in response to Helena’s questioning did-you-not-recently-express-objection-to-public-displays eyebrow, and it was true as far as it went. But what had compelled Myka to make the small display, really, was that she’d needed something, and this was simple. Uncomplicated. Something to bank against whatever was going to happen later, in the hotel room. Which she was, she had to admit to herself, doing some pre-suffering about. Because she didn’t know.

Helena declared, as if to assure Myka that she too felt both the simplicity and the need for it,  “I’m not suffering either. Not about this.”

She gripped Myka’s hand tighter. It did feel good. Myka echoed the pressure, and one corner of Helena’s mouth curved up.

Pete rolled his eyes. “You two are gonna wish so hard that Myka won that duck bet.”

“It was a bet that concerned ducks?” Helena asked.

Myka grimaced. “I’ll tell you later.”

“I wonder,” Helena said, jauntily, “whether the poultry competition might include a Rouen or two.”

“I’m gonna regret this, but: okay. That’s a...?” Pete prompted.

“Giant mallard,” Helena said, with even greater cheer. Pete groaned, and Myka found herself wanting to kiss Helena: for being clever, but also as yet another instance of that bankable, uncomplicated touch. She almost said that out loud—“I want to kiss you,” simple, like that—but she understood that if she did, she’d have to deal with Pete about it. Because of ducks.

“Well, I don’t see any of your probably-made-up freak-ducks around,” Pete said. He added a taunt of, “I do see the two of you practically sittin’ in a tree, though.”

“Mature,” Myka said.

“Water off a Rouen’s back!” Helena announced.

Her insouciance made Myka again want contact, like a kiss, but more than that—but still simple. Basic. The most basic.

Pete must have seen and read that thought as it crossed Myka’s mind, crossed her face, for he said, “Jesus, Mykes, just jump her and get it over with. Get yourselves behind the bleachers and take care of business.”

Nobody had taken care of any behind-the-bleachers business, of course, but Myka had kept on holding Helena’s hand, even as they sat on the uncomfortable aluminum of those bleachers and listened to engines rev in preparation for entering the corral. Pete had taken it upon himself to explain the derby’s rules to Helena: “...and they all go in and they have to hit another car every minute, or maybe it’s every two, but anyway if your engine bonks out you get a little while to try to restart it but if you can’t you’re out, and they break that piece of wood by your window to show that you...” Myka listened with one ear, but mostly she concentrated on not finding a reason to loosen her clasp. The interlacing of their fingers had moved from “this feels good” to Helena’s barely fleshed bones pressing too solid against Myka’s, giving rise to an uncomfortable ache... but that ache was no reason to let go; rather, it was a reminder not to. Bodies, real ones, felt pain. So Myka sat on aluminum, listening to engines rev, not letting go. Banking it.

She’d been banking it, still, when Ida arrived, asking, “How did we ever live without the ability to text?” (Pete had said, as they sat down, that he would text Ida to join them, “because maybe she’s done with judgy-judge-judge and can bring us some leftovers.”) She’d looked at Myka and Helena—specifically, looked at their joined hands. “Well,” she said. “Another distraction?”

“Maybe,” Myka acknowledged. From something freakishly huge...

“How are you?” Ida asked Helena. “Did your summit go well?”

Helena smiled at the word. “As well as such a thing could. I suppose one might call the outcome détente,” she said. Myka, too, had smiled a little at “summit,” but as for “détente”... well, there was a lot to be said for that in the relations between several of her nearest and dearest. But she wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea of any relaxing of tensions between Helena and Emily Lake’s girlfriend. “It’s been a very strange two days,” Helena went on to say.

“That isn’t news to me,” Ida said, which prompted in Myka another Amen, sister. Ida added, “But I’ve got something that will make everything better.”

“Fruit spreads?” Pete asked, with great hope. He pointed at the small hamper she held. “That looks like something.”

Ida nodded. “Something. But better than fruit spreads.” From the hamper, she produced—with a “ta-da!”—the key lime pie. Pete gave a gasp that Myka judged both overdramatic and unwarranted; it was just a pie, albeit one that nearly matched her Pinto for color; if she’d thrown it at the car, no one would have noticed the spatter, not that she was in the habit of throwing pies at cars. This one hadn’t been thrown at anything, but it did look a little the worse for having traveled in close quarters: not show quality anymore. Given the crumbled edges of its crust and slightly dented surface, it might have been any pie at all. Ida then handed out plastic forks and paper plates, and if anyone near them in the stands around the fenced patch of mud recognized the picnic as larcenous, they kept it to themselves.

Pete took his fork up with his usual enthusiasm, dug in, took a bite, then closed his eyes. “This pie is freaking awesome. In an ‘I could literally die now’ way.”

“I told you, you literally can’t beat it,” Ida said.

While Myka had respected that particular “literally” when Ida said it yesterday, she wasn’t sure she believed it today in any kind of existential sense. Hence her astonishment when she found her own first bite to be... was “rapturous” outsize, as a word or an idea, to apply to the experience of eating pie? It didn’t matter what word she used, though; she wielded her fork with even more gusto than Pete, and she felt a niggling worry that this was, for her, unseemly, yet the combination of the unprecedented pie and the certainty that it was nutritious was irresistible. The mouthfeel alone was enough to knock her out—unctuous, yet with a sharp slash of lime-presence tanging on the tongue... she’d noticed Helena ignoring her own serving so as to watch Myka. “What?” Myka had asked. “It’s good for me.”

“I am prepared to offer to any and all attending deities,” Helena had said, amusement animating her face, “my prayer that your recently espoused belief does not wear off.”

“I’m prepared to livestream it so everybody on the planet can testify later that it happened,” Pete had enthused. “Also so Claud’s head explodes when she sees it.”

And so it was that the only words Myka had managed to come up with in her own defense, “But this pie,” had caused everyone to express even more opinions in the matter.

Fortunately, however, they let her keep eating. “I feel like I’m somebody else, how much I’m enjoying this,” she now said, not bothering to pause before scooping up another forkful.

“Interesting,” Helena said again, and her tone told Myka that something was waiting to be interrogated there... but she was extremely unwilling to turn her attention away from the pie.

Meanwhile, the cars destroyed each other. None of it mattered to pie-intoxicated Myka, except the Pinto, a little, because she could in fact keep track of it in the muck. It was surprisingly agile, “her” Pinto. Or Palomino. And if the derby had engaged only her eyes, that would have been fine, but exhaust and mud and the crowd’s sweaty enthusiasm hung heavy in the air, congesting her nose and clogging her lungs; she resented that it interfered with her experience of the pie. Its rich citrus viscosity was similarly condensed, on her tongue, but far more pleasurable... but wait, she thought, thickness... a dictionary-page memory... “fr. L in- + spissus slow, dense”: “Inspissate!” she exclaimed.

Pete and Ida both said “What?” and Myka looked up from her plate, ready to explain about “insp” and areas—but her neon pony caught her eye at just the right, or wrong, instant for her to witness its driver’s failure to recognize a danger for what it was: it received in that moment a dramatic T-boning from a seemingly unthreatening even-more-compact car. She yelped and upended her plate, which landed face down on the aluminum at her feet. It had held one last bit of inspissated key lime and... whatever else it was combined with, a last bit that she’d told herself she wanted to savor, but that she’d in all honesty been about to shovel into her mouth with abandon. She made a decision that was really no decision: she lifted the plate, scraped the spattered filling up with her fork, and willed herself not to think about dirt.

“Not one word,” she said, her mouth again full, to Pete and Helena. “Not one word out of either of you.”

Neither said anything. Myka chose to ignore their thunderstruck expressions, because she still had that precious morsel of pie in her mouth.

“Good choices,” Myka told them once she’d swallowed. She licked her fork. She took note of Helena’s expression as it shifted from shock to avid appreciation of her licking her fork.

TBC

Again, minimal tags, but here, an essay might mention things like strongly held beliefs, and how our strongly held beliefs shape our behavior, and why we so strongly hold the beliefs that shape our behavior, and that it is indeed interesting when a shift in belief (about anything: from sugar’s nutritional value to who we actually are) leads us to engage in behaviors that make us strangers to ourselves—regardless of whether we know of that estrangement at the time it’s occurring. When you think about it, in terms of selfhood, each of us might be said to be a cult with exactly one member. (I realize that doesn’t entirely hold up, but I’ve spent a little while thinking about it.)

[internetremix]

So there's a scenario that popped into my head: Let's say the entire IR crew is placed in a large battlefield, and the objective is to be the last person standing. Alliances and factions, temporary or not, are allowed. How do you guys feel you would fare, and who do you think would win?

Atwas: I may not win but I sure as hell won’t be able to lose, powers taken into account.The only winning move is not to play after all. taps forehead

Alex: Alex just grounds everyone

Juno: is this fortnite

Alex: I can’t believe we’re already doing Fortnite gimmick video

Moon: I havent lost my virginity because I never lose.

Phill: Goes full Rambo only to trip and impale himself oh his own pike, thereby officially starting the death match with its first bloodshed(edited)

Kristen: I mean Goggles would lose due to being grounded and/or bullied immediately. Admittedly given persona Alex powers, he probably wins, but the question is if he can be bothered to try to win.

Alex: The instant anyone tries to fuck with him or his phone it’s all over

(Under Read More because long)

Tex: I sneaky sneak. Double agent texFor what side no one knows

Kristen: I’d ask if he can beat Split cause Split’s OP as fuck but Split is another character who probably wouldn’t bother participating until someone attacks Goggles .Also yes double agent Tex.

Juno: squint eyesare u sure this isn’t fortnite

Kristen: Honestly the amount of characters who wouldn’t bother but also can’t technically lose is hilarious. Steel wins and we all regret foolishly believing we could fight God.

Alex: Alex’s whole ability is to not give a fuck. And just not giving a fuck makes him a terrifying force of nature who canonically slam dunks the Murder God so there’s my argument. Anyway here’s Wonderwall.

Phill: Steel leaves the ring out the convenient but altogether unappealing door to the left.

Invidebit: Invidebit begins singing Kumbaya and is promptly slain

Phill: BY WHOM

Invidebit: A dirty killer

Alex: Probably Shyner let’s be honest

Invidebit: I would not doubt this x’)

Jojo: I’d just hide. JoJo would think it’s a game and ride Phill’s back to  victory

Invidebit: Oh that would be devastating if Phill died first :x

Jojo: I’d cry

Phill: Oh no, but I impaled myselfJojo no. Guess youre dead too no. )Sorry sweaty

Jojo: I’d still cry

Brodingles: Genuinely just assumed Alex was running the Royale in the first place

Dawn: I’d probably be more interested in exploring the battlefield, finding things, hoarding supplies for leverage, charging for them at a high price, dying because I refused to give up a cookie, y'know…the basics

Uprising: I honestly think this is based off hunger games. Based off of the alliances factions and whatnot. Hunger games is the original fortnite. In any case I’d probably let someone else kill me so they have a better shot at winning or die of my numerous illnesses in an instant

Juno: Hunger Games is the original Minecraft Battle Royals

Split: I think itd come down to me, cami, Alex, and probably steel. Then that’s a big good luck. I’ll step back and commentate on the match have fun guys.

Shyner: Shyner probably made it down to the final five as a silent assassin, but was promptly slain by everyone else in what would be a mutual we know we gotta kill that bitch first-esque alliance.

Brodingles: I think I would last longer than expected but not make it to the final few. Probably let other people pick each other off long enough to thin things out and take one or two people myself after that, but ultimately get taken out in a match with another person who I’d at least wound/handicap considerably.

Jojo: ^^^

Split: Big question, who would we die too

Steel: super late reply to all this, Steel may not be a combat android, but he is a walking cloud encyclopedia of constantly updating information and perfect memory. and he has industrial applications in his strength

Juno: okay steel search how to win fortnite

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Mellifera

Hozier echoes throughout your room like mutinous heterodox hymns in abandoned churches left to the elements. Arcane and profane songs leaking through the rotted gaps in the roof and walls, spilling out into the empty air. Your vision is stained with the gold-black hue of His voice, and the sinfully sweet taste of His words. Your agitation melts away away away, leaving you fluid and fae as you dance in very little, body bending in impossible shapes, twirling, swirling to the rhythm as you sing along. Your crystals form deadly fans that chime with each and every syllable, every movement.

A hundred years in the future and you have His Last Album on repeat, His songs got further and further from human understanding as his career continued. Now, just playing His songs out loud summon things, beautiful things, wondrous, illegal magic that changes your room into a far flung forest full of impossible, unimaginable things that know every lyric, every note and key. You feel at home here, and you're sure He did too.

You're late for your audience with the Queen of Candyland. But still you dance, as the next song plays and the ceiling above you becomes the canopy of a night-dark forest, letting in beams of moonlight to dapple the mossy floor. An uncountable number of rainbow hued shooting stars streak by and cast stained glass shadows on everything around you. And still you dance. Feet leaving the ground as your magic kicks up, voice multiplying, radiating. A cacophonous choir of voices that don't do His words any justice. But still you sing. But still you dance.

Your secretary, Hououmaru, has to coax you out of the music's thrall. You aren't exactly happy about that but you have shit to do, and you can't spend all day listening to the Last Album. Even though you really want to. Your butler sees to the state of your hair, applying some new color while you shove some toast into your waiting maw and take your meds. Your seamstress, Nui, brings your clothes along as you teleport to your castle in Wonderland, still in your underwear. You can't be bothered to take most of this seriously, but you're still taking your full security detail over there with you. Better not tempt fate after all.  You have to take the carriage over to Candyland, you're still far too drained to teleport yourself plus security over there on your own steam. But you're not incapable of defending yourself, as evidenced by the Vorpal Sword at your hip.

Your arrival is watched by a thousand eyes. Candy people and animals cower at your approach, and some part of you stings with guilt. There's little you can do about that, but it still hurts nonetheless. You guess you should be... happy, proud of yourself even, to have people cowering in your wake. But you aren't, it just makes you feel like a bully kicking down sand castles. You don't look out of the windows for the rest of the ride, contemplating sinking down low in your seat before remembering that Nui would eviscerate you if you wrinkled this outfit. So you just shut your eyes and sit very still until the carriage comes to a stop. There is mild concern from your entourage that you might be feeling ill, and at the moment you can't exactly refute that as you take one look at the Candy Queen's castle and feel your heart and stomach switch places.

Flanked by your security detail, sword at your side, countless tricks up your metaphorical sleeves and you feel no safer. Candy Guards stand stone-faced and silent in the halls, ever-present but unmoving. Eerie and discomforting. The throne room is no better, here is where you realize how grossly outnumbered you are. You can feel Rae behind you, silently counting the guards in here, adding their number to the ones you saw when you came in. She leans in to inform you of the seventy possible assailants you might have to claw your way through to get home. Seventy against four. You've never been much of a gambler but you like those odds.

Mellifera, the Candy Queen, is slow to address you, relaxed in her throne, honey-gold eyes half-lidded as if she were bored to the brink of dozing. Still, you are respectful and bow low at the waist, with your detail following suit.

"Stand, supplication does not suit you, Thief-Prince." she purrs in a voice as warm, rich and sweet as hot milk and honey. She is a magnificent creature, with translucent dark brown skin, twitching antennae, faceted black eyes, and fluttering wings at her back that cast stained glass shadows just like the falling stars from the song you'd so carelessly danced to. Her hair is opalescent white, full of sparkling sugar and sprinkles. She smells like raw honey, and a soft buzz chases the tails of words spoken with yellow painted lips. Beneath her skin is an endless maze of honeycomb, and floating just above her head is a crown of chocolate and amber that seems to perpetually melt, but the drips vanish before they can stain anything.

She is horrifically, horribly beautiful in every way. And yet as you think back to the night you two faced each other in battle, her face twisted with fury, she was beautiful then too. She sits up straight, an action that causes her obvious pain, Jeanne's parting gift, fondly remembered. Your ear twitches at her not-so-subtle insult.

"Thief-Prince?" you ask, voice level, calm. Too calm. Rae puts a hand against the small of your back, and your unconscious bristling ceases instantly, "I had no clue that retrieving lost property counted as theft in your lands, Lady Mellifera."

She gives you a smile, warm and sweet like brown sugar. It's wry but genuine and you don't like it, the way she looks at you when she does it. It makes you feel sorry in the wrongest of ways.

"There are many things you are clueless about, dear Thief-Prince, but your naivety is not what I wanted to discuss." she rests her chin in palm of one hand, head tilting just a little as she watches you squirm at her digs. You frown and lean back against Rae's steadying hand, the flames of your ire dying down to embers. She wants you angry and you aren't about to give her the satisfaction.

"Are we going to get to these discussions any time soon or do you intend to bore several millenia off my lifespan with this petty attempt at a squabble?" it comes out way more nonchalantly than you intended but that somehow adds weight to your words another tone just wouldn't have. Still, she laughs at you, a nasal snort that seems out of place coming from someone so clearly alien.

"Very well, we'll 'cut to the chase' as you Earthborn mongrels put it." she does air quotes, like the passive aggressive asshole she is. "I'd like to propose a peace treaty between my land and yours, we could become great assets to each other but that isn't possible if we are at each other's throats."

She shifts in position, resting her cheek on her fist. "And don't worry about the subjects of mine you slaughtered and devoured like animals, they'll be replaced soon enough."

You blink, bewildered, and she catches your shift in expression immediately, "You learn quickly not to get too attached to anyone around here," Mellifera doesn't even sound sullen, and simply shrugs as if this were something as small as a papercut. "Go on, kill them, my guards, I know you've been itching to. I'll just make more."

Her words hang in the empty air like the obvious threat they are. Unconsciously, you shudder, and she smiles again. That same damn smile. "So, what do you say?"

Your words falter, failing you as you struggle to process this fresh hell you've found yourself in. Finally you swallow thickly, the overpowering scents of sweet things turning your stomach as fast as the thought of the implications behind all of this.

"I'll... consider it." you say, softly, softer than you should. She seems elated nonetheless and wiggles her antennae in a pleased way that might have been cute under different circumstances.

"Wonderful, I'll send you a copy of the treaty to inspect at your leisure, then we can further discuss any specific edits or additional terms you may deem necessary." you instantly regret your words but it's too late to go back on them now. You'll play her games, just for a little while.

"Take this, as a hopeful gesture of peace between our two countries." Mellifera gestures at a shape draped in plain white cloth, the covering is pulled aside to reveal a marvelous cage of golden mesh, inside is a swarm of bread-and-butterflies. They flutter here and there on wings made of bread and toast, shimmering with butter, honey, or even jam. You can smell their warm, doughy scent from where you stand but can do little more than just stare in awe.

Hououmaru nudges a box into your hands, you nearly drop it in your carelessness and are left awkwardly holding it out towards the Candy Queen,

"We have brought a gift as well, Lady Mellifera, may it please you." the word please is accented and scummy, try as you might to sound professional you're quickly losing your nerve. Mellifera rises from her throne and makes her way towards you. Your security detail gently bristles like dogs on leashes, hands hovering near weapons just in case. None of the candy guards move, as if they too didn't care who lived or died. After all Queens can be replaced just like anyone and everyone else. Unease curls low in your belly, toothsome and vicious, as the Queen approaches. You are reminded of how fragile Candyland natives are by the way she limps towards you, still feeling the pain of your wife's bullet in her ass. It's a miracle she can walk at all, honestly.

Inside the box is a walking tea pot, not one of the feral ones that have moved in around the Brillig, a custom made one filled with tea from the river you'd stolen from her lands only nights ago. A petty, backhanded gift to repay her for the poisoned plants her least favorite daughter gave you a long while ago. After she opens the box, Queen Mellifera smiles that brown sugar smile at you again, the one that makes you feel sorry for things you haven't done. As if every injustice in this world was somehow your fault, but it's ok, she forgives you.

You really don't like her smile. You really don't like her. Childishness and invasion of your country aside, she makes you deeply uncomfortable as a person. Someone who has such a flippant view of death and sacrifice is clearly not to be trusted. She doesn't trust you, that's obvious. But still, here she is trying to kiss your ass and act like eons of tension between your home and hers has never existed. Something dark and cruel tells you that everyone would have been better off if you'd slaughtered her during the Battle for the Brillig. You almost never listen to that dark, cruel thing. If you did, you'd be out hunting down the twenty some-odd scientists that had escaped your initial siege of Delta Facility by some twisted facsimile of a miracle.

Mellifera thanks you for the gift, handing it off to a nearby guard. You two stand, locked in an uncomfortably quiet staring contest, as if you could decipher what the other was thinking just by sight alone. Mellifera searches your face for answers before that eerie smile dims into a thin grim line,

"If you have more to say, say it. If not, leave." she straightens to her full seven something foot height, and you refuse to give her the satisfaction of looking down her nose at you, stubbornly levitating up to look her in those cold black eyes, unsettled by the way they reflected your face a dozen times over. You barely see her move, barely have time to draw your sword as her own blade makes a sweeping arc towards your throat. It's over in a blink but there you both stand, blades barely biting into the skin of each other's necks. Blue running over her blade just as honey-gold runs over yours.

She smiles again, a different smile. She's impressed, and a little smug. You aren't smiling. With eerie synchronicity, you sheath your blades and fall back behind a wall of guards. "I grow tired of your company, Thief-Prince." she presses a sleeve to her wound and turns to leave, her free hand flying up to wave you off, "Until we meet again!"

"Until we meet again," you reply, ignoring the blood staining the collar of your dress. You leave with your gift in tow and find a jar of honey waiting at home, a note taped to it's lid and stamped with Candyland's royal seal.

"your pound of flesh -Melli" is all it says.

[totallyrhettro]

Territorial, chapter 7

Word Count: 2568 Rating: This chapter: G. Overall story rating: explicit Warnings: None Summary: After finally realizing their shared love for one another, all internetainers Rhett and Link had to do was live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that’s a lot harder to do in a world of werewolves. Notes: Takes place 1 year after Animalistic began. Still no wives; Rhett and Link are in an established relationship. This is a sequel to that fic. You don’t have to read that first, but it is highly recommended.

Also available on a03

First Chapter Previous Chapter

With the start of the new season of Good Mythical Morning, things seemed to get back to mostly normal. Rhett and Link didn’t talk much about what had happened during the break, mostly because they liked to keep their wolf lives separate from their human lives. Part of doing that was pretending their wolf lives didn't exist. It probably wasn’t healthy, but it helped keep their secret just that, a secret. It was hard enough hiding their relationship, another thing which they never discussed.

Well, they did somewhat. They talked about the little things: things to buy from the grocery store, what housework needed to be done, who clogged the sink again. This is not to say that their lives were like that of roommates. They still loved each other and every opportunity they got, when they were alone, they made sure to say it out loud. Too many years they had not been allowed to say it, or thought they weren’t allowed. Too many ‘I love yous’ had gone unsaid not to say them now. Even when words weren’t exchanged, they still showed one another how much they cared. A sweet kiss, a fleeting touch. A tender gaze across the room when they thought no one was looking. It was almost too corny, these grown men acting like teenagers in high school, but they were happy. For the most part they were very happy, and it showed.

What they didn’t talk about was the giant, proverbial elephant in the room. Link could feel it. A strange, gnawing feeling in the back of his mind. It had been there almost his entire life actually. The need that everyone has, whether they know it or not. The need to have a real family. Unlike Rhett, Link never really felt like he had a real family. Sure he had a mom and a dad, grandparents and such, but with his mom divorced twice he had pretty much grown up without a steady father figure. He had always hoped one day to build his own family, but now…

Rhett wasn’t exactly pleased with the situation himself either. He too had always wanted a family, but unlike Link it wasn’t because he hadn’t felt his own upbringing had been lacking. There was a fatherly instinct in him that made him want to have children, to raise them up good and proper, and hopefully raise them with someone he loved. While Link understood how dangerous it was trying such a thing now that neither of them was entirely human anymore, there was more to Rhett’s fear. Simply put, he didn’t trust himself.

Ever since he first realized what had happened to him, he’d been afraid. He was afraid of what he was becoming. There had been many a time when he couldn’t control his canine self, even during the light of day. The beast within was a force of nature and it could strike with tremendous ferocity. Before he had just been afraid to hurt someone… hurt Link… If he had ever even scratched Link without meaning to, he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself, and before Link became a werewolf too, there were times he had come close to doing that... among other carnal things.

Now that they were both werewolves, the danger of hurting Link lessened substantially, mostly because the shorter man was just as much of a beast to be reckoned with. Still, Rhett felt himself capable of hurting others, and the night he actually used his wolf self to kill someone… If he could do it once, he concluded, he was capable of doing it again, and he hated that fact. He never wanted to hurt anyone ever again and the risk of hurting his own child…. It was too much. No matter how much he wanted that family, no matter how much he knew Link needed it, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to bring a child into such a dangerous household. It just wasn’t safe.

But explaining that to Link? When the doe-eyed brunet could seem so fierce one second and fragile another? No. Rhett didn’t want to tell the love of his life ‘never’. Didn’t want to tell him that the family he desired more than anything else just couldn't be. That would break his heart, and that was a wound Rhett wasn’t ready to inflict. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to break that truth and so silence about the subject became the norm. There were other things to worry about at the moment anyway.

Even with the filming of Buddy System finally done, there was still work to be done. The break between seasons was practically nonexistent; the days they usually used to take time off, relax and recoup, had been filled with filming and work on the farm house. The lack of a reprieve didn’t seem to impact the show. They found ways after work to unwind and in general the stress didn’t get to them, but there were times when everything would hit them at once and it made them more irritable than normal.

“Watch out, Link!” Rhett shouted, grabbing onto the dashboard of the car with an iron grip. Link didn’t answer but swerved hard back into his lane. The driver in the lane beside them laid on the horn for a few seconds before hurrying past. Link honked right back at him shouting a curse at the stranger that only his friend could hear.

“What a jerk!” he commented, once he had finally managed to change lanes. “Can you believe the nerve of some people?”

“You need to watch where you’re going, man! You almost hit that guy!”

“No I didn’t! He almost hit me! It’s clear as day!” Link huffed in annoyance, and Rhett shook his head. His boyfriend could be an inattentive driver on a good day, but he was being even more careless than usual.

“Just slow down a little. I mean we’d probably survive a car crash, but that doesn’t mean I want to be in one.”

“I’m going under the speed limit! I can’t even speed in this traffic.” He waved his hands derisively at the cars around them.

“You not paying attention. You need to look before you just cross over into someone else’s lane.”

“I wasn’t anywhere near to him. He overreacted.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” Rhett muttered. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and he instantly regretted saying them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Link’s ire was quickly beginning to surge. Rhett slumped in his seat and sighed.

“Nothing Link. I just want to get home in one piece.”

“If you don’t like the way I’m driving maybe you should take the wheel yourself once in awhile. Now that we live in the same house there’s no reason I have to drive us every day.”

“I don’t want to argue, I just-”

“I’m not arguing, I’m just having a conversation.” His angry tone disagreed with his simple statement. “You think you’re a better driver than maybe you should drive. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Maybe I should,” Rhett agreed, bitterly.

“Maybe you should,” Link mocked, going back to looking at the cars, trying to see if he could get around them. His friend dropped the subject. He really didn’t want to argue and he knew this was just Link letting off some steam. He just wished Link’s bad mood wasn’t putting their bodies at risk. Rhett was ready to spend the rest of the drive home in peaceful silence when he felt a slight buzz in his pocket. Taking out his phone, he was surprised to see a text from Theo.

You busy fri?

An odd message, to be sure, but then Rhett knew well enough that Theo didn’t like to say much in texts, or even over the phone. He was awfully old fashioned for a man of his few years- only a decade or so younger than the two YouTubers. Of course it wasn’t because he disliked fancy new technologies. It was a matter of security. He didn’t want to risk any important information that could potentially reveal his, or any werewolf’s nature to the rest of the world. It was safer to keep the details of their conversations spoken only in person.

“Who is it?” Link asked, not turning his gaze off the road. “If it’s Stevie tell her I’ll look at yesterday’s edit later.”

“It’s Theo.” The words were said simply, with no malice or worry, but still it gave Link pause. Over the last few weeks he’d been thinking about their shared friendship with the werewolf bartender. Wondering what his history was, how he knew the Lowells. He didn’t want to think ill of the man who had been very helpful to both him and Rhett in their times of need, but the lack of knowing was starting to get to him.

“What does he want?”

“Not sure.” Rhett thought for a moment before typing in a reply.

Not terribly. What’s up?

He didn’t expect a clear response, but he had to ask anyway.

There’s some friends I want you to meet.

‘Someone to meet?’ Rhett wondered. In all the time he’d known Theo, he’d never seen him talk to anyone but Max. Besides, if there was someone Theo wanted to introduce, it was certain to be more than a normal social event. Before he could answer, Rhett got another text.

Come by the bar and we can talk more.

Locking his phone, Rhett slid it into his pocket. There wasn’t anything else to say. He would just have to wait to talk to Theo to find out more. Link shot him an impatient look.

“Well?”

“He didn’t say, exactly. You know, Theo…” Rhett offered his boyfriend a sympathetic smile, but Link shot him another glare.

“No, I don’t… and neither do you. Not really. I wish you could understand that.”

“How can you not trust him?” Rhett asked, frustrated. “After everything we’ve been through? After everything he’s done for us?”

“How can you so blindly trust him?” Link shot back. “We don’t know anything about his past, why he hates the Lowells, how he became a werewolf, how his brother died…”

“I’m not going to just up and ask him about his dead brother, Link. I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about it for the same reason I wouldn’t want to talk about it if my brother died. It’s probably a tough subject to think about.”

“Well, maybe. I just need to know more before I trust him as much as you do.” Sighing, Link pulled off onto the side street that led to their now shared home. He didn’t feel as angry as before, just exhausted, body and mind. “I’m going to go lay down for awhile. Do you want to order something for supper?”

“I think I should head over to Theo’s place. See what he wanted.” He didn’t need to ask if Link wanted to come along or not. He knew very well what the answer would be.

~ ~ ~

Of course, as Rhett walked into Theo’s office, the bartender’s first question was to ask where the second half of the famous duo was.

“He wasn't feeling a hundred percent,” Rhett explained. “Long day at the studio. What did you need to talk to us about?”

“Well, I said in the text I wanted you to meet some folks, you and Link. The Lowells aren't the only werewolves in the area.” These words sent a shiver down Rhett’s spine, but it wasn’t entirely fear he was feeling. That tingling sensation, when the Lowells had been hunting near the farmhouse, it was the same feeling. Something almost intangible and somehow Theo seemed to know he was feeling it, Rhett could see it in his eyes.

“Another pack?” he wondered. Theo raised a hand to calm him, lowering his head slightly as he replied.

“Not exactly. Mutts, like you but not like the one that turned you and Link. There’s no need to be alarmed or feel threatened.” he assured Rhett. “They’re just every day folks who don’t want to bother anyone, I promise.”

“How many? Have they been in California long? Are they newly turned? Why haven't you told me about them before?” Rhett hoped tossing handfuls of questions at Theo wasn’t going to become a habit.

“All good questions.” Theo paused to consider where to start. “Um, there’s about a dozen or so, that I’ve met, all of various moon ages. I’ve known about them for some time but I wasn’t hiding them from you I just… To be honest I haven’t talked much with them myself.”

“Then why-?”

“Why do I want you guys to meet?” Rhett nodded. “I think you all have a lot in common. Like you most of them were turned and had no idea, at first. They’ve had to deal with figuring things out mostly by themselves.”

“They didn’t have someone like you to teach them.” It was meant as a conclusion, but Theo looked slightly nervous at the implication.

“N-no, they didn’t.”

“What? What is it?

“Let’s just say the mutts and I have a bit of a... history.” Theo cleared his throat, settling back to speak of things he never enjoyed remembering. Rhett gave him time. He could tell this was difficult for his friend to do, and he was keen to hear what he was going to say.

“When I was a member of the Lowell pack I was a… uh, an enforcer, of sorts. My job was to find rogue mutts, like the one who attacked you and Link and… and deal with them.”

“How- how long did you do this?”

“Years. You have to understand I believed- I still believe- that sometimes it’s necessary to deal with these problems. Sometimes people become werewolves and they just let their bestial nature control them, or they don’t do enough to make sure their canine selves don’t hurt people. These are serious problems and I had to fix them.”

“These mutts you want me to meet, did you-?”

“Let’s just say I built up a reputation among the packless wolves. But, recently, I’ve been trying to… mend bridges, you might say, and they’ve… expressed interest in you and your friend.”

“You think it’s a good idea?”

“I think you can’t live in this world of werewolves in a vacuum, and there’s much you can learn from these people that I can’t teach you. Besides,” he shrugged, “It makes everyone nervous that they don’t know you.”

“I guess that makes sense. What about the Lowells?”

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, Link was resting peacefully in the bed that he and Rhett shared, thinking about the argument earlier and the things he wanted to say, things he wanted to apologize for. He jolted with surprise when he heard the phone ring. For a brief moment he thought it might be Rhett, or Theo checking in, but then he remembered he had a cell phone. The next, obvious conclusion was a telemarketer, so he reached for the phone ready to tell whomever it was to take them off their calling list. What he didn’t expect was a vaguely familiar voice.

“Is this Link?”

“Who is this?”

“Hey, Link! It’s Damian! Are you busy on Friday?”

Next Chapter  More Fics

[shadyprofiles]

Jasper Wilcott

(basic summary to be edited later) 

Age: mid to late 30s, born 1823, died 1859.

(town needed), Mississippi. 

Jasper grew up on a plantation, but not a big one. The deal with plantations in Mississippi in the mid 1820s and 30s was essentially that it was a racket- 10% of the population owned all the plantations, and therefore all the slaves. In order to break into that market and get any kind of profit at all, one needed more slaves. One had to carefully balance their net of slaves vs cotton in order not to have too much of either one, because if they did, they’d be stuck with more cotton than they can gather, or a slave revolt (or just too many slaves to pay for). 

Jasper studiously observed the world around him, mostly by the way his father dealt with his cotton plantation. He built things up through slavery, and every year the Wilcott family grew more wealthy. By the time Jasper was in his late teens, the Wilcott family had made a name for itself in Mississippi and was on the verge of becoming one of the Big Plantations (because they had more than 40 slaves). 

These notions of cruelty and brutality to get ahead formed most of Jasper’s childhood, where he learned that not just negroes, but women, natives, even weak-willed men should be subjugated by force whenever a more powerful person’s will demands it. 

Due to (as of yet) unknown events, Jasper’s parents either die or his dad is getting old, and wants Jasper to take over the family business (I think want him to take over is much better, considering what happens later). 

Under Jasper’s direction, slaves and weak-willed men (meaning task masters who aren’t willing to straight up kill a slave for being late to work, let’s say) are brutalized for profit. Jasper makes profit, but his methods also stoke political ire and the civil war is coming. By the late 1850s, the underground railroad is in full effect, and the government is threatening to come down hard on slave owners. Jasper is losing slaves to the river. He starts getting meaner. 

In 1859 things reach a fever pitch. The slaves devise a plan to get rid of Jasper, whom they consider a demon, in the only way they know will work for sure: juju (this needs more research). One of the slaves from Jamaica kept a powerful poison smuggled with her at all times. She’d been tempted to use it sorely, but knew that the poison would “devour a man’s soul,” and had yet to meet anyone she truly thought didn’t have a soul, until Jasper. 

The poison is slipped to Jasper through the house slaves and he falls ill almost immediately. After several days of terrible fevers and bloody retching, Jasper is pronounced dead by his family. They bury him. 

A week later, Jasper wakes up. By good fortune, he awakens at night, and starving. He breaks out of his coffin- drawing the attention of the graveyard keeper, whom he immediately devours whole. Jasper goes on a rampage, blinded by fury, hunger, and confusion. He eats for days, leaving carcasses of both men and animals behind and only barely obeying his instincts in time to avoid dying by sunlight. 

Immortal Jasper takes some time to figure out his situation, but once he has things straight, he works out his revenge plot. He needs revenge on his parents, his slaves, the government- everyone who wronged him. And the civil war provides the most convenient way to get that. 

Jasper builds up a posse of his own during the war, preying on dying confederate teens and young men. He turns them into vampires to join in his fight, and if they ever get uppity with him, he kills them. Vampirism has made him meaner and more assured of his divine right to rule than anything else. He is now a full fledged villain, and he’s going to put the world in its place.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Extinction (Sebastian Stan x You)

Character: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Summary: The world was suffering from a zombie apocalypse. You fell off the train, everybody thought you were dead but turns out you survived from the fall and came back to try and heal your angered, broken heart but with vengeance.

Warning: This probably sucks? Other than that, none. XD

Words: 2,940

A/N: Inspired by the movie Resident Evil. (Love that movie so bad!) But the whole story isn't based on it. I made my own plot. I just took some characters from the game. 😊 I didn't even know how I ended up typing this? Feedbacks are very much appreciated! Aaaaaaaaaah! I’ve made a zombie apocalypse one for Chris Evans as well. Entitled ‘Barely Alive’ and it currently has two parts. Link is right under this author’s note. 

BARELY ALIVE (CHRIS EVANS X YOU) (1ST PART)

Disclaimer: GIF and pictures used are not mine, only the edits are and the whole book of course.  

Everybody was huffing once they've stepped foot on the train, each one completely exhausted from the zombie-human chase that has happened with your group of people who was safe from the infection. The faces of the other group who had been in the train looked relieved that there was still survivors, people who were the same as them, and deep down in your hearts all of you know there were more. Faith was all you were holding on to, the faith to live and stay alive.

There's nothing wrong in having faith, it makes each person stronger. You know everybody who was stepping on the same train as you were strong individuals, people who are striving to stay alive with the world crumbling apart because of the apocalypse.

"This is our train," A shaggy, greasy, long haired man spat, those dark hues filled with fear, overthinking that your group plans on taking the train away from them. You stepped back apprehensively, avoiding the man's rude attitude as Chris (Evans) decided to handle the whole situation since you weren't good at talking to ill-mannered people.

"We won't take your train, we just needed a lift to Arcadia,"  He calmly spoke to the man, hoping he would cooperate and understand the situation at hand. The man still looked agitated by your entrance, his spot was suddenly taken when the leader of their group named Jill stepped in front of him, standing tall and intimidating. Her face slightly tainted by the mixture of dirt, sweat and blood, eyes holding no emotions. "We're headed there, you guys got lucky this time," She slightly smiled, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. You were quick to read the sadness behind those eyes of hers, it was the hint of grief that some of their people have been taken by the infected.

Your eyes scanned your small group of people, Robert's there..Jeremy, Anthony, Paul, Elizabeth, Aaron, Scarlett, basically the whole Marvel cast with their families and the DC cast included. You were the only person whose family was taken away from the Umbrella Corporation. A stranger in a group of famous people, and the only normal human who had survived. You didn't know why your family were the only one who was taken when the others were given as a bait for the dead and only were the only one who had survived from their harsh abduction.

Those dazzling blue eyes you've grown to love landed on yours, a look that says he was relieved you were still standing before him, alive and kicking with no wounds nor scratches. You were all lucky enough to have outrun them this time. Sebastian was quick to engulf you in his arms, hugging you off your feet as you knotted your arms around his neck, hiding your face in between his shoulder, feeling tears forming in your eyes. You were scared for your life and what future does it hold for you both and for everyone. "Shhh," Your lover sweetly hushed, giving your back gentle caresses. You heard him sniff and instantly you knew he was feeling the same way as you.

"We'll survive this apocalypse, we just gotta stick together, Y/N." Everybody was now hugging their loved ones. frightened for what was about to come. Sebastian unwrapped his arms around you, taking your face in his pretty, large hands. It felt soft and slight calloused all together, his eyes looked down on you lovingly, pupils blown in affection, "I love you, we'll stick together until the end..and I'll love you till my last breath, please don't think about giving up,"

Everybody was hugging each other, except from one person who despised you the most when you came into Sebastian's life..Her name was Valentine/Meredith. She was Sebastian's ex-girlfriend, he loves you more than anything in the world, he did everything he didn't do for her, he became the best lover that Y/N dreamed of. A dream that was once wished by Valentine/Meredith. The expected jealousy was bubbled up inside of her, resulting it to turn bigger, rotting  till she couldn't handle anymore.

She did rot. Even though she wasn't a Zombie, the jealousy inside of her began to rot till she did the most malintent thing she ever done in her life.

"N-No! S-Stop!" You groaned and choked around the hand that was tightly wrapped around your neck. Your hands wrapped on the edges of the opened train door, grasping for dear life. You could hear the high-pitched whistle of the air, tempting to try and suck you out of the train.

Your face was beginning to turn paler as each second passes by, lungs starting to desperately heave for some air. Yet, the stranger who had your neck around his large hand appeared to plan on choking till you could see the other side of the world. Death.

"It was you! You and your psychopathic family started this apocalypse!" He shouted, brown eyes glowing with ire.

"T-Those are lies!!!" Your voice croaked, desperately trying to unlatch the stranger's hand--lets name him Will since you've heard Jill talk to the bulky, bald man a while ago-- He didn't stop though, he was triggered to tighten his hold. Sucking the air out of your lungs, "I-I have nothing to do with my father's scientific profession! I know nothing!!"

"LIES! Valentine/Meredith told me every secret you held! Your family was taken by the Umbrella Corporation! You're fucking connected to those son of a bitches!" He spat aloud. You desperately scanned your surroundings. Nobody was around, it was just you, him and an empty train.

Y/N just had to take a piss when suddenly she was pulled by the huge guy who gripped her by the hair so hard, locking them up in the other side of a train where people weren't around. Sebastian was in a group meeting with the others, talking about some plans when your bladder decided to burst in the wrong time.

You couldn't help stop nature.

"You're the fucking antidote that they needed! Your blood is the medicine and answer to this nightmare!" His fingers began to tighten more, leaving no air to enter your throat, making your face turn paler and bluer as each damned second passed by. Your vision was beginning to turn hazy and everything was spinning around.

"The Umbrella corporation will come back and get you! We can't afford another death in our group and even with yours! You're the one who deserves to die! You deserve to get found and get experimented!"

Half of your feet were dangling on the edge of the train. Your heart accelerating as fast as how the train was going. The heavy, harsh wind slapping your face, telling you that you were about to die any moment. Will was forcefully pushing you back, his eyes glowing with feral anger. Only one train of thought running in his mind. He needed the kill.

"S-Somebody! Help! Sebastian!" You desperately breathed, clawing at his hands harsher, but it seemed too feeble to unlatch as you were slowly getting vincible, your strength slowly faltering.

Your bulging eyes hastily searched for any person who could help you. Will was a pretty large person and you..you were small, frail and stiff. Fighting him off would just be a waste of energy because you know you were no match with him.

However, that tiny faith in you screamed to fight him. Use those techniques you see in the movies. There was no harm in trying, and so you did.

Will was a big guy, but he's surely an idiot for bringing you close and breathing in your face because the world just turned upside down and  you've immediately gotten the upper hand when you reached up and roughly pressed his eyes, emitting a guttural scream from the large man. He released your throat, clutching onto his stingy eyes as he moved aside and you've gotten the chance to run, sprinting on the way to the door in haste.

All the pieces of your heart fell apart when a very unbelievable scene unfolded behind the clear train door. An imaginary hand crawling up to your chest, giving it a tight squeeze, making the ache unbearable to handle.

Why? Because Sebastian was fucking kissing Valentine/Meredith.

The pain in your throat came back, but it wasn't because you were being choked again. You could feel your heart sting so bad as Sebastian stood in front of her, his back on you and Valentine's/Meredith's face that you wanted to stab a million times. She was a bitch indeed.

You tightened your palms in either side of you, forgetting the fact that you were in the middle of getting choked to death and thrown outside the train. Your heart was palpitating with different kinds of reason. Anger, pain, jealousy and fear.

Your hand was about to grab the lock, yet you were left banging a hand on the clear door once you felt Will's hand painfully pulling at your roots, yelling a scream that caught everyone's attention at the other side of the door.

Sebastian was utterly frozen in spot when the woman who he held no feelings stood on her tiptoes and pressed a disgusting kiss on his lips, having no shame that everybody was around but were busy talking except from one of his friend named Mackie who clearly bulged his eyes out when she maliciously kissed him in front of them.

She was a damn, hard headed vixen who didn't care about her dignity and had no shame.

Unfortunately, you didn't see Sebastian push her off, reacting with such hostility that made her regret what she did. "What the fuck, Valentine/Meredith?! What the hell's wrong with you?!"

Then he heard a heart stopping scream.

A scream that came from you.

He was fast to turn around, scared of what happened to the love of his life. Yet, he was too late.

Y/N had already fell off the train.

It was that exact moment he knew that his heart would never forgive himself because you were gone.

Just like that, and he won't ever forget to cry every night, mourning for his dying heart.

                                        ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

6 months after:

"You sure there's still survivors in here?" Claire Redfield asked in a hushed whisper, an American special police officer who was the leader of your group. The sweet-smelling, woody scent of pine trees breezed around all four of you as you stood below a huge, beige Meditteranean house that looked untouched and placid. The house looking clear from the infected.

The four of you decided to check the house, Leon claiming that he saw somebody run from behind the back garden. You didn't know what got into you, but you automatically stood up from your seat of the bus and volunteered to come. Claire didn't hesitate for you to join with them since she knew how trained you are. She knew how tough you got from all the training and sparring you did with her. You weren't the softy that everyone knew before, you were trained to fight and be strong for the better of your future, putting aside those tears and feelings on the ground.

You've changed, you're trying to change and it was for the better. You hoped in the back of your mind.

There were still a lot of survivors inside the bus, currently waiting for what was about to come and anticipating who or what was inside the mansion. All of you stood still as you nervously stand on the porch. Leon was picking on the lock of the door knob, a tiny, faded click signalling everyone that he finally had it open.

"Positive, Claire." You whispered, keeping the gun back in your holster, hiding behind Leon. He wrenched the door knob opened, Eerie silence welcomed you, alerting everyone's senses. You took light steps while parading in, your boots sounding so quiet and theirs as well.

"How sure are you, Y/N?"

You kept your mouth shut, you didn't know how you were sure. It was what your heart could feel, and in the vague point of your mind, a tiny voice was yelling that there was someone in there and despite of your fragmented heart, you hoped it was someone you knew. Someone you loved, and a certain person who broke your heart. Leaving nothing but anger inside your shattered soul.

You fixed your crouching postures once your team stopped inside a circle of a marbled, black floor. The ceiling was too high to reach, a very lavish chandelier dangling on top of your heads. Your hearts skipped a beat when you heard faded foot steps echoing around.

"I am strangling you alive when we're compromised, Y/N!" Leon whisper-yelled. Leaving Claire's question unanswered. You felt a ball stuck in your throat as your eyes skimmed around the mansion, your heart skipping a beat from nervousness, anticipating for what or who was living inside the place.

Everybody heard an ear-wrecking creak, your eyes roamed from left to right, the sound continuously perceptible. "Something's going to fall," Leon uttered, senses on full alert. The creaking sound stopping just as all your breaths did and with a quick clang, everybody knew it was the chandelier falling.

Everybody ducked, rolled and maneuvered away from the circle, leaving you alone and distracted by the hushed whispers echoing inside a certain room from the second floor, seeing a silhouette disappearing in the shadows. Your hands were trembling, breath stopping and eyes focused on the falling chandelier above you. Is that how it all ends for you? To get killed by a huge chandelier falling on your head?

"Y/N!" Your team screamed for your name, your feet were rooted on the ground, trying to accept the fate of your death. Your foot trembled once you took a step back, was it all too late?

Then, you felt a body harshly pushing you away. Your body landing on the floor with a loud and painful thud, your head hitting the floor, the world spun around you like a whirlpool. Darkness hugging you for a moment or so until you realized a warm body was hovering above you, coughing out the dust that was flying all around.

With a blink of an eye, you were met with the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen, the eyes of the man you had ever loved with all your heart, and the only man who have crushed your heart into pieces from the moment your life changed when you fell on that train all the way to Arcadia.

"Y/N??"

His Steele blue eyes turned duller, losing it's glimmer. Earning dark eye bags underneath his feature that you loved the most. The color of his face lost a ton, making him look less happy with his life.

The man above you was like a different man and you were in shock. Completely flabbergasted with your mouth ajar, you've longed for him, for his touch and the warmth radiating off him whenever you both were together.

Yet, everything felt different with the pain inside of your soul. You hardly closed your mouth, spitting out a name that seemed difficult to verbally say for you as he was finally up close and personal for the first time after the accident happened.

You were choking in your own words, mouth keeping a straight line, blinking in the tight feeling forming inside your chest. It was too painful to look at him because all you could recall was the memories with him, coming at you one by one.

"Sebastian?"

It's that exact moment you knew you were dying inside. As much as how he did when he thought he would never get to see you again.

STEVE? LMAO 😥😘 FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! LIKE AND REBLOG OR COMMENT IF YA WANT MOREEEEE, TATER TOTS! WHO MISSED ME?!

[comicteaparty]

December 2nd-December 8th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from December 2nd, 2019 to December 8th, 2019.  The chat focused on Da Pukas by Pembroke W. Korgi. 

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB START!

Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Week Long Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on Da Pukas by Pembroke W. Korgi~! (http://dapukas.com/)

You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Remember, though, that while we allow constructive criticism, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic. Below you will find four questions to get you started on the discussion. However, a new question will be posted and pinned everyday (between 12:01AM and 6AM PDT), so keep checking back for more! You have until December 8th to tell us all your wonderful thoughts! With that established, let’s get going on the reading and the chatting!

QUESTION 1. What has been your favorite scene in the comic so far? What specifically did you like about it?

QUESTION 2. What aspect of the world-building in the comic caught your eye and why? Relatedly, what do you think happened to the older people who left all their technology behind, and how might this fact continue to play a role in the story?

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. At the moment, who is your favorite character? What about that character earns them this favor?

QUESTION 4. What do you think happened to the pukas who left the village 10 years ago? Can they be found, or are they truly lost forever? How do you think Lider will handle the answer emotionally regardless of which case you choose?

AntiBunny

1. Personally my favorite scene is the first encounter with Chacal the Jackal. This is their first encounter with the villain, and they throw every idea they can come up with into their escape to see what sticks, eventually bumbling their way out of trouble and establishing what will be an ongoing menace.

2. light is clearly a big deal there. While the saying "lords of light" is a classic cartoon reference on the surface, the significance of their lantern shows that to an underground dwelling people a light source is something that could be seen as a gift from the gods, and not simply something to be taken for granted. It's never exactly explained, but can be gathered.

3. Alegre is my favorite character. I love the enthusiasm with which she throws herself into everything. She tries it all, laughs off her failures, and keeps going.

4. I think they'll show up much later in the comic with some big reveal. Perhaps they found a way to the surface, but can't come back. Maybe there's a point of no return.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 5. What has been your favorite illustration in the comic so far? What specifically about it do you like?

QUESTION 6. Do you think Lider and company will ever return home? If so, how do you think the journey will have changed them? Also, do you think they’ll ultimately be accepted back into their village, or will the council still exile them?

RebelVampire

1) My favorite scene so far is probably when Quetz makes good on the friendship and comes and saves everyone from Chacal. For a decently comedic, somewhat light hearted comic, that was a rather gruesome fight and it made me cringe (but in a good oh no way). I also liked that Quetz didn't magically fade into the background and there was immediate consequences for friendships being made. 2) The aspect of the world that interests me the most is the whole underground thing itself. I like how its treated as this natural thing by the characters, but as the reader I have so many questions. Like where did this huge underground network come from? How is it nobody has explored things to the point most places seem isolated? Etc. But I like how the story works with the underground in unique ways, like the issues of light, how they get food, etc. As for the people before them, I'm just going with common denominator and assume they destroyed themselves.(edited)

3) My favorite character is definitely Apocado. I like that Apocado is kind of the reluctant heroine with a lot of self esteem issues that are flat out addressed a lot throughout the comic. At the same time, though, I like it's balanced by the fact she actually does have talent and can come through for the group when it counts. Mostly, though, I just find her and Lider adorable together. 4) As for what happened to the past explorers, I feel its a combination of they got lost and didn't know the way back plus where they wound up needed their help a lot more. I do think they're gonna be found, but I think it's gonna be not good for Lider. I feel like Lider is gonna have this expectation that they never returned for some noble heroic reason, only to find out that they kind of chose just to ditch their old lives to a degree after a point. Even if that's not the case though, I do think happiness will turn to anger and resentment for a while about why they couldn't go back. Alternatively, everyone is dead, and Lider will fall into depression because life is hopeless is and bleak.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 7. Which characters do you enjoy seeing interact the most? What about their dynamic interests you?

QUESTION 8. Given the story’s focus on themes such as friendship and forgiveness, what event related to the themes impacted you the most? Overall, what is your take away from the story in regards to these themes?

5) My favorite illustration is definitely this page http://dapukas.com/?comic=belmontsville. I love the amount of colorful detail in the image. But what really sells it for me is the perspective and angle. It really captures that feeling of feeling like a stranger in a big city and really puts you in the character's shoes. I love when illustrations work with the story, so definitely a great one in my book. 6) I do feel like Lider and everyone will come home. Probably with a lot more people and with fanfare. However, I definitely feel like they won't stay. I get the impression the journey will make them see there's more to their underground life than their own little village. And I feel they'll want to help more people or something like that. As for whether they'll be accepted back, I think yes and no. I think the council won't want to, but that their hands will be forced lest they earn public ire.

RebelVampire

7) I enjoy seeing Apocado and Lider interact the most. I love how opposite their personalities are in a lot of ways, so it creates lots of friction. Yet they still care about one another. Plus, their relationship is just adorable. Like how Apocado just basically jumped down a hole after Lider. XD Just precious and funny. 8) The one that affected me the most was when Artifice forgave Rumi. I think in life we often forget that accidents are a thing. And that people can hurt other people will out ill intent, and that it's easy to become wrapped up in the blame game. At the same time, sometimes that anger is a bit justified, since some accidents are bigger than others. All in all, forgiveness is hard. But I think the takeaway is that it's still good to do since focusing on what were mad at the person about rarely fixes anything.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 9. What sorts of art or story details have you noticed in the way the comic is crafted that you think deserves attention?

QUESTION 10. Do you think we’ve seen the last of the jackal Chacal, or will they continue to hunt Lider and group? If the latter, what do you think it will take for Lider and the rest to be free of Chacal?

RebelVampire

QUESTION 11. What do you think are this particular comic’s strengths? What do you think makes this comic unique? Please elaborate.

QUESTION 12. What do you think the device Lider was given is? Can it be fixed, and if so, what role will it play in Lider’s quest? Additionally, will Lider be able to get the lantern repaired as well?

AntiBunny

7. Right now I'm loving the interplay between Artifisk and Malo. They haven't interacted that much, but having a scene alone together shows that Artifisk is the one who's a questioner. Most people just accept that Malo is the way she is, but Artifisk actually shows curiosity about Malo's personality.

8. Probably the moment they left the village. They treat it as a grand adventure, but they also know they can't turn back. It's not unlike the moment in Lord of the Rings when the Hobbits realize that one more step will take them further from home than they've ever been.

9. Certainly the element of danger. There are villages that are safe, but it's treated like leaving these villages is a major risk. A few individuals live between, but in general the caverns are very much a sort of death world filled with hazards and dangerous creatures. It sort of reminds me of a Metroid game in that way. Isolation is the name of the game. This small crew on their journey become a small party in strange and hostile world. You really see that contrast in their behaviors in and out of a town too. Outside they're always on edge, always in danger, never able to relax. Inside a town they relax more and you see their personalities in a different light.

10. Chacal certainly will be an ongoing threat. What I wonder is if the Pukas will become better at outwitting and evading them, or if Chacal as we saw with Qwetz will continue to grow as a threat.

11. A well balanced core cast. The personalities are all just right to play off of each other. Sometimes complimenting, and sometimes conflicting. Everyone has a role to play in the character dynamic.

12. Some kind of tracker I think. When it starts working it will probably give them a direction to go in.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 13. What are you most looking forward to in the comic? Also, do you have any final thoughts to share overall?

QUESTION 14. How do you think Bimmy will try to scam the pukas out of their gold? Will Bimmy succeed, and if so, what will the pukas do? Further, do you think Ali will get involved again somehow?

RebelVampire

9) A detail I've really liked in the comic is the just the comic's abilities to keep plot threads relevant. For example, Rumi. It would've been super easy for the comic to just kind of drop it for 50 chapters and then bring it up again. But the comic is super good at remember to involve these plots from time to time before you forget them. And I think that's a real merit. 10) Nah. Chacal is definitely gonna show up again. I feel like Chacal is the sort of character who becomes easily embittered and revenge filled. So even if it takes a while, Chacal will always remember the offense and only become more desperate and violent. As for how Lider and them are going to be free...honestly...probably murder. Or at least imprisoning Chacal for life. I don't think theres anyway else out of the mess. 11) I think the comic's strength are its characters. They all have these kind of exaggerated personalities that are just enjoyable to read for both comedy and dramatic scenes. At the same time, though, the story is able to take a step back and show the darker sides to the characters and their kind of personal traumas and inner conflicts. And I always like when theres a good balance of that. 12) I think the device might be some kind of knowledge base. Maybe like a mini-version of Wikipedia with a little bit of GPS thrown in. And it will inevitably prove vital to their navigation I think as they get farther and farther away and start having to rely on more random tech. Which yes, by that implication, I think it will be fixed. I think the lantern will be fixed as well, though I think Lider will have to give it that extra push to get it working.

13) I am looking forward to Lider and Apocado's further relationship development cause they're just so gosh darn cute together. And I'm interested to see what sort of tests they'll face since the further they delve into the caverns,, the more dangerous it will be. 14) I feel like Bimmy is gonna intercept the tech somehow and say "Hey pay me and I'll help." and then whoops, money is gone. However, I doubt Bimmy will succeed longterm. More likely Bimmy will be hunted down, probably with Ali's help, and defeated. But defeated in a way there'll be an eternal grudge.

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB END!

Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about Da Pukas this week! Please also give a special thank you to Pembroke W. Korgi for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked Da Pukas, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!

Read and Comment: http://dapukas.com/

Pembroke’s Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ArtificialOrangeStudios

Pembroke’s Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/pembrokewkorgi

Pembroke’s Teepublic Store: https://www.teepublic.com/user/pembrokewkorgi/albums/13501-da-pukas

Pembroke’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/pembrokewkorgi

[brood-mother]

hey, i'm super into your 'the sun sets on us' blurb/board on pinterest. can you say more about the story? it looks super interesting

of course, yeah! it’s still in its infancy so i don’t even have definite names for the main characters yet (umm let’s call the them middle sis jara, little bro elan, and big bro amal for purpose of this i guess?). i’ll put it behind a read more because i am going to go IN on this bc i don’t get to talk about it often and i am excited abt it. edit: i definitely got carried away but it felt good to air it out, thank you.

anyway, the basic premise is that in this universe, magic is an inherently destructive force. it is capable of doing fantastic, unbelievable things, but it requires a lot of energy, and typically consumes that energy in the form of life-force. magic users, if they regularly use magic, have a dramatically reduced life-span (even magic users who totally abstain from using magic can expect to live to 60 at the absolute most, a good 20 or so years less than a normal person). magic use blackens and scorches the flesh. magic users are constantly hungry, and run at unnaturally high temperatures because of the perpetual unnatural energy generation in their bodies. however, it is possible to draw that life-force from other people and even the environment around you, and as such in most places seek to eradicate magic with extreme prejudice.

the siblings live in one such country with their father; their mother, a magic user like jara, has already passed away naturally. they live in almost total isolation to protect jara from persecution (although relatives of magic users are also treated abysmally whether they show talents or not), but when war breaks out in the land, conscription is enforced, and every family must provide at least one able bodied adult to join the army. the father immediately volunteers, so as to stop anyone from sniffing around, but shortly thereafter the siblings are forced to flee their home without him or be swallowed up in the violence. 

at first they are comfortably anonymous in a tide of refugees, but eventually it becomes hard to hide. other magic users flushed out by the war are caught, persecuted. people are scared, angry; scapegoatism is rife, and an actual witch-hunt begins. with nowhere to hide and so little experience of the ‘real’ world, the siblings are forced to flee. they run aimlessly for a while until they realise the only place they could ever be safe is a secluded, insular, frozen land far to the north. most southerners only know of it through fearful hearsay and myths, but it is rumoured magic is seen as a boon, and magic users are like gods among mortal men. 

the journey there is treacherous; they must first make it to the northern coast of their own country, cross the sea, and then trek across a great barren wasteland to reach it. on the way, they encounter many obstacles, not least of all a dragon (dragons, while exceedingly rare and quite dangerous, are not devastating beasts in this world; they’re sort of on the same level as a polar bear, maybe, if polar bears could breath fire). while it should be easy enough for them to defeat with jara’s magic - she is naturally inclined to a particularly destructive type of magic known as entropy, which causes poison, decay, unconsciousness, etc -  if they work together, amal panics and freezes, allowing elan to be mauled badly enough that he nearly dies, and has to have his arm amputated, which widens the schism in their already strained relationship.

eventually they reach their destination. they spend several weeks on the outskirts, among common folk with no magic. the land is barren and inhospitable, and the eke a modest existence as farmers, labourers, hunters, etc. while not technically oppressed, non-magic users are almost seen as second-class citizens; they’re used for their superior physical strength and health/longevity and rarely raise above that station, and are often excluded from ‘magic-only’ spaces and the upper echelons of society. magic is essentially a ticket to the aristocracy, regardless of birth. jara uses this to her advantage, and tries to find a space for herself with elan and amal posing as her servants so that they are permitted where other non-magic users aren’t.

it doesn’t work, at least not initially. while she is a magic user, she is still a foreigner in a very deliberately insular country. she is generally looked down upon, mistrusted and scoffed at for being untrained and reluctant to use her magic. she eventually garners enough ire to be challenged but another young woman; they skirmish, and jara manages to defeat her, but only just. this catches the attention of a particularly wealthy and powerful man, for whom the other woman was an apprentice (rather than standard blood inheritance laws, magic-users have apprentices who compete for the right to inherit their wealth, rank, legacy, etc, and apprentices in return contractually bind themselves to their master’s service). he releases her, and instead offers his apprenticeship to jara.

jara accepts immediately. while it is obvious that the competition between apprentices is ruthless, even a failed apprentice is held in good esteem and can live comfortable lives. she sees it as an opportunity to secure a better life for her and her brothers. all is well at first: she finds the magic-users strange and intimidating, with their gold-dipped hands to hide their burnt flesh, elaborate head-dresses meant to represent their magical aura, and clothes of sheer wispy material to prove that they don’t feel the cold, but she enjoys learning and shows great natural talent. she is even surprised to find she actually gets along with her master’s other apprentice, yulia, and they become close friends very quickly.

for a while, things go very well for jara. her talents grow tenfold. she experiences a wealth of new things she’s never tried before. for the first time in her life, she is able to be unapologetically herself. for the first time in her life she is not made to feel like a burden, a liability, or a mistake. for the first time in her life, she is not hungry. she even sees many older magic-users, those living well beyond the expected age in her home country, which gives her hope and confidence.

meanwhile, without jara’s knowledge, things develop differently for the brothers. jara’s master takes a particular interest in amal. he considers amal to be a ‘perfect psychical specimen’, and appears to think very highly of him - for a non-magic user. he wants to train him to be his personal guard and assistant. amal is easily flattered, and eagerly agrees, and is naively unconcerned by the apparent need for secrecy. 

as both a non-magic user, and physically ‘deformed’, elan is largely neglected by everyone - including his own siblings, who are suddenly busy with their own training. he becomes (more) moody and withdrawn, his resentment of amal grown to toxic levels, and only finds solace in the unexpected companion ship of the master’s current bodyguard, tymo, a strange and quiet man with a creeping terminal illness. as they become closer and tentatively explore their feelings for each other, he confides in elan about his master’s horrid mistreatment of him, and the reason his morbid interest in amal: he is obsessed with the idea of “blessing” non-magic users with the gift of magic, but it can only work on those with magic already in their blood - like amal, and like tymo. he’s tried the experiment on dozens of ‘guards’ but their bodies cannot handle the strain, and the few that survive sicken and die as tymo is.

things take a turn for the worse for jara. her studies begin to tread in areas of magic that she doesn’t care to learn, namely how to siphon the life-force of things to lessen the tax of magic-use. at first it is only plants, fruits, even the earth itself. her natural inclination towards entropy means she is exceptionally proficient at it. then they move on to livestock, and finally, her master presents her with a human - a magicless member of the household staff. at first she refuses and the master tries to sooth and flatter her, insisting that even sweet yulia had completed the lesson, and yulia wasn’t nearly as accomplished as she was. jara still refused, and the master becomes enraged at that point - he needs her magic to conduct his experiments, and as his apprentice she all but belongs to him. he threatens to use elan and amal in the next lessons if she fails to comply and, terrified, she does.

she watches the damaged flesh on her hands smooth and heal. she feels stronger than she has in months, the weariness of her magic use washing away, and she realises this is what allows the mages to live as they do. their magnificent buildings, the forever-blooming gardens, even the ability to grow food in such an unforgiving landscape - it’s all beyond the reach of natural magic. they use the non-magic citizens like batteries.

jara realises in that exact moment that both she and her brothers are in grave danger, and the only way she can ensure their safety is to play along. she acts as though she finally realises the true extent and appeal of her power, and that she understands what her master desires of her. as soon as she is away from him, she begins to plan her escape. she turns to yulia, her closest and indeed only friend, for help. she knows the master has forced her to do such horrible things too, and jara wants her to escape with them. she also tells her brothers.

at first amal refuses to believe it until tymo himself explains what his fate was to be. they agree a time and a place to meet so that they might all flee together. however, when the night comes, yulia and tymo are waiting for the siblings but something is off: once they are within sight tymo cries out that it’s an ambush, and that yulia had betrayed them to gain favour with the master. the trio manage to escape, but only just, and tymo is left behind.

they make it to a safe place, but elan cannot forgive himself for leaving tymo behind. he goes back in the hopes that he can free him somehow, and is caught. however, rather than being killed or tortured for the whereabouts of jara and amal, the master offers him a deal. he will give him tymo. he will give him an amazing functional prosthetic arm. he will even use magic to extend tymo’s pitifully short life, like he had his own. 

elan accepts. he provides a location, and his granted his boon, and while the master and yulia go to collect his siblings he is told to wait in the castle with tymo. he doesn’t wait: the information he gave the master was false, and he manages to escape the guards and flee with tymo back to their true hiding place.

the master anticipated this. he put a tracking spell on tymo, and is lead right to their position. in the cold and freezing forest, they fight. it nearly kills her, sapping her strength until her entire body is tortured and scorched from the exertion, but in the end, jara comes through victorious by draining the very life from her master until he crumbles to dust, betraying herself and her morals, but saving her family. 

she then has to make one final agonising choice: does she stay and inherit her master’s vast estate where they can live in comfort in a rotten land, or go back on the run where they can never rest but will always be free? either way, she knows she must fight to protect every single day of her life.

[swtorramblings]

On Vaylin

I am re-posting this, my rough draft of a post that I wrote to my main blog when I found that my annoyance with certain game events aggravated me so badly I needed a place to publicly vent. I tried to move it here and broke the whole thing, so lost some of the edits and other information (I’m still learning the ropes). I still want to have it up, but I am also not putting in the tags it used to have. I am trying to be more positive, now, though I will have one more negative, but somewhat calmer, post on the subject in the near future, because even after a month and a half it still gets to me.

I am going on a rant about the SWTOR expansion, Knights of the Eternal Throne. I don’t think anyone is likely to see this that, 1. Cares about SWTOR, 2. Cares about my opinion of SWTOR, 3. Doesn’t already know the plot of KOTET. If I’m wrong, note that there are spoilers ahead.

Too long, didn’t read: Vaylin’s fate is for crap, a badly told mess even if the basic plot of “man and woman enter, only man can leave” wasn’t already a problem.

Note: I’m not really looking for debate. I’m just venting. But, if you must, keep it civil. My ire is meant for Bioware and for the people who have approached disagreements on this subject rudely.

Now, my therapy will begin.

I will be up front about my core bias: I have seen enough stories where a man and a woman fulfill similar roles in the story, have similar experiences, and, in this case, commit similar crimes (of type if not of scale), but the man survives and the woman doesn’t. I was never, ever going to like this plotline. Give us the choice to save both, give us the choice of which one can be saved (Bioware loves that), or don’t let us save either. All would be better, though I prefer the first two.

I fully understand that she was written without those little moments of remorse that he was. I do understand what Bioware was going for. It’s not difficult to see, it was unsubtle. It was also hamfisted and obnoxious. So don’t tell me how obvious it was that she was too far gone and like that: I’m well aware. I just don’t find it to be a good story, especially with so much of how it was handled. They chose to make her that way, they did not have to, and even in making that choice they could have done better.

Finally, I recognize this is a game. It is also, however, a story, and how we tell and share stories is important to me, and this one was awful. Bioware tried to tell a tale of tragedy and familial abuse and mental illness and brainwashing, in an action game with a trinary response, and the lack of nuance didn’t do them any favors. If they couldn’t tell the story with care and sensitivity, they shouldn’t have told it at all.

Vaylin irredeemable. Why? Because mummy and brother can’t find any good in her with their Detect Good spell? Please. Because daddy says she is like a wild animal? Please squared. They should get no say whatsoever.

I swear, whether or not Vaylin ultimately must die I wanted the option to tell them all off. When they say something like that, I want to say, <point to Senya> “You feared her and abandoned her.” <point to Arcann> “You neglected her and killed her brother. Out of everyone living outside of my head, you two are the most responsible for what she has become. Neither of you have any say in how we are going to handle this. And we’re going to do what we can to save her. Period. And if you want any more reason than she’s your family, or the horrible things you both allowed to happen to her, or your own empathy, Valkorian is telling me she has to die, and I refuse to do what that monster says. Are we clear?”

Oh, and that bit where you get the option to tell her that Valkorian wants you to kill her? To try to talk her down? That’s the Light option, Bioware. You’re irredeemable is the neutral option. How hard is that to figure out?

Because she’s a threat to your troops? No. The moment you tell them that Valkorian wants her dead, they should be changing their blasters to stun settings. Well, if those exist in TOR, if they haven’t been invented yet, someone should get on that (and if they do every single light side character should carry one, even if they are clumsy and random, for situations like this). But your troops know what he is, and should be willing to help you out here.

Because she killed a lot of people, including your buddy (speaking of hamfisted story telling)? Arcann killed HK-55 (but, you know, droid, and anti-droid bigotry is certainly a thing in Star Wars, even with otherwise light-side types) and almost certainly many times as many people. I do hope you don’t have him with you if your reason to kill her is because of her crimes (and if you executed him for his, congratulations, you are more consistent with your actions than the game company known for its awesome stories. I say, without irony, good job).

Because she’s killed your buddy and you want revenge? Point. I have no rebuttal, but then, I don’t really have a problem you being able to choose to kill her, here (aside from my “Bioware created an awful and poorly told story of familial abuse where you have to/get to kill the victims” thing), my problem is that you have to kill her but you can save Arcann.

Because she slaughtered her troops with her force powers when they annoyed her or just to show off? Again, hope you haven’t saved Arcann after halving his own forces. Just because she does it herself doesn’t mean he’s less heinous, and magical force powers healed him.

Because she’s too broken to live? That’s really the crux of what Bioware was going for: her mind was crippled by Valkorian and can never be gotten back to what it was. Her sanity can never be restored so we have to kill her because of the combination of her powers and her madness. Well, even if I fully accepted this, I want to be allowed to show sympathy within the game. Yeah, I can pretend that’s what the Outlander is really doing, but some things I’d like explicitly stated, and this is one of those. Just say you’re sorry you have to do this before stabbing or shooting her. I wouldn’t like it, as I said, but it’s a small step up, anyway. And they couldn’t give us that option.

Mock her like a villain? You can. Ask her to surrender? You can. Show sympathy and offer help? No, not really. Not use the command phrase, or even show a shred of sorrow or even embarrassment over its use? Nope, and you’re going to expose it to the galaxy, her shame, her lack of control, the awfulness of her parents! I can’t imagine why she hates you so much, especially with her awful family around you, but you did that to her

This is an abuse victim. Further, she had directed attempts to break her mind, body, and spirit to make her into something else. These things happened. The fact that you walk up to her, close enough to touch, with what sounds like whimpering and fear being the only sounds she’s making, and stab or shoot her is disgusting. If she’s supposed to be just Pure Evil, at least let her be ranting at the end. If she’s supposed to be Irredeemably Broken, pretty much the same. That bit of whimpering both makes her seem like someone not really all that dangerous and someone that I want to save. She made the same noises when you most recently defeat her, while she’s on her hands and knees before you, too. Shame you couldn’t have acted before she bubbled up, hero. Perhaps irrational, but there it is.

Because she doesn’t ask? Because she doesn’t want to be saved? Uhm, and? Bioware tried very hard to present her as completely gone, and why. She doesn’t get to choose whether the people around her are going to at least try to help her. Does that take away her agency as a character? Maybe, but I’d argue that her agency was already taken away by her father (and, by extension, the writers) a long time ago. In fact, note in Chapter 9: “Choice. I could get used to that.” At that point, after death, she has agency. Shame she couldn’t have gained some before that, like, by the Outlander trying to save her.

I actually think she was borderline suicidal. She fought beyond what was reasonable when already defeated, there at the end. When, after you continued her abuse by using her command phrase, she retreated and tortured herself, she shouts out not that she doesn’t want to die, but that she doesn’t want to die “in this place”. Scant evidence, since “not like this” is something people that don’t seem otherwise to want to die sometimes say. But, combined with what she has been through and her constant control by others (I’m looking at you, Outlander), it seems at least plausible. I don’t think it’s what the writers were going for, but I can’t unthink it, and it makes “she didn’t ask to be saved” take on a very different, and much worse, meaning.

Because she’s too dangerous? Maybe. There are some signs of it. She’s certainly been defeated often enough, but, yeah, her power is unlocked! Oh, wait, you beat her again. But, now she has that bubble thing, maybe it’s just going to keep going, burning her out and blowing up your base, if she’s not killed. Maybe her rage would drive her troops forward, even if she was unconscious or, say, in carbonite. It would be nice to have one of those explicitly stated before killing her, because at that point the decision to do that rather than try to take her alive makes more sense.

You had to kill the suicidal woman because she was going to kill everyone around you and it was the only way to stop her? Fine. Show some remorse that it came to that, lightsider. Show some empathy. Really all I want given the choice has already been made by the writers that she must die.

Honestly, there’s an episode of Justice League Unlimited where Batman sits down with Ace while she is dying and just stays with her. A moment like that would have been so much better for the nice characters. Instead, “You’re irredeemable!” stab/shot in the gut.

Maybe you just don’t have a non-lethal weapon. Maybe you should get one, we have them on Earth and can’t even break the speed of light or form light into a solid cutting tool.

Because it’s too risky to try to save her, long term? If you wanted the easy way, you’d have used the Emperor’s power every time he offered it, but you didn’t do that, even to save Lana, did you? But, then, accepting his advice and help is probably a bad idea. What did he tell you to do with his daughter and other family members, again?

Because she was always evil? Many of the things I’ve griped about are open to interpretation, this one included. There were moments when she could be interpreted to have a vicious streak as a little girl. She smiled when the guards died (I still believe that the guards should be hurt, not dead, because Senya should have talked about this instead of the crippled guard if Vaylin killed her sparring partners, but I digress). I interpret that as her happiness in showing off her power, and the moment after that as her guilt realizing what had happened. But, sure, the Dark Side could be interpreted as there, even then.

But that bubbly little girl, bouncing up and down with excitement while her big brothers spar? She’s evil? No. Just no. I fear I have no cogent argument to give on this subject, but I don’t accept it, anyway. They can’t all be gems. My entire diatribe is about how the Outlander should have been portrayed as more emotional, if the player so chooses, and I’m not immune myself.

Conclusion: I’m not happy that you are forced to kill an abuse victim, a mentally disturbed woman who, yes, has committed heinous crimes. This isn’t the right venue for such a story, if any venue is. I am doubly disgusted by the way it was approached, with the hero of the story mocking her and taking advantage of her weakness forced on her by the villain for tactical reasons. You don’t use the command phrase to capture her, or even really to save people nearby: it was always your plan to reveal the results of her abuse to the galaxy. I don’t like that you don’t appear to try to help her until after she’s dead, and are unable to choose to show any kind of remorse for what you must do. They took a story that would have annoyed me and made it into something really grotesque. Good job, Bioware.

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